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saintshigaraki · 4 years

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won’t you give me your cruelest smile

↳ DARK ACADEMIA TSUKISHIMA KEI

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

excerpt:

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” He sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

a/n: @yamagucji said dark academia tsukki and my brain quite literally short circuited

tags: enemies-ish to lovers (more like academic rivals to lovers), tsukki being an annoyingly smart condescending history major, reader goes through the five stages of grief when they realize they might actually li- 🤢 like him, a reference to the classic ‘ooooh you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid’

If there is a single, minuscule, barely visible silver lining in having Tsukishima as a partner for your quarter project it is that, without a doubt, he is smart.

You have to admit, begrudgingly, that his intellect borders on genius-level which is something you use as silent proof to attest to your working theory that there is in fact, no god, or at the very least not a kind one, because if there was they wouldn’t be blessing gremlins like the one sitting across from you with a gift like that.

He’s quiet now (after about an hour of telling you all the ways your interpretation was oh so very wrong) and content to stare at you lazily, his eyes half-lidded and filled with his specific brand of cruel amusement that leaves you wanting to do nothing more than smack his black-rimmed glasses right off his smug face.

You take a deep breath and try desperately to quell the utterly unique type of rage he elicits in you, although as always, nothing you do ever quite manages to bring your boiling blood to a simmer.

He’s twirling his expensive black pen between his stupidly long fingers. Every once in a while the light catches on the onyx stone of his pinky ring which somehow manages to flash directly in your eyes every time. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Which makes you think he’s doing it on purpose just to be an ass.

Which, admittedly, is perfectly in line with everything else he does so, you come to the frustrating conclusion that he most definitely is doing it on purpose.

“You’re embarrassingly easy to rile up,” he says, interrupting your silent seething, his voice deep and smooth and absolutely dripping with condescending satisfaction.

Your eyes flash up from the book you’d been only barely processing just to be met with his own golden-brown ones. He’s smirking down at you, of course. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear any other sort of expression.

You want nothing more than to glare at him but that would just be proving his point so instead, you snap your book shut. It rings out loudly in the empty library.

“It’s late. Let’s start this backup tomorrow.”

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” he sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

He tilts his head back, exposing his long neck, and laughs. It’s so deep you feel it in your own chest. You just barely manage to suppress a shiver, which thank fuck, because he would’ve most definitely noticed it and you don’t think you’d be able to live that down.

You make your way towards the front doors but not before he manages to slip on his wool coat and catch up to you, with ease of course, his long legs have become your number one enemy over the quarter because he always, always, catches up with you when you try to speed walk away from him.

The autumn chill immediately settles into your bones, your skin prickles unpleasantly. You can see your breath in the night air. A shitty end to a shit day.

You both head down the cobbled street in strangely comfortable silence. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he radiates and you’re silently thankful for it.

You get to the fork in the path where he takes his way back to his dorm and you take yours but instead of peeling off left like he usually does he sticks to your side.

You stop immediately and eye him up warily. “What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Asking idiotic questions doesn’t really suit you, you know.”

You say nothing, content to narrow your eyes.

He rolls his eyes again and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m walking you home, try not to be a brat about it.”

“You never walk me home,” you point out, suspiciously.

“You are rather good at pointing out the very obvious, aren’t you?” and before you can respond he already had turned on his heels and started walking. You have to half jog to catch up.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye with the intent of trying to read his motive but you get stuck on the fact that his cheeks are flushed rather prettily from the cold.

“You sure do love to stare, don’t you?” he asks rather conversationally.

You’ve never wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole more in your entire life. Your cheeks burn hot even in the frigid cold.

He notices. Of course he does. What does Tsukishima Kei not notice?

“No need to be embarrassed,” he needles cruelly. “Denial can be a brutal beast.”

You only barely manage to stop yourself from asking what exactly he means by that, what exactly he thinks you’re in denial about.

But you know he wants nothing more than for you to ask so you take a sweet sort of satisfaction in not questioning him further, at least on that front.

The rest of the walk back to your dorm is spent in less comfortable silence than before. There’s an odd sort of tension in the air, like a rope pulled so tight you can physically feel it starting to fray, getting ready to snap.

It comes to a head when, after getting to your building, instead of immediately going inside you find yourself looking down and shuffling your feet.

You know you should thank him, even if you didn’t ask him to walk you home. You guys never worked this late, you’d lost track of time (it’s scarily easy to lose track of time when arguing with Tsukishima) and you know it was nice of him to walk you home when he’d have to double back another 15 minutes in the freezing cold to get to his place.

You know you should thank him. It’s the reasonable, polite thing to do. But it’s just so fucking hard to be reasonable and polite when Tsukishima Kei and his galaxy-sized ego are involved. No one in your entire life has been able to get under your skin as he has. It’s like he was perfectly crafted to be your own personal headache.

You brave a glance up at him and find that he’s standing very, very close and staring, rather intensely, at you. A curiously amused gleam in his eye.

Your mind stutters and then stops completely, going painfully blank.

He’s so stupidly pretty.

His skin is flawless, you’ve never once seen him with even a single pimple, his hair is the nicest pale-blond you’ve ever seen and it falls in perfect tufts against his forehead, but it’s his eyes that always make you shift from foot to foot. They’re such a unique shade of golden-brown, and now, shrouded in the dark and mere inches away from your own face, you’d swear on your life they were practically glowing.

“You’ve got something on your mind?” he asks, his tone anything but sweet. He’s so close you can smell the warm spice of his cologne and the ever-clinging scent of ancient books that seems to follow him wherever he goes.

“I-” but you can’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. You don’t think you’ve ever hated someone so much in your life.

Somehow, he’s managed to push in even closer. “You know what I think?”

No, you want to say, and I don’t want to know. Your heart is beating far too fast and you can’t explain why.

(You know exactly why)

“I think you want to kiss me.”

And just like that the rope snaps and you’re viciously tugging him down by the collar of his too-nice coat so you can smash your lips against his.

The kiss is brutal. Far too mean with too much teeth. At one point you taste the sting of iron and you can’t tell if the blood is his or yours.

He backs you up against a wall without breaking the kiss. When he bites at your lip, no doubt cutting it open, you grab a fist full of his hair and tug cruelly and his responding groan tastes so sweet on your tongue.

He doesn’t pull away until your lungs are screaming for air.

He’s inches away from you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen (and a little bloody), and his hair is a mess. It’s the most out of sorts you’ve ever seen him.

If you thought he was pretty before, he’s absolutely beautiful now.

His smirk widens into a full blown smile and you understand now why he doesn’t show it often. It shows too many teeth, it’s downright wolfish. Predatory, even.

You don’t really have time to think on it though before he pulls you into another bruising kiss.

have some dark academia tsukishima headcanons while you’re here

he is without a doubt the most pretentious asshole you will ever meet and and you will HATE yourself for eventually finding him weirdly charming in any capacity

he is, of course, a history major which. if you have ever met pretentious male history majors you will know that this means he is a literal walking, talking, annoyingly tall headache

interrupts professors constantly. does it like he’s getting paid. will argue and argue and argue with them without that dumb condescending smirk ever, ever managing to slip off his face

(the worst part is, he’s honestly probably making a good point most of the time. but you’d quite literally rather die than admit that to him)

he is always walking around campus lazily flipping through leather bound books so old they’re cracked precariously at their spines, all on different ancient civilizations. you’d think that’d mean he’d be running into people but the student body collectively parts like the red sea for him which sets your teeth on edge.

he’s unbelievably arrogant and the worst part is its not baseless like you find yourself so desperately wishing it was

he IS smart, wickedly so. disgustingly, cruelly intelligent and he will use it to pick you apart piece by piece while that stupid fucking smirk stays glued on his face.

(you start to seriously question whether or not he’s even human because how can anyone keep the same, perfectly calculated expression for that long?)

always looks like he stepped straight out of some dark alternate universe vogue photoshoot with his constant rotation of black turtlenecks, long coats, and oxford loafers all tied together by the same 5 rings he’s never seen without, two of which are set with hefty onyx stones

you will be unlucky enough to be paired up with him for a project that will take all quarter long and multiple meet ups a week. when your professor announced your partner, you genuinely consider dropping the class and when you find out you wouldn’t be able to drop the class without switching majors, you genuinely consider switching majors

you don’t. and by the end of the quarter you’re really starting to question whether that was a good thing or not

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq!!#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #hq #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x you #tsukishima imagine #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #tsukishima scenarios #you think thats enough tags lmaoooo #vicwrites #vicwriteshq

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lucky-draws · 2 years

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drawing ocelot is like so much more complicated than drawing anyone else like big boss or whoever. not cartoony ocelot i mean because i can crank out an itty bitty fish-spurs-wearing catboy creature in no time like its muscle memory but for a Normal Regular "Serious" in inverted commas ocelot it's like it takes a lot for me to be fully satisfied with it because he's a very delicate and layered specimen i think. like there's so much to consider i mean firstly in the games he's often very ugly looking but that's a problem because i want him to not be ugly and also don't like drawing ugly people and also he has to be feline and elegant but not overly feminised or yaoi-uke-fied and he can't be unironically woobified but he has to be funny and visibly sillay sometimes and after all he is undeniably a meow meow but at the same time he should look horrid and yucky disgusting and he has to have visible pretty eyelashes but he cannot be lovely and pleasant in a way that makes him look incapable of vile murders and killings and there needs to be a balance between obscenely thin waist-ishness and more rugged muscular this man is dangerous and also taller than big (manlet) boss-ness and also his hair shouldn't be like bright yellow blonde bc there are too many blonde people in the world but also i don't really have a silver pencil that would work so he ends up looking grey and soggy and also because i love ocelot immensely it means that i am kind to him especially in the hairline department but this can be bad because he ends up with luscious locks and a lovely smile and well sometimes that isn't quite really him. big boss in contrast is so easy all he needs is to be hairy like he's just a hairy man but ocelot contains so many more multitudes. ive also been thinking about whether 70s ocelot wears flared trousers or not and whilst i think they might suit him i also think it's equally in character for him to be, in a world full of flares, somehow capable of obtaining the skinniest jeans known to man, and not to mention the cowboy stuff i haven't even mentioned the cowboy stuff yet but im struggling with feet and boots and also too lazy to draw full length poses right now which is another problem because even though i just said he contains a lot of multitudes it's simultaneously true that the cowboy boots + spurs make up like 60% of his personality. i could go on but my point is that i really think drawing ocelot is an exact and important science and it's a field of study i am willing to dedicate my life or at the very least the few years this blog lasts to. also unrelated but its past midnight here so it's april fools day so sorry in advance if i draw huey emmerich with his cock out or something just for the funnies

#kidding abt the last part that won't happen but i am serious about gaining my degree in ocelstudies and becoming a doctor of ocelcock #on that note time to go to bed. carry on everyone #top secret documents

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lixie-lovie · 4 years

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{ Mysterious Stranger | Skz }

h.hyunjin x Reader

Chapter 1: The Letter

Genre: Dark!au, Thriller-ish, Fantasy!au

Warnings: Small mention of blood, but otherwise none!

Word Count: 2.3k

Note: I am kinda sorta really excited about writing this story and although this is only the first chapter I hope whoever reads this enjoys! Not a very long chapter, but I should be posting more regularly! (hopefully lol) This is definitely different to anything I have ever worked on, so feedback is super appreciated! <3

Chapter Song: d.r.e.a.m. - ab6ix

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I came rushing down the stairway into the subway stumbling over my own feet in the low light. I was trying hard not to drop the bags of groceries I was carrying and also not miss my train. Breathing heavy, I took a quick moment to stop at the bottom of the stairs to listen intently for the incoming train. I quickly brushed my hair out of my face with my one free hand as I looked around and took in my surroundings. I noticed there was only one other person seemingly waiting for this late night train ride. As I slowly shuffled my heavy bag higher on my hip I felt my brow start to sweat even though the chill of the night air was enough to fog my breath as my breathing became shallow. I felt my eyes unconsciously glancing back at the tall man shrouded in darkness a few times only to notice him already facing my direction.

Strange, I thought as he wasn’t looking towards the train or even the clock on the far wall. Rather, I could almost make out a dull glow coming from the piercing eyes glaring in my direction from under the man's black hood. It felt as though his stare could cut me in half. By now I was too aware of how slowly the time was moving and how vulnerable I must seem in such a hurry with so many things preoccupying my hands. I began to shuffle my feet nervously and grip the straps of my bags tighter. My eyes darted to the clock, the mysterious stranger, and then the nearest exit repeating this pattern more times than I could count. I knew I couldn’t run, I had nowhere to go and no time to wait for another train. My mother was poor and sick and needed these groceries and the medicine I had picked up only minutes before running my way into this predicament. I found my thoughts drifting as I locked eyes with the man. There suddenly was a rumbling moving through the heels of my feet that rattled the key-chains connected to my bag, startling me to notice the train was quickly approaching. This notified me that I would have to find a way past this wall of a man.

As the light from the train rounded the corner, my eyes darted swiftly back to the man and noted the sleek, black line of ink spreading from under his right eye down his cheek and under the collar of his blank, torn black hoodie. He removed his hands from his pockets and just before the doors to the train opened I saw a glint of light reflect off of something in his hand. Something metal, I concluded as I took swift steps in a wide arch to reach the doors of the train as they opened for me, hopefully welcoming me to their grimy state and the undeniable safety of other people. My heels clicked loudly in my ears as my breathing became labored and I could feel the bread in my grocery bag slowly mushing between the tightened grip of my freezing fingertips. Just as I approached the door to the train I heard a loud ring and they opened for me, welcoming me to the few straggling, tired people occupying the area. Then, suddenly, I felt a rough, calloused hand wrap around my delicate wrist, pulling me roughly backwards. I gasped harshly and spun around only to be face to face with the man himself. His hood was down and his long, blonde hair stood out in the dim train light and my eyes went wide as I felt something cold and metallic be pressed harshly into my palm.

“It all starts now.” The man said in a gruff, tense voice as he released my wrist and pushed me harshly through the now closing train doors. I looked down as I saw his hood quickly fly back over his head and his body seemingly disappear into the shadows. My eyes darted down to the object in my grip and in my hand sat a dagger. A small and intricate dagger that was sharp enough that just from my rough grip a small line of blood from my palm was now sitting upon its blade. I noticed an engraving on the hilt of the blade, the same words the strange man had uttered to me before and got lost in thought while looking at the way my reflection was looking back at me in the polished silver metal shining in my hand. DING! Suddenly, we were stopping again and my mothers face flashed in my mind as I cursed to myself lowly and slipped the blade into the pocket of my bag while rushing to my mothers. Sadly, now I was late and unable to rid myself of the curiosity handed to me just moments prior.

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All I could hear over the bustling traffic while crossing the street to my mother’s tiny, antique apartment was the deep thrumming of my own heightened heartbeat and the sound of my feet pounding on the pavement as I rushed, already late to bring my mother the things I had gotten from the store.

I slowed my pace as I approached the door and quickly began rummaging through my bag looking for the spare key. As I was continuing my search I allowed my thoughts to drift back to the man I had just encountered and the odd experience, wondering if the situation had even occurred or was just a figment of the imagination of my overworked and tired mind. As my hands fumbled around until they found the next pocket on my bag I bit my lip in anticipation of getting a glimpse of the strange dagger again. Once my hand felt the dagger, still lying on it’s side, gleaming in the dim blue-ish light of the streetlamp behind me I let out a breath of relief. I then realized the keys were lying with the dagger and quickly reached for them. As I finally grasped the cool metal key between my fingertips there was a sudden crash that sounded from inside the apartment. I whipped my head up at the unexpected commotion and rushed to get the door unlocked.

My hands shook as I turned the ornate silver handle. I took a few cautious steps into the house and called out to my mother. When there was no response I began moving more hastily, ducking my head into every doorway possible looking for my mother. I finally reached the living room last. My movements became more and more rushed the longer I couldn’t find my mother. That was, until I took my first few steps into the living room only to hear a sharp cracking noise come from under my feet. I quickly looked to the floor as I heard more scraping and crackling coming from the movement of my shoes. “Broken glass?” I questioned no one in particular, “What the hell?”

My eyes slowly trailed up the length of the floor in front of me as I noted that the whole floor was littered with broken glass. I called out for my mother as I quickly began to take hurried, albeit significantly lighter, steps forward until I noticed the large window, that used to rest peacefully on the far side of the room, shattered. All that was left of the once protection from the outside were a few dangling, cracked pieces of the weathered glass and the now torn white curtains flowing from the chilly breeze outside. I gasped and rushed to the window to inspect, but when I looked around there was nothing unusual to take in besides the window itself. I then turned to quickly search the room for what could have caused the shattering of the window or a clue as to where my sickly mother could be. It wasn’t until I found myself approaching my mother’s rocking chair that I really noticed something off.

There, on the old, worn wooden chair, slowly rocking in the wind, sat a fairly small eggshell white envelope with a blood red wax seal pressing it closed. I furrowed my brow as I reached out to examine it, but as I scanned the chair again in the closer proximity I noticed the small trail of bloody fingerprints, still wet. I gasped harshly and looked over my shoulder quickly before grabbing the envelope and turning to pull my phone out of my bag. I quickly searched for the right person’s contact and dialed. Pressing the phone to my ear, I swiftly did another sweep of the house to make sure there was nothing I missed and made a b-line for the front door. As I made it out of the house the person on the other end finally picked up.

“Seungmin! Thank you for picking up.” I breathed out, relieved. “I need you to come pick me up. Something’s happened.”

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An hour later I was seated at my favorite late night diner fiddling with the straw of my vanilla milkshake while Seungmin was tiredly rubbing his eyes talking to the grandmotherly waitress with the white hair and kind smile that had known us both since our first visit here around the age of six. Seungmin was still in his too large white t-shirt and blue and grey checkered pajama pants with more than averagely fluffy hair from being woken up after working a long shift this weekend. I had never seen Seungmin at work, but I knew whatever the job was it had to be tiring as he was always working long shifts at random hours and constantly had new bumps and bruises that he rarely ever told me about unless I asked. He said he does odd jobs for different contractors and I never had the heart seeing his too tired face to question it much.��

Because of the unknowns of his work and his constant sleeping when he was off, it had become mutually known that I wouldn’t be the one to contact him unless the situation is dire. On a normal occasion he would send me one text to let me know he was alive, I would respond asking if he needs groceries again, and his next message would be hours or days later once he had rested and received word of his next job to let me know when he was free to take me to lunch and then scurry off to at each new opportunity. However, recently those unprompted lunch dates have been slim to none, as have his days off, so he came quickly to my call, knowing it must be something extremely important if I would willingly ask him to be out of bed on a day off.

He smiled at me softly for a moment before turning to yawn into his hand while using his free one to make a small circular motion towards me that I interpreted as “go on, tell me what’s wrong.” At this, I sighed deeply and reached down by my ankle to grab my discarded bag. I pondered for a moment on telling him about the experience with the man at the subway station, but my pressing anxieties and worries about my mother spurred me to grab the letter, not the dagger, to hurriedly pull out. I flipped it over in my hands under the table for a moment while explaining what occurred at my mother’s house up until finding the chair. As I got to explaining what I found Seungmin was seemingly no longer tired and instead shoveling his food into his mouth swiftly while looking past me, seemingly in thought with the way his brows furrowed deeply. My gaze became more concerned as I raked my eyes over his face and I bit my lip as I pulled the envelope containing the letter out for him to see. As I handed it to him I noticed his hands were shaking and I assumed it was for the same reason as mine, out of worry for my mother. He swiftly opened the envelope and read the big bold letters printed there. Then, more surprisingly, his eyes drifted back to the envelope itself as he quickly drew it back towards his face before turning it over. Upon notice of the ornate wax seal that sat there he gasped and threw his hands down against the table, rattling the silverware and dishes loudly and jarring me out of my curious state, making me yelp softly. He then moved his gaze to bore into mine before saying something that left me further confused.

“We have to go. Now. They know where you are.” He said this soft and sternly, whipping his head around to see who else was in the diner. I don’t remember anyone but us entering or leaving. He grabbed my bag quickly, shoving the envelope inside before throwing some money onto the table, leaving a little extra tip (so kind even in such a panic, I noted). He then reached for my wrist and began to pull me towards the exit. In such a panicked and hurried state I didn’t dare defy him and only tried my best to keep up with his quick pace. However, the concern and rising uneasiness in my chest didn’t stop my head from turning ever so slightly to eye whoever might have been dining with us so late tonight. What I saw left me gasping harshly for air and stumbling over my feet to try and remain balanced.

Sitting there, staring right into my eyes, in the same outfit I had seen him in before was the man. The mysterious stranger. He sat silently with his black hood resting over his head twirling a blade much like the one lying in the beat up bag on Seungmin’s shoulder and as Seungmin was rounding the corner, with me in tow, I thought I had caught a flash of teeth, what could have been a grimace or a smile.

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#stray kids #skz #hyunjinau #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #seungmin #dangerous!au #mysterious stranger #straykids x reader #thrillerau #chapter 01 #erika posting again? never heard of her lol #my finger slipped oops

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kiseki-no-scenarios · 4 years

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could you do a scenario where gom+himuro go to the mall etc with their s/o and somehow they get separated for a while without the s/o noticing. suddenly s/he hears an announcement being made “attentionto ___, please pick up your child at the counter” and sees their bf being all pouty that s/he left him behind. I saw a tweet and was inspired! thank you so much :))

Pfft I laughed out loud at this request…I can totally see some of the GOM members just doing it to be petty! Hope you enjoy, anon!

Also some of these are a bit crack-ish…I feel like I’ve been writing some serious things lately so just needed to let go of some mischievous energy~

Reader being paged overhead to pick up GOM at the lost child station

Akashi

You loved going out shopping with Akashi, but your lover could be too much sometimes.

Akashi seemed to have difficulty understanding the concept of “window shopping”; if you even looked at someone for longer than a glance, he’d be ready to call the nearest store associate over to purchase said item.

That led to an awkward discussion in which you insisted that you really didn’t have any burning desire to purchase the item, and it was often hard to convince Akashi that no, you were not lying, and yes, you were being completely honest with him.

It still didn’t stop the fact that sometimes things would just “coincidentally” end up on your desk at school, little gifts that you knew were from a certain redhead.

Wanting to repay the favor, you watched him intensely during the current shopping trip, finally managing to escape away with an excuse about needing to use the restroom.

It was a bit harder to dodge the bodyguards, but a quick dart into the lingerie section took care of that, the sight of lace and negligee even a bit too much for the most stoic bodyguards to be brave enough to step through

You were picking out a lovely silk tie accompanied by a silver tie pin, just having retrieved it from the clerk after you purchased it when you heard it.

“Attention _____, please come pick up your child at the nearest security booth. Attention _____…”

You stomped over to the nearest security booth, apologies already prepared for the frazzled women that was glancing nervously between you and Akashi

Not even a hint of embarrassment betrayed Akashi’s face as he looked calmly over at you, his arms crossed in front of him.

“Seijuro, did you really need to do that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, _____.” Akashi stated, raising one perfect eyebrow at you. “You left me behind, and thus I employed an available resource to have us reunited.”

You wondered how much trouble you’d get in if you strangled Akashi instead with the new tie you had just bought.

Midorima

You’d left Midorima to his own devices at the bookstore, having picked out the necessary textbooks for the upcoming semester at school

You were browsing in the manga section, satiating your inner fujioshi as you ducked behind the displays, eagerly flipping through the new volumes available from your favorite manga artist

You’d never admit it, but one of the characters looked so much like your boyfriend, and was even a tsundere too!

It was hard to keep back your fan girlish squeals as you tucked the new releases into your shopping cart, knowing that it’d take Midorima a bit longer to finish browsing the study guides section

Your inner thirst momentarily sated, you walked up to your favorite clerk as you passed over the goodies, her face mirroring your smile as the two of you gushed over your findings

It was nice to find someone who understood, especially since you couldn’t ever imagine asking Midorima to discuss such books of such indecent nature with you

You could picture your carrot-kun in your mind saying that, but part of you wondered how adorable it’d be to see him blushing if you forced him to read the manga along with you…something you’d definitely have to consider in the future, of course

“Attention _____, your lost child is waiting for you at the security booth outside the bookstore. Attention _____…”

You quickly finish checking out, racing over with your books in hand as you come across one (1) blushing carrot and one (1) smirking, hawk-eyed basketball player

“Yo, _____-chan!” Takao waved. “I found Shin-chan for you!”

“Aww, Shin-tan, did you get lost?” You peer into Midorima’s eyes, laughing at the disgusted look on his face. “Don’t worry, I’m here now~”

“W-What nonsense, Takao simply dragged me here for no good reason!!” Midorima stuttered

You decided that it would be best to lead your green-haired boyfriend away, lest he be arrested for assault in the middle of the mall.

Aomine

“I wonder if they’ll pop if I stab them hard enough…” You muttered under your breath, sick and tired of the female staff that was hanging off of Aomine’s arm, her breasts pushed up directly against his arm in the middle of the store. There were no way that those things were real, with how perfectly round they looked…

You’d underestimated just how devoted Aomine was to lingerie, of all things. When you mentioned going shopping for some unmentionables during the weekend, he’d invited himself along. To give you an objective perspective, of course.

So why was it that he was surrounded by a gaggle of females, instead of being his usual perverted self and coming up to you with all sorts of scandalous suggestions??

Clearing your throat loudly, you stepped up to your boyfriend, gently (or at least you tried to bed) prying off the hands of the girl that was clinging to him like a barnacle.

“Excuse me, but I think we’ve got enough assistance here.” You used the most sugar sweet voice you could manage, taking Aomine’s hand and not even hiding the fact that you rested his palm against the swell of your breast. “Babe, help me find something in my size?” You asked innocently, peering up at Aomine through your lashes as you pushed your chest against his hand.

Your display of possession finally chased away the mean old biddies as you began pushing Aomine out the door, ignoring his protests. “Babe, cmon…”

“Jeez Daiki, you can at least pretend to not notice.” You pout, sitting him down outside the store. “Wait here while I go finish buying this stuff!”

You hadn’t even had a few moments to yourself when the announcement paged overhead, hearing your name being called out to pick up your….child…from the security booth.

Aomine had a shit-eating grin on his face when you marched up to him, huffing and puffing. “Sorry _____, I just couldn’t wait. Besides…”

You yelped as he grabbed you by your butt, pulling you in as he not-so-subtly grinded himself against your hip. “I have to pay you back for making you mad, hm? This is all for you, babe.”

Kise

You weren’t sure what you had been thinking when you thought that for once, the two of you could enjoy a nice, private, shopping trip to the mall.

It seemed like all of his fans were coming out of the woodwork, in droves as they lunged for your boyfriend, stopping him every moment for autographs and pictures.

You liked that Kise was kind to his fans, but sometimes, enough was enough.

You finally gave up after you were pushed to the side of the crowd, deciding to take a break to go through the newest magazines that had hit the shelves.

Grabbing the nearest one, you discovered an article on said boyfriend as you read it with interest, blushing a bit at the embarrassing pose he had on in the picture.

It was an article about love and relationships, and you read his answers to the interview questions eagerly. You couldn’t help but smile fondly at the way he answered-your relationship couldn’t go public just yet, but it was obvious at least to your eyes that he was talking about you.

There was no need for you to feel insecure about your relationship with him, you thought. You were just about to put the magazine back on the rack when you heard your name being called overhead, asking you to pick up your child from the security office.

One quick checkout later, you were running to the stop when you came across a very familiar figure-even covered in hats, sunglasses, and wrapped up in scarfs like a mummy, you’d be able to recognize Kise anywhere.

“_____-cchi!!” Kise whined, tackling you right as you came into his sight. “Where were you?!?!”

“What are you wearing, Ryouta?!” You asked, quickly unwrapping the scarves that covered his face. “Aren’t you hot underneath all of that?!”

“But we finally had some time together, and I had to figure out something!” Kise replied, tears coming to his eyes as he latched onto you. “Sorry for making you jealous, _____-cchi!!!”

“I wasn’t jealous-“

“Wait, what is that?!” Kise grabbed the magazine out of your hand before you could react, before he turned to you with a pout. “_____-cchi! Do you like my picture more than me?!?! I’m the real thing!!!”

You couldn’t even blame the staff for calling Kise your child, with his crocodile tears and the way he was stubbornly clinging to you while you tried to calm the blonde-haired model down, assuring him that no, you were not going to leave him for a picture of him at a photoshoot.

Murasakibara

Big pouty baby here, 1000000%. When I first got the request, the first person that popped into my mind was our dear Murasakibara

You were visiting him in Akita for the weekend, but the rest of the Yosen basketball team had all demanded to meet up with you too on the outing

Murasakibara was first able to be tamed with snacks as he watched you handing Okamura tissues, listening to him cry his heart out to you about his recent relationship troubles. Then you were scolding Fukui for being mean to Okamura. Liu had somehow started a conversation with you too, and you were busy trying to decipher his speech, while updating Himuro on Kagami’s latest news and how he was starting (just barely) to tolerate Nigou at practice.

Even his coach had gotten involved, and Murasakibara had pouted when you agreed to meet with her for sushi, the two of you forming a bond over how to deal with Murasakibara whenever he got too spoiled or was acting up.

Finally having enough, Murasakibara walked away, crunching the bag of potato chips in his hands. I’m going to crush them all…how dare they take all of _____-chin’s time…

You had just managed to get Okamura to stop crying when you heard your name being called overhead, your brow furrowing in confusion at the odd announcement.

It wasn’t until you were looking around and hearing Himuro commenting about how Murasakibara had wandered off that you’d run over to the security booth, meeting with one very pouty, very upset purple-haired titan.

“I definitely don’t recall giving birth to someone so large, Atsushi.” You commented, tilting your head as you tried to coax Murasakbara into bending down so you could pat his head. “What’s wrong?”

Murasakibara only huffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest as his purple locks hid his face. “Not fair…Not fair, _____-chin. I thought I was important to you.”

“You are, Atsushi!”

“But you’re not paying attention to me.” You couldn’t help but giggle at Murasakibara’s childish whine, his cheeks puffing up as he full on pouted. “_____-chin is mine, and I’ll crush anyone else.”

“Atsu-channnn.” You hugged Murasakibara around his waist, peering up at him as you rubbed your face against his arms. “You’re so cute, and I love you~ I promise to make all your favorites tonight, okay?”

Himuro

Definitely just gets lost because pretty boy has absolutely no sense of direction at all

One moment he was following along with you, just happy to listen to you chattering on as you led him through the mall

But he’d gotten distracted for a moment, catching sight of a pretty necklace in the window of a jewelry store

It’d look nice against your skin, Himuro thought, but when he turned around to catch your attention, he blinked when he realized you were gone.

Himuro walked a bit more, but realized that all it was doing was making him more confused as he circled around the same area twice, looking absolutely lost.

He’d been standing in the same area for several moments, pretending that he knew what he was doing, staring at the map of the mall posted on a kiosk in the center of the hall when a passing security guard finally stopped to ask if he needed help

Himuro felt embarrassed as he admitted the situation that he’d found himself in, and he covered half his face with the palm of his hand as the announcement played overhead, asking for you to pick up your child in front of the security booth.

“Tatsuya, you had me so worried!!”

Himuro apologized profusely to you as he saw the beads of sweat on your forehead. “_____, why are you so sweaty…?”

“Because I was looking for you, silly!” You stuck your tongue out at your boyfriend as you flicked him in the forehead, ignoring his soft “ow” that left his lips. “You have a phone, don’t you?”

Himuro had indeed totally forgotten that he did have a cell phone on him.

“Cellular mobile devices are helpful for contacting someone when you can’t find them, in case you didn’t know.” You lectured him, and even though he was being scolded, Himuro couldn’t help but think you were so adorable, the way your cheeks were puffed up like a squirrel.

“Sorry, sorry.” Pulling you close, he kissed you on the forehead, ignoring your protests that you were super sweaty and gross. “Thanks for finding me, _____. I’ll make sure to hold onto your hand tight the next time so I don’t get lost, okay?”

---

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

We feast on time as time feasts on us

Warnings: sexy sex, existential shit, death, blood, general darkness.

This is dark(vampire)!Bucky Barnes and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader meets a mysterious stranger.

Note: Okay, so this if probably the only vampire fic I’ll ever write because it’s not really my ish but I hope y’all enjoy. I found it very interesting to write. Love y’all.

Anyway :) Please like, reply, and/or reblog if you read.

Neons lights flashed in a kaleidoscope before your eyes. The red glare against your plastic cup of vodka burned your retina as you stared into its depth. Another two gulps; one if you could stomach it. You were ready to leave. Had been since you arrived.

You looked across the dance floor. Amanda danced among the crush of sweaty, drunk bodies, her ass snug against the crotch of her suitor du jour. You took a drink and sighed. Hours ago, you were set for a night of reading and tea. Her phone call had crushed your hopes of a quiet night in. Her pleas echoed in your head; I can’t go alone. Come on! Maybe you’ll meet someone too. You always were a great wingwoman.

Pfft. You didn’t belong in nightclubs and bars. You hated them. They stank of desperation; of sadness and self-destruction. The regulars who came to drown the insecurities, the lonely singles who drank until they could bear the touch of another, the college kids who didn’t know any better.

You sank your problems in the pages of novels; forgot them for the fictional plight of those worse off. Alone. Without witness to your surrender. That innate escapism that saw the passing of time without notice. The want to splendour in life but the cowardice denial of its eventual and all-consuming end. The detachment and the disillusion; a horrid disorientation of mind and body.

You spread your fingers over your cheek as you thought. As you watched Amanda’s long blonde hair swirl in the air, her body gyrating to the beat of sex in the air. Her short skirt rode up her thigh as her partner’s hand crawled beneath and you wondered how she had braved the late-autumn chill. Your plain jeans and turtleneck were much more practical; plainer. They helped you hide among the crowd of watchful strangers.

You finished your vodka and tapped your fingernail noisily against the side. The hollow plonks were muted by the pumping speakers. You should tell her you were leaving. If you had any sense of integrity, you’d stay and make sure she wasn’t grinding on the second coming of Bundy. You sighed and sighed again. Shit.

This was Paris all over again. A girls’ trip to the most romantic capital on earth. Who knew the French had such a loose concept of romance? That night you spent in the bed of a strange man. You kept a pillow between you; warned him not to touch you. You were there to make sure she was safe, not to fuck another hanger-on. You heard her drunken moans, the squeak of the bed, the heady breaths. You didn’t sleep and in the morning you rode the bus silently back to your hotel as she slumped over in her hangover. The other girls were asleep. You should have gone with them.

“Want another?” The voice scared you. Low, yet firm enough to cut through the bass. You looked to the man and back to your empty cup. You shook your head and returned to your bitter voyeurism. “Dance?”

You shook your head again and glanced over at the stranger. He was handsome. The type Amanda would gush over. Dark hair, chiseled jaw, modelish cheekbones, and deep blue eyes. Those eyes. They looked back at you, reflected you, the pupils dark pools, unknown and knowing. As if they saw right through you. You blinked and ran your thumb along the rim of the cup.

“Heh, good. Not much of a dancer myself.” He replied easily. He spoke as if he knew you. Did he? Surely you’d remember him.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” You asked.

“No, I just...you looked bored. Lonely.” He shrugged. “I’m James.”

“James,” You repeated and searched out Amanda in the crowd. The man’s hand was entirely up her skirt now, their mouths joined in a sloppy kiss. You grimaced.

“And you?” He urged.

“Look, no offense, but I’m not interested, okay? I only came here for a friend.” You had to yell over the music.

“Interested? In what? I’m just talking to you.”

“Not really a good place to talk.” You countered.

“Suppose you’re right. It’s quieter in the barroom.” He offered.

“There’s about a dozen other girls in here who’d love a drink, dude. They’re not hard to find.”

“So...you’re gonna spend your whole night against the wall? Watching her have all the fun?” He wondered.

You looked at him once more. You chewed your lip. “And you’ve been watching me?”

“I noticed you. Noticed the only girl who didn’t wanna be noticed.” He said. “Fuck the drink. I’ll settle for your name.”

Your eyes fell to the sticky floor. You peeled your heel away from it and lifted your head. You gave him your name. “Happy?” You asked.

“Mostly,” He answered. His gaze was cryptic, his answer more so. “You?”

“You mean...right now or in general?”

He scoffed and grinned. “Any fool can see you hate this place. You resent it. Resent all that it represents. A microcosm of human error. Human weakness. Time wasted together and yet they’re all still alone. As we all are. As we will always be.”

You raised a brow. “Wow, are you always the life of the party or do you save these little speeches for the lulls?”

He laughed again. “It’s written all over your face, you know that? You wonder why no one comes up to you like they do her. It’s not the blond hair, it’s not the clothes, what’s beneath, it has nothing to do with her. It’s all you.”

The last word hung in the air and you frowned. His words were unnerving but you couldn’t deny them. Couldn’t deny that you’d been thinking it all. But despite their truth, their blatant, suffocating truth, they hurt. They riled you. Angered you.

“What do you know?” You asked.

“Not much, I admit. I don’t presume to know you, but I can see you.” He replied and his lips curled just slightly. You stayed silent and watched the lights reflecting along the clear walls of your cup. “So...you want that drink?”

“No, thank you,” You fixed your purse on your shoulder. “I appreciate the philosophy lesson but I’m still not interested.”

“Very well,” He leaned against the wall, one foot flat against the painted brick. He was unbothered by your denial. “Hope your night treats you well.”

“Yeah.” You answered dumbly.

He watched you with placid eyes. Passive yet they clung to you; the flick of your lashes as you blinked, the twitch in your cheek, the confused pout of your lips. You turned and walked away. His gaze lingered after you. You could feel it. You wanted to flee from it but all the same longed to drown in it.

You set your empty cup on a table covered in bottles. You pushed through the bodies that writhed like snakes over a fire. The swell of people was hot and the sweat beaded on your neck. Amanda’s blonde hair whipped your nose as you neared and you touched her elbow. She looked over her shoulder at you and smiled. He lip gloss was smeared and her mascara was clumping.

“Hey, you’re still here?” She asked.

“Still here.” You repeated dully.

“I thought--Well, me and Ryan...er, Riley? We’re going to leave soon, so--” She trilled as his hand squeezed her ass and she turned back to stain his mouth with more of her lip gloss before she turned back. “You can get out of here, if you want?”

You nodded. Annoyed. You’d come out as her wingwoman; more so, in line with the buddy rule. Safety in numbers. “I don’t know, Amanda, you--”

“It’s fine,” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, mom?”

“Right. Well, text me to let me know you’re still alive in the morning.” You hissed. “But don’t bother after that.”

You spun and elbowed your way to the edge of the dance floor. You tugged your purse back around to rest against your hip and peeked over at the wall. He was gone. You glanced back at the dance floor. You couldn’t see much through the crowd. Not even Amanda in all her glory. You shrugged and headed for the door.

Outside, the air was frigid. Biting. You shivered as you pulled on your jacket and headed down the sidewalk. Close enough to walk. Cheaper, too. Your flat heels scuffed against the pavement as you left the bouncer to argue with the slurring clubgoer. Their voices faded as you rounded the corner and tucked your chilly fingers into your pockets.

The street lights lit your way in their artificial gleam. The moon was a sliver; the sky dark. The clouds wove together across the gossamer quilt. You stared up into the void. There were no stars. They’d drowned in the black water.

The third street light flickered. A crackle before dimming to a low amber. You looked behind you. Darkness pooled in the alleyways and deep into the cracks along the sidewalk. A spiderweb of blackness followed you, limned but not dissolved by the lights above. It was much colder than before. A different kind of cold. The kind you feel in your bones. That makes your veins ache and throb. Your head fills with it and threatens to split.

And then it wasn’t. The yellow light turned harsh and the clouds shifted over the moon. The slit of silver glowed and the sidewalk stood pale and sturdy beneath your soles. You turned forward, your feet carried you on instinct, on the spark of nerves which told you to go. Against the distant, inaudible voice which beckoned you to stay. That which could never be heard by ear but that rose from your chest and nestled in your head. A voice not your own and yet it was there inside of you. The unknown. The knowing.

You sped up and exhaled loudly, gleefully as you reached the bottom step of your building. You didn’t dare look back. No this time. You ran up the stairs and pushed through the barred door.

Draw the blinds, lock the window, pull the blankets over your head, hide. Hide and don’t come out. It was another voice. That one which bid you against your darker thoughts. The one that never left. You own. Not the other. The other one didn’t belong. It wasn’t yours. The other one was quiet now.

You were weak. And Amanda had her ways. She could always convince you. Whittle you down until there was nothing left. You didn’t stay mad at her long. A coffee date and several texts and you were back to old habits. Running from the old fear that you’d always be alone. Friendless without her.

Friday. Your apartment was quiet. You watched the same show you always watched on Netflix as you looked through your dresser with distaste. Why had you done it again? Agreed to go with her when you knew you wouldn’t leave with her.

It was long enough that your irritation had dwindled. Your anger was an afterthought. As always, you forgot how she ditched you. How you resented it. Her blond hair and short skirts. You took out a pair of maroon jeans and a black shirt with a wide neckline. Low-heeled boots. Casual. As if you didn’t give a fuck. You did.

You met her at a bar. You had a cocktail and left. There was a party. A friend of hers from college. One of those girls you never cared much for. People your own age; a small affair. Weren’t you a little too old for house parties? You barely felt young enough for the clubs. Teetering on the line of chasing your youth; not quite old enough to bear a second look.

It was a duplex. The windows glowed and the music bounced against the glass. You walked up the stoop and knocked. Amanda let you in herself. She led you past the narrow hallway, your jackets hung with the rest on the rack. A crooked hat made it seem like a person peeking into the next room.

The buzz of voice mixed with the blare of the bluetooth speaker. There were two couches over-crowded with bodies. A few others stood in the kitchen, just visible through the broad archway. They gathered round the island and feasted on the spread of chips, dip, and assorted cheeses. A lot of people in one house. The heat built as the window was cracked just an inch to let in a winter breeze.

Snow hadn’t come yet. The mornings saw frosty grass and the cloud of your own breath on your lips. The shivering wait for the city bus. The chuff of hot exhaust into the brisk air. As suffocating as this overpacked room.

Amanda parted from you. Her voice rose above the flurry and she threw her arms around a girl she called Claire. You made to follow but stopped in the middle of the room. You’d go and stand by her elbow. She’d gab and gab until she remembered you. Then she’d find the grace to introduce you. They’d forget your name as quickly as they forgot your presence. Amanda would leave your existence in the bottom of her glass.

You went the other way. Grabbed a can from the cooler. The ice was mostly melted and the water dripped over your fingers and wetted your sleeve. You watched Amanda. Men appeared around her as they always did. They merely awaited her arrival at these things. They flocked to her. Their shepard with her long legs and bubbly voice.

You cracked the can and drank the hoppy brew. Local. Overpriced. You crossed an arm over your middle and looked around. You laughed at yourself. Life happened in cycles. Patterns. When you thought you were past something, it inevitably rose again. Slightly different, but the same. You’d spend your years against the wall watching another take the spotlight. So it goes. Over and over again.

“There’s vodka on the counter,” The voice spooked you. Not for its unexpected timbre, but because of its familiarity. You recognized it in a syllable. The finely sculpted face flashed in your mind before it was confirmed by your eyes. You remembered his name. James. You remembered his eyes; their depth; their unspoken promise.

“Beer’s fine,” You said stiffly. “Thanks.”

“Small world,” He replied.

“Must be,” You agreed and took a swig. “Or maybe I’m just running in circles. Chasing my tail.”

“Maybe,” He echoed. “So...what brings you here?”

“Amanda--”

“Sure, you follow her around like a lost puppy, but you’re not just here for her. You don’t let her drag her along just because you’re her friend...don’t seem friends to me.”

“What do you know?” You challenged.

“If you weren’t here, where would you be?” He diverted you. “Hmm? Alone?”

“I’m alone here too.” You said.

“Sure...but you watch. You judge. You see the vanity. The desperation. The denial. None of them know what they want so they reach for anything. A bottle, a body, it doesn’t matter.” His voice floated above the din but only you could hear him. “So I guess you come because you don’t want to be alone and even a room of strangers is preferable to a solitary apartment.”

You squinted at him. You took a long drink from the can. You wanted to deny it. He was like some cursed prophesier. You didn’t believe in that shit. Mediums and con artists. “Mmhmm, so why are you here then? You lonely?”

“I’m here to watch. Like you.” He said. “But you’re the only one I’ve found interesting enough to watch for more than a second.”

You tilted your head. You weighed the can in your hand. Half-done. You chuckled darkly. “You’ve got some odd pick-up lines, you know that?”

He laughed too. Light, amused, but something more treacherous beneath. A sardonic trill. “Lines are for plays.” He returned. “And as much as this whole affair is a charade for the lonely, I’m not playing at that.”

“You sound like a poet.” You mused and sipped from the wheaty beer. “Like an artist trying to explain the placement of a stroke he can’t admit was a mistake.”

“Come outside with me. It’s hot in here.” He turned and leaned his arm against the wall. “Easier to hear you out there.”

You considered him and the others in the room. Amanda was doing shots with Claire and her circle of courters. The call for another round chimed and you retired your unfinished beer on an end table. “Okay. Only for a moment. It’s frigid.”

“Grab your coat,” He advised as he waved you across the room. “It’s not so bad once you’re in it.”

He followed you. You took your coat and he found his. He didn’t button it but you zipped yours to your chin. You stepped out into the brisk air. It cooled the sweat on your neck and you tucked your hands in your pockets. He didn’t flinch.

He sat on the top step. You stood just behind him. He looked up at the moon. It was thicker tonight. Almost half. The stars twinkled down at you. Distant. Specks in the tapestry. You slowly lowered yourself beside him and looked up at the sky.

“Did you forget me?” He asked. You stared at the cratered moon. You hadn’t forgotten yet you hadn’t thought of him specifically. Hadn’t thought of the night. The eerie shadows that had followed you home. When daylight came, it had just seeped away.

“No. Did you forget me?” You wondered. Daring at playfulness.

“How could I?” He looked at you. You tore your eyes from the silver beacon. “I’ve never been one for luck, fate, or anything like that, but… I think we’ve run into each other for a reason.”

“Sounds like fate to me,” You scoffed.

“Well, I mean...sometimes things happen by chance and we give them reason. I think this could all have a pretty good reason. Don’t you?”

“A romantic?” You jibed.

“A realist.” He sighed. “Hoping to forget reality for a moment.”

“Do you know Claire?” You asked.

“Sure.” He said and clasped his hands together. “These things, we all know this person or that person.”

“Ah,” You nodded. “So I’m not the only one who was dragged here then?”

He chuckled. “She’s going to go home with the tall one. You know, the one with the blonde hair. Played football in college, but now he’s stuck at a marketing firm so he sells himself after work to the best looking woman in the room. It will be drunken, disappointing. And even if it is decent, neither of them will remember in the morning.”

“I was mistaken.” You intoned. “You’re an awful cynic.”

“We tend to root each other out, don’t we? To share our black visions with those who will listen.”

“There you go again. The poet.” You chided.

“So…” He leaned back, his hand just behind you on the porch as he looked over at you. “You gonna wait til she shoos you away for the ken doll or you wanna hit the road?”

“I--” You paused. Startled. He was asking you to leave with him. Not because his pal was hooking up with Amanda but because he was genuinely interested. At least, he seemed to be. “I can’t just go without telling her.”

“Then tell her and we’ll go.” He said cooly.

“Where?” You shivered but you shrugged it off as nothing more than an omen of the coming winter.

“For a walk, if you like. To yours or mine. To Rome.” He replied. “Wherever you like.”

You stared at him. His blue eyes were earnest. They drew you in, his lips beckoned you closer, his voice hung all around you. You smiled.

“I’ll tell her.” You stood before the urge to kiss him overwhelmed you. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” He assured you as you grabbed the door handle.

You just walked at first. Talking. Staring into the moonlight. The silences were full; unnoticed as his presence eased the usual nerves. Something about him. So certain. The unknown and knowing.

And he asked if you’d like to go to his place. No pressure, no expectation. Only knowing. You both knew you’d say yes. When you did, nothing changed. The moon beamed brightly down and the stars winked down at you. He led you down the winding trail to the backstreet. A house on the corner. Old but not rundown. Well-kept. A perfectly preserved artifact

Inside it was cold. He stoked the victorian fireplace. The lights of a similar fashion. The bulbs pointed and clouded. You sat on the sofa and he sat too. Offered you a drink but you refused. The nerves in your stomach protested by the voice in your head insisted. The ounce of doubt kept you sober.

You didn’t sit long. You kissed him as he soliloquised the vices of the city. He kissed you back. Leaned on you until you laid across the cushions. He was a top you; hand on your hip, mouth ravenous yet reticent. You were out of breath as he drew away. He sat up, a hand on your thigh.

“Come on,” He turned his palm up. You took it. Said nothing. Nothing need be said.

You undressed clumsily in the bedroom. Was this how Amanda felt? This rush? The way your flesh tingled and your entire being felt on fire as you bared yourself to a stranger. He was naked when you freed yourself entirely. You nearly tripped on your panties as they hooked around your feet. He sat at the foot of the bed. Waiting. Knowing.

You climbed up in his lap. Straddled him beneath you as you drew his lips to yours. His tongue was sweet. He kissed you hungrily. He grasped your hips as if he longed to tear the flesh with his nails. His skin was firm against you; cold. You didn’t realize how cold as the fire filled your veins.

He fell back and took you with him. You slipped over him, your breasts in his face as he squeezed your thighs. He purred and nibbled at your tits. He toyed with your nipple, his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, and you moaned. His touch was measured. Deliberate. He was holding back but you didn’t care. It was enough. Enough to set your being alight.

He turned you over so your beneath him. His hands explored every inch of flesh. Felt for the warmth, rested over your heart and it was as if he is listening. To your body. To your desire. The steady beating grew faster and faster. He bowed his head and kissed your neck. He dragged his teeth along your throat. A gentle kiss, then he pulled away.

His hand moved lower. Travelling along chest, stomach, and the glorious vee of your figure. He dipped his fingers between your folds. He found the prize there. He drew tender circles around your bud, faster, faster, until his touch rippled through you. You heaved and moaned. Hissed and hollered. He watched you cum. The ecstasy that stretched your lip in a precious oh. The carnal baring of your teeth.

He moved between your legs. He admired the wetness on his fingers. Tasted it. His pupils dilated. His eyes were dark. Almost entirely black. You’re dazed, breathless. You didn’t notice that they were. That he had the eyes of a beast. That the hunger within him was just as deep.

He wrapped your legs around him. He caressed your thigh as he lined himself up with your entrance. His nostrils flared. He was entranced. The lion closing in on his prey. He was going to eat you up. Every inch of you. Devour all of you.

He entered you. You shuddered. He sunk in until you had all of him. His hands were at your waist, his nails dug into your sides. The blood rose around them, sunk into his cuticles, but you didn’t notice. He moved slowly. He was taking the measure of you. Watching you. Your fingers wrapped around his wrists as he held you down. You panted. His breath was steady, if there at all.

It was a heaven so sweet it’s frightening. The way he made you feel. A sickening delight. Your walls clung to him and you writhed and wailed. A little more. A little faster. He fucked you so hard your body ached and yet it called for him. For more.

His hands moved again. He leaned over you as he rutted deeper. An animal in heat. This wasn’t love, it was pure fucking. You’d never been touched like this. Consumed like this. You looked up at him. The lines of his face were angelic, finely crafted for the eye. But the shadows that washed over him, the hunger that paled his features, that wass darkness indeed. A want so deep it left nothing else.

You squeezed him between your legs. Looped them around him as you begged for more and he gave you what he will. Not everything, but enough. You were sweating but his body was cold. He moved against you easily and he cradled your face in his hands.

His eyes bore into yours as you came. He watched intently. His eyes were black. Your heart raced faster and faster. He fucked you almost in tandem. You were cumming still. His hand wrapped around your neck and you came in a shrill song. He didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until you’re spent. Weak, breathless, stunned. He came too. A grunt and he fell away from you.

You closed your eyes and touched your chest. Your heart hammered against your palm. His large hand was on yours as he wiggled close to you. He was so cold and you were so hot. You wanted to roll away from him as he pressed himself against you.

He slipped his arm around your head and his lips were on your throat. His nose tickled the skin there and he spoke. Quietly. His voice crawled along your neck and up your jaw and into your ear. You listened. His voice was hypnotic.

“I know why you watch. You watch everything. Count everything. Seconds, minutes, hours. You are lost. Lost in the endless march of time. You wonder why it must go so quickly. Why it all must pass so meaninglessly. And you’re scared.” Your eyes were wide. Terrified. The truth was paralyzing. “You see the way others can let it flit by so easily. How they can let themselves be swept up in the tides of life and death. And you’re alone.

“Alone because they can never understand. The fear. The constant plucking at the back of your brain. The torture of your own mortality bearing down on you as you struggle beneath it. Weighed down by doubt. Running from the call of the soil as it bids you back to its embrace.”

He lifted his head. His eyes. His eyes were terrible. Terrible and black and endless. The unknown. He smiled. His teeth were sharp and white. So bright and flawless.

“You’re afraid now. But you don’t have to be. The dirt can be washed away and time will be but a puddle at your toes.” His nose touched your cheek, his teeth grazed your skin. You shivered. “You can have it all. You can have forever. All you need to do is ask.”

“Ask?” You whispered. He’s right, you are afraid. “If I don’t, you will do it anyway.”

“No, no,” He insisted. “I cannot if you do not ask. A gift such as this is not given easily.”

“I...I…” You sputtered. “I don’t want to die.”

“And you won’t. You will live a life without end. A life of freedom. A life beyond the vapid parties and mindless dance clubs. A life above theirs. Above the one you live now. All you have to do is--”

“Please,” You gasped. Surprised by your own voice. It bubbled up so suddenly and so intently that you couldn’t stop it. The fear welled up in your chest and he slipped his hand beneath yours. He felt the beat. “Please. I’m so...lost. I need...Please, do it. Do it. Take the fear away.”

He lowered his head and his lips were on your neck. Soft, gentle. And suddenly a prick. A stab so painful you cried out. You felt the blood pulsing through your veins, your heart beat spiked and then slowed. The life drained from you as he drank it up. His mouth slurped sickeningly at your flesh and the world started to turn grey.

He sat back. His teeth, his lips, his chin, dripped with your blood. You couldn’t move. He licked away the mess with his tongue and your eyes closed slowly. The grey deepened to black and you let out a final gurgle. You were dead. He killed you. The fear had come to be.

You awoke. The room was dark. He slept beside you. He was on his back His chest did not rise or fall. No snores, no soft breathing. Your head ached, your neck too. You touched it but there was no bite mark, no torn flesh.

You pushed yourself up. Your arms shook. You had no strength. You tried to stand and fell. You dragged yourself across the cold floor. The wood was smooth and polished. Your clothes were no longer strewn on the floor. They were folded neatly in a chair. Your phone sat on top. You reached up and grabbed it and slid back onto the floor.

You hit the button and the screen lit up. You squinted. The light hurt. You dropped it in shock. Two days. Two days since you went to that party. Since he had…

You felt horribly empty. You groaned. You closed your eyes. You felt his touch. Not so cold now. You opened your eyes and he was beside you. You stared at him. You were not afraid anymore, but what replaced the fear was worse.

“And there is a price to immortality.” He lifted you and took you back to the bed. He laid you down and stretched out next to you. “The thirst is most obvious. The need. The visceral hunger inspired by the rich drops of blood. The warmth as it streams down your throat.”

He took your hand.

“And time is still the villain. And no longer are we afraid of our own deaths but the demise of those around us. Until we cease to care about them. Until connection is no longer desired for fear of loss. For we are not human but we still feel our human emotions. They are stronger, deeper.

“And so we’re alone. Again. Stood alone at the party, watching as they all go carelessly about their doom.”

“Why…”

“You asked.”

“You didn’t--”

“The loneliness is as unbearable as before. So you find another. Another watching along the wall and you need her. A companion. To share the time, the pain, the inexorable toll of death around you and by your hand. And you trade her humanity for your own need. Your own hunger. Not the thirst for blood, but for another. Any. To keep you company in the hell you once begged for.”

“You...you…” You croaked.

“Shh, you will not be alone, though. As you are mine now, I am yours. And in serving me, you will serve yourself.” He moved closer. Your cold bodies against each other. His arm was a snake as it constricted around your waist. “And eternity is not so bad as death so long as we have another to share it with.”

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #vampire!bucky barnes #vampire!au #vampire #au #fic #one shot #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #mcu #marvel #captain america

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iraniq · 4 years

Text

All the Time

Fandom: Star Wars

* characters belong to Disney * * Millicent the cat belongs to Pablo Hidalgo *

p.s. i started writin is as a joke, from a fun conversation with my bff/sis, but now is huge, and I am posting this xD

Staring: Me as the main persona + bonus guest star in chapter 2

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chapter 1

Being in an arranged marriage was bad enough already, meaning whatever was left of our royal side was gone long time ago... I was gonna marry a politician to prevent ongoing civil war to turn into a slaughter of my people.

He was middle aged, fat, nasty man... Rotting in his soul... But that was the way! I was doing this for my people. I had accepted my fate... Till that day came...

The big ship in the sky... They reminded me of the Stardestroyers from the past, but weren't. That was the First Order. They had come.

Me, as an owner of the title "princess" only by the respect for my family, had to be there at the first meeting. So was my betrothed. Such an abhorrent creature.

We only saw an elderly man with gray hair, pissed at the world, a younger one walking behind him, obviously displeased with us all, and several white armored ones. Dora, my maid, yelled almost falling to her knees. The Sun Child!

She came from a small moon nearby our planet, where ginger people were considered emissaries of God.

It has been 4 days since we saw them again. The big ship was in the sky, only smaller ones come and go, and most of our politicians were in the big city hall, negotiating.

Tonight our new "friends" were invited to celebrate the Last Summer Day. We celebrated the last days of the summer sun as life giving, now the sun would be an observer, old saying goes, if you wish upon the midday sun and the sunset is orange red, your wish will be granted.

Dora's people came, over floating not as usual for the Sun, but to see the ginger commander. Who wasn't fond of the attention, or the people at all, and after the required toasts left for good.

I tried not to pay much attention to them. Their presence made me uneasy, and quite anxious.

The next day at lunch, my parents were asked to meet with our guests. Dora was way too odd, holding my hand all day, when I finally asked her what's all about she explained.

- You don't know my Lady, yesterday morning the First Order generals were finally getting your planet to sign with them, the politicians and the royals agreed. But last night when drunk your husband...

- He is not my husband! - I protested and got off the couch. Dora cleared her throat and continued.

- He got killed.

- What?

- Yes, what I heard was, that he said something, disrespectful, or offending, and they killed him.

- That's...

- I am so sorry my Lady... - Dora offered me a hug.

- That's amazing! - I yelled. - I don't have to marry that gross old man now! - I clapped my hands, but Dora's face was still sad.

- What is it? What do you know?

- You will instead, marry the General...

I said nothing. Just ran off.

Cried all night, with no luck. My faith has just gotten worse. Married to the nasty politician I was gonna be still home and respected by my people.... There on that ship, where I assume I'd be taken. I would be just a girl, they took, as a bonus to the contract they just made.

Two days later, that I spend trying not to cry, because I had to maintain a happy face for the wedding, as my social status required, my heart was beyond broken. I knew what kind of a person the politician was, was told how to maintain his anger outbursts, knew when to not engage a conversation at all. Even knew what his favorite dish was. Now, this unknown General, might be anyone, and by the looks of him, he will totally be cruel one.

Dora had requested to come with me after I go to the ship. She was 7 years older than me, and was my maid, and a dear friend since I was a child. She refused to leave my side. So at least I'd have her!

The old caste throne room was decorated in silver, and the autumn blooming roses on the walls gave it a magical touch. I could barely see my yet another horrible future husband. Standing there in the distance, too military still, with hands behind his back and with these ridiculous pointy eared hats. I looked away, at my feet, of fear of tears.

When I arrived in front of him, he cleared his throat and through the bridal veil I saw he removed his leather gloves. He had these small gentle hands. The shock I felt, when upon raising my veil, I saw the ginger one standing in front of me. That caught me so off guard I actually smiled. He awkwardly mimicked me, and the wedding began. After the ceremony, we were at the old castle's garden halls to party.

I was too anxious around all people congratulating me, I was happy my already husband wasn't the old grandpa, but I still married a monster.

I excused myself and left in the gardens.

- May I join you? - carrot boy said, I nodded.

We waked in awkward silence for a while, then he spoke.

- I heard you planted most of the flowers here. - I nodded - Unusual for a princess.

- I am a princess only by respect, the last royal was my grandfather. We were still called such in his honor. Also I like gardening.

- They look good.

- Thank you.

- If I may ask, why is half the castle in ruins?

- You missed that info?

- We came to your plant with a work proposal, asking why the caste of the royal family is mostly ruins, didn't seemed as a nice conversation starter.

- True... – I smiled, but hurried to look away, so carrot boy won’t see me – The previous royals, not of our bloodline I'd like to note, were like slave owners, cruel and greedy. There was a civil war, they were killed. Half the population moved several cities south, made parliament and all, here monarchy stayed, and my granddad was a benevolent king. Now we are the face and the parliament rules. The castle is destroyed since back then. I was trying to make it look better with the flowers and all.

- Why is there an ongoing civil war then?

- Well … - I cleared my throat – Our people don’t care about the nature, polute a lot, this affects the South, they tried to reason, but not much happened.

- Now? After you did not marry anyone from the South, what will happen?

- I don’t know … - I looked away, I wasn’t ready to think about that now, I married a monster, and might not even managed to change a thing.

- You plant the ivy roses...

- Yes.

He nodded and that was as much as we spoke. He seemed to be way too prepared on that matter. I am guessing their work proposal involved a history lesson too.

Same night, we slept in the far sides of the huge bed. The only moment he touched me was when we were supposed to kiss, and we did, was so awkward, and when he helped me unbuttoning my dress. The rest of the time his hands were in gloves and he barely touched anything. I imagine the ships must be sterile. Otherwise they all will die of fly in days.

Early next morning my luggage was loaded in one of the shuttles and we left. The ship would be in the orbit of my planet several more hours, but I already missed home.

As I got the rather good surprise, I ain't wifing the old pervert rapist, carrot boy was quite pretty I can't lie, he was also a General and the ship that we would be in, was his to command. Dora was 2 steps behind me, as usual, my faithful shadow. I made her swear to me not to react on him, so she could stay. General Hux, as his name was, didn't want any attention at all. He was perfectionist workaholic, by his attitude towards me, I was guessing he wasn't ask consent about that marriage also. So I might be safe, as career was more important for him, than a family.

As we boarded the big cruiser and the shuttle door barely open I heard him speak over the door asking reports. One big silver solider and 2 white ones started talking one after another. They walked towards somewhere.

Me and Dora were escorted to his room and were noted not to walk around the ship on our own.

One pleasant surprise was that the carrot general had a carrot cat, big and fluffy. Her collar said "Millicent" and I befriended her rather fast. Dora almost fainted when I trashed his room, opening every drawer.

- Who folds their socks?

- My Lady... - she sat at the big leather canapé, and the cat jumped in her lap, asking attention.

- He is my husband now, I ain't doing anything wrong, also I just look... The OCD will smell it if I touch something, anyway. Do you want me to spray me one of his perfumes?

Dora almost fainted, my remark and the knock on the door finished her. My presence was asked. I let her in the room. She was too startled to go. So I was walked by the white armor.

I met my husband in a rather larger corridor. He nodded, so did I. No ridiculous pointy ear hat anymore. That's better. His hair was crazy carrot, slicked back, even his eyebrows were orange and his eyelashes. The light was going through and from a specific angle looked like they were glowing. Now I know why Dora's people adore them so much.

I had seen a ginger person once, I was 10 and wasn't allowed to stay in.

A sudden loud thud was heard, the door on our right opened and a person walked out. A girl. Tall, skinny, long blond hair, wavy at the ends, emerald long green dress and black leather cape...ish thingy. She muttered something angrily and vanished.

After her another person went out. Definitely male, although he had a mask on his face. Large dressed all in black with a cape. General Hux introduced him as Lord Ren.

But who was the girl? Maybe, I wasn't the only one forced into marriage. Maybe, she could be my friend after all!

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@diyunho @lovermrjokerr @darthjokerisyourfather

#star wars #star wars fandom #star wars fanfic #the first order #general hux #armitage hux #millicent the cat #Kylo Ren

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vikingsagine · 4 years

Text

My Loyalty Is Yours (Ivar x Reader)

Hey, this one. I like it but its kinda long. Don’t know how long it is. but yerp. Love my cripple God Ivar the Boneless, kind of miss his ruthless behavior. Miss that psycho tang he had in season 5. Can’t wait for the finale. (Admire my beautiful crazy baby)

Summary : Reader is interrogated by Bjorn to why you were imprisoned instead of fighting for Ivar, the man you dedicated your life to. You are his right hand, his most trusted and most loyal.

Warning: Violence. Mentions of rape. Pretty sad. Death.

“Why are you still here?” Gruff and tough. You were on your knees, hands tied behind your back, body tattered and bruised from torture. Bjorn sat with pride on the dark throne, carved from maple oak wood, where not too long ago you were standing next to. Not sitting, not below but standing beside. Now, a bloody mess grovelling at the hands of another ruler. “Why were you imprisoned and not fighting for my brother?” He leaned forward, light silver-ish eyes boring into yours with such dominant demeanour, it reminded you of a hunter looking down on its prey.

“It’s good to see you too, Bjorn Ironside.” Your voice was dry from the long days of imprisonment. The lack of food and water and rest. Your lips curved upwards smugly and spat the blood that kissed your teeth. Pushing yourself into a comfortable position, you spread your legs forward and slumped against the man standing behind you. A grunt leaving your lips. “I’m surprised to see you but, somewhat...happy.”

“Enough.” You knew Bjorn Ironside, you knew his brothers, Ubba, Hviserk, Singurd and especially Ivar. After the disappearance of Ragnar Lothbrook, when all the boys were teenagers and older, you made an appearance. In fact, it was exactly in the same predicament you’re in now. On your knees, bleeding and at the mercy of the ruler of Kattegat. “Answer me woman or I swear by the Gods that I will not hesitate to kill you right here, right now.” Bjorn was impatient, his fists clenched and teeth seethed waiting for your response. Your excuse.

“It’s simple, I couldn’t do Ivar’s bidding anymore.” When you arrived in Kattegat many years ago, you had a purpose. A clear and meaningful reason for your living. It was to serve and protect Ivar from everything and anything. All your life before Kattegat and the sons of Ragnar, it was about survival and fulfilling the wishes of the Gods. The visions or dreams of a sort that haunted you every night, led you to Kattegat. “I betrayed him.” The words felt venomous like burning water poured down your throat. You could taste the metallic flavour of your own blood.

“Tch and how do you suppose I should believe what you say?” Bjorn scoffed, intrigued by your honest response. It was a private meeting, with only you, the King of Kattegat, Ubba and his wife and Lagertha. They all stared and listened intently.

“Bjorn’s right, (Y/N). We all know of your dedication towards my little brother. What reason is there for you to betray him even though, I recall, your purpose was to serve and protect him.” Ubba finally spoke, his striking blue orbs filled with conflict of pain but also righteousness. It wasn’t easy for him to see the girl he once thought as a little sister and a good friend, covered in different wounds that were dripping with blood and crusting from dirt and rotting flesh. You missed Ubba. His gentle and kind heart. You missed having his friendship, the days of endless drinking and dancing and fighting. “Does your loyalty change?”

“Ubba. My sweet and gentle Ubba.” The memory still seemed fresh yet so far away. The days where you’d share stories and laugh over a cup of ale as he tried to flirt with other women and as you watched longingly at Ivar. They were all turned to ash when your swords met during the fight over Kattegat, working alongside Ivar and King Harald and Hvitserk. “I don’t wish you to believe me. That is your own choice and decision, a right I do not own.” Ubba frowned at your answer, not at all proving a reason to keep you alive. “However, I am still loyal to Ivar. I always will be.” Ubba’s jaw clenched, expecting a different response and the hope behind his warm ocean orbs, crushed.

“I don’t understand. You say you betray Ivar but yet, still loyal to him. That does not make sense.” Torvi spoke up from beside her husband, beautiful blonde hair glowing like pure ember that her murderous and calloused hands betrayed. You knew she was a strong woman and you smiled, happy that Ubba found a great wife and shieldmaiden.

“I did not betray Ivar the way you think I did.” You remember the exchange, vividly. The night you wanted out. The night you refused Ivar’s wishes. The night he broke your heart. Letting out a long sigh, you closed your eyes and reminisced in the painful memory. All of it came back to you like an arrow diving into your heart. The tears, the emotions, the words, the blood, the action and the choice. “Two moons before the attack, Queen Freydis gave birth to the supposed divine son of God Ivar.” Your voice mocked the word God as if talking to the self-proclaimed man himself. Imagining the scowl crossing his face and then the bitter insult he’d snark back. “The boy, you see, was...different. He wasn’t what Ivar expected. He saw him as himself, crippled and ruined. And so, he ordered me to kill him. To kill his own child.” Your eyes locked with Bjorn’s filled with burning tears and suppressed emotions. “And I did. I left him out in the cold, leaving the crying babe to defend for itself. Left it for a pack of foxes that ended up eating him, but even still, the baby was dead beforehand because it was too cold.” Your voice started to shake, recalling the cries, the innocent shrieks of a pleading and freezing child in the middle of the forest on a sharp winter night.

“No, no, you didn’t. Y-you couldn’t have. Ivar forced you to, the (Y/N) I knew wouldn’t have done that. She wouldn’t of-.” Ubba intervened, distraught by the news and took a few steps closer to your hunched figure. His eyes pleading for you to be joking as sick as it was, he hoped you were lying, kidding. But you weren’t.

“You’re wrong.” You snapped, aimed your stern glare towards your best friend. “I did Ubba. It may have been Ivar’s wish, but I could have rejected, I could have chosen otherwise. The girl you were once friends with, is long gone.” It was true, all that time you spent with Ivar had changed you. Slowly but surely twisting that once righteous and somewhat innocent soul into nothing but a slave to a monster. A heartless and dutiful dog. You took another deep breath, swallowing the emotions clogged in your throat and returned your famous stoic and expressionless mask. “But after that night, I could no longer do it anymore. I could no longer be that person and I told him, I was done. I was done with killing innocents and slaughtering the people I grew up with. But oh no, it was not a good enough reason. Ivar screamed and yelled and we were like that for a while.”

“Ivar, I’m done.” You uttered barely above a whisper, standing in front of your supposed God with the cold of the night's air still nipping at your cheeks and fingertips. The merciless man froze in his seat, motioning for his men to quiet and turned away from his wife who was clueless by your doings.

“What did you say?” His tone was gentle and soft but still filled with cruelty and opposing anger. The fire behind his icy blue eyes burned like wildfire. The smile, however fake it may be, was dangerous and deadly. Daring you to speak again. His men soon noticed his change of behaviour and lowered their heads, their flappering mouths came to a pause but their ears burned with curiosity.

“You heard me, I’m done. I cannot do this anymore.”

“Please, leave us.” Ivar spoke calmly, waiting for his men and wife to leave the room. To leave you two alone to discuss the current matter. It was normal. Mundane for you two to argue about things, his battle tactics, his childish behaviour or your reckless demeanour and your hostile behaviour towards everyone. Soon enough, it was just you and him.

“I will be leaving Kattegat at first light tomorrow morning. I wanted to tell you this before going and to inform you that Hvitserk is now the leader of your armies before the attack from Bjorn and King Harald.” You stood, waiting for a reply from Ivar. You did not expect him to huff, lean back into his chair and continue eating his meal.

“You can’t.” He hummed, a smile spreading across his lips.

“And why can’t I?” His immature behaviour pushed your buttons.

“Because I rule over you and you are mine. Bound to me by the fates of the Gods, you say so yourself.” Ivar spoke smugly, happy with himself and thought his reasoning to be perfect and completely reasonable. “Besides, why would you leave? You have everything that you need and could ever want. You have done nothing wrong.” You were left awestruck for a split second. Staring at Ivar like he’d grown two heads.

“Nothing wrong?” Your voice picked up in disbelief, your voice beginning to falter as your heart pounded and your mind sped up. Flashes of obeying his orders coming to mind. All the deaths, all the screams, all the killing on your hands. “Nothing wrong!? Ivar, I just finished killing your son! Your baby! And you think that is everything I want and need?!” You were glad everyone had left and that the walls were made with solid timber and the clash of thunder and rain roared outside. Ivar snapped his head back, not liking the way you raised your tone at him as if you were superior.

“Do not talk to me as if I am lesser than you.” Ivar growled and grabbed his crutch to stand up and limped towards your figure draped in leather and cloth. His eyes widened and glared down at you.

“I am not speaking to you as if you are lesser than me, I am yelling at you because I am angry.” You could feel thick tears burn your placid brown orbs, ready to spill and your throat ready to crack. “I am angry and tired of killing people. That is all I do and see Ivar. Is death. Is blood. All their bodies. People I know, people that have once called me friends, I killed in cold blood. All because of...all because…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, Ivar’s heated gaze trapped on you and breathing in every word you screamed wholeheartedly.

“All because of what, hmm? All because of what? Go on, finish the sentence. All because of me, right?” His voice seethed, his tone dark and heavy as he leaned in closer to your face so you could hear and feel his wrath through his breathing. “Yes, blame me. Blame me like I forced you to do that. I gave you a choice. Everytime, I told you, you didn’t have to do it. But yet, you accepted. So, this...this isn’t just my fault. This is your doing too. You had a choice to make, to walk with clean hands or to kill for me?” Both Ivar’s hands came around your shoulders, squeezing tight and his nails dug into your clothes. “You think I wanted you to kill my son, huh?! You think I wanted that? No, I did not! But I wasn’t going to have him grow up just like I did. A cripple. A laughingstock for everyone. A reason to pity. A harder life to live.” You stared up at him with shocked facials, staring at the pure and passionate emotions he was displaying.

“And that gives you the right? That’s supposed to make me feel better. To make me feel like I’m no longer a monster.” You shoved his hands off of you and stomped your feet on the ground. “Everything I have done, I have done for you. I have protected you, killed hundreds for you, lied for you, been raped for you, been defiled and humiliated...for you.”

“Then why do you stay? I know the Gods do not wish this upon you. So please, do not give me your poor excuse of it being the Gods doing, that I am your fate, your duty, your responsibility. Because I know, there is more to it.” His fists came to your collar and clenched. You could feel your emotions overtake your usual calm and strategic mind, overthrowing all sense out the window and before you know it, you punched him across the face. Striking him down onto the ground with a thud, he growled.

“Because I love you. I love you so much that it hurts.” Tears were now violently falling from your cheeks as you slumped on the floor, glaring at Ivar - the cripple who stole your heart, silently, slowly but completely. He didn’t say a word, his jaw didn’t shut and his eyes didn’t waver. “All my life, I never knew what family was. I didn’t know what it was like to love. And then I find you and of course, I thought these emotions were the feelings the Gods had put on me, what it was like to actually find their duty and responsibility. But then, I fell in love with you. It was no longer the Gods who kept me by your side, it was my heart.”

The fight still pained you to this day. It was one of your greatest regrets but one of your most needed encounters in your life. You had been sitting in silence for a while now, just staring out to nothing until Bjorn Ironside finally spoke. His patience ran thin and wanted answers. There were visible tears falling from your eyes, stinging your prior wounds across your cheeks but not enough for you to care.

“Right.” You coughed, clearing your throat in hopes of ridding the obvious hurtful emotions that were on show for everyone to see. “I told him that I...that I loved him and for a long time he didn’t say anything and I left. However, just as I predicted, he sent his men to kill me and proclaimed that I was a murderer, a traitor and a spy working for your armies.” You let out a dry laugh, the betrayal and the disappointment hurting you. It was silly to think that you would expect Ivar to let you leave. It was naive to think that he’d feel the same, that he loved you enough to let you go. It was stupid enough for you to hope, that the great Ivar the Boneless, would put his paranoia for power and victory to actually let you escape. He was too caught up in the idea that you’d betray him. And in his mind, you wanting to leave was already a betrayal. So, therefore, you did betray him. “And now, here I am, alive to live another day.”

#vikings #ivar imagine #ivar x you #vikings bjorn #ubbe #vikings imagine #oneshot

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sunsetminho · 5 years

Text

handhold – h.hyunjin

summary: it’s your first time flying alone, and the thought of it makes you nervous. luckily, the boy sitting next to you has a big heart.

pairings: reader x hwang hyunjin (stray kids)

word count: 2.7k

warnings: anxiousness about flying, otherwise nothing!

a/n: this is my first fanfic and i’m starting off with something very cute, hope you all enjoy <3

When the calls for check-in started ringing through the speakers, you stood up from the spot you’d been sitting in for the past hour and stretched with a groan. You had been sitting cross-legged by the charging outlet, on the floor, and you felt and heard your knees crack as you stood.

“Check-in for Flight no. 348 at Counter 3–,”

You packed up your phone and carefully folded up your earphones, before sticking both items into the pocket of your jeans, and then taking out your passport. After making sure you had everything, you started heading towards the counter.

It felt familiar to you, even though you’d only flown overseas one other time—on your trip here, from Korea to L.A, for college. Your first year of schooling had finished, and you were on your way back to Seoul to see your family during the Summer. But even though you’d done this before, and you knew what to do, you were still nervous, because when you’d flown here, your mother had accompanied you. Just to make sure that you got settled in okay—it was a completely different country, after all, and since your mother had grown up in L.A, she had no trouble helping you out.

“Check-in for Flight no. 348 at Counter 3–,” the speakers repeated, and you hurried on over, picking up your pace to get in the line behind the three other people who had arrived crazily early, like you. When it got to your turn in the line, though, the man at the counter went through the routine things, helping you check in your single suitcase, and then he got a call, during which he talked in low tones and kept glancing up at you. Once he put down the phone, he told you to hold on, and then ran off to talk to the lady at the next desk down. You just watched in confusion, and stood there awkwardly. Had you brought something that was suspicious, or that you shouldn’t have brought? Was your bag overweight? No, that wasn’t possible, you’d weighed it at your dorm and it was fine—

“Miss,” The man said as he returned, looking a tiny bit more puffed than he had been before, “Since you’re travelling alone, how would you feel about being upgraded to Business class? We have a—uh, situation and it would do us a big favour—,”

You couldn’t help but sag in relief as you took in what he was saying, “Of course that’s fine, why wouldn’t it be? Thank you.” The man looked extremely relieved as well, and then he started typing away at the computer, and at last, after having stood there for a good twenty minutes, he handed you your boarding pass, and then saw you off with a smile and wave.

The boarding pass, with ‘Business Class’ written in fancy silver letters at the top, seemed far too prestigious for your hands; you were a college student who would’ve definitely not been able to afford this and you suddenly felt extremely special. Feeling that way then made you feel kind of silly, so you quickly shook it off.

But then you realised that having a Business Class seat meant that you could go into the Business Class Lounge—and then those thoughts of feeling special returned in full force. This time, you didn’t bother to push them away, because you were too overwhelmed with genuine excitement.

After making it through security and customs, you rushed to the Business Lounge. You had an hour and a half to kill before the flight, and you were determined to spend it all in the Lounge, pigging out on ice-cream and those fancy cakes your friends always posted on Instagram whenever they travelled.

The woman at the entrance did a one-over of your ticket and then let you in—you excitedly found a nice couch to sit in, dropped off your too-heavy backpack and then headed right to the ice-cream and dessert fridge. It was far too easy to pick out what you wanted. You just grabbed one of everything, one of every flavour, one of every dessert there was, and then you nestled back into the couch, at the corner of the space, and put your earphones in, sinking into the pillows and feeling like you’d just peaked in life.

After a tiring year at school, you felt like this was the universe rewarding you for your hard work, and the thought just made you shovel cakes into your mouth even faster. But not ten minutes later, somebody said to you, their voice muffled by the music, “Can I—uh—sit here? The other—um—tables are full.”

You pulled out your earphones and glanced up from your plate to meet the eyes of a tall boy, who was awkwardly standing with his two bags at the table next to yours, eyeing up your ice-cream.

Putting a subtle, protective arm around your food, you quickly swallowed your full mouth of cake and then responded, “Yeah, sure, no one is sitting here.” You smiled a bit, just to make sure you weren’t coming across as too nonchalant. As he smiled thankfully, sat down and adjusted his things, you got a chance to get a good look at him.

He was very good-looking, around your age, with blonde-ish brown hair and dark eyes, skin clearer than a sunny day. He smiled at you when he noticed you looking, and you bit your lip in slight embarrassment as you ended up blurting out, “How come you haven’t gotten any food?”

“Um, I ate, earlier,” He said, seeming to stumble through his English a bit…maybe he wasn’t from around here? “But I will—,” and then he suddenly switched to Korean, “get some ice cream later, probably.” Even though you barely noticed it, since you could speak both languages and had grown up with both, with your Korean father and American mother, he immediately realised his mistake and blushed. He quickly added in English, “Sorry, I’m…” He was lost for words, unsure of how to express what he meant, and he quickly flushed in frustration.

“It’s okay,” You said in Korean, offering him an understanding smile, and the moment he heard those words he sagged in relief, his eyes lighting up, “I speak Korean, too. I just came to L.A. for college. Where are you from?”

He seemed much more comfortable now, his body language relaxed and his expression less tense, “I’m from Korea, too. I came with some, uh, friends, but I missed the flight and now I’m flying later than them. That’s a lot of cake, by the way.” He glanced down at the multiple plates on your table with an amused glimmer in his eyes. “Oh, um—yeah, it is,” You said, and then bit your lip, unsure of what else to say, “Well, enjoy your ice cream, I guess.” You pulled out your laptop and pulled up your favourite Netflix show to watch, just so that you wouldn’t have to make the boy feel like he was obligated to talk to you. Also, you just really wanted to watch Netflix, after having little to no time during exam season.

You decided to head out of the lounge after you were finished your food. Yes, both plates of cakes and bowl of assorted ice-cream flavours, just to be at the gate early, get on the plane early, and take full advantage of the Business class privileges as soon as possible. As you were packing up your things, you unintentionally caught a bit of the conversation that the boy next to you was having on the phone, in very fast, urgent Korean:

“Hyung, I’m sorry, I’m already in the terminal, I’ll get on the next flight I can, I promise, no, no, I won’t miss the show, I’ll be there I promise just—I’m sorry,” He said in a low voice, focused on his conversation. He kept chewing on his lip, too, and your curiosity was piqued as you wondered what he could possibly be missing that was so important—exams, perhaps? No, but it was summer break now, even in Korea…

However, you brushed that away and decided that it was none of your business, before picking up your things. You hesitated a bit before slipping off, wondering if you should disturb the boy and say goodbye, but decided against it, and just headed out of the lounge with your bag.

*** Hwang Hyunjin groaned when he turned off the phone, and then groaned again when he turned around and realised that you were gone from your seat. Your empty plates and bowls were still there, but you were nowhere to be found. He kicked himself for not being brave enough to ask for your number, or at least just your name. He’d really wanted to see you again...

Too late now, though.

He heaved a heavy sigh and then swore internally—did Chan have to call at the exact time you’d decided to go? Any other time and it would’ve been fine…

Whatever. Too late now, anyway.

***

As you made your way down the aisle to your seat—third row, aisle seat, you kept repeating to yourself—you tried not to bump into the many flight attendants who were rushing around, directing passengers to their seats, passing drinks to the other business class passengers, and just bustling about doing their job.

You found yourself feeling very self-conscious, seeing as most of the people in the other seats in the business class section were all dressed in fancy blazers, reading newspapers. And then there was you, in your college’s grey hoodie, and black leggings, your hair no doubt a mess, looking extremely ordinary. Not only that, but you were definitely the youngest one here—even though you doubted that anyone cared about your appearance.

You approached your seat and took off your backpack, sitting down in your seat and then slipping your bag under the seat in front of you. You also did a quick check of your phone, simultaneously patting down your hoodie pocket to ensure that your passport and wallet were still safe.

You hadn’t even noticed the person next to you, too afraid to talk to a stranger, until they tapped you on the shoulder and exclaimed in fluent Korean, “Hey, you’re the girl I sat next to in the lounge!”

You whipped around, and sure enough it was him, the boy from the lounge earlier, and your eyes lit up. It was probably relief that burst through you at the sight of him, because even though you weren’t familiar with him, at least you wouldn’t have to sit next to a completely unfamiliar, older, and far more mature adult. That would’ve been far more awkward.

Even though you doubted they’d care. But even though you tried to hide your nerves, being on the plane, especially alone, made you feel a tiny bit anxious—you hoped there wouldn’t be too much turbulence. “Hey!” You exclaimed, turning around fully to face him, once again taking in his incredibly beautiful face, “I was going to say goodbye, but you were on the phone…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” He said, shaking his head slightly, “My friend called me just to check on me, so I never did get your name…”

“It’s Y/N,” You said, smiling, and when he did the same, you swore your heart skipped a beat. He was far too pretty—even though he wasn’t wearing anything fancy. In fact, he was dressed in a hoodie and jeans. This time, he was wearing a beanie that covered his blonde-ish brown hair. Sure, he was dressed very ordinarily, but still… “What’s your name?”

“Hyunjin,” He said very excitedly, seeming to be ecstatic at seeing you again, “Oh, my god, I thought I wouldn’t see you ever again and I really wanted to talk to you more.”

You flushed, flattered at his remark. He probably meant nothing of it; it was probably just an off-handed comment, but you still felt the heat rise to your cheeks, “I’m glad to see you again, too, Hyunjin.”

The two of you shared some light conversation, and it flowed easily between you. For some reason, it was easy to talk to Hyunjin, even though you often found it hard to socialise, especially with strangers. But you talked about everything—your life in L.A and your life in Korea, and he talked all about his friends and his home in Korea. He was very charismatic and bright, and you found that to be a nice change from the dreary environment of the college campus for the past few weeks, what with everybody being so drained from the exams. At some point, a flight attendant came and gave the both of you some pineapple juice, and you took it gratefully.

When the message came through on the intercom that the plane was about to take off, though, your nerves suddenly peaked and your words became stiffer. You could tell that Hyunjin had noticed, what with his eyebrows creasing in concern whenever you had to ask him to repeat a question because you were too distracted from your stress to hear him. He didn’t say anything until the plane started moving, the lights in the cabin dimmed, and you immediately grabbed hold of the armrests on either side of the chair you were in. “Y/N, hey, you alright?” He asked, shooting you a concerned look, turning his gaze away from the small airplane T.V and to you, instead. “Do you feel sick?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” You reassured him, trying to appear as calm as you could, “I’m just—,” but when the sound of the engine became louder, the plane speeding up to take-off, you gritted your teeth and couldn’t continue with your explanation. Instead, you focused on your breathing, staying calm. It wasn’t the thought of flying itself that scared you. Instead, it was the feeling of the inertia slamming into you, and the feeling of your stomach dropping during turbulence, that really made you anxious.

Hyunjin turned his whole body to face you, appearing completely unbothered by the velocity of the plane, and when the aircraft started to lift-off, you sucked in a breath and then audibly whimpered, shutting your eyes.

Suddenly, you wished Hyunjin would look away because you didn’t want him to think lesser of you—he probably thought you were a coward, and a weirdo, and you didn’t want this boy you’d just met (and found very cute)

Oh my god this is so embarrassing, why am I like this—

But rather than hearing a remark making fun of your fear, or a judgemental snicker, you suddenly felt Hyunjin’s hands taking yours and squeezing them gently. He laced your fingers with his, and the warmth of his hands made your cheeks blush the colour of a pale sunset.

“It’s alright,” He said, and when you finally opened your eyes, you met his gaze—he was smiling, and he gave your hand a comforting squeeze, “If you feel scared, I’ll hold your hand.”

The plane jolted a bit, and you squeaked.

“Hey, don’t worry,” He said reassuringly, “I’m here, just focus on the feeling of my hand, alright? We’ll be okay.”

You closed your eyes and leant towards him, and he wrapped his other arm around you gently, holding you. You took in the warmth of his hand, and the feeling of his arm around you, and the comfort of the circles he was rubbing into your back, and you finally steadied your breathing.

He held you, and didn’t say a thing—just leant you a hand and his smile, and it was enough.

Maybe this—all of this, being upgraded to Business class, then meeting Hyunjin, and then sitting next to him—maybe this was the universe rewarding you.

Whatever it was, you couldn’t be more grateful. You smiled as the plane steadied, and you finally opened your eyes.

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mauserfrau · 4 years

Text

Rough Excerpt of Sampaguita, Chapter 3 - Bordertober

I had someone who clearly needed a full, tagged scene with OC Catter, so here you be!

Here is the story so far. LSS: Tyreen and Troy have a brief stint as mercs not that long after arriving on Pandora. NOTE THE TAGS. Black comedy. On slow mode for Reasons. Tyreen PoV.

This excerpt contains Tyreen being gross, a lot of food, drinking, snot, Troy torment and, a really crass joke about the Troyreen in this ‘verse.

Also Catter. I stinking love Catter.

...I’m not sorry.

Troy sat under a smokey overhang by the kitchen trailer. Three other people had planted their asses there first, all bumming cigarettes off of each other and sneezing a lot— Biscuits (his biscuitiness accented by lop-mouthed smoking stance), Vincent (tall, dark, handsome and gesturing ashes all over with his silver cigarette holder) and somebody who went by Lotty (more of a human pony bead and spray tan accident).

There was beef jerky. Sort of. Not enough of it to justify more than a page of the Exceptional Exotics’ employment contracts.

Lotty was saying, holding a tin stickered with a happy cowboy up to Troy, “Now, the correct way to eat beef snuff…”

“Also known as machaca, if you’re feeling fancy,” Vincent interrupted.

And Troy nodded.

This pattern repeated: “Is to, well, snuff it. You put a little on your finger.”

“The middle, if you’re feeling fancy.”

Though Troy’s nod came on the tentative side that time. Wrinkles showed in the corners of his eyes as he pondered whether he was fancy or not.

Biscuits leaned in, pressing an encouraging hand to Troy’s back, Troy being too lost in thought to protest more than leaning maybe an inch to the side. “It’s not like doing cocaine at all. And you really have to really suck it in…” A wet snort accompanied this assertion. “… from deeeeep in your chest.”

“The trick’s in where you put the back of your tongue.” Lotty said, their voice tilting towards some sort of conclusion.

This being stolen from them by Vincent, “But oh, the joy of meat sinuses.”

“You would say that.”

“You know you love me.”

“I love you like the parched earth loves spilled beer.”

“So, not at all today. Boo.”

It was at this point Tyreen tossed up the hood of her jacket and stamped across the puddles pissing down through the leaky rain shield. “Troy!”

Troy having meanwhile swept his middle finger through the shredded jerky and right up to his nostrils. Deftly, he pressed his thumb to the left side. The shredded meat disappeared.

Tyreen was too late. Troy doubled over, sneeze-coughing goopy, brown snot. “I can taste that in my ears,” he wheezed.

“Really?” remarked Lotty. “That’s a new one. Are you sure, ‘cause I mean, if you really wanna taste with your ears…” This sentiment unfinished, they lifted both of their hands, beckoning to Vincent and Biscuits. The two men had already grumblingly taken out actual paper cash, what with the ECHONet still being toast.

And Troy, still hacking.

Tyreen shooed off Biscuits and beat Troy about the back until he showed some semblance of sense— namely, horking with purpose until he was king of breathing again.

“If you’re going to squeal to the boss,” Vincent said, sucking on his cigarette, “Get us some more jerky while you’re in there? I don’t want what he sneezed on.”

“On no planet was that a sneeze. You don’t get it, man!” Troy protested.

“That’s a lie. Lotty got him twice,” said Biscuits.

Well, that had to be embarrassing for somebody.

Unlike her brother, Tyreen did not stop to ponder and definitely not anything about snorting beef jerky. “He brought this on himself. That’s plenty for me. C’mon. They opened the beer taps.” One more thwack and she turned her hand around, grabbing Troy by the back of his jacket and hauling.

He pinwheeled half a step in front of her. “I don’t even like beer and neither do you,” he muttered, then discharged more snot into his hand.

Besides, there was a line for said beer. Someone had written on the tarp overhanging the taps: Welcome! No names though, just like nobody announced that food was served in some way that didn’t involve anybody’s noses. At a certain point, Colonel Admusik stepped out of her trailer and made her way to a ktichen trailer window where a plate of something greasy, steaming and flickering oversized bones appeared. She took her pick of seats at one of the rickety picnic tables, tucked a cloth napkin into her collar and sat down. Two of the face-tattooed howitzer operators dived to offer her their beers before fighting their way back into line.

Tyreen wouldn’t have said she’d wanted announced, but the company seemed like a place that announced people. Besides, an excuse to shoot something else would have wrung more laughter out of this crowd, maybe gotten her offered a beer. Not that she could have drunk said beer. Anyway, she got the angle now. There were two ranks here: the colonel and all the other mercs.

So, apparently she and Troy were other mercs now. Tyreen had not been aware that mercs served short ribs for food. She was also unclear on exactly what a ‘short rib’ might entail. Which ribs counted as short? Why not eat the long ribs first since they must contain more delicious meat? Was it absolutely necessary to stop an entire company of mercs in the middle of a downpour to set up a kitchen trailer and make a welcome dinner which was now doomed to get damp while the people who ate it veered into a risk of missing… something. Whatever the hell job this “gentleperson’s operation” was on or headed for or somewhat towards.

Tyreen didn’t know about that either. She also hadn’t bothered to ask. Closer to the urge worked for her. She swung up to the window ahead of Troy. “I heard something about rum rations.”

“Rum and short ribs?” The cookie gave her a squint, but shrugged and ponied up a quarter split with an orange slice and some soda machine ice. “How many?”

“Ah, yeah, pass on that. I don’t do bones.” Casting her hand up briefly, she removed herself from the window before facing anymore of an argument. This dinner was going to suck hard enough without a plate of dead thing under her nose, teasing her with it’s infernal pre-deadedness. Tyreen’s belly had already started to do the gurgling, twisty thing where the part of her that ate gathered there and tried to peek out of her navel. At least she had rum and the urge to distract her until nightfall and the Skågåsbord that would bring. They were still out there. She could sense them flickering about the hills.

Then of course her brother had to go and acquire an overflowing plate of bones, his mashed potatoes relegated to a mug which he carried balanced on his elbow. Tyreen got to the table first, cracking open her rum and slugging it right out of the bottle. Sweet stuff, super dark. Probably wouldn’t make her retch. Her orange slice went on her brother’s potatoes once he’d gotten everything onto the table without incident. He shrugged and ate it anyway, greasy garlic butter and skin and all, smiling at her with the rind pressed over his teeth.

Tyreen glowered at him. She then flicked his nose and slid back to her drink, twisting it over and over as he chewed and more people got food and the shields leaked and the beer line got loud.

Idly, she wondered what anybody would do if she gnawed on a bone. Not that she was going to. Bones made a fine justification for not eating this thing or that other thing, so no way she would. She had that urge of her own though, sometimes after sunset and skimming on her tongue.

And Colonel Admusik only carried picnic tables that seated three to a side. The far one of their table? Still empty when Hypothetical Third Person planted her ass beside Troy. She made a chirp when she did, as though she had a squeaker in her ass.

Tyreen peered around Troy.

And the person waved, fork on her lips. She was smallish, fairish, made-up-ish, wearing a Dahl army coat three sizes too big for her. Peroxide blond hair dragged in her eyes, themselves the color of moss. The Terran kind that never accidentally made teeth like the stuff on Nekrotafeyo.

Troy managed to pull himself away from his plate long enough to tilt his head her way and jostle his occupied shoulder at her. Like— hello, I am eating, other person who had at least ten other places to sit.

This one craned over her own plate and she stared out at him through his magazine cover kind of smile. Finally, she gestured with one gloved hand, flicking her finger close enough to Troy’s left eye that she got a jolt out of him. “So, who does your work?” she asked, words somersaulting over each other.

Troy’s fork froze in mid-air. “This? Oh, uum a few people.” Rather than look her quite in the face, or stop eating, he wiggled his hand and dripped gravy. “They didn’t come out so great the first time.”

“It wasn’t Miss Moju on Rigil 7, was it? ‘cause she’s getting hella sued and if you want in on that, I got the contact stuff for the lawyer on my ECHO.”

“Oh. No, not her. I didn’t even think about her.” Troy ended that on half a snort.

One Tyreen could have joined him for.

Except this person acted like she thought he’d laughed. She tittered back.

And she totally cut Tyreen off, but that was another story. With titters.

“Really? You must be pretty hardcore.” She held her hand out, slower than she’d talked, her hips wiggling in her seat. Tyreen could hear her boots swishing under the table besides. “I didn’t think about her either. I’m Catter. Colonel said you were Troy?”

Troy nodded. He dipped his fork into his potatoes, leaving it there. He had to twist his whole self sideways to offer her his wrong hand, but his joints were hyperflexible garbage and he only had the one hand to offer anybody, so he managed OK, tilted his head up too, not that he exactly made eye-contact. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you. This is…”

Catter’s head, then her shoulders, tipped to the side. She looked like she was trying to shed some part of herself, and in fact she kind of did. The sleeve of her too-big coat nonetheless rode up about an inch on her left wrist.

Glinting geometric swirls poked out.

”Oopsie,” she said, holding her other hand almost to her mouth.

Tyreen made a face. To cover that, she also stuck her rum in said face. Smacking off of her bottle, she added, “You did that on purpose. Just say you’re a fangirl next time, shit. You think we care?” Anyway, she’d heard whispers in the alleys of the ECHONet, about how “pirate AU fanfiction isn’t valid, you weirdos” and also “my sister’s Siren fangirl for cosplays and it’s kind of fucked up”.

Well, Tyreen knew what fangirl and cosplay (an associated term) meant in the same way she knew what short ribs meant. The terms raised more questions than answers. But there was Catter. Quod erat demonstrandum. Also, no way this person was a Siren. She smelled like some kind of plant and not a primeval space magic at all.

“I thought we were having fun,” said Catter, finally breaking the shake with Troy and pressing a finger to her infernally perfect dimple. “Is she always so grumpy?”

Troy’s back tensed as he answered, despite the evenness of his tone. “Are you always so effervescent?”

One of those words earned him a confused blink, and another titter. “ I… What? Hee! I should have known you were different. A guy with Siren ink. That’s just so… I’m sorry. I’ve never actually seen one! Or a Siren. But I’m gonna fix that.” Catter turned a look of determination, first to the sky, and then to Troy.

“Ah, me neither. And now you have.”

“So! So! I drew mine myself and I got a whole set, see?” Her coat went onto the table. Two other mercs steered away, off to less occupied shores. Underneath, she wore a sleeveless collar top and no bra. Tyreen wasn’t wearing a bra either, so whatever on that, but the loopy tattoo business liberally slathered onto Catter’s person proved to be the single most gruesome shade of magenta that Tyreen had ever seen. Like exploded printer magenta.

“And I see you like pink,” Troy offered, congenially.

Catter wiggled and drew closer once more. She still did not touch, but her eyes traced over Troy’s own markings with a precision. “Did you draw yours too? I know some places that’s a thing, but some other places you let your artist do…”

“I drew them,” said Tyreen.

A sound of distress followed. “You didn’t give him a whole set?”

“Like you said. He’s a guy. Maybe he doesn’t get a whole set. Maybe he has to earn them.”

“Wow, you two have like LORE worked out? Are you on SirenSona.net?”

“We like to keep it to ourselves. It’s, umm our stuff,” Troy said, attempting to turn away, hand in his hair this time.

“Oh, am I intruding? I’m sorry it’s just I love your eye mark and she…” Catter’s hand once more intruded, but this time she at least had the sense to apply to to her fork after she thought better. It was with her off-hand that she gestured between her table mates. “Actually, what are you two?”

Tyreen snorted.

And Troy said: “Oh, we’re cousins.” His grin flashed even in the corner of his silhouette. He tried just that hard.

So no wonder Tyreen had to fish him the rest of the way out of the proverbial ditch. “And we’re married.”

“What?” Catter’s eyes were now the size of SAT-V hubcaps. “Really? That’s wild.”

“Cousins are made for cousins, that’s what they said back at the old commune,” Troy laughed. Wow, he almost sounded convincing.

To Catter, anyway. “So you like grew up together?”

“Yeah.”

“And now you do it?”

“Yes, Catter,” snergled Tyreen. “That’s part of being married. Do you wanna come mop up our bed tonight when we get done doing it?” She layered on the sincerity, as if plying for her personal dinner. This had gotten old about five absurdities ago.

“Nooo.” As for how much no, Catter pressed one (still-gloved) finger to her lips. “But anytime you wanna fanperson, we can do that. Like you’re part of the team now and I want you to feel welcome and I’ve got that limited edition gravure with the Lilith buttshot. The one where. You know. You can see.”

Tyreen and her brother both nodded, though Tyreen could only imagine what was on display. If she’d had a human appetite, this might have been detrimental to it.

[Catter actually exists as an explanation for why the twins were managed to run around without covering their markings for APPARENT YEARS. She is not a criticism of any Siren OC. I love and feed Siren OCs ficlets.]

#bordertober #border-tober #fanfic #fanfiction #excerpt #Troy Calypso #Tyreen Calypso #Tyreen Calypso PoV #crassly implied Troyreen #backstory #snot #spot #don't snort jerky kids #black comedy #oc: Catter #drinking #idk the short ribs are probably food porn to someone

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diabolicaltendencies · 4 years

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A Dark!Sam Drabble [Fantasy AU] for @gunmetclgrey tw: ummm ho boy... think like horror movie material: kidnapping, drugging, paralysis, torture, murder... i think that covers it? Sorry to everyone who thought Sam was like.. not horrible. Revenge is not the answer kids.

Sometimes humans are worse than the monsters.

Rufus pads along ahead of him, moving with an unnatural silence through Magistrate Burke’s home. It's a well-made house, one of the best in town. The floorboards don't even creak as Sam follows behind. Lavish, embroidered rugs dampen the sound of his footsteps. When they reach the bedroom door, Sam permits the hound to slip inside first. He can already see the man tossing and turning from his proximity to Rufus. The hell-hound is more powerful than ever. Sam likes to think that Rufus is angry too… but he knows reality is rarely that poetic. The hound is well fed, leeching off his personal suffering. There’s a soft click as he shuts the door behind him. The magistrate wakes up with a start. Sweat drips from his brow as he tries to rationalize his way out of a horrible nightmare. But he finds himself safe. He's at home, in his own bed… The room is dark and he rubs a hand over his face in relief. His heart rate is steadying and he takes a deep breath. The only problem is a sound that catches his attention... a deep, unholy rumbling building in the corner. Burke freezes. His eyes slide over to the sound to find a pair of red, glowing eyes staring back at him. Part of him thinks he’s still trapped in a nightmare. A primal fear is coiling in his gut, slithering up his spine. He nearly jumps out of his skin when a heavy, leather-clad hand claps down on his shoulder. “Good evening, Magistrate.” Sam states with a calm politeness, but something in his voice lacks emotion. He's far from the friendly village doctor he was a few weeks ago. He's not the ‘weak man who fell victim to an evil witch'. Now, he looks like a hunter… or a killer. His long, black leather coat merges with the shadows, contrasting shock-blonde hair and crystalline eyes. He looks soulless, like an angel of death. Maybe this is what he's always been. The magistrate starts to struggle, demanding answers. "Prescott what do you think you're doing? Why are you in my house? I'll have you--" A vicious snarl emanates from the giant black hound nearby. The doctor smiles and it's so soft it's almost reassuring. “Take it easy... It’ll be alright." He pauses and the magistrate hesitates as a cold dread seeps into him. He can't explain why, but in that moment he felt like he was dying. The kind kind of death you couldn't fight... you just had to accept. Sam continues, "I need your help with something.” The magistrate has enough time to look at the doctor in confusion before Sam grabs the back of his neck. He clamps a rag down over Burke’s mouth. A moment of struggle, a snapping bark from the corner, a few deep breaths, and he was out in seconds. Rufus stalks up and grab the unconscious magistrate by the ankle, teeth digging into flesh as he drags the man off his bed.

A few hours later, Burke wakes up in a surprisingly well lit stone chamber. It’s musty, damp and the air smells like decay. He tries to move but… can’t. Something's holding him back. His body isn’t responding to him. He tries to yell, to speak, but his lips are forming words that his voice isn't transferring into sound. Panic starts to pound in his chest. He's still wearing nothing but the thin cotton pants he went to sleep in, but what he can't see is that he's now covered in new scratches and bruises. A viscous looking bite on his leg is throbbing, but he can't even move to put pressure on the wound. He can only look on in horror as Sam moves in his peripheral vision.

The doctor has shed his coat and is wearing a neat shirt rolled up to his elbows. He’s mixing something on a worn wooden table nearby with his back to the slab the magistrate is laying on. “I've discovered recently that hell-hounds have the remarkable ability to induce a state of paralysis..." Sam comments, "That's the feeling you're experiencing now.” Condescension's clear in his voice as he turns around.

"Unfortunately, I don't know how long he can sustain it. That’s why i've taken a few extra precautions." The doctor steps over and reaches out, tapping on the metal collar around Burke's neck. The silver and witch hazel it's lined with does nothing to a human man, they'd done nothing to Sam either -- but he knows the chains themselves are enough to keep the magistrate in place.

Sam looks him in the eyes, unwavering. "Now. Like I said, I need your help. I've developed a little... concoction." He holds it up for the man to see - an orange-ish liquid sloshing around in a glass vial. "Ideally, it's going to make you feel like your stomach, your skin-- like every inch of you is on fire.” He continues calmly, “You're going to want to beg me to make it stop. You're going to pray to your god to let it end. And, if I got it right this time... it will."

Sam grabs Burke’s jaw and for the first time a thinly veiled, cool rage enters his tone, "And for the record, magistrate. Before you cry witch -- this isn't magic. This is science. But you probably won’t be able to appreciate the difference."

He forces Burke's mouth open and pours the liquid down his throat, forcing him to swallow. "See you in hell." Is the last thing Sam says before the man starts trying to scream, it’s silent at first but the pain is powerful enough to break the paralysis and his cries echo around the chamber. He thrashes but the chains hold him in place. There’s no one around to hear him, no one to help aside from the doctor who stands by and watches this happen. Eventually he stops. Sam stares at him for a moment before turning back to the table and taking some notes. Rufus trots up from the corner and sits beside him, tail swishing back and forth slowly as he watches Sam begin the second phase of his experiment - analyzing the results.

#nav; drabbles #under a readmore because it's ~1000 words of big oof #might be edited later but it's being posted now #because i need to move on to replies lol #tw: torture #tw: murder #tw: drugs #tw: kidnapping

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catfishandthebottlefan · 5 years

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#13 - Your Room’s on the First Floor

A/N- Hi! I know I haven’t been posting a lot, I’m sorry about that. But here’s a long-ish one for y’all. It’s nearly midnight here so sorry if there’s typos 😂 i love this one, it’s HELLA fluffy :) ~ Anna xxx

You stepped into the warmth of the B&B, quickly removing your sodden coat and hanging it on the free-standing wooden rack in the large hallway. You wiped your black Doc Martens on the doormat before removing them and placing them on the shoe rack to the left of the front door. Mary and Bernie’s B&B felt homely, with family photos hung on the walls, and their own shoes and coats on the racks as well as those of their guests. For example, next to your relatively new black Docs sat an identical (but larger) pair - old and scuffed, but clearly well-loved and worn. You presumed these belonged to the couple’s son, whom you’d never seen or met, but his parents spoke fondly enough of him for you to know he was a nice boy.

The B&B felt quiet; nobody seemed to be home, which was unusual. However, you had returned at an unusual time compared to most guests, who would usually appear at about 6 or 7pm after having had their dinner, whereas it was only quarter past 2. You were sick of seeing your mum and new step-dad “canoodling” like a pair of sickeningly loved-up teenagers, and were sick of being told to “cheer up, you’re on holiday”. How did they expect you to be full of joy when they’d brought you to the arse-end of Wales? It was nothing like the holidays you went on with your dad, to exotic places like Morocco or Italy.

“We’ve been through this, Y/N, Steve and I just don’t have money like your dad-”

“Well if you’d stayed with Dad instead of fucking off with some old git from your shitty job, and somehow dragging me with you, we’d still be able to go on nice holidays!”

And that was when you’d stormed off back to the B&B, leaving them to hold hands under the sunset, or eat fish and chips on the beach, or buy cheesy fridge magnets for no other reason than to disguise the complete mundaneness of the absolute shit holiday. Well, that’s what you’d presumed they’d end up doing, although you tried to kid yourself that you didn’t care, and that you didn’t cry yourself to sleep at night wishing that you could go back all those years, to when your parents were together and life was less shit.

In a way, you were glad you’d had the argument, as it meant you had an excuse to go back and have a smoke. Smoking was your guilty pleasure, and, although you didn’t consider yourself addicted, you loved the sense of relief that came with sitting down and having a cigarette, watching the end light up and fall off as you gently sucked on the filter. There was something therapeutic about watching the embers fall off and create ash at your feet, and watch the patterns created in the cloud of smoke that would surround your face.

Now wearing just your Oasis t-shirt, ripped jeans and fluffy socks, you walked up the carpeted stairs towards your room. However, once you reached the first floor, you stopped in your tracks. Was that a guitar you could hear?

You followed the melody up another flight, and along the second floor landing, until you reached a tiny room right at the very end of the hallway. The door was ever so slightly ajar, and you could now hear the lyrics of the song more clearly - When You Were Young by The Killers. The mystery guitar player clearly had good taste.

You stood outside the door, on the hinge side so the occupants of the room couldn’t see you, listening to the music. However, you decided you had to burst in when the lyric was changed to “he doesn’t look a thing like Larry”, preceded by a crescendo of laughter, part of which was coming from yourself.

“Um, hi,” you said, rather shyly considering the fact that you were the one who’d interrupted them, “I love this song.”

You looked up from your feet to see a long-haired boy sitting cross-legged on the ground, an acoustic guitar in his lap. Like you, he wore ripped jeans and fluffy socks, however he wore a The Streets hoodie. He was accompanied by another equally long-haired boy, however this one’s hair was pushed back by a headband, and he was barefoot, wearing a black Adidas tracksuit.

“The Killers, absolutely class band, innit.” said Guitar boy, looking up at you, “You look cold.”

After he said that, you realised exactly how drenched you were. As much as you loved your black calf-length trenchcoat, you realised it wasn’t quite waterproof to Welsh standards.

“I did get a bit soaked actually,” you chuckled, “I should go get changed-”

“No, wait, sit down,” Guitar boy instructed, and you did as he said, “What are you doing back so early anyway? Mum said not to expect any guests till 6.”

“Oh, you’re the son, then!” you burst out.

Headband boy laughed. “He’s the son.”

“Sorry, this isn’t the best of introductions is it?” you laughed, aware of your own apparent rudeness, “I’m Y/N, and you are-?”

Both boys spoke up at the same time.

“I’m Van.” said Guitar boy.

“Larry.” said Headband boy.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” you stood up, turning to go back to your own room, “But I actually just came back for a ciggie and I..umm... got a bit lost. I thought this was my room. Anyway, I better get back-”

“Hey, don’t leave so soon!” Van said, seemingly offended, “Look, we have plenty of fags under here!”

He reached under his bed to pull out a packet of Lambert and Butler Blue. He took one out expertly before handing it to you.

“Got a light?” you asked, “Mine’s in my room, I really don’t mind going and getting my own if you don’t want to share-”

“Just shut up and take the free fag,” Larry interrupted, “What do you smoke anyway?”

“Anything I can get my hands on, but Marlboro Silver at the moment-”

“Marlboro? You’re posh!” Larry teased, “They’re well expensive!”

“I’m not posh!” you laughed, going red in the face.

“She is well posh, have you seen her mum and dad?” Van chipped in.

“Not my dad.” you replied, deftly. The phrase had almost become a reflex now.

“Wait, how do you know my parents? I’ve been here three days and I haven’t seen you once!”

You leant against Van as he explained how he’d been at Larry’s, which was “just down the road there, then the avenue, opposite the chippy”. You shivered as you puffed the cigarette.

Van put his hand on your arm. “Love, you’re fucking freezing!”

Before you even had time to refuse, Van pulled his hoodie off and put it over your head. You wriggled out of your t-shirt from underneath, and pulled your knees under the cosy jumper. It was still warm from when Van had been wearing it.

You noticed more and more about the boys after you’d warmed up a bit. Van was now wearing a white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and used his bare arms as an excuse to sit closer to you, “as you’ve nicked my jumper”. He told you about his band, after you asked about the handwritten lyric sheets strewn across the floor of what you presumed was his bedroom, although the room was tiny.

“Bet your band’s shit,” you teased, Larry joining in.

“Yeah it’s well crap, only sold two tickets and that was to my brother and his mate,” Larry laughed, “And their songs are shite.”

“They’re not!” Van protested, his voice going an octave higher, “Look, I’ll play one to you right now!”

“Go on then, Julian Casablancas.” you retorted.

“Fine, okay, this one’s called ASA-”

“Not that one, it’s proper shit!” Larry objected, “It’s about meeting up to have sex with Ab-”

“Shut the fuck up, Larry.” Van almost growled.

“Who’s Abbie?” you asked, curiously, “Friends with benefits?”

“No!” Van confirmed, “An ex-girlfriend.”

“Basically, all the songs he’s ever written are about her.” Larry whispered in your ear.

“Well, I guess he has someone new to write a song about now.” you said, looking Van in the eyes.

“I guess I do.”

The next day, you saw Van helping his parents at breakfast, and he handed you a screwed up piece of paper when he served you. You placed it in your pocket, and, after you’d finished, ran straight up to your room to read it.

Beach, 20 mins, the note read, in scrawled handwriting.

You got dressed hastily, throwing on your black denim skirt, with fishnets underneath, and Van’s hoodie. You told your mum you’d made a friend and could you spend the day with them, so she and Steve could have some alone time. Steve almost looked relieved, nodding his head, and your mum seemed too occupied in reading her Facebook messages to acknowledge the information.

You took it as a yes.

Just as you put your boots on, Mary appeared from the kitchen.

“Hi, love, where are you off to? Ooh, I like your jumper, our Van has one exactly like that, doesn’t he, Bern?”

“Just the beach, I’m meeting a friend there for some lunch-”

Bernie appeared from behind her, and patted you on the shoulder reassuringly, “Have fun, love.”

You weren’t too sure if you knew the way to the beach, but you followed the family in front of you and, luckily, they were going there too. You found Van, sitting on the wall separating the gift shops from the sand, acoustic guitar on his lap.

“That’s my fuckin’ jumper!” he greeted you enthusiastically, jumping off the wall to hug you.

You smiled, pulling the note out of your pocket, “So, explain this.”

Van sat himself back down on the wall.

“Well, I needed a new girl to write a song about, and you were a good excuse.” he smiled, cheekily.

He brushed your blonde fringe out of your eyes.

“Your eyes are well-blue y’know,” he said, dreamily, “like, I dunno, they’re quite delicate, but also brave, like the sea or summit-”

“Shut up,” you chuckled, although your heart felt warm.

“And your hair, I love it,” he continued, “it’s just you. Messy, windswept, but warm and kind - I like the colour.” “My hair isn’t naturally blonde, you know.” you replied quietly, staring at his lips.

He leaned in closer, so your foreheads were almost touching.

“And you have freckles-”

“Shut up and kiss me.” you muttered, pressing your lips against his.

The kiss was a million fireworks, tender yet exciting, lighting up a fire inside your chest that you’d forgotten existed.

As you pulled away, you noticed Van smirking, a glint in his eye.

“That was part of the plan, wasn’t it!” You squealed, outraged, “Compliment her till she kisses you!”

“No!” he replied, his voice once again getting higher in volume and pitch, “I was gonna sing to you first.”

He grabbed your hand, helping you up onto the wall. He strummed the first chord of the song.

I can tell by your grin That you're lying through your fringe again This talk is getting us nowhere Let's set sail for nowhere It was just one night And it was just one time And you looked amazing From what I was taking Keep breathing, keep breathing Settle down in your home It's only rainfall Keep breathing, keep breathing Settle down in your home It's only rainfall You know it's only rainfall

As he strummed the last chord of the somewhat short song, you smiled.

“It’s not finished yet-”

“Shhh, it was perfect.” you whispered.

“But when exactly did I lie?” you asked, more loudly.

Van chuckled.

“When you said you got lost. Your room’s on the first floor.”

#Catfish and the Bottlemen #catb #vanfic #VanFiction #van mccann

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softyoongiionly · 6 years

Text

Fear and Dumplings: Chapter Five

Confronting your fears for a final grade sounds unappealing but, with Yoongi as your partner, things might not be so bad.

Summary: You’re in your final semester at University when your Abnormal Psychology professor assigns you a partnered project surrounding your greatest fears. Lucky for you, your partner just so happens to be a cute boy named Min Yoongi.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: College Au, Underground Rapper! Yoongi, Soft!!! Yoongi, Fluff!!!, some moderate angst (later), smut (later later), slow-ish? burn

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: AHHHHH the overwhelming tension! I hope you guys like this one😊

Warnings for this Chapter: mentions of fear, anxiety, swearing (obviously), suggestive language, gut wrenching tension, slight angst.

Warnings for the Fic: mentions characters confronting their fears, characters in uncomfortable situations, emotional moments between characters, mentions of bad parenting, explicit language throughout the fic, moderate angst, and very explicit smut later in the story.

Chapter 5: Ferris Wheels and Friendship?

The next morning you woke up to an incessant buzzing that seemed to come from underneath your pillow. Squinting away the morning sun and cursing yourself for not shutting the window before you fell asleep; you take a look at your phone and, see that Jimin is calling you.

“Morning.” You croak, pulling your fuzzy throw blanket up over your figure.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty,” Jimin’s fairy voice twinkles through the speaker, a giggle on the tail end of his words “Did I wake you up?”

“Always.” There’s a bite to your tone but, Jimin’s knows better than to take it seriously. “What’s up?”

“It’s Friday.” He sing-songs and your eyes shoot open in alarm.

“Oh shit, Jimin! I’m sorry!” You flip the covers around, disturbing a sleeping Marzipan in the process, your feet meandering about on the floor as you try and look for some clean clothes. You and Jimin had a Friday tradition that involved crepes and the best iced coffee in the entire world. It was definitely something worth waking up for.

“Jagi, you’re good!” He calls through the phone, since you had to put him on speaker. “I’m at your door though, let me iiiin.” He whines and you rush to the door, not bothering to hang up his call. Swinging the door open, you are met with a giggling Jimin casually leaning against the doorframe. He looks amazing as usual, his pink hair effortlessly swept back, his rose colored cheeks dewy: his outfit is simple but jaw-dropping as usual. Tight grey skinny jeans, a pink oversized sweater, several gold earrings, and black leather boots adorn Jimin’s figure as he holds his arms out for you. Jimin always puts a smile on your face and, he is one of the few people you can confidently say that you never get tired of. You wrap your arms around him, pressing your cheek to his chest, a smile warming your features.

“I’m sorry I slept in.” You mumble against his sweater, and he lets out another giggle.

“It’s fine Y/N, I knew you’d never miss a date with me so, I showed up anyway.” His honeyed voice assures you as you pull away. It’s then that both you and Jimin realize that you don’t have pants on. “Yah! What are you doing answering the door in your panties, someone can walk by and see you!”

You giggle in response to his change in demeanor, pulling him inside as you shut the door.

“Calm down, I’m sure everyone on this floor has seen my underwear at some point.” You confess, still giggling lightly as you hand Jimin a water bottle and, his eyes narrow in your direction. Listen, sometimes I don’t feel like putting on pants just to run to the mailbox and back, I’ve actually gotten pretty good at making it back before anyone sees me.”

“I don’t want to hear about my best friend running around with her ass out, unless I’m there, also running around with my ass out. Someone could literally put you in their pocket.” Jimin admonishes with a pointed look, drinking from his water bottle but, his eyes reflect a bit of the normal playfulness that they always have.

“Look who’s talking.” You play back before running for your life and into your room. Jimin boils over as he picks up a pillow from your couch and throws it in your direction, the pillow nearly missing your head.

“Don’t be fucking rude!” He calls, attempting to sound angry but his giggle escapes his lips anyway.

———————————————————————————————–

“So that’s it? He just got up and left?” Jimin asks around a bite of strawberry crepe, his eyes wide after listening to you recount your night with Yoongi.

You nod, your lips pursed as you wipe your hands on the cloth napkin that lay over your lap.

“Yeah,” You replied casually, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “I don’t know, maybe I misread the situation. I get why he left I guess but, I was a little confused by him leaning away from me. I’m probably reading too much into it, I mean he was there for our project. He wasn’t there cause he wanted to hang out with me.”

“I mean, that’s true but, from what you are telling me, he doesn’t sound put off by you, he sounds like he might have been nervous. I mean odds are, you probably had your chest right in his face while you were fixing his hair.” Jimin smirks lightly, his eyes twinkling with suggestion.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you toss your napkin his way and, forever the dancer, he dodges it swiftly, giggling.

“Shut up.” Your laugh eventually leaves your chest to bubble through your lips as Jimin holds his hands up.

“You’re hot; I’m just speaking the truth.” He defends a sweet smile on his lips.

“You flatter me kind sir” You conclude, patting his hand as you both giggle once again.

A few moments of comfortable silence passes before Jimin’s eyes light up in remembrance.

“Wait! Did you see Kookie’s tweet?”

Your eyes widen back at him as you brace your hands against the table, leaning forward slightly.

“Oh my god yes, what was that about? Do you think he’s seeing someone?”

Jungkook had posted a particularly out of character tweet this morning. The exact tweet read, “You’re the cause of my euphoria.” Jungkook was definitely a romantic little softy at heart but, it wasn’t like him to post cryptic things on social media: mainly because most of his posts were usually meme/sports related.

“Should we ask him about it? I’m sure he knows we saw it.” Jimin’s voice is hushed despite the fact that the man in question was 300 miles away.

You purse your lips in thought before shaking your head.

“No, I don’t think so; I think we should wait until he comes to us. Knowing him, he will probably downplay it anyway.” You conclude, smiling fondly at the thought of the secretly shy little bean that was your best friend.

“Ugh but, I want to know who my Kookie is seeing.” Jimin whines, slumping back into the chair, causing you to giggle.

“Trust me, so do I but, I think he’ll tell us when he’s ready. Besides, he might not even be seeing anyone yet; you know how he gets around pretty girls.” You try and reason with the man before you, who seems to be getting more and more flustered by the second.

“But I want to know now.” Jimin’s accent decorates his whine perfectly and, you curse him for being so adorable. “We’ve been best friends forever, he always tells me everything. I bet Taehyung knows.” He concludes bitterly and, you nudge his leg with your foot.

“If he did, he probably pried it out of him.” You assure him, fighting the laugh that’s brewing over Jimin’s tantrum.

“Fine, I won’t say anything.” Jimin surrenders, his features etched in a prominent frown. “I’ll just stalk his twitter.”

“You already stalk his twitter.” You point out, giggling, savoring the last sip of your iced coffee, the waiter coming over to collect the check.

“Well, I miss him!” He defends, his puffy lips pouted in frustration.

The two of you leave the café and, Jimin heads off to his showcase rehearsal while you catch the subway back home. As your nearing your stop, your phone buzzes in your hand. Glancing down, you see it’s from Yoongi and, you unlock your phone to open it. Your heart stalls in your chest for a moment as you look at the picture before you. It’s Yoongi but, with bright blonde hair. He’s parted it off to the side, exposing part of his forehead and, although the color wasn’t a shimmering platinum, it was definitely blonde. He has a little bit of a smile on his lips and, he looked like he hadn’t been up for too long. The picture was sent with a text that read: Yoongi: I guess you should change majors?

Fuck. He looked really good. You tell yourself to chill and, instead of responding right away, you wait until your back at your apartment.

You: I’ll let my student advisor know on Monday lol. Do you like it?

A few seconds pass before he replies.

Yoongi: It’s different but, I don’t mind it, I’m just happy I still have all of my hair.

You: Trust me, so am I.

Yoongi: Do you like it?

Your brows furrow at the new message you receive, your fingers stalling on the keyboard. Why would he care if you liked it?

You: I think it looks great, black to blonde is usually a rough way to go so, I’m happy it worked out.

Yoongi: Me too. Thanks again.

You: No worries.

A sigh leaves your lips as you lean back against your couch. You thumb presses into the power button on your phone, as you place it on the arm of the couch. Man, Tuesday could not come quick enough.

—————————————————————————————————-

“Ok so, the next one is easy, you put roller coasters and, I put heights, we can definitely combine those two.” You begin; you’re desk to desk with Yoongi, in the middle of your Tuesday lecture, trying to figure out the next part of the project. Yoongi had been late to class that day but, boy was he worth the wait; blonde messy hair, camouflage hoodie, black torn jeans and, of course his many silver earrings.

His chewing his lip as he nods in your direction, a slightly drawn out breath leaving his nose as he looks at his paper.

“Yeah, that makes sense. We should probably go to an amusement park or something.” Yoongi suggests, his lips hovering over the straw to his Americano. He looked immaculate as always but, you couldn’t miss the puffiness under his eyes that alluded to a night of very little sleep.

“Do you actually want to go on one of the rides?”

Yoongi shakes his head immediately, his dark eyes lighting up slightly in alarm.

“No, I’m good. We can just walk around or something.” He replies, his hand coming up to scratch behind his neck.

“Is it the height for you too? Or the movement?” You inquire, curiously, your eyes meeting his.

“It’s all of it. I don’t like being jerked around…well, not jerked around…like moved around, I guess. I don’t like it.” He fumbles out the last part of his sentence and, you have to stifle the giggle that wants to pass your lips. You nod, putting your pen to your paper, writing down the plans so, that you can turn it in to Professor James.

“No, I get it; you don’t like being jerked around. I’ll keep that in mind.” You reply casually and you feel an eraser being thrown your way.

“Shut up. Don’t be gross.” Yoongi admonishes but, his cheeks are pink and the amused smile on his lips has already presented itself.

“I’m just trying to get to know my partner.” You defend, the flirtation in your voice subtle but, clearly suggestive. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s for a moment and, you can sense that he’s in some kind of discomfort. He shifts in his seat, his hand at the back of his neck once more before, he takes another sip of his coffee.

“I’m busy for most of this week but, I can probably do Thursday night again, I think the park closes at 10 so, we should have plenty of time to get what we need.” He changes the subject, his gaze growing slightly stern as he glances around the room. Yikes.

“Thursday works for me. I have review session from 2-4 for my final but, I’ll be free after that.” Your returns to its normal cadence and, you couldn’t help but feel a little bummed out by Yoongi going all business on you again. You figured it was time to stop hoping that he would see you as something other than his partner for an inconvenient project.

“Alright, cool, I can meet you there; I’ll try and leave a little bit earlier to avoid the traffic.” He notes, nodding.

“Ok, we should get there around the same time then.” You reply, your eyes not really meeting his gaze any longer, your notebook suddenly becoming very interesting.

“What final is it?” Yoongi asks suddenly, his voice slightly softer than before.

“Hm?” Your eyes flit up to his and you find him staring back at you curiously.

“Your final, that you’re reviewing for?” He clarifies, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Oh, yeah, it’s my International Relations final, it’s one of my final grad requirements so, I need to ace it.” You explain, Yoongi nodding along, his eyes holding a bit of interest for once.

“What do you plan to do with your degree?”

“I want to work as an international advocate of some sorts. I’m interested in improving international relationships and foreign affairs, stuff like that. I’d really like to work in human rights as well but, that’s something I’ll probably have to work up to.” You reply, passion lighting up your voice as you speak about your passions. Yoongi’s face lights up slightly, a small but, genuine smile gracing his features as he nods along.

“That’s cool; the world definitely needs the help.”

“Yeah, I think so too. What about you?” You inquire, your body leaning forward slightly. Yoongi’s expression lights up further as nods to his laptop.

“Well, if I actually get my final composition project done, I plan on staying in the city to work as a producer. I have a friend who owns a small studio in the west province who said I have a job when I graduate.” He explains, his tone one of pride and certainty.

You smile, your eyes lighting up intrigued.

“That’s really cool; it’s nice that you have something lined up already. Do you make your own stuff or are you just looking to make beats for other people?” At this question, Yoongi shifts his posture again, growing smaller in his seat.

“Uh I make my own stuff sometimes but, I usually just sell beats to aspiring SoundCloud rappers.” He smirks slightly as you giggle, stretching your limbs before nodding to your phone.

“Are they any good?”

“No, they’re trash.” He scoffs his eyes playful as his long fingers fiddle with the end of his paper. “But, I have rent so; I do what I have to do.”

“I get you. Do you sing or?” You’re attempting to milk as much of the conversation as possible, as this is probably the most genuine verbal encounter you’ve had with Yoongi. Yoongi cringes at your inquiry, his face wrinkled in distaste as he shakes his head.

“No.” He chuckles as he leans back in his chair, the soft column of his throat visible as continues. “I rap…sometimes, just for fun though.”

You smile playfully, tilting your head, as Professor James calls for your planning papers. “Let me know when your mixtape drops.”

At this, Yoongi rolls his eyes but, you can’t miss the blush that once again graces his cheeks.

“Not going to happen.” He bites back, as he slips his laptop into his bag.

The two of you drop your papers on Professor James’s desk before, weaving through the crowd of people towards the exit. Usually Yoongi leaves you behind to head back into the main part of the campus but, this time he lingers beside you, his thumbs tucking into the straps of his backpack.

“I’ll see you Thursday?” He asks, his voice soft, his doll-lips pouted as he tilts his head towards the direction he plans to walk.

“I’ll be there.” You smile in assurance as you begin to part ways. Your back is almost completely turned before you hear Yoongi’s voice again.

“Bring a jacket, it’s supposed to be cold.” He calls; hands pulling the sleeves of his hoodie back down over his wrists. You nod, biting back a smile at his request.

“I will, thanks.” You call back before turning back and going your separate ways.

———————————————————————————————-

“Y/N likes Yoongi, Y/N likes Yoongi!” An annoying course of voices echoes through your screen as you roll your eyes, flipping off your webcam.

“I don’t like Yoongi; I just think he’s cute!” You insist, through the choir from hell that’s currently berating you.

It’s Wednesday night and you’re in the middle of a skype session with Jimin, Taehyung and, Jungkook. Jimin and his big mouth had slowly started to bring up the idea that one of you was seeing someone. Jungkook had started to look visibly uncomfortable so, you decided to shift the focus onto you. You had mentioned Yoongi and, his new hair and, how literally everything he does was endearing and, this obviously opened you up to a barrage of teasing from your friends.

“You never talk about boys this way Y/N, you definitely have a thing for him.” Taehyung points out, his smirk prominent as the other two boys finally settle down.

“Seriously, she mentions him all the time; it’s starting to make me jealous.” Jimin pouts, causing Taehyung to chuckle. Jungkook, who would normally be memeing the hell out of you right now, decides to quiet down, not wanting to risk his own love life being questioned.

“You guys, even if I had a thing for Yoongi, it wouldn’t matter. He’s made it obvious that he isn’t feeling it, trust me.” You explain, playing with the ends of your hair, whilst Taehyung and Jimin roll their eyes.

“You don’t know that, have you tried flirting a little?” Taehyung asks, his expression doubtful as he deadpans the camera.

“Yeah, actually I have but, I think it makes him uncomfortable and, I don’t really want to do that.” You’re trying to keep your tone casual, not really wanting to reveal your disappointment to your friends. Yoongi wasn’t interested in you, that much was obvious but, so far, he seemed like a nice guy so, you really didn’t want to make things awkward for him.

“I don’t know Y/N, you don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to knowing if guys like you or not. There were at least half a dozen guys in high school that had a thing for you and, you had no idea.” Jimin points out, shrugging as he throws back some of the pink wine in his glass. Taehyung nods in agreement, pointing towards you.

“Jiminie’s right, maybe you just make him nervous. You have that effect on men.” Taehyung smirks as he leans back in his seat. You roll your eyes and shake your head, your hand reaching over to pat Marzipan who has plopped down next to you.

“I think you should keep going the way you are. Hyung is right, he might just be nervous but, if you don’t know for sure, maybe it’s best to just keep going with the flow.” Jungkook finally pipes up, his demeanor much calmer than normal and, you really have to stifle your desire to ask him why he isn’t being the walking meme that he normally is.

“Thanks Kookie. I think you’re right.” You smile sweetly in his direction as he nods almost shyly in return. Taehyung and Jimin roll their eyes causing both you and Jungkook to laugh.

“I think you should say something to him. Take charge, let him know how you feel.” Taehyung encourages as Jimin nods along to his sentiment. “ He might surprise you.”

“He’s my partner guys, if he’s not into me, it’s going to make the whole thing a lot harder to get through. Look, I promise to say something if he gives me good reason to but, right now, I’m going to take Jungkook’s advice and, go with the flow.” You state and Jungkook smile’s proudly in return before, sticking his tongue out at the screen.

“Ha! I win, suckers.” He announces to the other boys, causing you to laugh at his antics. “Best advice goes to me, Jeon Jungkook, the love expert.”

Ah, there he is.

—————————————————————————————————-

Thursday finally arrives and, you’re rifling through your closet, desperately trying to find your favorite hoodie. Its black and 4-5 sizes too big, which basically means it hangs below your knees. The inside is lined with thick fleece that is easily the softest material you have ever felt and, you could have sworn you hung it up the last time you did laundry. Your face lights up in victory as you spot a mass of black fabric hanging off of one of your shelves before, slipping it on over your bra and leggings. You opt for some comfortable shoes since, odds are, you‘re going to be walking around the park for a while. Marzipan scurries into the kitchen as she hears you pouring food into her bowl, her chubby body almost sliding across the floor as she reaches her destination. You giggle fondly at her, patting her head before, grabbing your things and heading out the door.

The subway ride was longer than you’re used to but, eventually you’re dropped off near the main entrance of the amusement park. When you finally feel the frigid outside air, you thank your lucky stars that Yoongi had reminded you to bring a jacket. You honestly don’t know what you would have done if you had opted to wear anything else. Moving through the crowd of people, you eventually move off to the side to pull your phone out.

You: Hey, I’m here. Have you made it yet?

Yoongi’s reply takes a few minutes before a new message lights up your screen.

Yoongi: I just parked. Meet me at the ticket booth.

You: I bought our tickets already, do you want to just meet at the main entrance?

The chat bubble moves around for a long time and based on his short reply, you assume he was unsure of how to respond.

Yoongi: You didn’t have to do that.

You: You promised me I could get the next round so, I did just that.

Yoongi: I meant the next round of food…

You: Don’t worry about it.

A few moments pass before you spot Yoongi walking towards your direction. He’s wearing the same outfit he wore during your AM lecture: black Nike sweats with a dark gray utility jacket. He’s also sporting a disapproving expression, his hands tucked into his pockets as he approaches you. You push off of the wall you were leaning against, strolling over to meet him half way.

“I wish you wouldn’t have wasted your money on me.” He announces as the two of your paths finally meet. “I could have paid.”

“You’re welcome Yoongi.” You reply simply, nudging him towards the main entrance. He side eyes you, his posture stiff but, he allows you to push him towards your destination.

“Thank you.” His voice is soft and you almost miss the small smile that appears and then vanishes on his mouth.

The two of you approach the gate and, you reach out to hand your tickets to the clerk who is sporting a brilliant smile.

“Enjoy!” She chirps and both you and Yoongi thank her before you head inside.

The park is buzzing with activity, twinkling lights adorning nearly every structure, the air is scented with tantalizing flavors that resemble cinnamon and freshly baked bread, children are eagerly tugging their parents towards various shops and rides and, there’s probably around a half a dozen giant roller coasters that stand proudly towards the back of the park. You can’t help but smile at the scene before you and, this doesn’t go unnoticed by the man standing beside you.

“What?” His brows are raised, as he glances between you and whatever he assumes you’re smiling at.

“Nothing.” You reply, your smile fading slightly before jerking your head towards the back of the park. “I’m guessing we should head that way?”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, nodding in response as the two of you start to make your way to the metal fortresses that await you.

You observe the coasters from a distance and, you feel yourself getting slightly nervous at the thought of riding the tallest one that protrudes in the middle of the group, the top of it looking as if its about to touch the sky. Roller coasters themselves didn’t really bother you but, the idea of being up so high without any control over when you are able to get down, really freaked you out. Yoongi stayed silent for the most part as you meandered your way through the eager patrons. You felt some level of disappointment as the tricky part of your brain reminded you that you wished you were here with Yoongi for different reasons.

“Which one scares you the most?” You ask him after the two of you finally reach the cluster of coasters.

Yoongi’s eyes shift around for a moment, his lips pursed in thought before he nods toward a black coaster that looks it spins and flips about a thousand times.

“That one, I can’t understand why anyone would find that fun.” He replies, wrinkling his nose in distaste. You laugh lightly before you nod towards the giant colorful Ferris Wheel dominating the right side of the back lot.

“What about that one?” You inquire softly, your eyes lighting up with an idea. Yoongi ponders your question for a moment before shrugging.

“That one isn’t too bad, I’m not a huge fan of the height but, it’s probably the only one I would consider riding.”

“I’m going to ride it.” You say suddenly, nudging his shoulder with your own. Yoongi’s brow furrows as he looks over at you and then back at the ride.

“Wait why? I thought we were just walking around.” He reminds you but, you already start making your way towards the Ferris Wheel, your heart starting to pound in your chest as you do. Yoongi struggles to keep up with you as he looks at you with concern.

You shrug as you take your place in line, “You actually dyed your hair and it turned out alright, I think I should confront a fear or two directly too. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to though.”

Yoongi looks at you for a moment, still alarmed as his eyes regard the behemoth wheel before the both of you. He shakes his head, his gaze once again disapproving as he sighs out through his nose.

“I’ll watch your stuff, I guess, just…” He pauses, his eyes scanning over your frame as you hand him your purse. “Be…safe…”

You giggle lightly at his demeanor, pushing down the anxiety and disappointment that’s brewing in your chest.

“I’ll be strapped in Yoongi, don’t worry.” You assure him, before, making your way to the entrance of the ride. What were you doing???? Were you crazy??? There was literally no reason to confront this fear directly but, honestly, why not? It was a Ferris Wheel. Yes, it was unnerving but, what’s the worst that can happen?

Right before you approach the front of the line, you hear a soft murmur, that sounded like your name, making its way through the group of people before you notice Yoongi shuffling over to you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a tilt to your head. Yoongi lets out a frustrated sigh, his face turned up in discomfort as you both approach the ride operator.

“You shouldn’t ride it alone.” Yoongi mumbles, regarding you with his cat eyes.

“Yoongi, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” You assure him, your eyes soft with concern.

“Well I don’t even want to be here but, I can’t afford to fail this class so, let’s just get this over with, I guess.” For the first time, you sense actual irritation in Yoongi’s voice and the tone makes your face fall.

You nod robotically as the woman ushers the two of you into a massive structure that looks like a carriage. As the two of you step inside, you pull your seatbelt over your lap, keeping your attention on the material. Yoongi has his eyes on you and, you can feel it but, you have no intention at meeting his gaze. As the ride rumbles to life, you grip your seatbelt a little tighter in an attempt to calm your nerves while Yoongi scans over you warily. The two of you don’t speak for some time, your eyes trained on the window of the carriage as it slowly starts moving.

“Are you ok?” Yoongi’s soft voice finally breaks the thick layer of silence between the two of you, his cat eyes regarding you.

“Yeah. I’m good, you?” You jerk your head in his direction, your voice smaller than you want it to be. Yoongi isn’t convinced but, he answers your question anyway.

“Yeah, I’m ok.”

Silence fills the carriage again as you shift slightly on the cushioned seat. The view from the window is revealing more and more of the twinkling city lights and, you once again feel a twinge of sadness that you aren’t here with someone you wants to be there with you. Jimin would love this ride, you note, wishing he was here to make you laugh.

“I’m sorry that you’re here with me instead of some pretty girl or something, you got to admit though, this view is amazing.” You attempt to lighten the mood, smiling slightly as you look out the window. Yoongi’s brow furrows in confusion but, you miss this as you’ve purposefully chosen to avoid his gaze.

“What do you mean?” He mumbles, his voice smaller than normal. You look over at him to see him fiddling with the end of his hoodie, as he stares back at you.

“I just mean that this is actually kind of cool and, I’m sure you’d rather be here with your girlfriend or something.” You explain, keeping your tone as casual as possible.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He retorts, his eyes regarding you, a ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth. “and you are…pretty.” Yoongi seems to force the last part of his sentence out and, you can’t help but giggle in response.

“It’s ok Yoongi; you don’t have to say that. I know you aren’t into me like that.” You smile reassuringly, waving him off almost, trying to move the subject along.

“No, actually, you don’t know that.” He mutters, confusion and faint irritation flashing across his face.

“Well, maybe, I’m wrong for assuming but_”

“You are.” Yoongi cuts you off, his voice calm and annoyingly monotone but, his gaze holds something you can’t quite identify. “Why would you think I wasn’t attracted to you?”

“Your body language, the way you constantly avoid eye contact with me, just stuff like that. It’s no big deal Yoongi; I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, it’s just something I’ve noticed.”

“You’re wrong.” His cheeks are pink and you feel an unsettling flutter in your stomach as you lock eyes with him.

“Fine, I’m wrong. I’m sorry for assuming.” You concede, smirking lightly as you regard his flustered frame. “Would you kiss me? Hypothetically?”

You don’t know what’s come over you, you’re not normally so brazen but you really wanted to know what went on in that pretty blonde head of his.

“Yeah…”He swallows around a dry throat, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours for the first time during this conversation. “I would…hypothetically.”

Your smirk is unwavering as your teeth nibble on the inside of your lip.

“Where?” The inquiry passes your lips as your voice drops to a low murmur, the flirtation that you’ve suppressed creeping back into your tone.

“Where?” Yoongi repeats, his shaky voice confused momentarily as you watch his gaze flicker between your chest to your throat and, then finally settling on your lips. “I…I don’t know…your lips…maybe…other places too…”

The fluttering in your chest doesn’t seize and, you really try to reason with yourself but, you can’t help but want him. Before you can reply, another confession tumbles passed his lips.

“I’d kiss you everywhere…if you’d let me.”

The ride jolts momentarily ripping you and Yoongi out of your moment, you look around, concerned that something was wrong before a voice crackles through the speakers.

“Attention Ladies and Gentleman, the ride is experiencing some minor technical difficulties and, will resume shortly, please continue to keep your hands, arms, feet and legs inside the ride at all times, we will have everything moving in no time.”

The two of you settle down and catch each other’s gaze once again; Yoongi’s cheeks still pink, his hand resuming its favorite spot behind his neck. He chuckles lightly and, you can’t help but follow suit, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

“You….uh” Yoongi begins his sentence but, he seems to lose his words for moment as he stares at you. He takes a breath, his head turning to the side slightly before continuing. “We can’t.”

Your brow furrows as you cock your head, your eyes holding his.

“We can’t what?”

“We can’t do anything.” He explains further, his voice decorated with hesitation, his deep chocolate eyes unsure. You fall silent for a moment, your eyes softer than they were before as you hold his gaze.

“Can I ask why?”

Yoongi’s lips are drawn up into a half smile and you think for a moment you detect a hint of fondness in his eyes before he answers.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” He admits, your face falls for a moment as you look out the window. You nod as you chew on the inside of your lip before Yoongi pipes up again. “It’s not because I don’t want to. I just think it’s a bad idea… right now.”

You nod your head again, smiling warmly, aiming to conceal your disappointment.

“I get it, don’t worry, thanks for the ego boost. For the record though,” Your smile turns into a smirk, your eyes playful. “I’d kiss you too. Everywhere.” The tone of your voice is dramatic and overly seductive causing Yoongi to roll his eyes and flip you off, despite your comment clearly flustering him. A giggle erupts over your lips as the ride resumes motion towards the ground.

Maybe Jungkook wasn’t a “love expert” after all.

421 notes · View notes

lixie-lovie · 4 years

Text

{ Mysterious Stranger | skz }

h.hyunjin x reader

Chapter 3: The Fall

Genre: Dark!au, Thriller-ish, Fantasy!au

Warnings: Some cursing, mentions of bodily mutation?, mention of weapons/blood/demons

((if anything else needs to be tagged/warned about please send me a message..i’ll fix it asap))

Word Count: 3.5k

Note: Okay I am becoming so excited for this story to continue, but I can only hope I am portraying all of the coolness of the idea through my writing ugh the struggle. Is this even a good story oof im unsure. Regardless, hope whoever is reads this enjoys as more should be coming soon! It’s gonna get good ;) Thx for reading and u have a great day <3

Chapter Song: Thunder - VeriVery

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It was at this moment I deemed that time felt as if it was stagnating. The rushing mid-afternoon air was whipping my hair around wildly and hurrying so quickly past my ears during my descent that the only noise I could recognize was a loud whistling and something rumbling faintly below me. I pondered on my possible end, but somehow I wasn’t afraid or screaming. No, in this moment of free fall where all I had to hold onto was faith and inevitability of time between myself and the ground I felt free, serene, alive even.

I felt my lips turning upwards in a small, genuine smile as I let out laughter that bubbled up deep from within my chest. I curled my limbs inward and felt almost childlike in my blissful glee. I kept my eyes closed and focused on feeling every second I had before the ending of this journey came. I counted down the seconds and my face turned further to the sky the higher the numbers would go until suddenly the impact came.

I fell limply down, the impact rough as a dull oof left my lips. Suddenly I realized what predicament I had found myself as I definitely didn’t just land on the hard concrete ground of the alleyway that was below the window I had just launched myself out of. I peeled my tightly shut eyes open one by one letting the bright, afternoon sun blind me for a moment before regaining my sight. As I did, however, I suddenly found myself laughing again.

I was staring into the eyes (or, well, where I thought his eyes were) of a man. A man covered in a black mirrored visor helmet, wearing all sleek, black leather, sitting on top of an equally as black motorcycle. I found myself giggling gleefully as I pressed my hands harshly against this man’s firm chest, laughing at how I marvelously wasn’t dead and also had just been randomly caught by a mysterious stranger (haha I know cheesy right). Because this seemed to be the least surprising thing I had encountered recently, I found myself bubbling out more laughter amidst a few gracious “thank you”s even as the man’s sturdy arms found my hips to lift me off of his obviously expensive bike. He plopped me unceremoniously down on my feet beside him, my back to the building I was in only moments before.

My laughter slowly died down as I really took the situation in, but a silly smile still graced my features. I am sure now, I looked wild with my hair all over the place, my face covered in sweat and grime, and laughter bubbling out of my chest after falling out of a window. As I allowed myself to take in the man’s appearance properly, not sitting on his lap, I noticed that his build seemed familiar, like someone I had maybe seen in passing, but didn’t decide to ask many questions considering the circumstance. I found myself silent, unable to come up with much to say about the ridiculous situation I had ended up in. Thankfully, I wouldn’t have much chance to say anything before the man made a move to break the awkward tension.

His large, slender, black leather glove clad hands slowly moved up to remove his helmet. I watched, enraptured at the way this other human was moving before me, as slowly the tan skin of his neck was revealed dawned with silver chains of some kind of series of necklaces tucked into his leather coat. Then, a light blond ponytail could be seen, tied at the base of his neck with some kind of thick, beaded black cord. Soon enough he was shaking his head free of the sticky sweat clad hairs on his forehead before furrowing his brows deeply and looking right into my shock stricken eyes.

“Do you always get this much of a kick out of jumping out of windows, lady?” He spoke with a voice like honey. Deeper than I had imagined and angrier than I anticipated. I raked my eyes swiftly over him, taking in his honey skin, piercing eyes, and defined features. This man’s appearance was striking in many ways, but I couldn’t help myself from becoming dumbstruck by my own sudden realization. The man who had just saved my life was none other than the blade flipping man at the diner. The same made who had given me the dagger that started this whole ridiculous adventure. I staggered backwards suddenly, both physically and mentally stricken by this revelation. “Well? What’s wrong with your face??” He said, obviously waiting for some kind of response by the angry look dawning on his features and the grating tone of his voice. Man, this guy never looks happy huh?

Before I could come up with something to say from the thousands of thoughts racing through my head as my heart pounded dully in my chest I heard a sudden noise from overhead. The strange man and I turned our chins towards the sky and took in the scene unfolding from the window I had just been persuaded to jump out of.

Seungmin was there, sweat dripping off of his forehead in beads, his arms littered in cuts and his clothing ripped and covered in red. The creature, now in a much less man-like form, was in front of him, facing away from the glass-void window at it’s back as it tried to pry itself free from his grip. Seungmin’s face contorted into a snarl as he drove the eerily similar to my own dagger into the monsters chest, forcefully tearing it towards the creature’s face, ripping a deep, black hole through the tough, burnt skin and dispersing the inky black blood of the creature all over his sweaty, heaving features. Before the ash began to eat the creature away, however, it got one final move in by reaching forward to grab Seungmin by the collar of his now stained and torn grey sweater, ripping him forward and out of the window, dooming him to fall as I had before, but this time without someone ready to catch him.

I heard myself scream as I watched them fall. The monster turned to ash quickly during the descent, turning the air into a scene of grey and red specks floating around mixing with the array of glittering broken glass surrounding Seungmin’s bleeding, falling form as if taunting him one final time before his inevitable doom. Just as my scream was dying down I saw a sudden, swift movement from the man beside me. Faster than I could comprehend he had abandoned the bike on it’s side, the sound of the metal scraping against the concrete loud in the otherwise quiet alleyway. His footsteps pounded against the ground in a strong, graceful way before reaching the wall of the building on the far side of the alleyway. He leaped into the air extraordinarily high and began scaling the wall at an inhuman speed that seemed meticulous and practiced. He made his way a few feet up, stopping briefly to calculate, before turning 180 degrees and launching himself backwards, nimbly grasping his strong arms around Seungmin’s lower waist as Seungmin swiftly forced himself stiff and they tumbled down to the ground together. I felt as if I was watching in slow motion as I took in each detail sharply. Their impact was nearly silent in a way that had me gasping for air as they rolled together in an almost playful, dancing course of action and landed safely on their feet, seemingly unharmed from the fall, holding each other’s forearms tightly.

“Hyunjin!” Seungmin gasped out excitedly, while removing himself from the other man’s embrace to run his eyes over his disheveled appearance. “I didn’t think Chan-hyung would send you of all people!” He said, increasing the volume of his voice with each excited word. “You look like shit.” He finished, matter-of-factually while laughing and tugging on the man’s blonde locks harshly.

“Good to see you too and you don’t look much better right now, reckless one.” The man, Hyunjin?, grunted out harshly, the pleasant look on his face betraying his harsh tone.

My mind was racing between the events that had just unfolded from the mysterious man’s actions, to catching my fall and the fight I had endured, to Seungmin’s brutal slaying of his own literal demon. I realized I wasn’t breathing when I was broken out of my stoic stance by the sound of my name being yelled as footsteps grew nearer.

“Y/n!” My eye’s subtle haze of thoughtfulness melted away allowing me to see Seungmin rushing over towards me with an expression of relief on his face. I felt my brows furrowing and my nose scrunching up at his disgruntled appearance. I tried to form a question out of the many ones wandering through my mind as he grew nearer, but found myself only forming new ones as I took in the blood dripping from his sleeves, unable to tell who it belonged to. I decided to simply keep my mouth tightly shut for fear of the answers I may receive if I did start asking more questions. Seungmin grabbed the sides of my face to twist and turn my body, checking me for any severe injuries. Once he deemed I was okay enough to step away from he turned back to the man, now brushing his clothes off a couple of feet away. They each muttered some words that I was too lost in thought to comprehend. Seungmin then turned back to me with a strict expression I hadn’t seen since we were kids and I had spilled red nail polish all over my mother’s favorite white rug.

“I know you must have a lot of questions right now, but now isn’t the time for answers. This man is my friend, Hyunjin. He is gonna take you somewhere safe for now okay? I need you to stay by his side and listen to what he tells you to do. I have to stay here, there’s something I have been assigned to do, but I will come find you soon.” He spoke softly, but sternly, in a way that had me holding on to each word. I nodded my head slowly, albeit slightly hesitantly, and he bit back a small smile of relief at my compliance. He grasped the sides of my face softly before planting a quick, loving kiss to my sweaty forehead. The man, now known as Hyunjin, made an overly dramatic noise of disgust from behind Seungmin’s back and I couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that fell from my lips. I gave Seungmin a brief hug before looking him over and telling him to stay safe and to find me soon. He smiled softly and nodded before pushing me towards the stranger and running off towards the building he had come out of before.

I sighed and bit my lip, wringing my hands in nervousness before turning my eyes back to the man. The once soft expression he wore around his friend had slipped from his features and was replaced with lips down-turned and one sly eyebrow raised at my puny, fear-riddled form. He sighed and gave me a once over as he walked slowly over to his side-lying bike before bending over and grunting softly while he straightened it up and assessed the damages. My eyes stayed trained on his every move, whether out of curiosity or distrust I couldn’t determine.

“I’m sure you’re just dying to ask questions, but I’m not willing to answer any. I am just here to ensure you don’t die before everything unfolds. Now,” He said coolly, swinging his leg nimbly over the bike and grabbing his helmet before turning his head to look at me insensibly, “rules are simple. Shut up, hold on, and listen to what I tell you to do no matter what.” He quickly ducked his head to put the helmet on before turning his now covered eyes back in my direction and nodding his head in a manner I could only interpret as “are you coming or what?”

I shook my head softly, anger slowly coursing through my veins as my previously curious thoughts became clouded with how much of a prick this guy seemed to be. I wanted to ask what he meant by “before everything unfolds,” but realized I probably wouldn’t receive an answer anyways so I quickly bounded over to the bike instead. Hopping on I loosely slid my hands around his sides to form some kind of grip for myself and just as I began to question the legality and safety of getting onto such a dangerous machine with an obviously dangerous man I heard his voice speak loudly over the rumbling of the engine. “You’re gonna want to hold on a little tighter than that, little one.”

Just as proclaims of needing a helmet of some kind for myself started to leave my lips, his feet lifted off of the ground and the large wheels of the motorcycle began to spin before the vehicle was in motion, much faster than I would have liked to have started out if I am honest. A yelp left my lips as we sped out of the alleyway and I felt my arms unconsciously grip the man’s firm, sturdy waist much tighter as I pressed my cheek to the cool leather covering his back.

My hair whipped around wildly in the wind, making me wish I had tied it up in some way. My eyes were pressed closed tightly from fear as the whistling of rushing air was once again the only thing filling my ears. I tried to make out where we could be headed through the different twists and turns of the ride, but the pure speed at which we were going jumbled my thoughts and left me feeling confused and scared. After one particularly hard turn my grip became stronger as I felt a noise unconsciously slip through my lips. I then felt more than heard the deep chuckle that shook Hyunjin’s shoulders against my now rosy cheek pressed firmly to his shoulder.

As my thoughts took over and I lost the sense of time around me I suddenly noticed the bright orange hues of the afternoon sun were no longer piercing through my closed eyelids, but instead we were now somewhere dark and enclosed by the sound of the rumbling roar of the engine bouncing off of what seemed to be tunnel walls. Bright, fluorescent white light flashed behind my eyelids periodically leaving me scrunching my eyes closed tighter as the bike began to pick up more speed. I tasted metal and I felt blood begin to pool in my mouth from how hard I had been biting into my lip out of fear and cautious curiosity.

I was quickly drawn from thought as I heard a strange noise and felt Hyunjin’s body move sharply under my arms before the bike was suddenly turning 90 degrees and sliding nearly parallel to the ground. I opened my eyes sharply with a gasp as it seemed like the world had slowed down briefly and took notice of the fact that we were now moving sideways under a large gate with a barely tall enough gap left at the bottom as it was lowering to latch into the ground. The gate, a dark black metal painted with red detailed and embellished with an intricate blood red ‘S,’ that had me gasping for air and quickly ripping my face away from Hyunjin’s jacket to look around frantically at my new surroundings in a panic. My grip became looser as I took in the simple, but elegant look of this white and gold tunnel before the end of the tunnel ahead became bright, blurring my vision. Hyunjin leaned forward jarringly, gaining more speed forcing me to follow suit.

The bike then slowed suddenly causing my body to lurch forwards as a loud yelp left my lips. I could now hear Hyunjin’s cacophony of laughter as he slowed the bike to a subtle roll before turning it off and hopping off quickly. I waited for a gentlemanly hand of help to get down from the large bike, but soon realized I was being rudely denied of that. Sighing loudly I watched as Hyunjin’s form slowly slinked away towards two large doors attached to a large white stone building I had somehow not noticed until now.

Quickly after I unceremoniously made my way clumsily off of the tall bike a seemingly young man in all black with a small, sweet smile came rushing up to take the bike away for Hyunjin. He held his white glove clad hand up in greeting before slowly rolling Hyunjin’s bike back the way we had come to a place I wasn’t sure of. I then rushed to catch up to Hyunjin’s retreating form hoping to not get lost around this odd hideout in a part of the city I had never seen before. Once we were within range of the doors, however, I found my pace slowing as I took in their ornate beauty.

Two large, black doors covered in ornate gold paintings of leaves and other intricacies stood intimidatingly in front of me. The building itself was large and seemingly very old. Upon closer inspection the white stone appeared to be a lightened grey due to years of standing tall in the sun and the intricate details around the windows and seals of each floor held deep cracks from ages of weathering. My neck ached trying to look upwards to see the tall roof above me and my chest felt full at the strange aura this whole place gave off. My instincts were blazing with alarm. Regardless of the intimidating look of the thick, cold stone and black metallic detailing of the building, the atmosphere somehow felt calm, safe even. Something about this place felt powerful, but passive. My pace slowed to a stop a couple of feet behind Hyunjin as we approached the doors. He casually walked forwards towards them before muttering a few words I didn’t quite catch before turning back around to face me with a small, sly smirk on his face.

Clicks and creaks could be heard before the doors began to crack open allowing my curiosity to peak as I waited anxiously to see what would be inside. As the doors fully opened I gasped taking in the sight of the intricate and modern place. It seemed as though each hallway led to entirely different areas. An entire operation of sorts could be run here, a functioning company of people all working under one strange roof miles away from the bustling, naive city. Although the main ornate entrance area in my sight was empty the sounds of swords clashing and other forms of presumable training could be heard from somewhere deeper in the facility, typing on numerous keyboards sounded from the other direction, and other noises I had yet to figure out were happening in so many directions it made my head spin.

The whole place was intricate and obviously expensive. My eyes trailed over each detail meticulously, trying to come to some fathomable conclusion about the place, but ending up further intrigued and confused. The interior design of the building was cozy, albeit slightly thrown together, but the color palette of the design seemed to stay consistent throughout all I had seen, blood red. A dark, dull chuckle and a firm hand on the small of my back shocked me out of my still form with a gasp. I hadn’t even noticed the man’s movement in my direction before I was pushed lightly forwards, stumbling into the main room. I whipped my head in Hyunjin’s direction to send a glare his way before sighing and shakily reaching up to brush my hair out of my face. “Where the hell am I right now?” I said as harshly as I could manage through the concern threatening to climb up my chest cavity and choke me.

“Welcome to Stray Kids base.” He proclaimed with his arms stretched out in a gesture towards the interior of the building. He took a few steps in before doing a small circle only to turn back around and let his arms fall to his sides where he reached into his sleeve and like magic pulled out the blade he had given me starting all of this. I gasped at the sight of it and made a mental note to find a way to ask all of the questions coming to the forefront of my mind later. “Try not to let this out of your sight again, I won’t always be willing to bring it back to you and you’re gonna need it.” He then tossed the blade harshly at me. I caught it without thinking too much about the gesture and let it rest heavy in my sweaty palm.

“Better get used to all of this.. it all starts right here.” He said with a devilish grin, turning on his heel nonchalantly to begin walking down one of the many hallways. The sound of his black leather combat boots padding against the tile flooring pierced through my thoughts dully. I could hear his dark chuckle as my feet began to move of their own accord to follow him. He turned his head so I could only see a shadowed version of his profile before speaking. “So, how about a tour?”

#stray kids #straykids #skz #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #reader insert #dark!au #fantasy!au #demon hunter!hyunjin #seungmin #kim seungmin #straykids x reader #I hope anyone actually reading this enjoys lol #more will be here sooooon #mysterious stranger #good luck :)#this is only loosely edited don't sue me i'll go over it soon

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purplepersnicketywrites · 6 years

Note

Drabble prompt!!! Okayyyy so I know that soulmate prompts are overused but sksksks I will NEVER tire of them! Kirishima has only ever been able to see red all his life. He was told that when he touched his soul mate for the first time, he would see all the colors. Bakugou turns out to be his soulmate, but plot twist! Bakugou still see’s no colors. In fact, he never saw colors. He always assumed he never had a soulmate. But he’s kirishima’s soulmate, so...? (Idea: bkg is just colorblind)

Never enough soulmate AUs? That’s a Very Correct Opinion.

This may have gotten a little out of hand. Just a smidge. Fuck. I hope you don’t mind a 7.7k oneshot? I linked it here on AO3, too!

“So your colour’s red, right?” Eijirou asked. At that point, it was really only a formality. He didn’t really know the other kid with the pale-ish hair or the blood-red eyes.

Eijirou watched Bakugou’s face screw up in confusion.

“What the fuck?”

“Well, you know,” Eijirou said, pointing at his head. “Red. Like, your eyes. Like my eyes! And my hair. Whatever colour your eyes are, that’s your colour, the colour you see first. You know that, right?”

“What, that’s not a thing,” Bakugou said, scowling.

“Sure it is, man,” Eijirou said. He turned to Kaminari. “What colour do you see?”

Kaminari looked up from his book. “Uh, yellow, why?”

“What colour are your eyes?”

“Yellow,” Kaminari said. He blinked. “Oh, huh. Weird.”

Kaminari went back to his book, and Eijirou held out his hands as if to say ‘you see?’ to the other boy.

“Two matches don’t fuckin’ mean-”

“It’s a documented thing, dude, there’s like, scientist things about it,” Eijirou said.

Bakugou squinted. “Journal articles?”

“Yeah!” Eijirou snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

Bakugou grunted, and that was the end of that conversation. Eijirou never did get an answer out of Bakugou about what colour he saw.

The next time they spoke, they were almost back-to-back. Eijirou didn’t know exactly how they’d been transported over here, but it must have been that smokey bastard’s quirk. At least they were still in the training facility, and not, like, Antarctica or somewhere inconvenient like that.

Eijirou’s overall impression of Bakugou up to that point was: unsociable, unpleasant, and most importantly unhinged. The blond was fuckin’ crazy.

Except… he wasn’t. There was an entirely different Bakugou here with him now. He was calm, analytical, and he refused to panic or lose his head. His reflexes were insane, and he had faith in the rest of their class in his own way.

Eijirou thought that for a moment there he saw Bakugou. The real Bakugou. The hero he was gonna become, and not the angry kid he was right then.

It was something that sent a shiver down Eijirou’s spine. He was standing here with one of the greats before he’d gotten there, someone who was gonna go down in history with a victorious snarl on his face and heat hanging in the air.

For a moment, Eijirou saw the future, and he decided that it was one he wanted to be a part of.

For a moment, Eijirou thought he saw more than red.

It became more than a moment not too much longer after that, the colours.

It was the Sports Festival, and the students were thronging, trying to organise their teams for the cavalry battle. Eijirou wanted to win. Everyone did, of course. He tried to make his way towards the flash of red that was Todoroki, because he probably had the most powerful quirk out of anyone in the class, and Eijirou’s was pretty good against temperature extremes.

Todoroki had already had his pick of their classmates, however, and there weren’t any spots left on his team. That sucked. Something else red caught Eijirou’s eye - another pair of eyes. Aha. Todoroki might have been the most powerful of them all, and Midoriya was, well, he was whatever he was, but then there was Bakugou.

He was arguably the one who wanted to be a hero more than anyone else here, and Eijirou was pretty sure their quirks were compatible, so he made a beeline towards the boy who was scowling around at everyone crowding him and telling them he couldn’t remember their quirks.

Something curled in Eijirou’s gut as he called out Bakugou’s name and felt those red eyes snap to him immediately.

“Shitty Hair,” Bakugou muttered, which, rude. Eijirou wasn’t gonna let that slide, but at least the guy recognised him.

Eijirou knew Bakugou was gonna agree to work with him, because Eijirou knew what Bakugou wanted. Eijirou picked out Sero (long range quirk with a variety of applications, reliable) and Ashido (good in high-stakes situations, from what he remembered).as their side-horses. It was a strong team.

They lifted Bakugou up, Eijirou’s breath sliced into his lungs for a moment, and colour splashed across his vision. But the cavalry battle was about to begin. There was no time to consider it, or laugh, or talk, or do anything but meet Bakugou’s red eyes, red framed by yellow-gold-pale hair, and bare his teeth in readiness.

Bakugou didn’t say anything. Eijirou didn’t think he had to, though. Eijirou could feel it in every one of Bakugou’s leans, in the furious beats upon Eijirou’s head, could hear it in Bakugou’s voice when he said Eijirou’s name and no one else’s when they switched targets to that insufferable, thieving copycat.

Soulmate.

He saw it in Bakugou’s grin when they fought, the rush of it through his veins and in his lungs, but it didn’t mean more than the desire to win, and Eijirou jabbed and jabbed and he was forcing Bakugou backwards. Eijirou sliced Bakugou’s cheek (would it leave a scar?) and even red was so much redder now.

Soulmate.

But that didn’t matter, because Eijirou could see Bakugou’s brain clicking along, shuffling around the piece of Eijirou he knew (colours?) and trying to solve him, because Bakugou also wanted to win.

No holding back. Reach that future or don’t, become a hero or don’t. Die either way but if you didn’t taste that blood on your way out then what’s the fucking point? That was the important part. They were both there for the same reason.

Eijirou saw the moment Bakugou knew how to do it, how to win, and Eijirou’s last thought before the bright, white heat knocked him back into darkness was that the sky was blue, it hardly changed a thing, and he was glad of it.

Soulmate.

They were friends after that.

Eijirou pestered Bakugou to tutor him, and Eijirou learned a lot.

Bakugou explained the maths that Eijirou didn’t get in angry barks, and Eijirou learned that Bakugou was too goddamn smart. Bakugou whacked him on the head with a rolled up newspaper when Eijirou didn’t answer quickly enough, and Eijirou learned that while Bakugou seemed impatient, he didn’t leave the library or restaurant or kitchen table they were studying at until they’d gone through each question.

When Bakugou shoved notes at him after class, and warned Eijirou not to waste his time, Eijirou learned that Bakugou worked so, so hard to do what he did, and he expected everyone else to do the same. If you didn’t give a hundred percent, all the time, every time, he took it as a personal insult.

Sometimes Eijirou wondered about that, and Bakugou’s rift with Midoriya. He remembered Bakugou scoffing, saying Midoriya was quirkless, and the first time Bakugou had gone apoplectic when Midoriya had used his weird bone-breaking quirk.

They had grown up together, right? And if Midoriya had never used his quirk before, well. Bakugou would see that as a slight, wouldn’t he?

So Eijirou learned, and Eijirou understood, his own mind ticking away, and he thought that Bakugou really ought to learn how to chill the fuck out. He was always on edge. Wound up tight, like a spring, twitchy as a racehorse sometimes. What would he be like, away from the rest of their peers at school? Away from the competition there? More than that - what would be be like out of public eyes?

More than that, even - what would Bakugou be like without his eyes flicking to a doorway while they studied (or didn’t - Eijirou had got Bakugou willing to play video games with him now) at a home? Without Bakugou’s grumbling about his own parents, without the slight tense to his shoulders and his bitten-back curses when one of Eijirou’s younger siblings darted into the room?

Bakugou shoved a ticket at him one day. This was Bakugou’s prize from winning the Sports Festival. Winning, but not winning.

Eijirou got Bakugou’s anger about that. Todoroki had thrown the match due to personal issues. Kind of a dick move, but Eijirou didn’t know all the details so he guessed he couldn’t judge. It wasn’t a victory, it was a default, an ‘oh, you’re still here, huh?’. It was cheap. The golden medal wasn’t worth anything. It was hollow and wrong and Eijirou got it.

These, though, the tickets… They were an opportunity. A silver-lining around a thunderous cloud, a chance for an experience that didn’t have to be graded or won or judged by the entire country. Bakugou shoved a ticket at him, told him in gruff words about I-Island, about how he had a ticket to be at the island before it opened to the world, and he had a plus one, and Eijirou grinned.

He had a couple of suits to buy.

Eijirou knew that Bakugou would never say he was claustrophobic.

He just didn’t like small spaces all that much, because it made his quirk harder to use. He didn’t like wearing ties, or buttoning up his collar, because it was warmer and it made him sweat more, and fuck, no one wanted more of Bakugou’s particular sweat to be pooling anywhere. (Eijirou wasn’t thinking about any of that too deeply.)

Bakugou didn’t much like swimming - not because the thought of being under or drowning - but because it might wash his sweat away entirely and that was just as bad. Bakugou only stared at muzzled dogs when they hung out together because he was zoning out, shut up. Not because he was remembering.

Eijirou knew all of that, of course, so when his soulmate’s jaw clenched as they boarded the plane, he let Bakugou take the window seat with no complaints. When Bakugou’s knuckles whitened on the armrests as the aeroplane rumbled to life and rolled over to the runway, Eijirou just nudged him with an elbow.

“You ever flown before, man? I haven’t,” he said.

“Couple of times when I was younger,” Bakugou replied. “Family holidays.”

“Oh, cool!” Eijirou said. “Where did you go?”

That conversation took them well into the air.

If Eijirou noticed Bakugou’s long exhale when they got off the plane at the other end, well, it sure was a relief to be able to stretch their legs again!

“What the fuck,” Bakugou said, entering their room at the hotel. Eijirou bounced behind him, trying to see.

“Whoa,” he said, when he did. Gaudy, was probably the first word that came to mind. Bright colours that sort of made him wish he couldn’t see them. Cyan, turquoise, pink and purple and violet and burgundy and lavender. Roses. Hearts. Tackiness exuding from every surface. He felt himself grinning as he shot a look at Bakugou. “This is kiiinda like a love hotel.”

“Fucking hell,” Bakugou said, rolling his eyes. He squinted. “There’s only one bed, what the fuck.”

Oh, so there was. Kirishima snorted. “Cozy! Dont worry, man, I sleep like a log and I hardly snore at all!”

“Hardly isn’t none,” Bakugou grumbled. He took his suitcase over to one of the tables in the room, and Eijirou grabbed his own. He set it next to Bakugou’s case.

“You got a plan for the rest of the day, Blasty?” Eijirou asked. Bakugou looked at him for a long moment.

“Gonna take a nap,” Bakugou said. He frowned. “Bath first, maybe. You should too, you stink like an airport.”

“I didn’t know that was a particular scent,” Eijirou went to look at their en-suite. “Bakugou dude, there’s a hot-tub in here!”

Bakugou came to peer around him. “Huh. Big fucking shower, too.”

“S’gotta be a honeymoon room,” Eijirou snorted. “So you wanna use the traditional bath, or try the hot tub?”

Bakugou quirked an eyebrow at him. “If there’s a hot tub anywhere, you get in it, dumbass.”

Aha, Eijirou thought. Here was the Bakugou he’d been looking for. The one just for them. “Sound advice if ever I heard it!”

Eijirou wasn’t mad that the others were there, really, it was just that the second he’d spotted them, Bakugou’s walls had slammed back up with such intensity that Eijirou thought that maybe he’d heard them. He’d finally found Bakugou in the best mood he’d ever been in, and within a matter of seconds all of that was shut away again. It was hard not to be a touch resentful about that.

Bakugou got all stompy on the way back to their hotel room, and Eijirou had a waver of doubt that he’d be able to convince Bakugou to even go to the dinner. It was still worth a try, though. All those pro-heroes… It was a networking opportunity like no other! Plus, well, Eijirou was pretty sure Bakugou would look great in the suit he’d brought.

Which, you know, was maybe eighty-percent of the reason he’d bought it. Possibly.

It wasn’t like it really mattered - Bakugou didn’t seem interested in him that way. Or anyone, really. Soulmates could just as easily be together platonically as romantically, and so long as they were, that was what Eijirou wanted. To be Bakugou’s best friend, for Bakugou to be his.

To stand next to that hero that Eijirou had seen in him.

Indulging somewhat in his little crush wasn’t going to hurt anything, anyway. Actually, on that note, Eijirou wanted to look up what floor the gardens were on…

What really hurt was being injured in a fucking villain attack. It wasn’t serious, but being slammed into a wall was kinda painful. So much for the peaceful walk around the gardens that Eijirou had planned for.

Ah, well, the important part was that they had won.

Summer came. Summer was bitter with the taste of defeat. Eijirou’s quirk hadn’t been enough to pass their practical test. Aizawa had let them onto the trip, but it was gruelling, and painful, and Eijirou was so tired. He wanted to be outside with the others. Then-

Then there was smoke in the air, clogging up the forest, and a hole where Eijirou’s heart should have been beating.

The landing wasn’t graceful, but they had all made it together. They had Bakugou back, Eijirou had hold of his hand, and he never wanted to let go.

He did, though, when Bakugou tensed, when the blond’s walls slid back up after that one crystallised moment in the sky. Bakugou folded his arms and withdrew into himself. He was snappy. Regular old Bakugou snappy, and Eijirou couldn’t even begin to imagine how much effort it must have taken for the other boy not to show that he was trembling.

He didn’t seem to want Eijirou to know, either. He pulled away when Eijirou tried to grab for him again, which wasn’t like him. He didn’t duck away from Eijirou’s arm slung over his shoulder, ever, and he let Eijirou hold him back from things. Not tonight, apparently, but that was okay. He was safe. He was back.

To Blasty: hey man, did you get home okay?To Blasty: i’m assuming you did, haha

To Blasty: i heard they’ll be keeping you under lockdown for a few days, that sucks! but i guess it’s saferTo Blasty: i don’t think my parents really want me to leave the house either hahaTo Blasty: you want me to come over at some point? i’m pretty sure i’ll be allowed if it’s you. we can play a video game! To Blasty: i can bring snacks!

To Blasty: hey bro are you okay?

To Blasty: hey it’s alright if you don’t want to, but you can talk to me about all that shit that went down, right? you know that? To Blasty: or about like, anything

To Blasty: Bakugou?

He didn’t reply to any of Eijirou’s messages over the next few days.

Moving into the Heights Alliance building was exciting! Everyone was carrying boxes back and forth, and Uraraka was very politely trying to tell half of the class to fuck off, because she didn’t want to use her quirk on their stuff.

Eijirou was pretty sure that he had all of his boxes up on the third floor. Most of his stuff was unpacked, and his bed was made, and his training equipment was set up. He stuck a poster up on the wall and grinned at it. Nice. Manly.

He still had a couple more boxes of assorted knick-knacks and books, and- oh, that box wasn’t his! He picked it up, and it was kinda heavy. It clanked a little. Bakugou’s name was on the top of it.

Ah.

Eijirou was sort of under the impression that Bakugou was avoiding him. None of Eijirou’s texts had been replied to, though they had been read, and that wasn’t like Bakugou at all. His replies were sporadic, sure, but that because he didn’t check his phone all that often. If he’d read a text, he usually replied to it fairly quickly, even with short, one-word answers.

He hadn’t seen the other boy since he’d started moving into the dorms, either - which, considering the name outside one of the rooms next to him was kinda unlikely.

It was probably something to do with Kamino. Eijirou couldn’t blame his friend for being a little cagey after that, maybe even embarrassed about being rescued. Yeah, that fit Bakugou. Still, they were soulmates, and Bakugou ought to know by now that Eijirou wouldn’t judge him, or think he was weak, or any of that stuff.

Eijirou wasn’t weak either. He squared his shoulder. Right. Well, if Bakugou wasn’t replying to him via text, he’d just have to talk in-person. Eijirou shouldered the box and strode out of his room and the short way down the corridor to Bakugou’s room.

Eijirou knocked, but he didn’t wait to hear a reply before he opened the door and pushed his way into Bakugou’s room.

“What the f-”

“Hey, Bakugou!” Kirishima said, plastering a grin over his features. Bakugou had his arm in a box and a slightly startled expression on his face, one that quickly morphed into outrage.

“What are you doing in my room, hair-for-brains?” the blond growled, standing up. Eijirou rattled the box he was holding.

“This ended up with me, but I think it’s yours,” Eijirou said. He held out the box. Bakugou glared at it, as if the thing had chosen to go wandering all by itself. “Our rooms are right by each other, so something must’ve gotten mixed up. What’s in it?”

“None of your fucking business,” Bakugou grumbled, moving at last to snatch the box away from Eijirou. He immediately stepped back to his previous spot. There was definitely something going on here. It was almost like Bakugou felt uncomfortable being near him, and that stung just a little.

Eijirou pouted. “Aw, don’t I deserve at least a little look? I carried it all the way here.”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “All the way from your room.”

“Yeah, talk about a marathon, right?” Eijirou said, and Bakugou sighed. “C’mooon bro! It makes a weird noise and I’m curious.”

Bakugou opened the box with a grumble under his breath. Eijirou shuffled a little closer to peer into it, and Bakugou didn’t try to move away. Ooh, there were about five weird poles? Bakugou looked at him from the corner of his eye. “There. Happy?”

“What are they?” Eijirou asked, picking one up. Bakugou’s face turned exasperated.

“They’re hiking sticks, dumbass.”

“Oh, you hike?” Eijirou asked, pulling out one of the sticks to inspect it. The blond groaned and made to grab for the stick, and just like that the tension in the room evaporated. They were still friends, and whatever waver there had been, they always would be.

If you refuse to go down, it means you’re stupidly strong.

Eijirou felt the words thrum through him, as he pushed and pushed at his quirk, to reach that state he’d been practicing with. The criminal with the knife quirk looked aghast, and Eijirou felt almost like laughing.

“LOOK AT ME!” he bellowed. Not at the civillians, not at any escape routes or for underhanded tricks. Look at him, look at Red Riot! See him!

See the sparks flying off his grating joints, his teeth, bared! See all of it, look at him and-

Rappa, on the other hand, broke him.

Eijirou thought a lot about it, in the hospital. Breaking. Breaking his unbreakable form. He went down, and he’d lost. He wasn’t strong enough.

Yet.

Yet was the important part. He- He’d stand up again, he’d try, again. He had gone down, but he couldn’t let anything keep him there. Not when his soulmate was expecting him to be strong.

Eijirou didn’t get to talk to Bakugou when he got back, just saw that he had waited for their group to get back. Kaminari joked that he was worried, and Bakugou threw him into the couch cushions and left for bed. He had been worried. Eijirou had seen it, briefly, in the crease of his brow.

Bakugou just struggled with the whole feeling-expression thing sometimes. Eijirou had a feeling that he was letting all of the others ask their questions and such, was waiting for a quieter moment to talk to Eijirou alone, but…

Bakugou had his second license exam in the morning, and Eijirou didn’t want to disturb him. A talk could wait until the morning, or maybe even the evening, once Bakugou had his license.

“Let’s see it!” Eijirou said, snatching the license from Bakugou’s hand. “Nice! Hey, you even let them take a good picture of you.”

“Oi!” Bakugou yelled, chasing Eijirou around the room. “Of course I did, it’s my hero license!”

“I didn’t know you could take good photos! You’re always sc- Whoa!” Eijirou’s step faltered a little as he turned a corner in the tight space, and Bakugou took the opportunity to tackle him to the floor. Bakugou grabbed for the hand holding his license and wrested it free. Eijriou let all of his limbs relax. “You’re always scowling in the pictures we try to take.”

“S’cause I don’t wanna be in them,” Bakugou said, rolling his eyes and pulling Eijirou up by the hand. Eijirou didn’t want to let go, but he sort of had to. “My parents work in the fashion industry, you think I don’t know how to game the camera?”

Eijirou faked a gasp as they sat on Bakugou’s bed. “Bakugou! Are you secretly a model?”

“Fuck no,” Bakugou grimaced. “The hag and the old man used to put me in photoshoots when I was little, but I don’t do that shit any more.”

“You could be a model,” Eijirou said. “You’ve got like, the all of it for it.”

Bakugou quirked an eyebrow. Oh, shit, fuck, Eijirou had just said that with no hesitation, huh? “’The all of it’?”

“You know what I mean,” Eijirou said, blushing just a little. “When we’re pros, everyone’s gonna want you for magazine shoots, and you’re gonna be amazing at it ‘cause you’ve already had that experience.”

“I guess,” Bakugou snorted. Eijirou really liked that sound. Bakugou’s laugh without the laughter. He wasn’t losing his shit over something, but he was amused, and it was just. It was nice. It was a happy sound, most of the time, and Bakugou deserved to feel happy.

“I’m kinda jealous, actually,” Eijirou said.

Bakugou looked at him, suddenly inscrutible. “Jealous.”

“Well, yeah, that whole side of hero studies - all the engaging with the public and the interviews and photoshoots, you’ve seen that world already,” Eijirou said. He sighed. “I dunno, man, you’re so far ahead of everyone, it’s incredible, but I feel like I can’t keep up a lot of the time.”

Bakugou scowled. “What’ve I said about forgetting that keeping up shit?”

Eijirou grumbled under his breath.

“My parents,” Bakugou said. He paused, scowled down at his hands for a second, and then continued. “They, fuck, probably wouldn’t be too put out if you wanted to ask them. For tips. On that stuff.”

“Yeah?” Eijirou grinned. That might be fun, actually. Bakugou shrugged.

“Guess I could ask ‘em when they come visit me this weekend,” he said. He looked at Eijirou from the corner of his eye. “They’ll probably be fuckin’ embarrassing about it.”

Eijirou was pretty sure he could handle the Bakugou parents. They were at least a little more polite than their son, ha. “I don’t mind! Please ask them!”

“Yeah, fine,” Bakugou grumbled, as if he hadn’t been the one to suggest it in the first place. “They might get pushy and try to get you in a photoshoot or some fucking thing like that. Just to warn you or whatever.”

“Ah, well, it’s all experience, right? I wouldn’t mind,” Eijirou grinned. “And I’m nothin’ special so they probably won’t really want me in front of a camera very long anyw-”

“Hey, shut up,” Bakugou snapped, slapping Eijirou’s shoulder. “You have the all of it too, or whatever the fuck.”

Eijirou felt himself blushing again. “I- You think?”

“Obviously.”

Eijirou sighed and looked at the floor.

“What, you don’t trust my judgement, huh?” Bakugou frowned at him. Eijirou opened his mouth to respond, but Bakugou continued. “I don’t get your attitude, sometimes. You’re positive about everything except yourself. Everyone tells you you’re great, but you don’t ever fuckin’ believe them.”

Eijirou tried to argue. “Well, I’m not flashy, or-”

“Ugh, flashy!” Bakugou groaned. “You don’t need to be flashy, Kirishima.”

“Coming from the flashiest guy around that’s not really saying much,” Eijirou grumbled at his feet.

Bakugou scoffed. “I’m not gonna lie to try and make you feel better, you idiot. You don’t need to be flashy to be a good hero or a good person. If people don’t notice you, that’s their fuckin’ loss.”

Oh. Eijirou felt his lip wobbling a little.

“Baaakugooouuu, I’m gonna hug you,” Eijirou wailed, throwing his arms around his friend. “Thanks for always knowing what to say, man.”

“Ugh, you’re so fuckin’ mushy,” Bakugou said, trying to wriggle away but not trying very hard. “Get off me, ya moron!”

Eijirou released him and flopped backwards onto the bed. “Will your parents kill me if I wear crocs around them?”

“No, but I will,” Bakugou threatened.

Eijirou didn’t wear crocs, but he did wear a wonderful neon leopard-print t-shirt that Mina had got him for his birthday, and a striped pair of shorts. Bakugou spent the entire car journey to his parents’ studio glowering at Eijirou for it.

“It’s not like I’m gonna stay in it,” Eijirou said. “Your parents are gonna wanna use their own stuff, right?”

“You’re embarrassing,” Bakugou growled.

“Hey, at least it’s something interesting to look at,” Eijirou said. “Mr Has-No-Patterns-Of-Any-Sort-In-His-Wardrobe.”

“Plain clothes can pair with anything,” Bakugou said. “None of your clothes match each other. Leopard-print, stripes, fuckin’ polkadots.”

“Variety is the spice of life, dude, and I thought you liked spice,” Eijirou grinned. Bakugou rolled his eyes.

“Everyone’s gonna get a headache, looking at you in that fucking thing,” Bakugou said, prodding the front of Eijirou’s shirt. “Leopard-print is so fucking obnoxious.”

“Then don’t look at me,” Eijirou said.

Bakugou squinted at him. “That would damage your ego.”

“Ha! My ego?” Eijirou laughed. “You’re the one who’s all het up about this. You think your parents are gonna be like ‘Oh no, oh woe, widdle Katsuki’s best friend is a fashion disaster! Our only son! How did we raise such a-’“

“Oh my god you’re so annoying,” Bakugou said, shoving at Eijirou to shut him up. Eijirou laughed and shot a quick glance at their school-assigned chauffeur, but he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them, or care.

“Haha, so whaddya want me to do? I can’t show up without a t-shirt,” Eijirou said. Bakugou looked… thoughtful. “Bakugou I can’t, that’d be weird.”

“You literally don’t wear anything over your chest in your hero costume,” he said.

“That’s different!” Eijirou complained, folding his arms across himself. “My quirk shreds everything.”

“Consider it training for when you show up to places in your hero costume,” Bakugou suggested.

Eijirou could feel himself flushing. “Dude, it’s your parents. I know your parents, it’s weird.”

Bakugou snickered.

“Augh, you’re making fun of me,” Eijirou pouted. “Not fair, dude, not fair.”

Bakugou’s parents were eager to see him, it turned out. They fussed, for lack of a better word. Eijirou felt a little overwhelmed, and Bakugou spent most of the time there groaning and rolling his eyes.

“While we’re waiting,” Bakugou Mitsuki said, referring to Eijirou’s stylist. This had turned into a bigger operation than he’d thought it would be. “I’d like to know what you think of soulmates, Eijirou.”

“Soulmates?” Eijirou asked. Oh boy. He was kind of terrified of what Mitsuki might mean, considering that his soulmate was her son, and in the room being styled himself, and pretending not to listen and they still hadn’t actually spoken about it.

“Mm, are you of the opinion that soulmates must be romantic?” Mitsuki asked. “It’s fascinating to hear people’s opinions on these things.”

“Um,” Eijirou said.

“Ugh, don’t make him uncomfortable with weird questions, hag!” Bakugou called.

Mitsuki glared over at her son. “You aren’t part of this conversation, brat!”

“It’s fine,” Eijirou added. “Uh, I guess, soulmates don’t have to be romantic. They can be, but a soulmate is a person you just click with, I guess? So, yeah, you might have a partner, or a best friend, or both, or, or something else I guess. I’m, uh, not ruling anything out?”

Mitsuki nodded. “A sensible approach.”

“Ah, thank you,” Eijirou said. Across the room, Bakugou had his thinking face on while his stylist nodded to herself and went to clear up her tools. Was he trying to figure out if Eijirou had a preference? He’d tried to be vague enough not to give away his now rather large crush on his friend. Oh god.

“Now, Katsuki was telling me that you wanted to do this to experience one of the lesser-known aspects of the hero industry,” Mitsuki continued, drawing Eijirou’s attention back to her. “I think I can do you one better - have you thought about brand sponsorship yet?”

“Oh, I think that’s something we’ll be looking at next year,” Eijirou said. Mitsuki nodded.

“Well, I was thinking-”

“Oi!” Bakugou snapped. “Are you trying to scout him?”

Mitsuki shrugged.

“Don’t agree to anything she asks you to do without going over a contract first,” Bakugou said, squinting at his mother. “I can’t fucking believe you.”

“Watch your language,” she snapped. She looked back at Eijirou. “As I was saying, before I got interrupted, you look like an ideal candidate for our brand. I wouldn’t want to ask you until you’ve gone over sponsorship legislation in your classes,” and at this she shot a look at her son. “But I would appreciate it if you would bear us in mind when you do get to that point. No doubt you’re going to get many offers from many places. I just wanted to offer first.”

“Oh, wow, that’s-” Eijirou spluttered. “Thank you!”

“And if you could perhaps also convince Katsuki to do the same when the time comes-”

“Shut up, hag!” Bakugou growled.

“Sure,” Eijirou said, closing one eye as the stylist was doing something to it. Bakugou growled some more. “I’ll do my best to get Ba- uh, K-, um, Baku-”

“Just use my name, dumbass,” Bakugou grumbled.

Eijirou’s insides turned fuzzy. “I’ll do my best to get Katsuki on board!”

“Fantastic,” Mitsuki said. The stylist moved to Eijirou’s other eye, and Mitsuki’s expression turned critical. “Ahh, yes, good. You have excellent bone structure, Eijirou! Yes, I’m very excited to see how the camera likes you. Katsuki?”

Bakugou - or, Katsuki now? got up from where he had been sitting and came to look at Eijirou as well. The stylist hadn’t done much to him that Eijirou could see, just a touch of eyeliner, and more mascara than Bakugou - Katsuki - normally used to hide the paleness of his lashes.

“Accentuation on the eyes looks good,” Katsuki said, looking back at Eijirou. He tilted his head. Eijirou tried not to squirm under the attention. “You gonna put his hair up? He likes those shitty spikes he came in with.”

“Oh fuck no,” Mitsuki said. Eijirou’s heart sank a little. “Maybe a ponytail, but the way his hair falls naturally frames his face - the fringe especially - makes his eyes pop more. They’re the feature we’re trying to draw the most attention to here.”

Katsuki nodded. “What’s dad planned for the outfits? How many?”

“Just a few,” Mitsuki said.

Katsuki huffed. “This is gonna take all fucking day, ain’t it?”

“Language! And yes,” Mitsuki said. “I thought it best to give your friend a realistic taste of this world. I’m afraid photoshoots are often long, boring affairs with far too many people poking at you and talking as if you aren’t there.”

“Oh, it’s not boring, it’s just, uh… It’s relaxing?” Eijirou said. Katsuki snorted.

“You’re polite as ever, dear, but we all know this part of modelling is mind-numbing,” Mitsuki said.

Eijirou’s stylist finished up the work on his face, and then Eijirou found himself staring into a mirror. Holy shit, he could see what Katsuki meant about his eyes. His eyelashes were naturally long and dark, but whatever mascara they’d used on him made a dramatic difference. The eyeliner was winged, and, well.

Whoa. “Whoa. I look…”

“Hot,” Katsuki supplied. Eijirou blinked and turned towards his friend, who went slightly pink under his makeup. “Or fucking whatever.”

“Thanks, Katsuki,” Eijirou said. The other boy’s eyes widened a little. “Uh, it is okay for me to say your-”

“Yes, fuck, it’s fine,” Katsuki grumbled. He looked away for a moment, and then met Eijirou’s eyes again. “Eijirou.”

Eijirou grinned, the feeling of hearing his name on Katsuki’s tongue sending fizzes and tingles all through his nerves. Haha, fuck.

“Ahem,” Mitsuki said, and there was a twinkle in her eye that made Eijirou think she had seen right through him. “This way, and we can get you dressed up!”

“Dude!” Kaminari’s voice chased Eijirou up the corridor, and the bright-blond boy brandished a magazine at him. Mina and Sero weren’t far behind. “Why are you and Bakugou in here?”

Oh, it had been published already? Eijirou hadn’t thought it would come out so soon. “His parents own a fashion line and I asked if I could get some photoshoot experience. They said they might use the photos but I didn’t really think they would.”

Kaminari opened the magazine, to one of the fashion pages. Wow, Eijirou really was there, and Katsuki, in various outfits and poses.

“Dude, you look like, amazing,” Kaminari said, sounding slightly outraged.

“You so need to start wearing eyeliner more,” Mina said. “And your hair’s always been cute in that style! You should mix it up a little more.”

“Ah, maybe,” Eijirou said, rubbing at the back of his head.

“I can’t quite get my head around the difference between this Kirishima,” Sero said, pointing at the magazine. “Fashion forward, trendy, hip, and the real you man! Did they have to force you into this stuff?”

“What, no, I liked it all!” Eijirou protested. “It’s just not my normal style.”

Kaminari’s eyes moved to the side. “Aha! Hey, Bakugou! You’re both models now, huh?”

Katsuki glanced at the magazine as he came to stand next to Eijirou. “Hm. Guess the hag did use those. I’ll get her to pay you.”

“Wow,” Kaminari said. “Are you ignoring me, man?”

“Yes,” Katsuki said. He elbowed Eijirou in the side. “Don’t spend too long ogling that fucking thing, Eijirou, we’ve got maths to revise.”

Eijirou groaned and Katsuki flipped the bird at him as he walked away. “Guess I’d better-”

“Oooooh,” Mina said. “We’re on given-name terms, are we?”

“Ah, hm,” Eijirou felt himself turning red. “I need to, uh, maths.”

“Sure you do,” Sero grinned. All three of them were grinning, actually.

“Fuck you guys,” Eijirou grumbled. Kaminari opened his mouth. “Don’t.”

Kaminari closed his mouth.

“You know, I think red’s still my favourite colour,” Eijirou said, more than a month later, stretched out on Katsuki’s bed. “Yellow was a very strong contender, and blue is like, wow, but I guess red just feels kinda like my colour, y’know?”

Katsuki swivelled in his seat, staring at Eijirou with an unreadable expression. “What?”

“You know, colours!” Kirishima gestured around the room. “I know we haven’t really talked about it much but-”

“You… met your soulmate?” Katsuki asked. Eijirou felt himself blinking.

“Huh? ‘Course I did?” Eijirou said. Katsuki scowled.

“You didn’t say anything,” Katsuki muttered. “Who is it? When?”

Wait, what? Eijirou tried to parse out the meaning of Katsuki’s words.

“Dude,” Eijirou said. “First year Sports Festival? The moment you climbed on my shoulders?”

Katsuki’s scowl was replaced with blank confusion. “The fuck?”

“Bro,” Eijirou sat up. What the hell was going on? “You’re my soulmate. I’m your soulmate.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have a soulmate.”

Oh. Katsuki didn’t want a soulmate, huh?

Well. Eijirou bit his lip hard to try and stop his eyes from watering, but he didn’t think he was successful. Katsuki didn’t want him? Eijirou had thought they were friends - best friends. Something in his heart was tearing.

Eijirou stood up. “I have to go.”

“Eijirou,” Katsuki said, moving up out of his own chair to block Eijirou’s path to the door. “Wait, fuck, that’s not what I meant.”

Eijirou waited. Katsuki looked off to the side, chewing over his thoughts.

“I don’t- I’ve never seen colour. Any colour,” Katsuki said. Never? “I don’t- If I never saw anything then I can’t have a fucking soulmate. Are you sure it wasn’t Sero or Ashido?”

“It was you,” Eijirou said. He knew that, skin to bone and deeper still. There had to be something more to this.

Katsuki rubbed at his face. “Shit. I wondered why you’d been tolerating me this whole damn time.”

Tolerating? “Katsuki… You know you’re my best friend, right? Whatever this weird soulmate thing is all about, that’s- That’s still true. I wanted to be your friend before the Sports Festival, the colours were secondary to all of that. So don’t think I’m here ‘just ‘cause of that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki said. “Fuck, I can’t believe you never said anything.”

Eijirou let out a shaky laugh. “I didn’t need to. Or, I thought I didn’t.”

“Dumbass,” Katsuki said.

There was something slightly shaky in his voice, something Eijirou could feel. It wasn’t because they were soulmates - and they were - but because he knew his friend. So Eijirou stepped towards him and drew him into a hug. Katsuki leaned into it, his own arms coming up to cling to Eijirou.

Since Katsuki had learned that they were soulmates, something had changed between them, and not in a bad way. It was just a tiny shift, something that Eijirou was sure no one else would have noticed, but something about Katsuki seemed happier. He was a little less withdrawn. He was considerably more affectionate, in his own way.

It was like he no longer had a reason to hold anything back, and Eijirou was trying to work out why that might be. He had his ideas, of course, but he wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to make assumptions about what he hoped might be the reason for it all.

Maybe Katsuki liked him as much as he liked Katsuki. Maybe.

Something landed on Eijirou’s desk during their next study session. Paperwork? He looked up at Katsuki, who was fidgeting in the chair he’d brought over from his room.

“Read it, or whatever,” Katsuki said.

Eijirou reached for it, and-

“Hero Team Application Form?” Eijirou read the title, and he stared at Katsuki. “You- Katsuki, you wanna be a hero team with me?”

“Yeah, I do,” Katsuki mumbled. “You’re strong, and our quirks are compatible. And, y’know, we’re soulmates. Apparently. So. Figure there’s no one else I’d wanna partner with.”

Eijirou looked back down at the paperwork. “I… didn’t think you’d want to partner with anyone.”

“Yeah, well, you’re you or some shit,” Katsuki said. “Well?”

“Yeah!” Eijirou said. He slammed his fists together. “There’s no one else I’d rather partner with, either.”

Eijirou saw the tension drain from Katsuki’s shoulders. “Good. Fuck, guess we better fill this shitty form in, then.”

It was way, way better than maths homework.

Something that wasn’t his alarm woke Eijirou up. It was a shaking of his shoulders and a weight on his bed dipping the mattress.

“Oi, oi, Eijirou,” someone hissed. Eijirou groaned and struggled to sit up.

“Ka’ski,” he slurred. “Wha’ th’fuck’re y’doin’ in here.”

“I’m going for a run,” Katsuki said, leaning back to look at Eijirou.

Eijirou blinked through the darkness. “Whassa time?”

“Four.”

“Fuck you, Katsuki,” Eijirou flopped down again, but Katsuki jabbed his shoulder. “Gerroff me I don’t wanna run. At four. What the hell.”

He sat up again as Katsuki only responded with more poking. “And it’s Sunday! Sunday’s a rest day for my muscles what the entire fucking hell, Ka-”

“Shh,” Katsuki said, covering Eijirou’s mouth with his hand. Eijirou felt like biting him. “I didn’t say you had to run, dumbass. I need someone to time me.”

“Fuckin’, fuck, four AM,” Eijirou grumbled behind Katsuki’s hand. “Fine, fine, but you owe me one. Get off my duvet.”

Katsuki snickered and stood up, walking over to the lightswitch and flipping it. Eijirou cursed the sudden bright light, flung his blankets off, and then remembered he’d gone to bed in only his boxers. Ah. Eijirou pulled his duvet back over his lower half and felt himself go red. Katsuki’s gleeful smirk just made Eijirou’s blush get worse.

“You might wanna wear a little more than that out on the track,” Katsuki said, in a conversational tone. Eijriou could see the blond looking at him, though, and it was far too early in the morning to be considering the significance of that. “I hear it can be cold.”

“Get out of my room,” Eijirou hissed, and Katsuki cackled his way (quietly) out of the door.

Eijirou clicked the stopwatch as Katsuki crossed the line. The blond staggered towards the grass and then collapsed onto it. He rolled onto his back, panting heavily. “Well?”

“Full second faster than the last lap,” Eijirou said, grinning as Katsuki fist-pumped the air.

“Fuck… yeah,” he panted, and waved his hand around.

Eijirou went to grab it, to pull his friend up, but Katsuki grinned and yanked him down instead. Eijirou yelped, and then he found himself sprawled on top of Katsuki, unable to look away from the red-red-red of his eyes.

“Hi,” he managed to breathe, and Katsuki’s grin widened.

“Heya, soulmate,” Katsuki said. Oh. Katsuki reached one hand up to play with a loose lock of Eijirou’s hair - he hadn’t bothered putting it up yet. “Eijirou, can I kiss you?”

Eijirou’s breath caught for a moment. “Yeah.”

Katsuki tugged on the lock of hair to bring Eijirou’s face closer, closer still. Then Eijirou’s eyes closed, and there wasn’t any colour at all. That didn’t matter, because what was there was Katsuki, a pair of lips on another, and two hearts beating wildly together.

“Hey so, something I didn’t know about dogs, yeah,” Kaminari rambled away about something on one of the sofas in the common room. Eijirou and Katsuki took up most of the second sofa, Eijirou lying on his boyfriend with his head on Katsuki’s chest. “Is like, about their sight.”

“Hey, do dogs get soulmates?” Mina interrupted, perched on one of the arms of Kaminari’s sofa.

“No, it’s a human-only phenomenon,” Katsuki growled. Sero, sitting between Kaminari and Mina, hummed his agreement.

Kaminari pointed at Katsuki and then continued. “They don’t get soulmates but! But this thing is about colour. My dudes. My dudette. Dogs don’t see colour like we do! They don’t see red light! It’s like a kind of colour-blindness that-”

“Fuck!” Katsuki sat up, half-dislodging Eijirou. Eijirou grumbled, but Katsuki poked at his shoulder. “Ei! Ei! Colour-blindness, Eijirou!”

Eijirou took a few moments to process what he was saying. “Holy shit that’s a thing that exists! Kaminari, can people be completely colourblind? like, no colours ever?”

Kaminari blinked. “Uh, yeah, achromatopsia affects about one in thirty-three-thousand people.”

Sero shook his head. “How do you know that? And you’re failing biology?”

“Look, if I have to see the Calvin cycle on more time I’m gonna explode bigger than Bakugou’s quirk,” Kaminari said.

Eijirou tuned out the bickering that was about to ensue, staring at Katsuki instead. “There’s gotta be like, a way to test that out, right?”

“Don’t need it,” Katsuki said, shaking his head. “You’re my soulmate. Fuck whatever’s up with my eyes, I already know that you are.”

“Aww, that’s so manly,” Eijirou grinned.

Katsuki looked at him some more. Eijirou’s stomach flipped, because that was the look that informed him that kisses were imminent. “I love you, Eijirou.”

“What?” Eijirou felt his eyes go wide and start watering. “I- Oh my god, Katsuki, I love you too!”

Katsuki pulled him into a hard kiss that stole Eijirou’s breath away. Eijirou pressed him backwards into the sofa cushions, deepening the kiss and-

“Hey what the fuck,” Mina’s voice cut through the moment and Eijirou sat up again. “Can you guys wait like, a day before you start making out in front of everyone again? Please? Just twenty-four hours of not seeing you try to lick each other’s tonsils would be nice.”

“I don’t have tonsils,” Eijirou said, brightly. “Had ‘em out when I was eight.”

Mina levelled a dark-eyed glare at him.

“But, uh, point taken,” Eijirou said. He looked down at Katsuki. Wow. “Hey, so, two options - one, stay here and stop smoochin’, or-”

“Option two,” Katsuki said.

“Right, thought so,” Eijirou stood up, pulling Katsuki with him by the hand. “See you guys later!”

For now, (and for the rest of their lives,) he had a soulmate to spend some quality time with. And to kiss a whole bunch, of course.

#kiribaku #bakushima #fanfiction #my fanfiction #fic: achromatopsia #heck this is so long #reply #i-ship-every-one

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