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sunlit-squid · 4 years ago

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(simping softness prompts) could i get some “hey, everything's gonna be fine. stay where you are, i'm on my way” or “holy crap, i thought you were dead! never do that to me again!” if you are feeling so inclined? sorry im just in love w ur writing

For those who don't know, my ask box is open. Send me a simping softness prompt, and I'll write a short sbsp ficlet for you. ✰

i'm gonna do "hey, everything's gonna be fine ...", but don't you worry. i will also be doing "holy crap ..." at some point, since someone else requested it.

anyway, thanks for the prompt, and for the kind words! while we're here, i should also say that @wowthwtslame is doing a similar ficlet challenge. their writing is wonderful, so definitely check them out!

also tagging @azumeowth, who requested the same prompt!

ficlet under the cut. thanks again!

The call came in -- loudly -- at around 2 in the morning.

When Squidward rolled over to check his shell phone, the dull blue screen read, simply, “SpongeBrat”, accompanied by a vomit emoji. Sighing, the octopus put his phone on silent and went back to bed. Surely whatever it was the sponge wanted to blabber about could wait until tomorrow. After a decent night’s sleep.

Unfortunately, sleep was hard to come by. Despite having switched his phone to silent, the device’s small blue screen continued to light up repeatedly, like a small, pathetic rave. Every few seconds, the small blue light cast peculiar shadows on the walls of Squidward’s bedroom. Eventually, after thirty minutes of tossing and turning, the cephalopod grabbed his phone to shove it inside the nightstand -- when he caught a glimpse of the screen itself.

43 missed calls. 37 unread text messages. All from “SpongeBrat” Squarepants.

The phone rang again. This time, Squidward picked up.

“Spongebob, do you have any idea what time it is?” snapped Squidward, despite the uncomfortable, worried feeling growing in his stomach. “No? Well, I’ll tell you -- it is two-forty-seven --”

“I-I know, Squidward,” came a small, shaking Spongebob-voice. “I just -- I didn’t know what to do.”

Squidward paused. Well, that was … not the regular Spongebob volume. Or tone. Or pitch.

“Squ -- Squidward?” came the sponge’s soft, sad voice once more. The frycook’s voice was barely audible. There was some sort of loud, constant whooshing happening on the other end, not to mention a weird crackling noise, which made it very difficult to hear. Squidward sighed, wiping a tentacle across his eyes.

“I’m here,” said Squidward. “What’s this about, Spongebob?”

Silence. Then, crying -- and not Spongebob’s usual loud, obnoxious crying. This crying was quiet and gentle, barely decipherable against the loud whooshing on the other end of the line. Squidward sat up then, pressing the phone close to his ear.

“Sponge,” said Squidward, panic rising in his chest. “Sponge, what’s wrong?”

Spongebob sobbed something indiscernible. Then, he stammered, “I’m -- I’m hurt, Squidward. I’m hurt, and … I’m lost.”

Something funny exploded in Squidward’s chest. Before he knew it, the octopus was out of bed, scrambling for his jacket and keys. Gripping his shell phone tight, Squidward asked, “Where are you? What’s going on, Spongebob?”

On the other end of the line, Spongebob snuffled. “I got on the wrong bus,” he explained, in a shaky, uneven voice. “I -- I’m in a place called ‘Deviltown’ now, and the current is so strong, and the signal is pretty bad --” There was that distorted, crackling sound again -- followed by a few more broken whimpers.

Squidward sighed, feeling his hearts crack with every little sob. “Hey, everything’s going to be fine,” he said, stepping out the door and into the cool Bikini Bottom night. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

-0-

Deviltown, it turned out, was several hours away from Bikini Bottom. Squidward’s shell phone indicated the drive not only went straight, but downward -- which was certainly a problem. Oceanic towns grew more and more dangerous the deeper you went, and Deviltown was apparently thousands of nautical leagues under the sea. Wherever Spongebob was, even the sun couldn’t reach him.

Undeterred, Squidward set off on his journey. His boat was constantly maintained, so the cephalopod was certain it could handle the perilous road ahead.

For the first hour or so, the drive was uneventful -- peaceful, even. The streets were smooth and well taken care of, which was good considering the massive tax hike this past year. Squidward even put on some Kelpy G, which certainly helped to soothe his nerves.

Later on, however, the drive got worse. The once well-maintained roads gave way to rickety rocks and slippery sand, with only a few sporadic road signs to get by. Moonlight became sparse, and by the time Squidward reached a vertical road, he had his brights all the way up -- and was still struggling to see.

A nearby rickety sign read “Deviltown, 10 nautical miles downward.” Peering down into the deep abyss, Squidward gulped. Despite his headlights, he still couldn’t see a thing -- just a vast expanse of open blackness.

A tight feeling wound itself around Squidward’s chest. He thought about backing up, turning around, and going straight home. This was ridiculous. Why was he out here, in the wee hours of the morning, chasing after SpongeBrat Squarepants, of all people? The boy had other friends. Certainly one of them would be willing to retrieve him.

Squidward’s tentacle hovered just over the gear stick. That’s when he saw it: in his passenger seat lay Spongebob’s wrinkled little jacket. The sponge must have left it behind the other day, when Squidward (begrudgingly) drove them both home from work.

Squidward’s chest felt hollow, suddenly. He thought of how many times he’d seen Spongebob in that exact jacket over the years.

He thought of never seeing him in that jacket ever again.

Groaning, the octopus switched gears from “Drive” to “Drive, But Downward”, and puttered his way into the deep and black abyss.

-0-

The journey into the inky black was, bar none, one of the creepiest things Squidward had ever experienced. He told himself, repeatedly, that if he just stared straight ahead and focused on the task at hand, then everything would be fine. Still, hearing creepy noises in the darkness (and being unable to see where they came from) was severely unsettling.

After what felt like forever, the vertical road became horizontal once again, and Squidward finally drove into Deviltown. Luckily, the town had the decency to set up some lamp posts, possibly for out-of-towners like Squidward who were unused to the darkness. Still, the lamp posts were few and far between, and there was nobody out and about, giving Deviltown a fittingly creepy vibe nonetheless.

Tense, cold, and worried, Squidward drove further into town, squinting for Spongebob’s bright yellow body. Surely the boy couldn’t be that hard to spot -- he was likely the only vibrant thing down here. Surely --

Oh. Oh, no.

Squidward brought his boat careening to a stop. Clambering out of it, the octopus made his way over to a rickety wooden bus stop, with a flickering lamp post just overhead. On a bench nearby was none other than Spongebob Squarepants: cold, alone, and unconscious. For a moment, a horrible thought passed through Squidward’s head -- is he dead? -- before he saw the sponge’s chest rise and fall, taking slow and steady breaths.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Squidward looked up and down the street. No one in sight.

Gently, the octopus leaned down and shook Spongebob lightly. “Hey,” said Squidward, awkwardly. “What are you doing asleep all the way out here? We have work tomorrow, you know.”

Spongebob stirred. In the dim light, Squidward realized the sponge really was hurt -- his usually spiffy shirt and tie were ripped straight down the middle. Beyond the fabric, the sponge’s chest was badly torn up, too, and for some reason, he had not regenerated yet.

Squidward swallowed. “Spongebob?”

The sponge stirred once more. This time, his eyes opened -- and he smiled, weakly. “Squidward,” he slurred, happily. He tried to laugh, then winced, clutching at his stomach and chest. “Squidward, it’s you … you came … ”

“Of course I came,” muttered Squidward, before he could stop himself. “I -- you … ugh, I hate you.”

Scooping up Spongebob, Squidward gently carried him over to the boat, positioning him carefully in the passenger’s seat. The sponge fussed a little about being buckled in, but otherwise, seemed too out of it to complain properly. Taking a deep breath, Squidward got back behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Heheh,” chuckled Spongebob as the boat roared to life. “Vroom-vroom.”

Squidward rolled his eyes and began turning the boat around, back towards Bikini Bottom. “We’re going home now,” he said, with a sigh. “You need to see a doctor for … whatever it was that happened to you.”

Spongebob simply nodded, then fell to his side, leaning all of his body weight on Squidward as he drove. The octopus felt warmth rising to his cheeks, and for once felt grateful for the murky blackness of the ocean void.

Spongebob was mumbling something.

“What is it?” said Squidward. “Are you okay?”

“I …uh … love you, Squidward,” said Spongebob, in a very loopy voice. “I love your big nose, and your paintings, and I wanna … get married, someday. Okay? Can we get married, someday?”

Squidward’s entire face was bright red now. It took everything in him not to just veer in a random direction and crash the entire damn boat. Taking a deep breath, the octopus collected himself. Spongebob was just severely injured, and loopy as a result. He didn’t really mean any of this.

Squidward decided to play along. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we can get married.”

“Mm,” said Spongebob, chuckling softly. “Can I -- can I wear a dress?”

“Sure,” said Squidward. “Whatever you want.”

“And you’ll … and you’ll kiss me?”

“Mhm,” mumbled Squidward.

“And I can … listen to you play the clarinet around the house … and, and paint with you … and watch your soaps with … you … ”

Squidward looked over. The sponge had fallen asleep, and was snoring loudly. Which was … good. Very good. Excellent, even. That way, they couldn’t talk about marriage or love or any of that absolute nonsense. Now they could just drive forward in sweet silence.

Still, Squidward found himself dwelling over Spongebob’s words far more than he would have liked.

About an hour into the drive home, the octopus glanced over at the sponge, still fast asleep beside him. Fixing his gaze forward, Squidward took a deep breath, clutching the steering wheel in a tight death-grip.

“Spongebob, I …,” Squidward began, shakily. “I love you. I love you, I love you.”

Squidward found that once he started saying it, he couldn’t stop. The words felt good in his mouth, like a massive weight had finally been lifted off his chest.

“I love everything about you,” said Squidward, his three hearts exploding inside his chest. “Your annoying laugh, your stupid singing, all of it. I want to read with you, and garden with you.”

Squidward hesitated, his words floating out into the open water.

“I love you,” said Squidward, one last time. “And I … I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe I’m a coward. I’m sorry.”

Squidward looked over. Spongebob was still fast asleep, snoring away against his arm -- but the smallest of smiles had appeared on his face.

-0-

Squidward woke up in the hospital, seated in a chair next to Spongebob’s hospital bed. The poriferan was wide awake, watching an episode of Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy on the hospital television. Of course.

The sponge turned. “Squidward!” he exclaimed, his voice loud and back to normal. “You’re awake!”

“Unfortunately,” muttered the octopus. “How are you feeling?”

“Great!” chirped Spongebob. “Better than ever, actually -- but the doc says I should stick around for a little while, just in case.”

Squidward glanced down. Sure enough, Spongebob’s chest had almost fully regenerated. Thank Neptune. When they arrived at the Bikini Bottom General Hospital early that morning, Spongebob was still in rough shape. The doctor said Spongebob most likely had a run-in with a deep-sea predator, and the attack was too quick and too constant for the poriferan to regenerate. Not to mention there were several lacerations to his vital organs.

Still, sponges were pretty sturdy folk -- and all Spongebob really needed was a long rest in a controlled environment.

Squidward breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Great,” he said, awkwardly. “I, uh. Pay attention next time you get on the bus, alright? So I don’t have to come running after you.”

Spongebob laughed. “Okey-doke.”

The two then sat together in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. All the while, Squidward wondered if perhaps his stupid, impulsive, not-really-a-love-confession-confession had actually gotten through to Spongebob. His hearts twisted up at just the thought.

“Hey, Squidward?”

The octopus looked up, and was very surprised to find splotches of red decorating the sponge’s cheeks.

“What?” said Squidward.

“My, uh, sea flowers have been dying lately,” said the sponge, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Maybe you could come by and we could share some gardening tips?”

A brilliant red blush planted itself on Squidward’s face. Then, he cleared his throat, and folded his arms across his chest. “Only if we get to watch a soap afterwards.”

Spongebob grinned. “Deal.”

Squidward found himself grinning, too, despite himself. “Deal.”

References:

“Deviltown” is loosely based off of the Devil Sea, near the Japanese coast.

I will likely be compiling these ficlets into one combined fic on ao3. I originally wasn't going to, but I definitely didn't expect so many requests. So keep an eye out for that, at some point.

#squidbob #spongebob squarepants #squidward tentacles #spongebob #squidward #spongeward #my fics #ask #asks #sunlit-squid

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zackcollins · 4 years ago

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idk if you write for ryan graves but would you be willing to write something w a masc reader?

Hi! Gravy is perfectly fine! Here's the fic that came to mind when I saw this ask. Feel free to request something specific and I'll write that too :D

When you saw all the snow blanketed across your yard, you lit up like a Christmas tree. You rushed through the house and up to your boyfriend, Ryan’s, office; he was in there reviewing game footage of the Golden Knights to help him prepare for the upcoming game in Lake Tahoe on the weekend. You knew that you should leave him to it but you were too antsy and excited about what you wanted to do with him in the snow to stop yourself from knocking on the door.

“Come in, babe,” Ryan called out.

You smiled, swung the door open, and hurried into Ryan's office. Ryan had moved his chair away from his computer and was staring intently at you. He had a small smirk on his face as he leaned against the top of his desk, arms crossed over each other.

“You didn’t have to knock,” he chuckled, sitting up straight in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair, face shifting to a look somewhere between sympathy and confusion. “You know that, right? You’re my boyfriend. You live here and help pay the household expenses too. That makes every room in the house just as much yours as it is mine.”

Your cheeks and the tips of your ears heated up as you stood there. It felt nice to hear Ryan say that because it had been a long time since you had been with someone as caring, loving, and considerate as he was. Growing up gay in a conservative area of Atlantic Canada made it hard to find someone that appreciated you to the extent you deserved in a relationship. When you met Ryan after moving to Colorado after accepting a biochemical engineering degree at the University of Colorado, you felt like it had been fate. He was from Atlantic Canada; you were from Atlantic Canada. He was gay; you were gay. He had had a hard time finding relationships because he was a hockey player; you had had a hard time finding relationships because a lot of guys felt threatened by what you wanted to do as a career (they assumed you were either too boring or too smart and steered clear). Ryan was one of the few people that didn’t feel threatened and saw got to know you beyond surface value. Because of that, he was the best boyfriend you could as for and nothing would ever change that.

You walked across the room after taking a moment to gather yourself. You sat on Ryan’s lap, giving him a soft kiss. Ryan smiled ruffling your hair and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Dropping your head into the crook of Ryan’s neck, you hummed happily.

“I know,” you said, sighing. “And I appreciate that. I just grew up in a household where my privacy was constantly invaded. So, I value people being able to have time to themselves if they need or want it.”

Ryan grabbed your chin and tilted your head to look at him. He brought his hand up to your jaw and smoothed it across your jawline. The way his warm hand felt against the hair of the beard you were trying to grow caused you to shiver. Ryan smirked before he leaned forward and kissed you. You melted into the kiss, bringing your hands up to grip the collar of Ryan’s sweater.

You kissed Ryan softly; you were in the mood for a sweet, syrupy make-out session. Ryan seemed to have other ideas because he ramped the intensity up to eleven after a few moments. He nibbled on your bottom lip, causing you to open your mouth in a groan. He took that opportunity to add his tongue into the equation. When you groaned again, he brought his hands down to the hem of your shirt. He fiddled with it for a moment before he slid his hands underneath and laid them flat against your stomach. You shivered, mouth falling open on a silent moan. You felt Ryan smirk before he slid one hand along either side of your ribs. He gently ran his fingers over your skin, slowing down the speed at which he was kissing you to match the speed of his touch.

When Ryan splayed his hands over your chest, you groaned and pulled back. Your face rivalled that of a tomato and you were panting as if you had just run a marathon. Ryan smirked, a smug look washing across his face as he slid his hands out from under your shirt.

“Believe it or not,” you said as you wiped some sweat off of your face, “that’s not actually what I came in here for.”

“Oh? Really now?” Ryan chuckled as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it that you wanted then, Mr. Tomato Face?”

You swatted Ryan's shoulder, rolling your eyes. Ryan grinned before he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

"I wanted to know if you would like to go build a snowman."

Ryan raised an eyebrow and quirked the corner of his mouth with a small smile. He took one of his hands and ruffled your hair before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I'd love to," Ryan said. "Trying to retain anything from this game footage is driving me up the wall. I need a break before I use the monitor as a target for slapshot practice."

You chuckled as you stood from Ryan's lap. You pressed a kiss to his cheek and squeezed his shoulder before you walked to the door. Yo stopped and turned back to face Ryan.

"Meet me outside when you're ready." You saw Ryan nod before you walked out of his office and back down the stairs.

By the time you were bundled up and ready to go outside, Ryan had come down from his office. He met you in the back room of the house and quickly put on his snow gear before you both trekked outside.

Once in the backyard, you found an ideal spot for the snowman under the tree in the back corner. You started rolling the snowball for the body while Ryan started rolling the snowball for the head. It took a few minutes but you both managed to get the snowballs to the perfect size. Ryan stacked his on top of yours and gave you a quick kiss. He handed you some sticks for the arms to which you smiled and stuck them into the body snowball. He handed you a couple of stones for eyes. You smiled again and stuck the stones in the head snowball.

"Do you have anything for a nose?" You asked as you looked around at your feet.

"Here. Take this."

You looked over to see what Ryan had found, hoping it was a pinecone or something similar. What you saw instead made tears well in your eyes and a large smile wash across your face. Ryan was holding a ring and he was on one knee in the snow.

"Yes! Before you even ask."

You slid your glove off and held your hand out for Ryan. Ryan smiled and slid the ring onto your finger. After taking a moment to admire the ring, you pulled Ryan up by his coat collar and in for a passionate kiss. Ryan smiled into the kiss as he cupped your cheeks with his gloved hands.

When you pulled back, you dropped your head against his chest and huffed a soft breath. Ryan cradled your head and your lower back. He rocked you back and forth a couple of times before he pulled you back to stare into your eyes. You felt your heart swell as you saw the pure look of love staring back at you from your fiance's eyes.

"I love you," you both blurted at the same time.

You both chuckled as you leaned in and hugged each other. You dropped your head back against Ryan's chest and felt his heartbeat vibrate throughout your body. It felt amazing to be wrapped in Ryan's embrace. You felt loved and appreciated.

Ryan was the best thing to ever happen to you and nothing would ever change that.

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romanceimp · 4 years ago

Text

Love Bakugo: Pt 4 A New Perspective

Think of a man who done you wrong and input his name for the ____ (that’s the shit boyfriend’s name)

He had known that Y/n had been good friends with Bakugo in there UA days but he hadn’t been aware how close. She was working for his agency now and he couldn’t believe it. Not to mention, her first day working there had been the exact same day that his embarrassing high school year book photo was flashed at the staff meeting. Of all days, the day his girlfriend started working there. Maybe it was a good thing, a distraction so she wouldn’t catch on to his deceptions. It was horribly embarrassing that he had to confess to his boss that it was actually him. “You don’t look like this guy…” Bakugo had said. Which made it all the worse, the explanation of the nose job and all. He shut the door to the bathroom in his apartment softly behind him and pulled out his phone, ‘I miss you, call me’ He instantly felt calm seeing the text. ‘actually can I come over, we need to talk’ ‘of course’ ‘bring wine ;)’

_____ went into his ringtones and pressed the demo for his work calling ring tone. As soon as the sound stopped, he spoke. “Hello?” he said, and waited the appropriate amount of time to make the fake phone call sound convincing. “I can’t believe it, gosh he’s been here 2 weeks and- I’ll be right over.” ____ grabbed his coat and rushed into the living room. His girlfriend was curled on the couch reading a book. “Hey, work emergency, I think I’ll have to go out for a while...” She looked up from her reading. “Oh what happened? Is everything okay?” she asked concerned. He shook his head, “it’s fine, there’s just something wrong with the engines on some of the new jet packs and we’re gonna be doing the demo tomorrow. For a corporation who might want to distribute them to hero’s world wide.” He smiled, as he watched her eyes widen in surprise. She broke out into a grin, “wow that’s amazing! you’re so smart _____.” He wished that were true now that she seemed so impressed with him. “That’s a huge achievement,” her eyes narrowed, “why didn’t you tell me?” He was kicking himself now for trying to impress her. He could have just left it at ‘presentation tomorrow’. Fuck. Looking at her now he got the feeling he always got when he looked at her long enough, the feeling that she was too good for him, the feeling that she would one day realise this and that one day she would leave him. “I’ve just been working so hard, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She smiled, “ I understand, but it really hurts my feelings when you leave me out of these parts of your life...” She paused then and look up at him with a gentle expression, “I can’t help but feel you’ve been distant lately...” Does she know? Am I caught? Fuck. “I’m sorry, work has just been really out of control lately with these new recruits,” he said hoping that she would buy it. She nodded her head slowly. “Just be honest with me...” He froze. Oh god, she did know, she knew everything, or maybe she suspected. Part of him hated himself for lying and the other part of him loved the thrill. “Is this about me working with Katsuki?” It absolutely was about her working with Bakugo. _____ hated that she said his first name so casually like that. Katsuki. Katsuki. Ugh! But she looked guilty, like she felt bad. “No, honey, it’s just a work thing, nothing to do with you at all.” She nodded, “okay, I just wanted to make sure...” _____ grasped her shoulder, “I love you, nothing you say or do could ever change that,” he said before grabbing his keys and heading out the door. And he meant it.

He picked cheap bottles of Chardonnay and Rosé from ‘buy one get one half off’ shelf at a liquor store that was on the way to her apartment. UA was visible as he exited from the fluorescent store. He cursed UA for brining Bakugo together with Y/n.

The elevator doors opened to a long hallway with a single door at the end. _____ knocked their special knock, and the door opened a few moments later. “Hi Echo,” he said taking her in. She was wearing his shirt and a pair of underwear, her hair pulled on top of her head in a messy bun. She was pretty, in an ordinary sort of way. Her features were all aesthetically pleasing, but there was nothing unique or special about them. Her quirk was similar. Everyone called her Echo, and always had, even though that wasn’t her real name at all. She had the ability to make anyone repeat what she said as long as she was looking at the person, and they heard what she said. “Oh you did bring wine!” she said as she pulled him towards her couch. She set the bag down in her chair and climbed into _____’s lap as soon as he sat down. She began to kiss his face. “I missed you,” she said and went back to her kisses. _____ kissed her back but hesitantly. “I missed you too,” he said in between kisses. “I really do want to talk though,” he said trying to get on track. “About what?” She hummed against his mouth questioning the type of talking that he would be doing. “I’m serious,” he said and Echo pulled back looking at him with big innocent eyes. “It’s about Y/n, she’s working with Bakugo,”_____ said waiting for her reaction. A big smile crossed Echo’s face. “I know, it’s amazing! Bakugo is a great boss. A little bit brash but he’s amazing. I’m so happy for her!” Echo went back to affections leaving _____ confused and slightly frustrated. “But that’s bad, because you’re going to be working with her too.” Echo furrowed her brow, not liking _____’s tone. “Duhhh, it’s not like I’m gonna say anything to her about us... It was just nice to meet her. She’s an amazing hero,” Echo said. Yes, Y/n was that for sure. “Wait… you met her?” Echo nodded, “yup, she’s just as lovely as everyone says she is,” Echo giggled then wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to look ather. “But you love me more right?” she asked. He didn’t know what to say, he loved Y/n but he loved how Echo made him feel more. He decided it would be best to change the subject. “But we have to be sneakier than usual and probably no more fun in the office anymore.” Echo groaned, “you’re such a kill joy,” she leaned close to his ear, “isn’t the almost getting caught the most fun? She had a point there. _____ took off his shirt and reached for Echos but she stopped him. “Now what do you have to say to me?” she questioned. _____ was silent, he wasn’t sure. “I love you Echo,” she said. “I love you Echo,” _____ said.

Work emergency? Work emergency your fucking ass. Why couldnt you see it before? You thought about that a lot. Ever since Katsuki told you your boyfriend was a big fat cheater the signs were so obvious. As soon as _____ left you’d called Katsuki letting him know the plans were a go. You pulled on some black yoga pants and a black sweat shirt. You grabbed the $50 that you stole from ____’s wallet and went outside to meet Katsuki. He was waiting in front of your building in his car. You hopped in the passenger seat, “hey, you wanna get ice cream after this? My treat,” you said holding out the fifty. Katsuki began to drive towards his agency. “Would love to get ice cream after, but you’re paying for nothing.” You brushed your fingers against the collar of your shirt. “Well, it’s not my money,” you said giving him an impish smirk. Katsuki shifted gears, “in that case…”

As Katsuki parked on the top floor of the parking deck, you felt defeated. There weren’t any other cars in the garage, except the van for the midnight cleaning service. Part of you, an idiot part of you, had hoped that possibly, maybe, your boyfriend’s car would be there. That it really was a work emergency. That Bakugo had made a terrible mistake and it wasn’t him after all. It was another close colleague that happened to look just like him. The worst part was how stupid you felt that you even hoped that was a possibility. You could feel tears welling in your eyes. But you pushed them back with your palms. “Hey, let’s go- wh-what’s wrong?” Bakugo was standing with his face pressed against the glass. “I-I’m fine!” you said a little too enthusiastically as you got out of the car. “If you don’t want to do this anymore…” You shook your head and walked through the doors.

It was 3 floors of installing cameras in and around closets, stairwells, and locker rooms, and offices later that Bakugo said something other than a few gruff instructions about drill assembly. He was standing on a ladder, but stepped down a few rungs to look at you. “I need to ask you something and I was gonna wait for a good time but, doesn’t seem like there will be a good one for a while…” he paused, was he scared? “Did you ever read the letter?” Your heart dropped, “Katsuki I-“ He nodded his head slowly to himself, “so you did huh?” He went back to installing the tiny camera in the ceiling vent. “I didn’t know what to do with it, no one had ever been so nice to me-“ “Listen, I said in the letter it was fine, I just would have liked an answer, ya know, back then.” He didn’t sound angry, which was somewhat comforting, but he sounded sad, which was way worse. “I know,” it was all you could say.

You finished installing the cameras together. You tried making things lighter again by reminiscing about UA, it helped but there was still a lingering sadness between the two of you. After drilling in the last screw, for the last camera, Katsuki climbed down the ladder. Maybe it was seeing a tall strong man holding power tools, maybe it was that this super tough man just finished another 2 hours of doing a favor for you, but something took over you. You grabbed his waist and held him close to you. You could feel the tears again but didn’t have the strength to push them back. You didn’t have the strength to lie to yourself or to him anymore and the truth bubbled out of you like silver water from a fountain. “I wish I’d picked you. I would have been so much happier. And I’m so sorry that it’s taken me so long to figure that out and I know it’s too late now…” He didn’t say ‘it’s okay’ because it wasn’t and you knew that. You’d fucked up by not responding to what he had written so long ago.

He drove you back to your house, “I really can’t thank you enough, there aren’t words…” He smiled and brushed his fingertips against your hand. You got out of the car, wrapping your arms around yourself, guilt seeping deep into your whole self. “Hey Y/n,” he’d gotten out of his car and the look in his eye was determined. “It’s not too late, unless you want it to be.” It what? You stuttered something back, frozen where you stood. He approached you and before he could reach you, something lit up in you. You were so fucking in love with Katsuki it wasn’t even funny. You ran to him, and kissed him. For the second time in your life, but the first where you initiated it. You’d wondered for years if the movies got anything right… It wasn’t until now you understood why some people say ‘like fireworks’. As he pulled away you realized there was a lot you had to do to prove yourself to him after practically ignoring the letter. Actually, it was time you reread it…

Tag List: @rebel---black @random-fandom-girl-24 @unawi13-blog

#bakugo x reader #bakugo #katsuki bakugō #bakugou katsuki #mha #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha one shot #i wish real men were like this #romance fiend #love bakugo

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eruden-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Carry On Redux

Series finale redone. Script format.

I haven’t been part of the Supernatural fandom for a few years, but just hearing about that series finale chafed.

I literally wrote this in, like, 2 hours. Want better formatting? Find Carry On Redux by Eruden on AO3.

----

FADE IN

INTERIOR - LIVING ROOM

Sunlight shines through sheer curtains on a large window. It’s a comfortable room with a mixture of modern and rustic decor. Family pictures hang on the walls and litter just about every flat surface. Most photos depict Sam Winchester and a blonde woman; then the two with a dog; then with children, growing older. Holidays, graduation, school photos, marriage, grandbaby photos.

YOUNG MAN sits on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. He wears jeans, a green flannel shirt, and a jacket. His hazel eyes wide and attention rapt.

YOUNG MAN

So, what happened after that?

The question is posited to OLD SAM, sitting across a coffee table, in a recliner. He’s still relatively fit, but his hair has greyed and he now sports a bushy beard, reminiscent of Bobby’s. Laugh lines and crows’ feet crease his face.

OLD SAM

Well, once Cas sacrificed himself, Dean grieved for awhile.

He didn’t eat or drink. Wouldn’t even come out of his room for pie!

At that, Sam chuckles, half-sad and half-amused.

INT - MEN OF WORDS BUNKER - LIBRARY

Sam sits at a table, eyes on a book and brow furrowed. Beside him, a notebook is open to scrawled notes. Not much can be made out, but words such as The Empty, Angel, Retrieve can be made out. Strewn around him are empty cans and food containers.

Dean enters, slapping his phone onto the table with a loud CLATTER. Sam jumps, eyes snapping to Dean’s face.

DEAN

Found us a job.

Sam looks down at the phone. A news article is splayed on the front about a trucker, found dead with his heart ripped out.

Sam looks back up at Dean with worry and consternation.

Dean returns the look with unwavering seriousness.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

Just like that, we were back in the family business.

MONTAGE - VARIOUS

EXT - DARK FOREST

Sam and Dean, back to back and holding guns. Trees ring around them, dark and shadowed.

Things seem to be moving between the trees.

One of the brothers shoots. An ungodly SHRIEK echoes.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

Hunting things that went bump in the night.

INT - ABANDONED PLACE

Dean is stabbing stakes into vampires.

Sam aids a couple sobbing victims, wrapping wounds and ushering them out.

Through boarded up windows, daylight can be seen streaming in.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

Nothing as remarkable as stopping the apocalypse

or reuniting God with his sister.

EXT - CEMETERY

Sam and Dean digging up a grave. They pour gasoline into the hole and toss in a match.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

But we did whatever needed doing.

INTERIOR - SUBURBAN LIVING ROOM

The Young Man is still sitting with rapt attention on the couch.

Old Sam sighs, shaking his head to and fro.

OLD SAM

That went on for… oh, about five or so years.

YOUNG MAN

And then?

Old Sam sadly smiled.

OLD SAM

Then Dean died.

INT - PENTHOUSE SUITE

Everything indicates wealth and luxury with rich mahogany wood and deep red palette. A plethora of worldly objects fill the abode: old looking vases, invaluable art, antique guns, a sword on a fireplace mantle.

A nighttime cityscape can be seen through the large windows; the tops of other buildings can be seen from the vantage point, indicating a great height.

But there are indications of trouble. Broken pieces of furniture strewn about. One of the large windows is cracked. A broken aquarium, tropical fish flopping on the wet carpet. On a table, a corpse lays, stomach ripped out.

Sam and Dean each struggle against two black-eyed, sharp-toothed creatures that hiss and shriek. The creatures wear tattered clothing.

Dean gets thrown into a table, wood splintering and pricey knickknacks shattering. He’s dazed for a beat, before realizing his opponent is baring down on him, jaws inhumanly wide. His hand curls around a broken table leg, shoving it up and into the creature’s mouth.

A sickening SQUISH is heard as the sharpened end of the legs skewers through the monster’s head. Black blood splashes across Dean and he gags. He quickly hefts the dead creature aside.

When he gets to his feet, he looks around wildly.

The creature fighting Sam has gotten the upper hand. They cackle, before opening their jaws spread. Row after row of sharp teeth fill their maw. They jerk forward, intent on ripping out Sam’s throat.

DEAN

No!

Suddenly, Dean is there, slamming into the creature’s side. The sword from the fireplace slicing through the creature’s chest.

Dean and the creature slam into the already cracked window. The sword pierces through the glass.

SAM

Dean!

The creature lies still. For half a beat, there’s silence. Then Dean’s shoulders ease and he laughs, half-turning to smile at his younger brother.

Sam eases, too. Though he still looks worried.

Suddenly, the creature SHRIEKS, biting down on Dean’s shoulder. The window CREAKS.

Dean and the creature fall through the shattered glass. Dean is still half-turned to Sam. They share a look.

Sam rushes forward, hand outstretched.

SAM

No!

Time seems to slow. Dean smiles. The night sky is his backdrop.

DEAN

It’s okay, Sammy.

Sam stares, eyes wide. Almost disbelieving.

The shatter window stands empty, framing the night and city. A distant IMPACT is heard, as glass continues to TINKLE.

OLD SAM

(voiceover)

In the end, he got what he wanted. A hunter’s death.

INTERIOR - LIVING ROOM

QUIET settles over the room. The Young Man still leans on his knees, somber.

OLD SAM

Once Dean died, I did a few more hunts.

Met Laura during one.

Old Sam nods to a photo of himself and the blonde woman.

OLD SAM

Got a dog together. Had kids. Grew old.

He indicates more photos. One of himself and Laura with a dog. Multiple family photos. Photos of the family as they grew.

OLD SAM

Got just about everything I wanted.

Young Man tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing.

YOUNG MAN

Just about?

Old Sam smiles fondly.

OLD SAM

As much of an ass as he was, I still miss my brother.

I wish he could’ve been here to share my happiness.

To be my best man, an uncle, a great uncle.

YOUNG MAN

I think he would’ve liked that.

Old Sam gives a sad laugh and looks to the large window. Through the curtains, an obscured view of his street is seen. It’s idyllic and peaceful.

The front door’s lock CLICKS and the door is pushed open. LAURA enters, a bag in the crook of her arm. She’s older than her photos, with grey in her hair and laugh lines at the corners of her mouth.

LAURA

Hey, hon. Mary couldn’t stay

and visit, but she sends her love.

She walks from the door to the adjoining dining room, crossing the living room right in front of Sam.

INT - DINING ROOM

Laura puts her shopping bag and purse on the dining room table.

LAURA

While I was out, I ran into Debbie. She picked up

some antique thingamajig and thinks it’s haunted.

She turns to face the living room.

LAURA

If you don’t mind, do you think you can-

The easy smile on her face falters.

LAURA

Sam?

She takes a step forward.

INTERIOR - LIVING ROOM

Laura traverses into the living room. Sam sits in his chair, head bowed and eyes closed. A photo album sits in his lap. Across the room from him, television QUIETLY PLAYS. The Young Man is nowhere to be seen.

LAURA

Honey?

She reaches a hand out to his.

Her hand slaps over her lips with a gasp. Her eyes are wide and teary.

Slightly translucent, Old Sam appears beside her. He tucks her hair behind her ear and whispers quietly in her ear. Too quiet to be heard. Then, he presses his lips to her cheek.

Laura gasps, turning to face her dead husband. Her hand hovers on her cheek, where his lips touched her. Stunned, blinking back tears, Laura seems to know he’s there.

LAURA

(whispers)

Love you, too.

EXT - SAM’S HOME

Old Sam and the Young Man stand on the sidewalk, in front of Sam’s home. The sun shines down, the street is quiet. In the distance, AMBULANCE SIRENS can be heard.

OLD SAM

(staring at the house)

Thank you for waiting.

The Young Man scuffs his shoes on the sidewalk, hands in his jacket pockets.

YOUNG MAN

No worries. Got to honor my baby brother’s last wish, right?

Sam’s attention suddenly snaps to the Young Man. Sam is no longer old.

In the Young Man’s place, Dean stands. He wears similar clothing as the Young Man and a halfcocked smile.

SAM

(stunned)

Dean? But… how?

DEAN

Let’s say Death did me a solid,

everything considered.

SAM

I guess you two do have a past.

Dean laughs and turns toward the street. The Impala is there, shiny and pristine. Dean motions for Sam to follow him with a jerk of his head.

Behind Sam, the ambulance has arrived.

DEAN

I’ll tell you all about it along the way.

Sam starts forward as Dean opens the driver side door. In the background, a stretcher is being rolled out from his home, a white sheet around the body.

SAM

Along the way?

Sam skirts around the car and opens the passenger side door, settling in.

INT - THE IMPALA

Sam briefly looks around. Inside, Baby looks as it always has. Nothing out of place, nothing rotting.

Sam reaches for his seat belt.

CAS

Good to see you, Sam.

Sam startles, turning to find the angel sitting in the back seat.

SAM

(shocked)

Cas? I thought you were in The Empty. Like forever.

The angel gives a slight smile and nod.

Dean pats Cas on the hand, giving the angel an exasperated look. As if to say ‘you were supposed to let me handle this.’

Cas dips his head in apology.

Sam turns to Dean, eyebrows raised. He obviously has questions.

DEAN

(sheepish grin)

I’ll tell you about that on the way, too.

Dean turns a key in the ignition, the engine purrs to life. He shifts into gear as they pull away from Sam’s home, where a curious crowd has gathered.

DEAN

But right now, we’ve got hunting to do.

SAM

You can’t be serious.

The two brothers share a look. Sam obviously displeased and Dean straight-faced.

Dean can’t hold the look for long and his expression melts into a smile. He turns his eyes to the road.

DEAN

Nah, I’m pulling your leg. We got some friends waiting for us.

SAM

Really? Who?

DEAN

Ah, y’know, Bobby, Jack, Kevin, Charlie, Adam.

Some others. Heard Jess is gonna be there, too.

That causes Sam to sit up straighter.

SAM

Jess? (eyebrows raise) Like, my Jess?

DEAN

So she says.

Sam sits back in his chair, staring ahead. Conflicted expressions play across his face.

He stares outside his window. Outside, the road passes, but a white mist - or perhaps clouds - is slowly consuming the view.

Dean glances at Sam, slightly concerned.

DEAN

You okay, Sammy?

SAM Yeah. I just… This is a lot to take in.

DEAN

(laughs)

Yeah? Well, wait til you hear what I’ve been up to,

Mr. Two-And-A-Half-Kids-And-A-Picket-Fence.

Sam turns to Dean, an amused smile on his lips.

SAM

Is this going to be a long story?

DEAN

Nah. Not too long. If it was a show,

I’d say… oh… about fifteen seasons.

Sam groans.

EXT - THE IMPALA

The Impala glides over a road, lined with a forest. The cloud-mist has just about obscured everything.

DEAN

(offscreen)

Hey, I listened to your boring ass life story!

SAM

(offscreen)

Which reminds me, why did you even disguise yourself?

DEAN

(offscreen)

I had my reasons.

CAS

(offscreen)

He wanted to hear what you said about him and if you missed him.

SAM

(offscreen)

Seriously, Dean?

DEAN

(offscreen)

Do you want to hear how I saved Cas from The Empty or not?

RADIO STATIC buzzes on. “Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas” overtakes the static.

DEAN

(offscreen)

Oh, come on!

CUT TO SUPERNATURAL END CARD

#supernatural #spn #destiel #supernatural finale #spn finale #I'm usually a monster lover writer #so this is highly ironic #lol #But seriously I wrote this really quickly and if the actually paid writers of spn can't do better #then they aren't paying attention to the fans #or actively hate the fans #also available on ao3

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years ago

Text

Near-Death Experience || Mike Wheeler x Reader

Requested: "Billy enters the house in season two and is beating up Steve and the reader steps in to help and Billy ends up hurting her. so after Max stabs Billy in the neck, they're in the car and the reader is seated between Mike and Dustin while Max is driving and Mike ends up getting a little angry at the reader for risking her life to save Steve? He was so worried Billy would kill her which is why he's angry and the reader was defending herself and saying he would have killed Steve and stuff then when the car turns and stuff, the reader and Mike end up falling on each other as they're arguing sksk"

Warnings: several mentions of blood, graphic (?) descriptions of violence. Broken bones.

"I said, does anybody understand that?" You looked at Steve in disbelief as he scolded the five of you, waving a dish towel around. "I need a yes."

You guys were trying to convince him that you all could give El and the chief time to get to the gate if you drew out the demo-dogs by setting fire to the hub.

Honestly, the idea wasn't half bad.

But of course, Steve wasn't having any of it.

You rolled your eyes dramatically and groaned.

"Whatever, mom!"

His face scrunched up at your remark but before anything else could be said, everyone's attention was pulled outside when you heard the obnoxious revving of an engine.

Your legs carried you into the living room and Max ran to the window. She jumped onto the couch and peered out into the night, Lucas joined her. You could see faint white lights, from what you could only assume to be headlights, crawl across their faces.

"What is it?" You asked.

"It's my brother." Max said, and you could sense the panic sneaking up on her. "He can't know I'm here. He'll kill me. He'll kill us."

She looked desperately around the room and your face hardened in worry. You looked from Max to Steve, hoping he would know what to do.

Steve wore a similar expression on his face, but then he stormed outside.

The rest of you all squeezed onto the couch together, peering outside to watch everything unfold. You had to squint a little, but then you saw a guy step out of the car, around Steve's age you guessed, and Steve joined him on the lawn.

None of you could make out what they were saying but based on context and their body language, you could tell the air out there was thick with tension.

Lots of words were exchanged, and just as you had wished you could hear what they were saying, Max's brother Billy looked over at the window, at all of you and gestured.

You all dove under the window, hiding behind the couch, panting.

"Shit!" Dustin exclaimed. "Did he see us?"

There was beat or silence and then you could have sworn you heard a thud and groaning, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps growing closer.

"I think he saw us," Dustin panted.

"No, shit Sherlock!" You hissed, and you suddenly got an idea. "The back door in the kitchen. Quick!"

You guys all abandoned the couch and make your way to the kitchen, hoping you could make it out in time but then the door burst open and you all turned to see Billy.

This was the first time you actually saw him in person and he immediately creeped you out.

He stood in the doorway, and he looked at all of you. His eyes landed on Lucas and they zeroed in on him.

"Well, well, well," he said flatly, though he was seeping with rage.

He stalked forward and we all subconsciously backed away.

"Lucas Sinclair," he growled. "what a surprise,"

He now stood in front of Max and Lucas and his attention turned to Max.

"I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max."

"Billy, go away." Despite her words, her tone gave how frightened she really was, not that you blamed her.

"You disobeyed me," he said and you cringe in disgust. "And you know what happens when you disobey me,"

"Billy," her voice wavered but he continued.

"I break things,"

Everything happened so fast. He turned on his heel and grabbed Lucas by the shoulders, and forced him across the room and into one of the shelves.

You and your friends cried out frightened protests.

"Get off me, you--" Lucas struggled against his grip but Billy was too strong.

Billy shook Lucas by the collar roughly, forcing Lucas to look him in the eye. You stood frozen, telling, no screaming at your body to move and help your friend but your limbs were numb and you watched tearfully in fear.

"Since Maxine won't listen to me, maybe you will. You stay away from her." He shook him violently once more, raising his voice. "Stay away from her! You hear me?"

Before you know it, your legs were carrying you across the room, you grabbed at his shoulder trying to pry Billy off of him but he didn't even have to turn around to stop you.

He shoved his arm back roughly and suddenly, his elbow struck you sharply and it knocked you back, taking the wind out of you, and you heard Mike call out your name in fear.

You stumbled back and caught a glimpse of Billy shuffle backward, and doubling over, reaching between his legs. Lucas must have injured him, going right where it counted.

He looked up, glaring holes into Lucas.

"You are so dead, Sinclair! You're dead."

You felt someone push past you and you exhaled in relief. It was Steve.

Steve put a hand on Billy, roughly turning him around to face him while simultaneously getting him away from Lucas.

"No," he said simply. "You are."

Steve reeled his hand back and punched Billy square in the jaw, knocking him back.

You and Duston chuckled happily, in relief, but Max only grew more grave.

"Steve!" She called out warningly.

Billy stood up, cackling maniacally, turning to look at Steve.

Lucas slipped quietly behind him and you reached out and grabbed his hand. He gladly accepted and you pulled him into a quick hug as you led him back to the others. You stood in front of them like a shield. Your eyes never left the fight, making sure Billy didn't come after Lucas or Max.

Billy smiled smugly, still laughing as he talked down to Steve.

"Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh?" Billy was yelling, and he gestured to Steve. "I've been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody's been telling me so much about."

He strutted over to Steve, getting in his face, blood was dripping from his nose. While he wore a smile, his eyes were dead and expressionless. It was enough to scare you senseless.

Steve seemed equally disgusted and he spoke in a much quieter tone. He gently pushed Billy away, using only his forefinger and Billy shuffled back, gears in his head turning. He was planning his next move.

"Get out."

He stood rooted to the spot, and he licked his lips. Suddenly his arm was flying through the air, headed right for Steve's temple. He didn't even have to reel back.

But Steve caught on and ducked just before the boys fist could collide into his head. He stood quickly and swung his left fist, hitting Billy in the side of his face.

Billy stumbled back into the kitchen table and looked up Steve, still laughing.

Mike and Dustin came alive from behind you.

"Yes! Kick his ass, Steve!"

"Get him!"

Before Billy could strike again, or even pull himself up from the table Steve swung again, knocking him back into the kitchen counters.

"Murder the son of a bitch!"

Steve was still advancing. Throwing punches left and right.

"Now! Now!"

"Get that shithead!"

"Kill the son of a bitch!"

Billy was now against the kitchen sink, head now rolling back with laughter, blood dripping from his face on his exposed chest.

All too late you saw Billy reach for the plate and he crashed it into Steve's head knocking the wind out of him.

"Steve!"

"Billy!" Max yelled, pleading for him to stop.

It was Steve who was now tumbling back into the kitchen table.

"Holy shit!" Mike breathed out.

Steve was stumbling in your direction, his back to Billy and you saw Billy advancing on him.

"Steve, look out!" You cried out.

He lunged himself into the wall, narrowly missing Billy's fist. He collided into the shelves and then pushed himself off, missing another one of Billy's attacks.

Steve made his way into the living room and you shuffled your friends to the side, getting out of the way of the fight. Billy trailed after Steve and grabbed him by the shoulders roughly.

"No one, tells me what to do!" With a loud grunt, he headbutted Steve in the face.

Steve collapses on the floor and you shuffle on your feet, your mouth hanging open and you silently prayed that he would get up.

Billy hollers in triumph and stalks towards Steve curled up on the floor. The map of tunnels that were taped to the floor, the ones Will had drawn, were crumpling and tearing under Steve's body as he pushed himself away.

"Get up!" Billy spit.

"Come on, Steve!" You cried.

"You're gonna kill him!" Dustin exclaimed.

Billy stands over Steve, one leg on either side of him and he throws his arms back and pummels Steve into the ground. He throws punch after punch, strike after strike. Steve is bleeding out all over the floor. You watch in horror, knowing now Billy wasn't gonna stop until he went too far. Until Steve was dead.

He was screaming, spit flying everywhere as he did so. Some of the spit was mixed in with blood and you saw Steve losing consciousness.

Everything was in slow motion now. Your face hardened and you stomped noiselessly over to Billy, his back turned to you. You felt the ghost of a grasp on your arm, trying to stop you but your arm slipped out easily. It was Mike. You tuned out his cries of protest, he was soon joined by the others but you couldn't hear them now. All you could hear now as time seemed to stand still was the thunderous pounding of your heart in your ears.

You focused on Billy's form like a target. Like a bull storming after the matador, all you could focus on, all you could allow yourself to think about, was the red of his shirt.

You were running now and a deafening cry tore through your throat as you sped at the man. Arms outstretched and you tackled him into the door, knocking him off his feet.

Everything went back to normal, you were back in reality and your friends shocked exclaims echoed in your ears but all you could focus on was the look on Billy's face.

Shock flickered over his features, but he quickly recovered. He chuckled dryly and muttered your death sentence under his breath.

You were too slow to dodge the sudden sweep of his leg, and you crashed onto the ground, hearing the paper crumple under your body.

You looked up at him in fear and you scrambled back desperately. But you didn't get very far, your hands scrambled for grip on the hardwood floor but you found next to none. The paper tunnels moved from under your sweaty palms, causing your hands and feet to slip continuously.

He now towered above you and you could barely make out the cries of protest from Mike and the others.

"Don't hurt her! You son of a bitch, DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!" It was Mike and his voice was cracking with fear.

You looked quickly to the side, hoping by some miracle Steve would jump to his feet and save you but he was out cold.

By the time you looked back at Billy all you saw was his fist. Your head, which had been previously craning up, was slammed into the ground.

You heard a crack and pain exploded in your nose and the back of your head, confusing you. What you hadn't registered yet was that when he had punched you, it sends your head into the floor so hard you could have sworn you felt your brain hit the back of your skull.

White filled your vision and your ears were ringing slightly. You were in too much pain to hear the cries of fear from your friends.

Your legs began moving, squirming every which way. Attempting to kick him, or to worm you out from under him you didn't know which one. But then you felt a heavy weight on your right leg. It still moves violently, trying to get out from under his giant rubber boot.

You then felt an enormous pressure on your shin before it stopped briefly. You were still recovering from the blow to the face and head, you couldn't move much anymore you panted. Forcing your head to turn. It rolled on the ground as it moved, though it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. All you could do was watch and you saw him bring his left leg up. He looked you right in the eye, teeth clenched as he through his foot down onto your shin. Just as your ears stopped ringing you heard a crack and you cried out in pain.

He applied pressure on your leg with his foot and twisted into your leg, smashing his foot into the wound like you would a bug you just squashed, making sure the thing was dead.

You cried out in pain and terror, begging him to stop but he kneeled down closer to you as he flared at you.

You whimpered on the ground, reaching your forearms up in the form of an 'x' to shield your face, your arms felt like lead but it made no difference. He grabbed both your wrists in one hand, taking down your arms with no effort at all. With his other hand, he grabbed your hair close to your scalp and pulled your head up before slamming it into the ground.

The world was quiet and your vision grew dark. The last thing you saw was Max storming after Billy, syringe in hand.

×××

The next thing you feel is your body swaying slightly back and forth.

You were moving but your eyes were still closed. You heard the roar of an engine and your senses prickled at the familiar sound.

Everything came back in bits and pieces.

You remember hearing that sound when he showed up. You remembered running. You remember feeling fear. Lucas. Lucas was in danger.

Then you recalled punches being thrown and Steve.

Most of all you remembered red. Blood?

Yes, there was blood, a lot of it but that wasn't it. There was something else.

Billy!

Your eyes shot open and although it was dark, your eyes still seemed to adjust to the light. You were in a car.

Squinting from the bright lights that flashed over your face. The lights you realized, were from the road. Headlights.

You tried moving your head and you caught a glimpse of Dustin to your right. He was icing someone. Steve.

Steve was still passed out.

Dustin looked up and saw you were awake. He smiled gently at you.

"Hey buddy," You frowned, your mouth parted slightly.

You then felt how cold and simultaneously hot your upper lip felt. Was your nose running? You tried licking your lips but you immediately tasted the familiar metallic taste on your tongue.

"Y/n!" The voice came from your left and you moved your head to face the familiar voice. As soon as you did you winced, hissing slightly at the intense throbbing of your head.

You had a horrible migraine.

"Mike?" You croaked.

You blinked several times but you saw him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Y/n, oh thank God." He held up three fingers and you squinted. "How many fingers?"

Your vision doubled briefly as you tried to focus but it returned to normal just as soon.

"Three," you mumbled. "W-What happened?"

"You got the shit beaten out of you." He answered, his tone turned stern and his voice began to rise. "What the hell were you thinking?"

As your ears began picking up more sounds around you, your senses coming back, you picked up on the sloshing coming from Mike's direction.

Your eyes fell on his feet and you saw a can of lighter fluid in his stashed between his feet.

"Whas' that?" You slurred.

"Are you even listening to me?" Your eyes trailed back up to Mike and you peered up at him.

"I said you could have gotten yourself killed!"

"Nobody was doing anything," you said.

But apparently you hadn't actually said anything out loud and he just stared at you, still waiting for an answer.

"Nobody was doing anything!" You cried. "Steve was getting killed!"

"You were getting killed!" Mike retorted but you weren't listening.

Where was Steve?

Forgetting about your throbbing head you whipped your head around to your other side and saw him passed out on the other side of Dustin.

Oh, yeah. You thought.

It seems you had also forgotten you just saw him when you woke up.

You had to keep your head still for a few moments, just to recover from moving your head too fast. Mike, as it turns out, was still lecturing you.

You slowly rolled your head against the back of the seat to face Mike once more.

"He's twice your size, he could have snapped your neck! Seriously, what the hell were you thinking?! Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Your face scrunched up in a wince, and you groaned, reaching up to cover your ears.

He realized what he was doing and calmed down a bit.

"Sorry,"

"He wasn't stopping, Mike. He was gonna kill him." You managed. "Then he was gonna kill all of us."

Then something clicked in your head.

"Wait, wait, wait," you grew frantic and Mike had reached out to calm you.

"Who's driving?"

Before you could get an answer you looked up and saw a flash of red hair in the driver's seat and then two hands ripped the steering wheel to the side.

The car turned so suddenly and with such a force it rolled you over and you cried out. Unable to physically stop yourself - pain exploded in your leg as soon as it so much as shifted and the memory of your leg snapping came flooding back to you - and in a mad scramble to get your weight off your bad leg combined with the sudden shift of gravity you were rolled over onto something indistinguishable.

When gravity centered and the car adjusted you groaned from the pain, and you strained to crane your neck, wanting to know what you landed on.

More specifically, who you landed on.

You were now face to face with Mike, he was violently pink as he met your eye and quickly looked away. You could feel his breath on your face and yours was probably on his.

You had been bumped into by Dustin and completely flipped over onto Mike's lap. You were practically laying on him.

You both were immediately flustered but you were cut short by the pain. Everything had happened so fast the pain hadn't caught up to you until now. Your head, nose, and leg were throbbing and you winced harshly.

"Y/n," his voice came out in a whisper. "Here let me help."

He had abandoned his lecturing tone, his anger completely forgotten and he was now using a soothing tone. He half cradled you as he helped place you back on the seat.

You thanked him under your breath, your voice was weak and spared a glance up at him.

You were now positioned so you were leaning against him. His shoulder became a pillow but you didn't adjust anymore. You were still blushing and so was he, profusely in fact. And you opened your eyes, seeing a mischievous smile on Dustin's lips as he looked between you two.

Okay, now would be a good time to pass out again.

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unpopular-bishop · 4 years ago

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outsider pov

“I already have someone’s gear in my care.”

Khaofang isn’t bitter.

Sure, she’s liked Kongpob since she first saw him, and sure, she’s been trying to gather the courage to confess for months, and sure, her feelings are hurt and her pride is hurt and she is sad. But she isn’t bitter, and she’ll get over it. She liked Kongpob, but she wasn’t in love or anything. Maybe she could have been, given a few more months, but Kongpob had been blunt but kind in his let down. Hadn’t given her even a hint of hope to hold on to.

And she can appreciate and respect that. If she can’t be with him, then at the very least, she wants him to be happy. If he’s already taking care of someone’s gear, and he seems so serious about the responsibility, well...that must mean something. Must mean he loves the person he cares about very much. Is happy with them. She very much wants him to be happy.

So she isn’t bitter.

...

She is, on the other hand, curious as hell. Who in the world could have snatched up someone as kind and patient and smart and sort of perfect as her Phi?

Standing on the beach and watching Kongpob walk away, Khaofang imagines that whoever she is, she’s got to be about as perfect as Kongpob.

She imagines someone beautiful, but in a plain sort of way. Someone who doesn’t draw stares, but who has a presence and a nice smile. Someone who likes to be doted on. She can tell that Kongpob likes to do things for the people he cares about. He’s observant and always there with a kind word or advice when any of his juniors need it. Even his punishments tend to be kind and he always explains why he’s handing out exercise or essays. And he smiles a lot, so the person who’s gear he’s taking care of must smile a lot, too. Maybe she’s funny? Khaofang hopes so. Or maybe she doesn’t smile enough, so Kongpob makes up for it. Maybe instead of funny, she’s overly serious or stoic.

Khaofang pictures a blank, person-shaped image in her head and slowly molds it into what she thinks is the perfect person for Kongpob. She’s pretty in a quiet sort of way, and has a serious face that is cute when she smiles. She’s got a good personality, Khaofang decides; maybe not as kind as Kongpob but definitely similar to him. She has a gear, so she must be smart like Kongpob, too, and tough enough to have gotten through the previous years of SOTUS hazing, which Khaofang has heard were much more rigorous. Was she in Kongpob’s year? Or older?

Khaofang thinks she would have noticed someone hanging around her Phi after all this time, so she decides that his girlfriend must be older - a year or two at least. And she must like to be doted on, but also makes sure to take care of Kongpob in turn, for him to care about her so dearly. He hadn’t even hesitated to reject her, and she was a catch!

She follows her Phi slowly, trying to both soothe her own hurt and imagine the kind of person she lost out to without even realizing they exist. She wants to meet her, if possible. Wants to know if she’s really as perfect as Khaofang thinks, hopes, she is. Wants to see if maybe, just maybe, Khaofang might have a chance in the future.

She doesn’t quite know how it happens, but she and Kratai end up sitting with the seniors later that night. She and Kongpob are sitting on opposite sides and ends of the table. She can’t help that she wishes she were closer to him, even after the rejection. Kongpob just has an aura of calm warmth, a kindness that makes her feel happy and relaxed but energized all at once.

She hopes that the person who he has given his gear to feels that, too. Hopes that she feels it even more, even! She better appreciate what and who she has or Khaofang will swoop in!

Khaofang sneaks a glance toward Kongpob and takes a second to appreciate how nice he looks. She’s used to seeing him so serious and put together. His hair is usually slicked back and his engineering shirt gives him the air of an intimidating senior, and he always stands so straight and stiff when he’s around his juniors.

Here, though, he looks soft. His hair is ungelled and he’s wearing a billowy white shirt that softens his face and sort of brings out a sweetness that she’s never quite noticed before. Plus the cut of the collar is low enough that she feels her face flush before she cuts her eyes away. It isn’t fair to her, or to him, to keep looking. Especially after she’s been so rejected just an hour ago - and she’ll stop.

Just one more night, and she’ll stop.

She glances again.

Kongpob is sitting with a graduated senior she’s spotted around a few times but has never really spoken to. She’d say Kongpob was sitting between this Phi and M, except there’s a pointed space between Kongpob and M that just doesn’t exist between her Phi and his Phi. The senior has an arm slung across Kongpob’s shoulders in a casual sort of touch that she’s never seen anyone have with him before. Kongpob has never been unfriendly, but there is often a distance, a wall, that he keeps up between himself and other people around him. M is exempt, in a way, but she can’t remember a time that even he has been so casually close to Kongpob before. She might not have noticed except that she is watching tonight, drinking him in so that she will have this night to remember until she’s truly ready to let go.

She isn’t good with names, and only knows Bright’s because he so loudly introduced himself earlier, but he and Prem seem close to the senior next to Kongpob.

“Arthit!” Bright says loud enough to catch her attention, and that must be his name because he perks up. She’s caught up in how happy Kongpob looks, relaxed in a way she hadn’t imagined he could look, and that’s why she notices the way he leans into Arthit’s space just a little. Kongpob’s shoulders are lax and he can’t seem to keep his eyes off Arthit’s face, memorizing it not unlike how she’s memorizing his. “Where the hell have you been? Why did you disappear!? You went to be with Kongpob, didn’t you?” he sings a silly song but she’s distracted by he and Prem beginning to bicker about Prem doing the gear ceremony alone.

“Ai’Arthit kept calling me! He even took a cab to meet me at my bar. Look how much he wanted to come.”

She doesn’t know why that statement gets a reaction but Arthit pulls such an innocent face that even she can tell that something is up, and Kongpob starts to smile again, a slow and sweet sort of look that makes her heart ache for some reason.

“You’re talking too much.” Arthit says pointedly and Prem buts in with more teasing. They get Arthit spluttering but Khaufang can’t help but watch how happy Kongpob looks - like a cat who’s tasted the cream. He’s still leaning in to Arthit. Something is beginning to wiggle at the back of Khaufang’s mind, but she just doesn’t know what it is. Something feels like it’s close to clicking into place but hasn’t just yet.

She’s still thinking about it when Bright demands pictures, and she smiles automatically even as her mind churns to make sense of the information in front of her. She can taste the answer she’s coming closer and closer to, but she can’t recognize the flavor of it yet.

Kongpob looks like he’s bracing himself and she tunes back into the conversation in time to hear Prem demand, “Ai’Arthit! Your eyes were on Kongpob!”

“What!? No!”

She sees Kongpob’s cheeks start to go red and he lifts a hand to his face, covering his pleased, wide grin. She’s never seen him smile like that before.

“He mistook N’Kongpob’s eyes for the camera!” Bright accuses with a flourish of the phone and Khaufang watches as the whole table of Kongpob’s closest friends and seniors all ooooh loudly in teasing, implicating noises.

“I wanted to show my side profile!” Arthit tries to deny, but he’s blushing, just a bit, and Kongpob looks - happy. So happy.

Khaofang takes a deep, deep drink of her water and wishes it were something stronger.

All of the pieces click.

She sits on the bus with Kratai asleep against her shoulder and watches the world blur by as she thinks.

Arthit is not at all like she imagined Kongpob’s sweetheart to be. He’s a man, for one, but she’s a modern girl in modern times and that doesn’t bother her.

He’s handsome, at least - not the understated beauty she’s been imagining but he looked - soft, at dinner. Like there were hard edges to him that the beach had washed smooth for a time. But he wasn’t funny like Bright, but nor was he especially stoic. And Kongpob didn’t crack jokes to make him laugh, or dote on him especially. If she hadn’t been watching, if their friends hadn’t given them up, she would have more than likely written the night away as two close friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while.

She couldn’t write away the look on Kongpob’s face, though, as he watched Arthit like he might disappear at any moment. He hadn’t torn his gaze from Arthit the entire time, like Arthit had drawn him into orbit without even realizing. In the rare instances that Kongpob had looked away, Arthit had found him with his eyes and smiled in a way that made her feel like she hadn’t been supposed to see it.

No, she decides and lets Kratai tangle their hands together and settle more comfortably on her shoulder, Arthit isn’t really anything at all like she thought her love rival would be.

But the way Kongpob had looked at him, the way he’s practically glowed every time they’d been poked at or Arthit had leaned closer to him, was enough to show her that the most important thing was true - Kongpob was happy. He was taking care of Arthit’s gear and Arthit was probably taking care of his in return.

She’d lost long before she’d even known that she should start racing, but she still finds herself smiling at the memory of that shy, pleased grin on Kongpob’s face when Bright at teased them after the photo.

She isn’t bitter about this loss at all.

But, she thinks firmly to herself, Arthit better watch out, and take care of that gear with his whole heart. Otherwise, she’ll still be here, and she’ll make him regret it!

#sotus #kongart #mine #tags: kongart week 2020 | day 2: outsider pov | khaofang just wants p'kongpob to be happy #wc: 1.8k #ao3 link on first line #KongArt Week 2020

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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All I’ve Got To Keep Myself Sane, 1/8 (Jackie/Widow) - Juno

Summary: Jackie and Widow both only know three things for certain.

1: they’ve known each other for less than twenty-four hours. 2: they’re each running from something. 3: they’re both destined for Atlantic City.

But neither knows why the other is headed there.

Chapter Summary: Jackie and Widow begin a trip to New Jersey. Even though they’ve only just met, in Pittsburgh.

CW: catcalling, threat of assault

A/N: Hi, I’m Juno and I’m here to bring more slow-burn angsty stuff (Although there will be no ghosts in this fic, honest!). As I will switch POVs between chapters, I’ll add a POV at the start. I hope you enjoy part one.

Jackie

Jackie sighed with relief at the sight of the gas station. It was the first one she had found after leaving the suburbs around Pittsburgh, joining Route 76. She’d glanced at her tank and seen it almost empty, expired from the long drive down here, and resolved to just find somewhere, anywhere nearby to fill up.

She’d never even been to Pittsburgh before this morning.

And she’d already resolved never to return.

Jackie pulled into the gas station, her mind still whirling from her morning, her chest still aching from her tears; but a grim detachment settling into her mind, overtaking her thoughts as she fought to stifle them.

She just had to function – just function – now, for another six hours or so, until she reached Atlantic City.

It was midday, the sun in the September sky burning her skin through the window that she insisted on having rolled up to keep flies out of the car; and now again on the tarmac as she filled up her car. Summer was extending into autumn months, and the clammy, humid air was already unbearable.

Once she’d filled her tank, she dodged the Chevy pulling into the other lane to head into the station to pay. She debated picking up a newspaper, but declined. The orange and blue of the newspaper stands were giving her a bigger headache than she already felt from spending the last hour crying in the Wal-Mart car park.

The teenager behind the counter wore uniform in similar garish colours to the newspaper stand – orange button-up shirt with the shop logo and a navy skirt with pleats. She blew a bubble with her gum as she counted Jackie her change from the gas and bottle of water she bought. Jackie hesitated before reaching across for a sandwich as well, while the assistant rolled her eyes and re-counted the change.

Outside at her car, Jackie looked at the wad of notes she’d taken out of the ATM a little earlier. The cash in her wallet would keep her going to Atlantic City. She probably only needed one more rest stop, one more gas stop. Then it would be her and the ocean.

She was unlocking her car when she heard the voice.

“Hey, baby. Goin’ so soon?”

A gruff, older man’s voice, husky from at least twenty years of a twenty-a-day habit, came from behind her.

And it was not the day for it.

Jackie spun on her heels to tell this jerk where to go, but then she realised that he wasn’t talking to her.

“What’s the hurry, sugar?”

The man at the other pump with the Chevy had abandoned his car, and was cornering a short twenty-something woman who stood against the wall of the gas station. She wore the same uniform to the teenager inside, having evidently just finished a shift, and a large backpack was slung over one shoulder. She had frozen, keeping her unblinking eyes locked on this man, giving no emotion away in her expression.

“Come on, I ain’t gonna bite you, why don’t you come for a ride with me?”

There was no one else here but Jackie and this man. The teenager inside was looking down at her phone, ignoring everything outside.

The woman moved sideways to try to escape, but the man darted to block her, and she froze once again, terror creeping into her eyes.

“Stop it!” She managed to say, but he ignored her.

“Playin’ hard to get?” He giggled, a surprisingly high-pitched noise compared to the gruffness of his voice.

She shrank back, holding her hands up, but he still reached for her –

Jackie felt white-hot anger rise in her chest.

“Hey – hey!”

She wasn’t sure what she would do even as she called out, but as she started marching towards them, an idea sprang to her mind.

“Hey – Chelsea!”

The man turned to face Jackie now, looking more than a little confounded, but she ignored him completely and went straight to the woman, gathering her into a hug. The woman smelled faintly of tobacco and coconut, and after a second, she raised a tentative hand to wrap around Jackie’s back.

“Chelsea! I’m so glad I saw you! We should hang out! Come on I’ll give you a ride home.”

Jackie’s mouth was level with the woman’s ear, thanks to her hug. Jackie hissed to her, “Come on, I’ll get you away from him if you want!”

“Oh, sure, thanks … Sarah,” the woman – the supposed Chelsea – muttered, catching on, and Jackie led her away. Jackie’s gamble – that the man might not take on more than one person at once – paid off; he stood behind them, speechless, just watching them go without another word.

Her body shaking with the adrenaline that was pulsing through her, Jackie scarcely believed what had just happened. She opened the door to her car, while the woman opened the door to the passenger seat silently and got in, putting her rucksack at her feet.

They sat for a few moments, speechless.

Jackie slowly turned her head to this woman to take her in, but she was staring blankly in front of her, taking deep breaths, holding tightly to the door handle.

Jackie had no idea what to do now.

“So, uhm,” Jackie said eventually, licking her lips, “if you want, I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks; just – just drive straight.” Her passenger pointed ahead, Jackie noticing her tattoos, from back of her hand, up her forearm and into the orange sleeve of her uniform.

Jackie put her car in gear, started the engine, and purred out of the gas station. She chanced a glance in the mirror, to see that the man with the Chevy had given up and wandered inside to pay for his gas. He wouldn’t be bothering them again.

The woman next to her didn’t speak at all, still staring out the front window. Her dark eyes were wide, fixed and staring. She still didn’t even turn to glance at Jackie, still clinging to the handle of the door with her right hand, her left twisting on the strap of her bag.

Jackie wound her way down Route 76 for ten minutes or so, unsure where the silence would end. With growing dread, she realised that they were leaving the outskirts of Pittsburgh now and going into open highway, and her passenger was still frozen in place.

Eventually, Jackie turned off into the town of Donegal (“Welcome to Donegal, population 147”), pulled into the parking lay-by, turning off the engine.

“Where do you live then?” She asked.

Her passenger took a deep breath, before breathing out a confession. “I don’t. Well, not anymore.”

She still didn’t look at Jackie as she spoke, her eyes dropping to her hands, turning a thread on her shirt over and over in one finger.

Jackie couldn’t quite take it in. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t have a home any more.”

Her voice was flat, devoid of any feeling, so cold that Jackie felt a shiver, despite the heat.

“Where am I meant to take you then?” Jackie asked, exasperated.

The woman next to her looked down at her hands, fingers twisting round a thread on her shirt. “This is going to sound crazy, but I have to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” Jackie muttered.

Finally the woman met her eyes. “Are you going to Atlantic City? New Jersey?”

It was Jackie’s turn to be shocked. Her heart skipped a beat. How had this woman known that?

She inhaled sharply, a buzz starting to ring in her ears.

The woman put a hand to her mouth, slowly shaking her head with wonder.

“You are!” Her hand lowered, resting on her chest, as she spluttered, lost for words. “I can’t fucking believe it. Dahlia was right.”

“What – who’s Dahlia?”

“My friend. Well, maybe not any more. But she reads Tarot.” She breathed rapidly, her hand still at her chest, unable to take her eyes off Jackie. “You – you’re really going to AC? This is fucking destiny.”

“What is? What the actual hell are you talking about?”

“That I’m meeting you! And you’re going to AC! Like where I want to go!”

Jackie felt dizzy with confusion. Had she entered the Twilight Zone? Was Pittsburgh the gate to the unknown? That would explain this whole fucking morning, that was for sure.

Finally, Jackie found her tongue.

“Who are you, too? Your name isn’t really Chelsea, is it?”

“And you name probably isn’t Sarah,” the woman replied. “I don’t know where that came from honestly.”

“It’s alright – I’m Jackie. Jacqueline Cox, but you can call me Jackie.” Jackie cringed as her business voice came out of her, as it sometimes did with people she didn’t know. She was so used to speaking in a business voice at work, it sometimes felt automatic out of work too.

“Okay Jackie.” Her passenger chanced a small smile. “I am …” she paused. “I am the Widow Von’Du.”

Jackie blinked. “The who?”

“The Widow Von’Du. Or just Widow is fine.”

“You’re a widow?”

“Nah, it’s just a name everyone calls me. And I like it.” She tilted her head to the side. “So, Jackie. You’re going to Atlantic City.”

“I – yes, I am, but …”

But what?

But she wasn’t sure why anymore?

But she wasn’t sure if she should just abandon the whole trip, just head back to New York, pick up the shattered pieces of her life, try to carry on?

But … but Atlantic City might end up being the end of the line?

Jackie hurriedly pushed that thought away.

Widow cackled, seeming not to notice Jackie’s turmoil. “I can’t believe it!”

“Can’t believe what?”

“Jackie, I’m gonna ask you something crazy. Well,” she corrected herself, “something elsecrazy. Would you consider giving me a ride to AC?”

“I –“

“I got money for gas and shit.” Widow pulled some bills out of her pocket and counted them when Jackie hesitated. “Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty; there – a hundred. A hundred bucks to take Widow to AC. I was going to head into Pittsburgh and look for a bus there, anyway. That’s why I took the cash out earlier. I wanted to get a bus ticket.”

Jackie had never come across someone as forward. She’d met this girl fifteen minutes ago! Where had this come from?

“Hell, you don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want,” Widow continued, seeing Jackie’s hesitation.

“That’s not what I meant –“

But Jackie was losing grip of anything that she did mean. It felt like she meant very little right now.

“Why Atlantic City, anyway?” Jackie asked finally.

“My friend Crystal lives there. She’ll let me stay.” Widow nodded as if trying to convince herself. “Why are you going to AC? You don’t sound like a Jersey girl.”

“I’m not. I’m – going to see my grandma.”

“Your grandma?” Widow perked an eyebrow, gazing at Jackie for a few seconds longer than she had expected before nodding. “Alright. Your grandma.”

“You don’t sound like a Pittsburgh native either,” Jackie said loudly, trying desperately to veer the conversation in another direction. “And you decided to go to Atlantic City? Three hundred miles away?”

Widow shrugged. “Sure. Why the hell not? Change of scenery. And Crystal’s housemates are cool.”

Widow held her gaze, and something in her eyes was sincere. Jackie didn’t understand quite why, but she didn’t feel as unnerved as she had earlier, and Widow seemed to trust her enough to do it. And she’d laid down cold, hard cash into Jackie’s hand. She was serious about going.

Jackie’s mind started to reason with the idea. Atlantic City was the end of the line, anyway.

But – but this was crazy!

Is it any more crazy than anything else I’ve done today?

“Alright,” Jackie sighed. “Atlantic City, here we come.”

“And I’ll put on some tunes,” Widow declared, pulling out her phone and bringing up Spotify. “You like your driving music to be relaxed or energised?”

“Uhm, relaxed.”

“I’m putting on Lizzo then,” Widow said, plugging her jack into Jackie’s car stereo.

——

Widow promptly fell asleep, only halfway through Truth Hurts.

Jackie reached to the volume control for the radio and turned it from eighteen to six. That was about right for this kind of day. Plus, she’d asked for relaxed, and had gotten something more energetic than she could have imagined. God only knew what Widow would have turned to if she’d asked for energetic music.

In sleep, Widow was serenely beautiful. Jackie chanced a glance at her, a bronze glow across her cheekbones, her halo of corkscrew coils dancing delicately around her face from the gentle breeze through the window, the ombré colour golden in the sunlight. This calm made a stark contrast to the intensity of her own shock, followed by the intensity of her own earnest need to escape from this town. All the heightened emotion must have tired her out. Jackie tried to drive as calmly as possible, to let her sleep.

But lowering the volume of the music just let the sounds and the feelings Jackie had been repressing all morning, since she’d left Pittsburgh, flood into her; like the parted sea crashing back into place. She fought against the tide of her thoughts, but they seemed determined to drown her.

Jackie usually wasn’t one for making a spontaneous decision; but the rest of her life was spiralling out of control. Pittsburgh seemed to be the only place there was anything left to her. Work sucked, her friends sucked, even her mom was getting in on the action. This snowball of events had caused her to get in her car at midnight and come down here. She’d slept three hours, tops, curled in the backseat of her Honda, in a Wal-Mart car park.

This had been her last bastion, the only refuge that she had had left. One last string to keep her tied to sanity.

Now that too was cruelly cut in two, letting her drop into this black hole. This vast empty chasm.

She was spurred on now only by grim apathy.

Beside her, Widow was whimpering softly, getting louder. Her calm in sleep had given way to restlessness, and she twisted her body, whining on occasion, noises that pulled Jackie’s heartstrings. It was agonising to listen to. But eventually Widow settled again, back to just gentle snores.

The landscape was becoming dramatic, small peaks appearing on the landscape; not the tall majestic peaks Jackie was used to Canada, but a welcome sight nonetheless.

She remembered her old friend Morgan telling her that in Scotland, mounts were given different names depending on their height. Donalds, Grahams, Corbetts, and Munros. Jackie couldn’t remember which name associated with which height, but Morgan was in Vegas, and Jackie hadn’t spoken to her in years, with no reason to reconnect with her to check something so futile.

It didn’t really matter, anyway.

She stopped the car at a campsite and mill just short of the Tuscarora forest. Parking up, Jackie stepped out of the car and inhaled deeply, trying to dislodge the knot that had formed in her lungs ever since she’d reached Pittsburgh, but it stuck in her throat, refusing to unwind.

Around her, the dark green of the fir trees was dense, and the air fresh and crisp, cooler than what they had left behind. Behind the trees were more peaks, the sunlight upon them throwing them into shades of grey and white, blue and yellow. The humidity of the city had faded to a dreamy haze that surrounded Jackie, making her feel sleepy and comfortable.

“We here already?” Widow was stepping out the car, and put her hands on her hips, turning a full circle. “Where’s the strip?”

“It’s not Atlantic City yet.”

Widow leaned on the car roof, raising both her eyebrows and smirking. “You think I didn’t guess that?”

“I needed a break. And a pee.”

“Huh. Thanks for sharing.”

Jackie walked away from Widow, glancing back only when she reached the building, turning to watch Widow lighting a cigarette and pulling something from her bag, meandering away from the car to sit at one of the picnic tables.

What have I gotten myself into?

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #widow von du #jackie x widow #lesbian au #angst #slow burn #black girl magic fic #diversity fic #all i’ve got to keep myself sane #aigtkms #juno #submission #s12 #rare pair

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asocier · 4 years ago

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😮😂🤔

( it’s munday somewhere; accepting! )

😮 -- What is your favorite thing about your muse?

i’ve said it before, and i’ll say it again: we love alison and leah in this household. truly, i love both of them so much, and for different reasons too. for alison, it’s her strength and her empathy. despite everything she’s been through, she really is still so soft-hearted, and those who i’ve plotted heavily with can tell you she’s come a very, very long way since her initial creation. leah is a newer muse compared to alison, but her personality makes her really fun to play, and she’s incredibly flexible as a muse, to boot. she’s just wildin’ but she’s not always; she can be the best babysitter too when it comes down to it, and augh i just love her so much ???? and it makes me so happy when yall tell me you do too bc i really hesitated in creating leah, so knowing she’s a character people genuinely enjoy really is so reassuring.

😂 -- What are some similarities between you and your muse?

i’ll choose aito for this question since he’s an older muse as well who i didn’t give much love too after i graduated high school. a lot of the inspiration for aito, in fact, came from my experience in high school since i studied a lot of science during my years then. between aito and i, we share a few things such as we’re both blind af with glasses, really enjoy little toys that serve no purpose except to be entertaining ( and a little stress relieving ), and we both have shitty sleep schedules, though aito’s is certainly more exaggerated and uncontrolled than mine. i wish i could say aito and i share the same passion for science, but alas, i changed gears after high school, so no engineering for me! and we can forget about coding --

🤔 -- What are some differences between you and your muse?

leah and i also share a lot of similarities, so i think it’d be interesting to talk about our differences. for starters, leah dresses far more fashionably than me lmaooo her wardrobe tag is something i wish i could achieve tbh, but i’m more of a t-shirt and jeans kind of person. leah also is a lot bolder than i am when it comes to socializing with people; i’m incredibly quiet usually, and while leah does have her shy tendencies, in threads, she’s very much a social butterfly, a chatterbox. and of course, the big big difference is that i don’t have the same jobs she does in her canon LOLOL

#answered;#vacuitas #ooc;#WHY ARE THESE EMOJIS SO BIG THO LMAOOOO

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arthurjdrake · 5 years ago

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Untethered Soul : Mercy & Arthur

When: Immediately after this. Where: Arthur’s House Who: Arthur and @cryxmercy TW: Blood, minor descriptions of panic attacks. Summary: The consequences of coming back from the dead strike swift and true. Also dying still isn't enough to get you a cow.

The moment they were sat in the car, Arthur finally exhaled what felt like the first breath he’d taken since arriving. It had gone to hell. Then again what else had he been expecting? Hands placed on the driver’s wheel, Arthur’s fingers curled around them closing his eyes against the dissonant ring of his ears. It could’ve been worse. It could’ve. And that was the mantra he told himself over and over and over again. He didn’t stop to think about the way the world spun on an improbable axis if he turned his head too fast. The nausea came and went, but his eyes went to the fury in his passenger seat. Bundled in his jacket and the clothes he’d brought along to change into considering the state she’d been in the morgue. He reached out, taking her hand and giving it a soft squeeze a look of concern reflecting across his expression. Fear, concern and latent grief that he was still coming to terms with. “We’re gonna go home Frey, okay? We’re gonna go home.”

Mercy felt the warmth of Arthur’s hand in hers like a firebrand against her frigid skin. An anchor, holding her firmly in the world of the living as the darkness of the void followed her even now, prodding the edges of her consciousness to see if it might take hold again. Her fingers curled around his, holding on as best she could, weak but very much alive, where less than an hour before she had been… something else. He spoke, and his voice forced the darkness away. Light filled the spaces between her waking thoughts, warming them just as his hand warmed hers. Mercy didn’t know everything that had happened after she’d woken up, other than she had been cold… in pain… and very, very scared.

But then Arthur was there, and Mercy knew that she was safe. That he wouldn’t let anything hurt her. She remembered seeing his face… dim and out of focus… hearing his heart beneath her ear, hearing his voice, the smell of his skin… always so warm… all of it so beloved and familiar… after she thought she might never see him again… and then pain had shot through her skull, and that was the last she remembered until now.

Now, Mercy tried to open her eyes again, to look at him as he spoke… but she was so tired. So very tired. She could only give his hand another weak squeeze in acknowledgment before exhaustion pulled her down again.

Arthur didn’t speak. There were no words to fill the space within the car, he couldn’t bring himself to utter the phrase it’ll be alright because one thing Arthur refused to do was lie to her. He didn’t know whether it was going to be okay and sometimes false hope was worse than anything else in the sun. Gripping her hand he simply sat there in silence, the idling of the engine background noise to the hum of tension and uncertainty.

Was it safe for him to drive? Probably not considering the way black dots still danced across his line of sight. But Arthur ignored better judgement. He needed to get her home. Shutting the radio off, he had to pull his hand away to put the car in gear and pull out onto the road away from the morgue. “I’m taking you back to mine,” he finally said after a few minutes of the sound of the tyres turning over gravel roads.

Despite the warmth of Arthur’s skin and clothes, and the heat he’d turned up in the car, Mercy still shivered. Sometimes it was a small thing - a trembling of her hands or chattering of her teeth - but other times it was her entire body that shook uncontrollably.

Mercy didn’t know what had happened back in the morgue. With Regan. Or to Arthur and herself. She also didn’t currently remember what had happened to her beforehand - to get here there - only that she’d been so cold… and so frightened… somewhere in the dark.

But those memories would return soon enough. For now she was here. Somewhere better. With Arthur. Being with Arthur was always better. She wanted to tell him that. To tell him so many things. To open her eyes and see his face when she did. Later… later she would do all that. She would tell him everything… she just… needed to rest.

He pulled away so he could drive, and Mercy frowned at the loss of contact. She felt the movement of the car, which lulled her a bit, and when he spoke, Arthur’s voice was a low murmur over the hum of the vehicle.

“... home…” was the only thing she could manage in return. But it meant... everything.

It was concerning. Arthur had witnessed countless of Mercy's resurrections. Each one different and yet similar in its attributes. This was something new entirely. His fingers worried over the wheel as he drove the car casting frequent looks over to Mercy as he drove more concerned with how she was than where he was going.

It was late out anyways, if he hit anything it'd most likely be a vampire at worst. They'd fix themselves. It wasn't the biggest worry or concern.

"It's not far," he told her a short while later, uncertainty lacing his voice. "We'll get you home, run a warm bath and get you settled… Get you to bed and…" he swallowed hoping, praying for the next sentiment to be true. "We'll get you to sleep and this'll all just… it'll just be a bad dream." Gods how he hoped for that to be true.

In the past when this had happened, for the most part Mercy had simply… woken up. For lack of a better term. A bit disoriented, a bit sore - along with a good bit pissed off - but mostly back to rights within a couple of hours. She couldn’t remember feeling this way in the last… since she was human and a fever had swept through their village. Over a millenia had passed since then.

Now she felt as if the darkness might take her again if she drifted too far. It may have simply been the side-effects of being so drained of her life-force, of having been… somewhere else… for so many hours… a trial she’d never been put through since becoming immortal… that her psyche was simply being cautious. It wouldn’t do to have her mind break at the eleventh hour. Not after she’d been through so much and come out the other side, weak as a newborn, but alive.

So Mercy clung to her anchor. To Arthur’s hand and then his voice. To the heat that she could feel radiating across the small space between them in the car. He was here with her. So it would be alright. It was always alright, as long as they were together. When he spoke again, Mercy made a small sound and tried to open her eyes. But her eyelids were still so so heavy. “Home…” she managed again, searching for him with her hand. “You’re… my home…” Her words were slow and feather-light, and it was clear it took great effort on her part to say anything coherent. “Stay…” was the last thing she was able to verbalize before another fit of shivering overtook her. When they finally stopped, Mercy was quiet again, her short, shallow breathing the only sound she made.

With every block they drove, Arthur glanced over at Mercy checking and double checking to make sure that she was here. Still with him even after the events of tonight. The past times she’d come back she was often exhausted, so right now his plans were to get her home as fast as possible. Get her to bed and rested up for however long she might need to get back to rights.

Every now and then he reached aside touching her knee and rubbing it softly, a small point of contact to remind her that he was here. That he had her. Always and forever he had her back. Whatever life would throw at them. His head tilted a little towards her with the remark, a mixed look of happiness and sadness coming to his expression. Would she remember this later? He doubted it.

“Always. I’ll always stay.” She didn’t need to ask, it was a given. He’d be there for her. No matter what. They drove on and Arthur lulled once more into quiet contemplation trying not to think about the what ifs that might’ve come if she hadn’t woken up.

Eventually, they pulled in on his driveway and Arthur climbed out. Walking round to open her door, bending over to brush some hair out of her face softly (and also to reassure himself she was definitely here) “think you can walk?” he asked softly. If not he’d carry her inside, but it was worth asking either way.

Every time Arthur touched her knee, the deep furrows in Mercy’s brow lessened a bit. She settled, becoming less restless in her seat, and even seemed to breathe a bit easier. She was there, aware that they were in Arthur’s car, but still disoriented and uncertain what had happened in the moments after she’d woken up, and during their escape from the morgue. Later, it would all come back, but what the consequences of those memories might be was yet to be seen. Right now, she was blessedly free of them.

A soft hum and a faint smile was her reply as Arthur said he would always stay. Because that’s all she’d ever wanted. For him to stay with her. And her with him. For them to just… be. It was as simple as that. Even if the situation wasn’t simple. Not simple at all. Perhaps she would remember her words later on, perhaps not. But for now, Mercy was content in Arthur’s assurances, and rested just a bit easier as they drove.

The car stopped a bit later, and Mercy turned her face towards Arthur’s touch. She still couldn’t open her eyes all the way, though her lashes fluttered a bit more against her pale cheeks. “Can try...” was her answer to whether she could walk or not. And for a moment, once Arthur helped her slowly to her feet, it seemed as if she might just be able to manage it with a bit of help. But then her head spun and her legs started to give way barely half a step in. She made a small sound of distress that sounded very much like a quiet sob, and clung to Arthur’s shirt as the world tilted on its axis. “S’ry…” she murmured, leaning heavily against him as nausea rose in her stomach. “... can’t… ‘m’s’ry...”

“Alright, that’s all I’m asking” he said as he gave her the time to turn and take her arms to try and help her up. The moment she started to wobble though he stepped in “it’s okay, no don’t worry it’s okay,” he told her letting her vice like grip secure her while his hands held her steady under her arms. “Sit back down, let me go and open the door and then I’ll carry you inside okay?”

Helping to shift her back down, Arthur worried his lip as he looked at her. Gods she looked terrible. His fingers reached out and softly brushed her cheek, “one minute and I’ll be back. Don’t be afraid.” As quickly and unpanicked (he was very panicked) as possible, Arthur hurried towards the door and unlocked the house, also turning off his alarm before returning to the car.

“Alright I’m here… Let’s get you inside and warmed up. Hm?” Gently, Arthur slid an arm in behind her and much in the similar fashion as to how he’d put her in the car he got her out; his back protesting with the act as he carried her into the house. “How about a bath? Warm you up.”

Later, Mercy would hate that she’d been so weak. So unable to even… stand up on her own. At least this wasn’t the first time Arthur had seen her like this. Though this time was admittedly different. She felt… drained. Empty almost. A body held together by muscle and bone and sinew… and by the firm grip of Arthur’s hands. By the sound of his voice and his presence. It kept the darkness that prodded at the edges of her mind at bay. Darkness that was cold and empty. Void of anything good and warm and familiar. Darkness that was more than just darkness; it was nothingness. And Mercy was afraid.

But she nodded as Arthur told her not to be. She would try… she would always try… if not for herself, then for him. Because he asked it of her. The time between him leaving and returning to the car was no more than a few moments, and Mercy did her best to listen to the sounds around her. To his footsteps, to the sound of her own breathing, the rush of her heart… the wind in the trees… the water in the distance… and then his voice again, very close.

Mercy grunted a bit as he picked her up. She was cold, and everything hurt, but she did her best to hold on and not be dead weight as they moved inside. Her head lolled on his shoulder, and she didn’t have the strength to protest the suggestion of a bath. “Careful…” The word was a soft murmur against his neck as even now she managed to worry about him. But she didn’t say anything else as she started to shiver again.

“I know,” was all he said to her word of warning, he didn’t intend on doing a wicked witch of the west tonight. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to navigate a bathtub, “don’t worry, I got you” Arthur reassured again as he settled into carrying her towards the house; shutting the car and front door with the heel of his foot.

The house was quiet, not a sound stirring other than his footsteps and breathing as they traversed the stairs. “You’re going to be okay, I’m here,” Arthur carried her into the large pristine master bathroom that barely saw any real use day to day. He set her down gently on the rug and flicked a light on as well as opening up the taps to start filling the bathtub returning to take a knee and gently cupping her face, tilting it up “let’s have a look at the damage hm?”

Mercy made a small sound of discomfort as she leaned back against whatever was behind her. The sound of running water reached her ears, and she frowned slightly, but she knew Arthur was more than capable of traversing the amount of water it would take to warm her up. Still… if something happened and she slipped beneath the surface…

But Arthur’s fingers were on her face before she could fall too far down that slope. Mercy swallowed, wincing a bit. The plum-purple bruises on her throat stood out against the paleness of her skin, even though they were ever so slowly starting to fade. She let Arthur look her over, staying quiet and trying her best to control the shivers that came every few minutes. Her eyes remained closed as they had since she’d woken up, the strength to open them on her own still failing her. But ever so slowly, her awareness seeped back in. Still muzzy, still slightly out of touch, but finally getting the tiniest, feather-light foothold in the here and now.

“S’ry…” Mercy murmured as a troubled frown crept over her face.

“Are you alright with a bath?” Arthur asked after a moment uncertain whether water would cause her to panic, considering he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help if she did. There was a few moments of silence that followed, “I know you’ve drowned before but… I don’t want to freak you out… But you need warming up,” he said as another bout of shivers racked through her making him worry his lip in concern.

His eyes tracked over her face eventually coming to settle on the purple bruises that ringed the column of her neck, the anger he felt towards whoever had done this returning once more. At some point he’d need to ask about what happened but right now wasn’t the time to inquire. Arthur set his questions aside and focussed on the task of getting her stable and safe.

“Don’t be love,” he told her quietly, “never be sorry.”

Was she alright with it? Mercy didn’t know for sure. While the idea of being up to her neck in water made her frown, she was so very, very cold. “... not deep…” she told Arthur, unwilling to risk a potentially dangerous scenario. But a few inches of warm water would be safe enough for them both.

She couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt again because of her. Always because of her…

When he spoke again, his words caused her frown to morph towards something that might have become a smile, but didn’t quite make it. It slipped away, and the frown returned, but this time it wasn’t a physical pain that caused it. It was the pain of a broken heart that had never quite healed. And Mercy was no longer strong enough to pretend it had.

Mercy felt liquid slip down her cheek. First one, then the other. And for a moment, she thought she was crying. But as rare as Fury tears were, they were still just tears.

What ran down Mercy’s face wasn’t saltwater.

It was blood.

“Alright,” whatever made her comfortable, that was of highest order of importance to Arthur right now. Turning the tap off once there was a couple of feet of water in the bath but no more he returned to checking her over. But seeing the trails of blood contrast her pale complexion made Arthur’s heart lodge in his throat in panic. “Frey== Your-” he didn’t know what to say, he’d never seen anything like that before.

“Oh gods what happened?” he grabbed a towel and shifted back in front of her dabbing away the tracks with the material concern making his heart thud in his chest. “Frey… I need you to open your eyes for me right now… I need to look at your eyes,” because blood was never a good sign and Arthur was worried about what this might signify.

Mercy stayed sitting where she was, eyes closed, arms clasped weakly over her aching stomach, and listened to the sounds of the water, and of Arthur moving nearby. She thought nothing of the liquid running down her face, other than she didn’t have the strength to wipe it away so Arthur didn’t see her cry. But something was wrong.

Something had clearly happened. But she didn’t know what it was. Arthur did… his panicked voice only adding to her own sense of anxiousness and confusion. Why was he wiping her face? They were just… tears. Weren’t they? Why was he asking her to open her eyes? Why was-

The smell of copper reached her then. And her own heart started to beat faster. Her breath came quicker. Why was their blood on her face? She tried to do as he asked and put all her effort into forcing her eyes to open. They were so heavy… like lead weights resting against her cheekbones. But she tried… and it felt like she had… but…

“Ren…” Mercy’s voice was fearful, a tone that was as rare as her tears. “Ren… ‘s’dark… why…” She swallowed, raising a trembling hand to touch her face. “Why’s’it dark…?”

The panic was a creeping sensation, rising in his chest at the smear of faint red that still tainted her skin after he’d used the towel to wipe it away from her features. He chewed his lip gripping the towel tight enough to turn his knuckles white while he waited for Mercy to fulfill what he asked of her but when she did his eyes widened at the state of her eyes.

The sight wasn’t anything Arthur was prepared for, nothing that he’d seen before in the aftermath of her returning to life when death had finally nipped a little too close for comfort at her heels. This was… It was worrying, one that was compounded by her question. But the bright red that blocked practically all white in her eye, the trickle of it down her face like fresh and horrifyingly haunting tears . “I-- I don’t know the light’s on… Can you...“ shit what could he ask?

He held up three fingers praying this was some kind of cruel misunderstanding “can you… can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?”

If Arthur’s panic was creeping up on him, then Mercy’s had already wrapped itself around her, and was slowly starting to squeeze. Like phantom hands around her throat, growing tighter and tighter as her mind slowly caught up with what her body was telling it. Her eyes were open… they were open… she knew they were...

But when Arthur asked if she could see his fingers, there was nothing there. Only darkness. “No… can’t… I can’t… I can’t see, Ren… why… why can’t I see?!” Her heart started to race, and her breaths came faster and faster as the invisible hands around her neck squeezed. Mercy shook her head as if that might send the darkness away. But it didn’t. It was still there, impenetrable and infinite as ever.

She was gasping for air now, both hands clawing at her neck - she couldn’t breathe… gods she couldn’t breathe… - as she started to truly panicked as the pieces all finally clicked together.

Mercy was blind.

It wouldn’t do to give in to the sudden fear that gripped him, but that equally didn’t mean Arthur knew what to do. A hospital wouldn’t be able to help her, no human doctor could solve a case like this… Gods why didn’t he know any supernatural physicians?

Because you’ve never needed to.

“I-- I” his voice wavered, no answer forthcoming as to what might be wrong or why this might’ve happened. “I don’t know... But we’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out” hearing the echo of her breath starting to speed up Arthur knew it wasn’t a good sign, he reached for her hands taking them in his own and bringing them to his lips and kissing her knuckles gently. “Focus on me, I’m here - I’ve got you,” it seemed to be the new mantra of the night, calming her down and trying to get her to focus on him being right here with her.

Never in her 1200 years of life had Mercy experienced anything like the shroud of darkness that covered her eyes. She knew darkness. She had walked through it countless times. Spoken to it. Conquered it and the creatures that dwelt within it. They were old friends, the Fury and the Shadows. But this darkness was different. It felt… Mercy didn’t know what to call it. But she knew she wasn’t dead. She knew she sat on the floor in Arthur’s bathroom. She knew Arthur was right there with her. She knew these things. Yet that didn’t stop the fear from rising up, swift and vicious as a viper, to sink it’s fangs into Mercy’s still-fragile flesh. And so she panicked. Her breath couldn’t come fast enough, her heart beat too fast… her throat and lungs ached from trying to get air that just wouldn’t come… it wouldn’t come… just like in the black water… hands gripping her neck… holding her under… there was no air… no air… no time...

It was Arthur’s voice, his firm grip on her hands and the warm press of his mouth against her knuckles that kept her from slipping under completely. He was always there. Always by her side. Through good and bad and everything in between. He was the light at the end of the tunnel. The flame that kept the true darkness at bay. A safe harbor in the storm. Ever so slowly, the water in her head receded, the vice loosed from around her neck, and while she was still breathing far too fast, Mercy did as he asked. When she finally found her voice again, the broken words were full of anguish and fear. Words she’d spoken far too many times… words that never got easier to say...

“Don’t leave me… please, don’t leave…”

Was it wrong? To take her from the morgue, a sudden wash of guilt overcame good sense. Fear that something he’d done had made this worse. Or that something about this death was different. Some factor complicating the restoration to her former self. And so Arthur knelt there, hoping, praying that somehow it would change. And yet nothing came to be, there was no blinding flash of light, no sign, just the soft bathroom light and Mercy’s panic.

So Arthur shifted to sit with his back to the cabinet, instinctively pulling Mercy to his chest and cradling her there hoping the firm presence of his body and warmth that radiated from it would help to settle her down. “I’m never going to leave, never… I’m right here. Hm?” naturally Arthur took her hands and pulled them up to his face pressing them to his skin, “see? Right here… Always right here.” Whatever was happening, he didn’t understand nor did he have an answer but he’d try his best to find one.

“Let’s get you in the bath. Get you warmed up and then we’ll get you rested up…” Whatever had happened, rest usually always helped after she came back from the other side.

Mercy would’ve truly lost her mind if she’d woken up alone. In a place she didn’t know, with strangers gaping at her as she tried to find equilibrium. So no, Arthur had made the right choice. The only choice. Others might think differently. Think him out of his mind or even neglectful in not taking her to the hospital. But there was nothing they could do.

Everything that could be done was being done. In her current state, Mercy would very likely have done more damage to herself - and potentially others - if she’d been forced to endure a hospital. So she was right where she needed to be. In the only place that mattered. Later, she might feel ashamed for being so weak. So frightened. So desperate not to be left alone in the dark. Right now she felt none of that. She only felt blessed relief as Arthur pulled her in, pressed her hands to his face, told her he would never leave…

“Promise?” she asked, voice soft and small, but a bit steadier as warmth started to seep back into her frozen skin. Her breathing started to slow as she inhaled Arthur’s familiar smell, felt his hands covering hers. Eventually, she nodded as he suggested a bath again. She was so tired. So very, very tired. All she wanted was to lie down next to Arthur and sleep. And maybe when she woke up, this would all just be a bad dream.

Arthur sat and rocked Mercy gently, trying his best to calm and hush her panic into something they could work through. To ground her here as he’d done countless times before in situations similar to this, it wasn’t the first trauma either of them had lived through and likely wouldn’t be the last.

“I promise.” There was no question or doubt in the remark. He would stay, what reason did he have to leave here anyway? Slowly, the panic began to subside, its grip loosening fraction upon fraction until he felt the tension easing out of her and Arthur felt as though he could slowly start to withdraw. Enough that she could feel his presence but giving him room to work.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of these,” he murmured, carefully pulling at the oversized clothes he’d brought along to put her in. A rush job when leaving the house where he’d grabbed whatever he could find before heading over to the morgue. “Get you comfy hm?” Once she was carefully lifted once more and settled in the shallow bathwater he sat down beside the bath, his eyes tracking over the lines of her face and the bloodshot nature of her eyes. Wondering just how they’d navigate this one.

Mercy often wondered, in times when she was feeling the weight of her years, if her maker had known that Arthur would always be with her throughout her long life. If she had known that Mercy’s desire to see his soul to the halls of their ancestors would never be fulfilled, because Arthur would never die. Not in any permanent sense. Maybe she’d known that Mercy would need him. And that he would need her. That despite the inevitable years they would spend apart, they would always find their way back to one another.

So many questions piled up in Mercy’s head that she sometimes felt like she would burst from all the wondering. From all the maybes and what ifs. But right now none of that mattered. What mattered was that Arthur was here with her, and she was safe. They both were. That’s why she had gone to the lake. To keep them all safe. To keep him safe.

But that was a conversation that would come later. His promise to never leave settled Mercy’s fear, and slowly, with his arms wrapped securely around her, the cold and the panic started to subside. She still felt drained and foggy, but Arthur took the cue to press forwards. Mercy sat still and compliant and he got her undressed and into the tub. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Not out of any sense of modesty - it wasn’t the first time he’d seen her without clothes - but because it helped steady her as she sat in the shallow water.

Mercy lay her head on her knees, and was quiet for a long moment. “I called.” The words were so soft they might’ve been imagined. “I… tried to tell you…”

Arthur let her settle, didn’t push for words or answers to any of the questions that currently played around in his mind. There would be time for that later even if a part of him wanted to demand her reasons for doing something so reckless, so dangerous. Even with the odds stacked in her favour the risk still existed. But now was hardly the time, and the fear that gripped him whenever he looked at her eyes was something else he was struggling to come to terms with. How was this going to impact her life? Her work, that relied so much on being aware of her surroundings to stop herself from getting into trouble… He chewed his lip, to say he was worried would be the understatement of the decade.

Yet here they were.

He knelt beside the bath, reaching for a small jug the handle meaning he didn’t have to worry too much about spilling water everywhere and burning himself. Scooping some up he poured it over her shoulders, repeating the process several times over though mindful of her hair. Whatever would help warm her up. Though when she spoke he poured the water a couple more times, gathering his thoughts as he tried to figure what the best answer right now was. “I know… I didn’t have my phone on me… Nadia was over.” He didn’t mention the dry drowning, the acute memory of feeling his throat crushed by something foreign and the air forced from his lungs. She’d endured enough trauma, there was no need to add to it.

The water felt good. It was warm and flowed gently over her skin as Arthur worked. The lake had been cold and chaotic. Nothing like this. This was better. This was safe. So she was very still, not wanting to risk splashing him if she slipped. Slowly, her skin started to flush pink again as the bath did it’s job. Mercy was still paler than normal, but she no longer looked hypoxic. But she was still so very tired.

Explanations would come later, she knew. She also knew Arthur would likely be angry with her. Which she very much deserved. But what choice had she had? She’d tried to keep her promise not to just run off and do something stupid without telling him. Though it seemed he’d gotten the call after all. She frowned slightly. “Oh.” She had no idea her message had been garbled and full of static. Or that he’d tried to call back countless times. Her phone was still in evidence at the morgue. Not that she knew that. But regardless, what else could she say? “Okay.”

What else was there to say? Nothing that would help the situation or make her feel better, so Arthur opted to keep his silence and say nothing. “A part of me wished you never went,” he said after a moment pouring another jug of water over her shoulders pleased at least by the restoration of colour to her pallid complexion. It was a small sign that maybe things would be okay. They just needed to get her back to her equilibrium.

When he was happier with how she looked, and no more noticeable shivers persisted Arthur set the jug aside once more. Climbing to his feet in search of a large bath towel in which to wrap her up. “Think you can stand up?” he asked as he returned back to the edge of the bath, “I can help if you lift your arms up.”

Silence could mean just as much as words. Sometimes more. Currently, Mercy was hardly in the frame of mind to read much into Arthur’s choice to stay quiet. When he did speak, she turned her head towards him just a bit. “Me too.” But the consequences of her not going would likely have been disastrous. It might’ve worked without her lifeforce to help power the spell. That, or Nic would be dead, being Rebecca’s only option. But all that was too much to focus on right now.

The both of them quiet after that, Mercy warming slowly. When Arthur brought the towel over, Mercy nodded that she could try. Bracing herself on the edge of the tub, she pushed up as best she could, letting Arthur help when she felt unsteady. She didn’t protest or resist anything he asked of her. She didn’t have the strength even if she wanted to. Every now and then she would open her eyes just a bit, to see if anything had changed. But it hadn’t.

“Am I cursed?” she asked after a while, her thoughts drifting just a bit in her exhaustion.

Perhaps it was selfish. No, Arthur knew that it was selfish yet he couldn’t bring himself to really care all that much presently. The fear having touched a reality that struck a note too close to home. Later with some reflection into the things he felt and thought there would be a lingering disgust and guilt that he could even contemplate such things. The loss of a town, a state if it meant she was safely seen out the other side of all this. But then again, the things you did for those you loved weren’t always all that surprising regardless of the grim justification you told yourself to help you live with those realities, thoughts and actions.

Hooking his arms under hers he wrapped the towel around her and lifted her out onto the rug so that she wouldn’t slip.

Tucking the towel in so it wouldn’t slip he guided her to the bedroom, going to rummage for a pair of cotton loungewear trousers, a plain tee and one of his hoodies to help her retain her warmth. It was a slow process of moving and tugging of fabric but they got her dressed in the end. “Cursed?” he echoed, “no, I don’t think you’re cursed.”

Mercy wouldn’t fault Arthur for any of his thoughts, now or in the future. Because the truth was she was selfish too. She’d done what she’d done to keep the town safe, yes. But if Arthur had been the only person to come out the other side alive, it would’ve been worth it. Because Mercy would burn the world to keep him safe. And not think twice. She’d done it before.

The difference between her and Arthur was that she would never feel guilty about it. How much of that was Freyja, the woman who’d loved Arthur since they were fourteen, and how much of it was Mercy, the Valkyrie who thrived on turmoil and chaos… who could really say. They were one and the same weren’t they? After so long.

Mercy helped as much as she could, putting legs and arms in the clothes Arthur bundled her up in. It was disconcerting, being unable to see anything even when she chanced to open her eyes a bit. But knowing Arthur was there settled her. “Are you sure?” she asked, a frown furrowing her brow. “I broke my vow, didn’t I? To the gods. To you.” She raised her hand to touch her temple. Her head was starting to hurt. “Why wouldn’t they curse me?”

“Yes I’m sure,” Arthur answered, sitting down on the bed beside her, the mattress dipping under him as he perched there “the Gods are spiteful beings but even they know that we all make mistakes. But you’ve always been faithful, you’re one of their most faithful. But even the most devout make mistakes.” He dwelled on these thoughts, straightening a fraction.

He got up off the bed once more, moving to the bathroom and returning with a brush. Sitting down once more he gently touched her shoulder to get her to turn away from him before he started to work to untangle the knots of her hair as gently as possible.

“Because you carry on trying,” another pull of the brush, “even when you fail… You pick yourself back up and you push forwards. You keep trying, over and over even when you’re tired… And the Gods would never curse anyone that kept fighting in the face of such odds. These are distant lands far from those we called home… But they see us here, living and holding their memory to the light so that it might live on.”

Mercy hummed as Arthur assured her she wasn’t cursed. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt that way over the centuries, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. She hated the idea of fate and destiny… of her life not being her own… of her choices not meaning anything… because otherwise what was the point? If there was only one possible ending? And their lives were already set out before them? Mercy wondered if maybe, just maybe, that was the reason things always went bad whenever she was so close to being happy. To having the few things she had truly desired in her long life. Because it simply wasn’t meant to be. And the harder she tried to twist the threads of fate, the harder they would snapback, snatching away everything - and everyone - she loved in the process.

She sat quietly as Arthur got up and came back, turned as he asked her to, and tried to focus on the soft strokes of the brush through her hair instead of her wandering thoughts. But as much as Arthur’s words soothed, they also brought more questions to the surface.

“What if they’re trying to tell me to stop fighting?” she asked, leaning into the gentle pull of the brush and Arthur’s fingers. “That it’s time to come home.” Mercy was quiet for a moment as Arthur continued to brush her hair. “I miss it. And I’m tired, Ren… so tired sometimes…”

Arthur knew well enough Mercy’s fears and concerns regarding her choices and whether their outcomes were predestined or not. It was something they always circled back around to and a topic they always seemed to be discussing in one sense or another. So it was no real surprise that now of all times it would be something that was playing on her mind.

Occasionally the brush hit a knot, snagging for a little bit but he gently teased the tangle free and continued the soft methodical movements smoothing the righteous tangles into something more manageable. It was funny, how the simple act was in a roundabout way a perfect mirror of his role in Mercy’s life. To anchor and guide the calamitous riot that was her chaotic existence into something that could shape the world around them into something better.

Once he was happy he set about splitting her hair into sections, twisting the segments over and under one another with gentle tugs. “Then stop fighting,” it was more complex than that, he knew, but it was a starting point at least. “There’s no harm in putting your arms down - ours knew that better than most hm? We were farmers before we were anything else. We cultivated our livelihoods and looked after our own.”

Mercy thought of Arthur as far more than just the calm to her chaos. He was, of course, and she would never think to deny it. Though that had always been true, even before she’d become a Fury. He had always been her anchor, since they were children. But he was also her best friend. Her confidant. Her constant companion through the centuries. Someone who knew that the simple act of brushing and braiding her hair would be enough to settle her, even now, when she’d completed the arduous journey back through the veil. Arthur was her person, just as she was his. He made her want to be a better person.

And she loved him beyond all rational thought.

“We did,” she said quietly. It was so long ago, Mercy sometimes wondered if it had all been a dream. If it had been, then it was a good dream. “I think I’d like that. To be a farmer again. Grow crops. Have animals. Live off the land.” It would be a peaceful existence, which wasn’t conducive to feeding the chaos and strife that Valkyries needed to survive. Though Mercy had always found ways to fuel those things in the past, if the need arose. She was quiet again for a bit as the thoughts floated idly through her head, and Arthur’s fingers moved through her hair. Finally, she spoke again, her voice soft and hesitant.

“But… who am I... if I’m not fighting?”

“Well,” he continued to braid for a moment “I’m not getting you a cow but maybe we can get some chickens? Can’t let it be said i won’t compromise on some things.” When he finished braiding, Arthur tied off her hair and smoothed a couple of the flyaway strands down. His hands fell in the space between them as he looked at her back a strange and ancient sense of familiarity settling over him. How many times had they simply sat together like this over the years? Just talking.

His hand raised back to her shoulder, gently pulling her shoulder to encourage her to turn towards him. “Still the same woman I lo-” he caught himself, no… Now wasn’t the time for statements like those. They would only complicate the matter further, “I’ve lived for almost the entirety of my life… You’re not defined by your fighting. That’s not all you are… You’re so much more than that.”

The cow comment earned Arthur a small smile. It had almost become something of a running joke between them, though both parties were entirely serious; Mercy in her desire for A Lovely Cow, and Arthur in his desire for No Cows. But Mercy couldn’t argue with him, even if it was only in jest. “I like chickens.” And she did. The thought settled in her mind for a bit before it faded away. She focused on the repeating pattern of the braid Arthur was plaiting down her back. Her hair was thick and unruly, but as with Mercy herself, it seemed to fall into some sort of order beneath Arthur’s practiced hands.

They could’ve been any number of places throughout their lifetimes just then. Without the sight of a modern home in front of her, Mercy could drift just about anywhere. It would be nice, she thought, to be somewhere else for a bit. As long as Arthur was there too. When he touched her shoulder, Mercy turned back towards him. Her eyes were still closed - it was too hard to keep them open… and pointless… - and she was still muzzy-headed and exhausted, but the tiny slip of words earned Arthur the smallest of frowns. But he recovered so quickly that Mercy let it drift by without much more thought. It was too hard to focus for long. And she’d likely been hearing things anyway. In the morning, she wouldn’t remember it at all. Which was perhaps for the best right now.

Mercy hummed as Arthur spoke again. He was right, of course. But it felt like an impossible thing to contemplate right now. They were both exhausted, so it wasn’t long before Arthur got Mercy tucked in, and lay down with her. She curled close to his warmth, and although she woke several times over the course of the night - bad dreams, she murmured each time, before Arthur’s voice coaxed her back to resting - come dawn she was sleeping quietly, her fingers twisted in the makeshift anchor of Arthur’s shirt.

#p: freyja #para #untethered soul

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thwippyparker · 4 years ago

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Try To Fix You- Chapter 5

Masterlist

Read Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Feel free to comment, like, or share this if you want to be added to a tag list, or you can add yourself HERE. Enjoy!

Eventual Peter x Reader, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, ANGST **************************************************************************

Avengers Tower was just as intimidating on the inside as it looked from the outside. The lobby was much busier than expected given the hour, full of people who you assumed to be agents. The dress ranged from street clothes on operatives who appeared to be on undercover missions to tactical gear. You assumed the agents dressed in business attire were more of your run of the mill desk workers. It was hard not to be intimidated surrounded by all of these people who could probably tell you dirt on everyone in the city and/or kill you without batting an eye. Guards in full tactical gear were posted by each door “I guess you always have to be on guard when you’re the freaking Avengers!” You thought to yourself as you walked past the lobby and into the elevator corridor. You got a few odd glances from a gaggle of business women chatting about lord knows what. However, as soon as Peter saw the guard manning the elevator, some of his stress began to melt off of his shoulders.

“Hey kid, what are you doing here so late,” the man said with a sort of lopsided grin. He looked vaguely familiar but you couldn’t quite place him. His face was handsome in a rugged way, his hair was cut short and he seemed relaxed. His kind gray eyes like a calm sky, just before a storm. The way he looked at Peter showed he held a certain fondness for him, even if there was a glint to his eye that you read as mischievous. Almost like an older brother who loves to tease and taunt their younger sibling. He had a calming aura around him that made you feel safer just standing near him. He was one of the more casually dressed agents, wearing a black t-shirt, hoodie and some dark wash jeans. As you took in what he was wearing, you noticed the metal hand at the end of his hoodie sleeve.

The realization hit you as your jaw went slack, the infamous Winter Soldier was a mere few feet from you. You had heard about him from Peter, after Europe and had then done some digging on your own when trying to learn more about the people your best friend chose to fight. His cybernetic arm seemed different though, what was once silver now black with delicate gold accents. It was odd to you but your realization didn’t remove the calm that you had felt just moments before. You expected with his past that you would feel on edge, but who were you to judge someone based solely on the past.

“Just here to see Tony, Bucky. He in the penthouse?” Peter said smiling, oblivious to your inspection of Bucky. It was still so at odds with the image of him you had in your head of the nerdy, self conscious boy he once was. Here he was talking to a super soldier just as easily as if it were you or Ned. You obviously had a lot to relearn about him since the last time you had really been around him.

These last few weeks had been a roller coaster of trying to relearn your best friend, everything felt so new and yet still so similar that it was only moments like this that you really felt the effects of your time spent apart. It made your heart hurt thinking about it. Peter was always your lifeline, but lately he had felt more like a stranger, maybe it was because you just couldn’t see him for who he had become but rather what he had been. It was so hard to believe that 2 years could change so much. But the evidence was laid out in front of you, wearing neon and glitter just begging for you to notice, you made a promise to yourself to talk with him more about everything that had happened during the gap as soon as you were done here. Maybe it would help you create a new normal, one where you didn’t feel constantly thrown off kilter by life’s ever changing ways.

“Yeah, the workaholic is where he always is, the lab. I’m a bit worried about him so I’m glad you’re here to visit. It’ll really cheer him up, I know how much you mean to him. Almost as much munchkin, who by the way will also be thrilled that her big brother is here to visit. Do me a favor, tell her to easy up on the make-overs. She always makes me look like a drag queen, not my best look” Bucky said, shuddering as he turned his gaze towards you. He surveyed you as if he was trying to discern if you were good people or he would have to deal with you later “Now Peter, it’s rude to not introduce your guest. Who is this lovely young woman” He had a softness to his voice that wasn’t there before, almost as if he could read your soul and realize just how close to breaking down you were. Everything had felt like it was getting back to normal before the phone call today. Now, you just wanted to curl up in one of Peter’s hoodies and lie on the couch while eating Ben & Jerry’s.

Peter rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand as he glanced down at you. “Oh, right. This is y/n y/l/n, she’s my best friend.” He smiled at you as he looked back at Bucky, “Tony actually asked to see her, can you believe it?”

Bucky had a look of shock pass over his face for a moment before the stony, relaxed mask he had on before was resituated. He rubbed the back of his neck with his metal hand and you could hear the metal plates shifting slightly. “Wow, that’s kind of a big deal. You sure she can handle it, kid?”

You were wondering what he could possibly be talking about. The last time you had seen or heard of Tony Stark was before the snap that caused everyone you loved to fade from existence. It was a surprise when everyone came back as suddenly as they left; but after he had saved the universe, his wife Pepper had given a statement that he was retiring and would like to not be bothered any further. Surprisingly, the press respected the statement. You guessed that’s what happens when you do what he did. It was shocking that the once media “darling” would back out from the limelight but who could blame him, he’d been doing the hero act for years and deserved some rest.

Peter’s smile never wavered though as he looked at Bucky, “I think she can handle it. Plus, it’s not like she’s a complete stranger to him. I remember babbling his ear off talking about her when we would be in the lab tinkering with my suits. He also saw her kick butt on Flash’s live stream when we were in Europe when you all were on that ‘covert mission’, he said with air quotes using his free hand.

Getting that Peter wasn’t going to take no for an answer, Bucky stepped aside as the door to the elevators opened. “If you say so, punk. Just tell FRIDAY where to go, you know the drill. Oh, and y/n, nice meeting you. Sorry for the twenty questions,” he chuckled, “force of habit trying to protect everyone here, ya know? I hope to see you around sometime.” As the elevator doors closed, you released the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been keeping in. Peter looked at you and pulled you close, rubbing your back as he talked to the empty air of the confined space. “FRIDAY, Tony’s lab please.”

Suddenly a disembodied voice filled the silence, “Should I alert him of your arrival?” The voice sounded friendly enough, you were wondering if that was just you reflecting though.

“Nah, he knows we’re on our way. Is Morgan with him?” he asked, still not letting you go, chin resting on the crown of your head. You could get used to the closeness of the action. Being with Peter, you had received a softness you hadn’t gotten in over a year and a half. It felt nice to be held without expectations or worry that a fight was on the horizon. Peter was stable and you didn’t realize how much you had missed the stability before that first night.

“Morgan is currently with Mrs. Stark, on her way to dance practice, would you like me to alert them upon their arrival to the tower” You begin to wonder if you’ll get to meet the little girl who had thoroughly melted Peter’s heart upon being returned from wherever you all were during the snap. Once everything settled, Peter had gained two “adopted siblings” and the Parker’s had finally accepted Tony and Pepper's generosity.

Last you knew, two years ago, Tony was even looking at Peter to take over the New Avengers and was in talks with Peter and his newfound friend/ “brother” Harley on who would run Stark Industries when Pepper inevitably decided to step down. You hadn’t heard much since then but from what you could tell, Peter had definitely stepped up on the hero front. You had learned after Peter had moved you in that he hadn’t really needed anyone to help cover the bills, as the Avengers were paying for it. Or rather Tony was, as Peter had accepted his offer to head up the New Avengers.

As Peter was letting FRIDAY know what to do you couldn’t help but remember how you got to where you are now and imagine what could have been if you had taken Peter up on his offer and confession so long ago. Could you have been a part of this close family with the Avengers? Would you have finished school, avoided so much of the heartache that life after Peter had held? Or was this how things were supposed to play out? You couldn’t imagine what sort of entity would want you to suffer as much as you had but maybe it was a more malevolent god like Loki that really controlled all of this. That was a grim thought. You remembered how much destruction and death he had brought when you and Peter were much younger.

As you were deep in your musings the elevator doors opened and you saw a vast engineering lab, if you could call it that. It looked like a mix between a hotrod shop and a robotics lab at MIT. Peter called for Tony and you suddenly heard a tool drop followed by a string of curses, some of the words you weren’t even sure if they were actual swears or the kind you make up when a child is present as a placeholder word. You marveled at the cars around you, cars you thought you would only ever see in pictures. If it wasn’t for the fear of getting ready to meet one of your heroes, you would be going nuts over the 1967 Shelby Cobra that looked like it had seen slightly better days. Tony called to Peter about his location and Peter began navigating you through the maze of machinery, tools, and robotic exoskeletons.

When your eyes finally landed on Tony, you didn’t believe what you saw. There he was, in the flesh. But he had looked different than all of the pictures you used to have plastered on your bedroom walls and the pictures in your textbooks at school. You noticed scarring along the right side of his face and saw the way it snaked down the side of his neck and disappeared under the collar of his shirt. The worst of the damage appeared to be on his arm; the scars appeared to be much deeper there than anywhere else. He looked as though he had sustained severe burns and you wondered how far the damage went. “Now the media black out makes sense,” you thought as the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. “He had always been a vain person, so of course he wouldn’t want anyone to see the damage sustained by the war.”

As he went to stand up, you heard machinery whirring quietly and looked down. He had what appeared to be metal braces on his right leg. It didn’t look like anything you had seen before. “Maybe he designed it himself. The perks of being rich and an engineer, you can make a better prosthesis for yourself.” If he had caught you staring, he didn’t let you know as he held his hand out for you to take it.

“Y/n, I assume? It’s nice to meet you, sorry about the circumstances though.” You took his hand and shook it, trying not to pass out from sheer joy. Disfigured or not, this was the man who you had idolized for most of your formative years. “Just so you know, I won’t let him get away with what has happened. I have already sent over the police reports and evidence to my lawyer. Best attorney in the whole state, I actually moved her here from LA when I got into some legal problems before all of this,” he said, gesticulating wildly at the room around him.

“Wait, her?” Peter asked, “ I thought you said you would send it to your guy? If I had known your attorney was a girl, I would’ve told y/n, might’ve made her more at ease.”

“First of all, my young padawan, you assume too much. Her assistant is very much a man, and he is my guy. Most correspondence is through him as Ms. Walters is a very busy woman. She will of course be taking the case pro-bono as she hates any man who harms a woman, very feminist in that regard. Second, I’m sure no matter the circumstances Ms. Y/n would be uncomfortable as the current situation is a difficult one to process. Not to mention being in a building with a god, an ex carney turned assassin and his family, a hundred year old soldier, a jolly green giant, a guy who shrinks, a guy who flies, and of course me, the cripple.” He chuckled at his own expense as he directed his focus to Peter, ”All joking aside, I’m surprised she’s ever comfortable around you my Spiderling,” he stated, pulling Peter into a head lock and tousling his hair, “considering all the babbling you used to do, if I hadn’t seen the feeds, I woulda thought you made her up.”

As he released Peter Tony looked at you, your eyes still wide with awe. “Hey Pete, why don’t you go get y/n a refreshment from the kitchen while I talk with her about some things. Then we can all have a grown up discussion about some things that have been nagging at me the last few weeks.” Peter looked between you and Tony, as if trying to communicate with you silently, making sure you were okay. You nodded and his face relaxed, his finally focusing on Tony, “Okay, but can I talk to you really quick?” Peter had an odd look on his face as he motioned for Tony to follow him to a separate area of the workshop.

**************************************************************************

Once Peter had reached an area where he knew no one without superhuman hearing would overhear what he was about to ask Tony, he turned to face his father figure and mentor. His heart raced and his palms became slick at the mere thought of what could happen when he left the room. “You’re not gonna tell her, are you? What I told you? I don’t think she’s ready right now, Tony. Plus, I just got her back. I can’t lose her again. When I got that phone call, I thought I had lost her for good. I can’t have you dropping any kind of bomb on her when she is already in a fragile position.”

Peter knew he was rambling but he couldn’t help it. The thought of you leaving him again terrified him. But you were already so upset that he didn’t know how to approach the topic with you when your world kept getting upheaved. He knew you would have to find out eventually, but he wanted to at least wait until the court case was settled.

“Peter, I would never betray your trust like that. I merely want to give her an opportunity to get to know me as a person. Let her get her questions, excitement, and nerves out before the poor girl’s head explodes. I’m working on a limited schedule before Pep gets back or Buck opens his big mouth and the whole tower is trying to make the rounds. I will send an alert to your phone once she’s given me the okay and you can come back. You told me how much you both look up to me a long time ago and I want to give her the same opportunity I gave you all those years ago. I noticed you didn’t tell her about why I look like this. Poor girl looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

Peter felt ashamed, blindsiding you with Tony’s condition but he didn’t want to scare you and if he was being honest, it was still hard for him to deal with. Peter would never tell you, but dealing with his PTSD from the war and then also facing both snaps was hard to do. That part of his story was hard for him to relive, even with you. But standing in front of Tony now, it brought back the memories, like always.

**************************************************************************

Peter had reached for Tony instinctively when he held the stones, before anyone else on the team. He felt the sheer power, got drunk off of it. At first, Peter wanted to bathe in the feeling forever, he felt invincible. Within moments, it became terrifying. This was an unnatural level of power that no being should ever possess, mortal or not. Every cell was filled with it, to the point where Peter felt like his nerve endings were splitting and reconnecting over and over again.

The edge was taken off as other members of the team grabbed on to Tony and each other. Everyone’s minds felt connected too, as though they were all one organism, with Tony being the leader. A loud cacophony of voices drenched with fear flooded Peter’s mind to the point where he couldn’t tell where he ended and they all began. When it was finally manageable, Tony used all the strength he could muster to end the fight once and for all.

For a brief second after the snap, there was nothing. Then, pain tore through everyone as the power surged out. Loud screams bubbled from the Avenger’s mouths as one by one, they all let go. Despite the entire team sharing the burden, Tony had sustained the most damage. As Peter let go of Tony, he dropped to ground, nearly knocked unconscious from the collective pain he had felt. Peter quickly sat up, trying to compose himself as the sounds in his head didn't stop. That’s when he noticed Tony.

As Thanos and his army vanished, Tony collapsed to the ground. Most of his right side was covered in horrible burns, the smell of burning flesh and ash heavy in the air. Dr Strange tore through the crowd to open a portal, only keeping it open long enough for Pepper, Peter and Rhodey to step through before slamming it shut.

Peter was unsure where he was until the sounds of monitors and the smell of disinfectant flooded his senses. He could still hear panic but now it was that of hospital workers trying to get Tony’s suit off and get him sedated. Peter wasn’t sure if he was hearing the staff or their thoughts. But he didn’t have time to figure out where he was or why he felt differently. He just thanked whatever force that controlled all the madness of the universe that Dr. Strange had gotten them to a hospital before Tony was too far gone.

It was touch and go for a long time, but when the doctor came out with a relieved look on her face, Peter knew no matter how long it would take, everything would be fine. Only then did Peter allow himself to feel the exhaustion that had been creeping onto him since he had come back to the realm of the living. He felt himself slump in the chair, unable to keep himself upright any longer.

**************************************************************************

Peter came back to reality as Tony snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Earth to web head, you okay in there kiddo?” Peter shook his head to clear the fog as he looked at Tony.

“I’m sorry Mister Stark, I should’ve told her about you or warned you that I hadn’t told her yet. It’s just… ugh!” Peter groaned, rubbing his face roughly, “I could hear how hopeless she felt, could feel it radiating off of her. I hate that I couldn’t have prevented this all because of some stupid thing I said years ago. I want to get her back, want to win her back. And I know it’s not the right time but I just can’t help but feel protective over her. She will always be the love of my life, even if I’m not hers. And to hear her talk about even letting the scum who hurt her get away because of who his father is made me see red. There’s no excuse for this though Tony, I’m sorry.”

Tony patted Peter’s shoulder, “I forgive you kid, I just hope she will when all is said and done.”

**************************************************************************

Masterlist

Read Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

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recentanimenews · 5 years ago

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Ranking The Top 10 Best Costumes In My Hero Academia

Nearly everyone who’s seen My Hero Academia has dreamed about what it’d be like to be born with an awesome quirk. And if you’ve thought about that, you also must have considered what your costume might be. Quirks are one thing. You can’t really control what power you are born with, and if you get stuck with the ability to shoot worms out of your nose or something, then I guess the world is just going to have to put up with NoseWurmz saving it. Costumes, though, are all up to you. They are not only an expression of your super abilities but also your character.

But which My Hero Academia characters have the best costumes? To answer that, I decided to look at their Uniqueness, Functionality, and Usefulness, and this is what I’ve arrived at:

10. Yuga Aoyama

Although kind of resembling Liberace performing at Medieval Times, Yuga’s costume makes totally sense given his power. As the Shining Hero who shoots a laser out of his navel, he is easily propelled by the force of his tummy blasts, so wearing protective armor is pretty smart. As are the glam rock shades, which stop him from being blinded by his own attacks.

Yes, the costume is a bit flashy but so is Yuga’s entire personality, and it’s admirable how much he owns it. Also, notice that despite the fact that overusing his laser upsets his stomach, Yuga has opted NOT to incorporate a diaper into his costume, unlike some other heroes (named Minoru.)

9-8. Backdraft & Tsuyu Asui

The key to disaster relief superheroics is crowd control. From the second you arrive on the scene, you have to establish yourself as an authority figure whose directions people will want to follow, and Backdraft’s costume does exactly that. As a hydrokinetic hero specializing in putting out fires, his costume just screams “guy in charge.” If you got caught in a blaze and the lovechild of a fireman’s bunker gear and a hydrant came to your rescue, the only question you’d have for him is “What do you want me to do?” whereas with a guy like Death Arms, your first question would probably be: “Sir, where is the rest of your shirt?”

Tsuyu/Froppy has a similar thing going on with her costume. You only need a cursory glance at her wetsuit/flipper combo to get exactly what she’s going for: “Oh, she’s a frog. Bet she’d be good during an ocean rescue or something.” Ultimately, Tsuyu’s costumes makes you feel like she would be right in her element in the water, and if you were drowning/lost at sea etc., that’s the kind of thing you’d want to see in a superhero.

7. Kamui Woods

The world needs more wood-themed superheroes because Groot cannot carry that burden alone. In a world of spandex, plastics, and metal, Kamui Woods stands out as a particularly stylish hero who, other than being seemingly made from wood, also adorns his costume with a wooden mask, belt, kneepads, and shoes. So aside from looking cool, his costume is also simple and straightforward, not getting in the way of the hero’s complex attacks and also being in line with his no-nonsense personality. Wood job! (I refuse to apologize for art.)

6. Present Mic

Leather is actually a horrible material for superhero costumes. It’s not great in inclement weather, it doesn’t breathe, and it doesn’t allow for a lot of movement, which is another way of saying that it only works for Present Mic.

As the U.A.’s resident rock-n-roll-themed teacher, Mic can get away with wearing an entire cow and a half over his body, immediately scoring him a lot of cool points. Mixed with the high-tech voice enhancer around his neck, he comes off as some kind of Cyborg Rocker, almost like a near-perfect embodiment of the ‘80s. But, ya know, in a good way.

5. Katsuki Bakugo

If Katsuki’s costume hadn’t been loud, excessive, and generally a bit too much, I’d have thought that Kohei Horikoshi doesn’t understand his own creation. Fortunately, he put Katsuki in a faux-military get-up with two gigantic grenade gauntlets that are great at generating grievous aggravation.

On literally any other hero, this would have looked ridiculous but for Bakugo's specific brand of outrage, it all works and helps strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. Although I still have no idea what that explosion decal is on the back of his head. Is it made from cardboard or…?

4. Power Loader

Imagine you’re a bank-robber robbing a bank, as you would, when suddenly the ground underneath your feet splits open and you’re faced with a shirtless guy in a techno-dinosaur helmet and metal gloves. Before this human Graboid could even say anything, you’d probably surrender yourself to the police faster than you can say: “Can I get a change of pants please? These ones aren’t clean anymore.” That’s the sheer power of Power Loader’s costume.

3. Thirteen

Thirteen’s costume is absolutely perfect for a hero specializing in saving people. Although we don’t really know if it’s an actual space suit, it seems like it could withstand anything: heat, cold, freezing waters, even the vacuum of space. The puffiness of it also softens the hero’s image, making them appear calm and gentle, which would put people at ease during a rescue op.

Additionally, the costume creates a barrier between us and Thirteen’s devastating Black Hole Quirk, which sort of makes it like a cellphone cover for a Nokia 3310: it’s there to protect the outside world from its contents, not the other way around.

2. Tenya Iida

At first glance, Tenya’s costume seems very practical. As one of the fastest humans alive thanks to the engines in his calves, you would assume he’d need armor to protect himself from becoming a wet spot on some wall. But it turns out that his armor is very lightweight and offers little protection. Instead, it’s there to cut down on air resistance and make Tenya even faster, assumingly putting him at more of a risk. That is just awesome and speaks to the character’s powers of concentration and control of his Quirk.

1. Deku (Shoot Style)

The great thing about the latest incarnation of Deku’s costume is that it does… everything. It reflects his character as an All Might fan with little tributes to the hero here and there. It’s perfect for a combat superhero with all the additional protection that makes it seem like he knows that he’s doing. And finally, it shows you the journey of the character. If you’ve been following Deku from the beginning, then you’ve seen how he went from a rabbity- All Might tribute that was a bit silly to a refined costume that was forged in the field.

Elements of it like iron soles for better kicks or braces and support gloves to protect himself during punches etc. were added to it out of necessity and they mirror Deku’s impressive growth as a hero. The costume is basically an entire hero’s journey in textile/metal form, and I can't wait to see if it changes again on My Hero Academia, which is completely available on Crunchyroll.

Which MHA superhero costume is your favorite? Let us know in the comment section!

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

Cezary writes words on the internet. You should follow him on Twitter.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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hookedonapirate · 6 years ago

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To Play the Game (and win your heart)

Summary: Some people would call it a job, but to Emma and her sister, Milah, it’s a game of the heart. Play by the rules and you’ll never get hurt.

Whatever you call swindling wealthy men out of their money, this con-artist duo has it down to a tee. Milah sets up an available, rich man and gets him to marry her. Emma seduces and lures the husband into having an affair so he’ll get caught in the act. He then loses his money in the ensuing divorce.

The sisters wear a coat of armor around their hearts to keep them intact, but when they set their sights on their next mark, professional golfer Killian “Hook” Jones, Emma never imagined how hard the game could be and how easily her heart could be stolen—especially when she switches roles with Milah and becomes the one exchanging vows with the gorgeous multi-millionaire. Heartbreakers AU.

Artwork by: @distant-rose

Rating: Mature for connivery, vixen behavior and sexual themes.

Content Warnings: This story deals with conning and manipulation and also mentions/includes children with various disabilities, and also .

Author’s Notes: So, over a year ago, I made this post about a story idea I had in my head for a really long time. Well, guys, I am soooo excited to say that I went ahead and wrote the thing!

Thank you @captainswanbigbang and all of the moderators for organizing the event and for all of your help throughout the process.

A huge shout out goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones for all of her help with this fic. She really kicked some butt while beta reading, and if not for her, this story would not be what it is.

Thank you @distant-rose for stepping in as my artist. She is so talented and I can’t wait for everyone to see all of the art she has planned for this fic. She even made me a playlist for this story including Emma’s and Milah’s theme song, Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds, and some other great tracks that fit well with the theme of the fic.

Thank you @onceuponaprincessworld for all of her feedback and for her constant support and for letting me bounce ideas off of her during the process. Thank you @teamhook for her help and ideas with scenes I was struggling with.

This is the first time I’ve written a complete MC before posting the first chapter, so it feels surreal to be presenting this to you knowing it’s finished. This story has been a struggle, especially when it came to constructing Emma’s character, and I’ve definitely had some ups and downs during the writing process, but I’m really proud of how this fic turned out and I really hope all of you enjoy it!

There are 12 chapters, and I will be posting every Tuesday, so let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Available on: AO3 FFnet

Chapter 1: Game Tutorial

~Rule #1: Learn how to play the game like a pro. Learn how to play from the best of ‘em. Learn how to survive and learn how to win.~

July 9th, 2015—Boston, MS

“Well, this is just perfect,” Milah sighs, leaning against the car with her prepaid cellular phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other, hazel eyes piercing down at the screen. Chocolatey brown locks cascade over her shoulders in thick waves, lightly affected by the gentle breeze slicing through the muggy, midsummer air. The brunette is wearing a pair of black denim shorts and a bright red t-shirt, showing off her flat, milky stomach as she waits for her sister.

Emma and Milah are the same age, twenty-four years old, but that’s where their physical similarities end. Emma has fair skin, luminous green eyes that sparkle through her thick-framed glasses, and golden sunshine hair pulled back into a high ponytail, the ribbon curls bouncing with every step as she makes her way to the car from the Stop ‘N Gas. Alternating between scratching off a lottery ticket with the edge of her car key and chewing on the Slim Jim tucked inside the palm of her hand, she’s wearing a white tank top and slim, dark blue leggings. “Damn… I guess it’s back to work tomorrow,” Emma grumbles through a mouthful of the dry meat snack, tearing the losing ticket in half and throwing it into the trashcan next to the gas pump. As she leans back on the yellow bug next to her sister, she swallows the food in her mouth and takes another bite of the Slim Jim.

“Well that's too bad.” Milah tucks the phone in her pocket and takes a long drag of her cigarette, blowing a puff of smoke out of her mouth and letting it drift into Emma's direction.

“Come ooo- onn !” Attempting to wave the smoke out of her face, Emma starts coughing as she breathes some of it in. “How many times do I have to tell you that smoking is bad for you?”

“And Slim Jims aren't? You're eating processed beef that's made up of mechanically separated chicken, and is loaded with salt and preservatives,” Milah points out scornfully.

Emma cringes and immediately stops chewing, feeling the urge to vomit. “You mean beef, right?” she mumbles with her mouth full.

“Nope. The meat base is made of chicken,” Milah replies pretentiously, a sly grin crossing her lips. “Sounds appetizing, doesn't it?”

Emma’s features twist in disgust, she spits the chewed-up remains into the trash can and throws away what’s left in the wrapper with a snide retort. “At least I can't be afflicted with lung disease from eating Slim Jims. I'd rather be clogging up my arteries than breathing through a ventilator for the rest of my life. Besides, it's hazardous to smoke near a gas pump.” Emma grabs the cigarette from between her sister’s fingers and throws it on the ground before crushing it with the sole of her sandal.

Milah becomes bug-eyed at the gesture. “What the hell, Em?! That was my last cigarette!”

Emma sighs and rolls her eyes. “So buy another pack.”

The brunette’s eyebrows are furrowed together as she scolds Emma, arms flailing in the air. “Yeah, I would, except, now we might have to decide on whether to spend our money on food or rent, so how am I going to buy a pack of cigarettes?!”

Emma eyes her sister warily, her brows crinkling in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Milah’s lashes are pressed together as she squints, flashing Emma her famous ‘ are you seriously kidding me right now?’ mien. “Well in case you forgot, sis, we received an eviction notice this morning, and we had to replace the engine of this old piece of crap!” Milah spats resentfully, gesturing towards Emma’s prized yellow bug to convey her point.

“Hey, my car is not a piece of crap,” Emma argues defensively. She opens the driver's door, hearing the hinges squeak as Milah makes her way to the passenger’s side.

“I just checked my bank account, and unless you have money I don't know about, or plan on seducing the landlord to get out of paying rent, then we’re completely screwed.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t spent seventy-five dollars on the sandals you just had to have, then we’d have more money.” Emma is all for buying new shoes, but not if it meant they have to live on the streets because of it.

Milah glowers at her. “They were half off. Besides, you know what they say—give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world. And we’re going to need a lot more than seventy-five dollars to catch up on rent. We're going to need some kind of miracle.”

“Well, I asked for more hours at the bar, and you’ve picked up more too,” Emma reminds her.

Milah shakes her head as they get in the car. “Still, we’re barely getting by. That engine set us way back,” she points out in frustration, buckling her seatbelt. “We need to make some money quick.”

Emma nods in agreement, knowing her sister’s correct. “If only one of us could win the lottery or marry a rich man. I really don't want to spend the rest of my life eating ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner,” Emma mutters, firing up the engine as she fastens her seatbelt. Lifting her eyes, she catches Milah’s big hazel ones gleaming at her, a slow, snide smile crawling across her lips. The hairline on Emma’s forehead rises as she arches a brow at her sister. “What?”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Em.”

Waving her head doubtfully, Emma looks ahead as she shifts the gear in drive and starts pulling away from the gas pump. “Eating ramen noodles for every meal? Not really. They're incredibly high in sodium, calories and saturated fat. And weren't you just cutting me down for munching on Slim Jims?”

“Not that. I'm talking about marrying a rich man.”

Emma snorts as she turns out of the parking lot, not believing what she just heard slip past Milah's lips. “That would kind of be difficult to do, considering neither one of us is even dating one.”

Milah shifts in her seat anxiously, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Em, do you remember about two years ago… when we went to visit Mal and Lily for Christmas?”

Emma thinks about that for a moment, unsure of what Milah is getting at. Mal had taken them in for a short while, after their adoptive mother died when they were seventeen years old. Milah and Emma aren't sisters by blood but they grew up in the foster system together and became inseparable when they were both adopted by a nice woman in Indiana. They had only been out of the system for a year when Ingrid was in a fatal car accident.

Mal is the mother of Lily Page, who was Milah’s and Emma's classmate and friend, and took them in while they finished high school. When the sisters moved out, they got an apartment together in Boston. Milah had just turned twenty-two when they went back to visit Mal and Lily for the holidays. “Yeah, I remember. She taught us how to play poker. So?”

“She did, but do you also remember how Mal spoke to us about the con and how we weren't supposed to tell anyone about it?”

“The con?” Emma tries to recall, but really has no clue what Milah’s talking about.

“Yeah. Mal told us how Lily's father left when he found out she was pregnant, so after that, she gave up on love. Said it was weakness, and only married her husbands for their money. When Lily turned twenty-one, she got her mother’s husband at that time to cheat on her. Then Mal divorced him and got a huge settlement out of it. The two of them took the money, and moved on to the next poor loser who fell into their trap. And they always used fake names so they'd never get caught.”

“Yeah, okay I remember now.” Emma regards her sister with a cautious eye. “What's your point?”

“Don't you see, Em? We could do the same. We could have Mal show us the con, and how to pull it off successfully.”

Shaking her head, Emma quickly declines while biting back a laugh. “I am not doing that.”

Milah shifts in her seat, her whole body facing Emma. “Just think—we’ll never have to be broke again. We can get a few good marks, take their money and move to Hawaii and buy our own bar on the beach or something. Come on, what do you say, Em? Let's do something bold . Something crazy .”

“We do plenty of bold and crazy things,” Emma counters with a laugh.

“Name one.”

“What about the time we went skinny dipping in the sea with our former bosses?”

Milah rolls her eyes. “You just proved my point. If that's the craziest thing we’ve ever done, I think it’s time we change that.”

Emma stares at the road ahead of her, gnawing on her bottom lip. “But we’re not like Mal and Lily. What if we end up falling in love with one of the marks? I mean, do you really think we can pull this off?”

“Sure, why not? Neither of us have ever been good at commitments anyways. But, we've been good at one-night stands and sex with no strings.”

Emma has to admit, Milah’s correct on all counts, yet she still feels the urge to argue her reasons. “Well, yes, but those were only physical involvements and we always go to the guy’s place, making a dash before morning. Now you're talking about one of us going on romantic dates and getting a man to fall head over heels in love and make an actual commitment before ripping his heart in two?”

“So? I can totally do that. I'll be the primary and you can get them to have an affair; that way you won't have to worry about the relationship part. All you have to do is look good, dress sexy and be your charming self, like when you pick up a guy at the bar. Only he’ll be married and rich instead of single and broke… and he’ll be my husband.”

This is completely insane.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Emma can't believe she is actually considering this plan. It seems so wrong to her on many, many levels. “I don't know…”

Milah pulls one of Emma's hands from the steering wheel, encases it between her own and looks at her sister with pleading eyes, her left wrist revealing the tattoo of a raven's wings spread across the inside.

“Please? Just consider it, that's all I'm asking.”

Emma also has a tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, only it’s the wings of a white swan. They both got the tattoos using their fake i.d. cards, just after getting adopted by Ingrid at age sixteen. The wings symbolize their freedom from escaping the various foster homes, and they would never take it for granted. And yet, this little scheme they are contemplating would certainly take that freedom away if they ever got caught and landed in prison.

Emma turns her head, briefly glancing at her sister, who is making a moue with her lips. “You're insane,” she titters, waving her head in bewilderment.

Milah grins at her cheekily. “And you love me for it.”

$*$*$

May 5th, 2018—the outskirts of Storybrooke, ME

Emma’s long blonde locks whip through the air, relieved to be free from the confinement of the red-haired wig as she tilts her head to the side and smiles at her sister, Milah. They’re just leaving the outskirts of Maine in their brand new flashy red Corvette Convertible with the top down, wearing designer sunglasses and silk dresses with thousand-dollar Giuseppe Zanotti shoes. And they have eighty thousand dollars to their name which will pay for their living expenses while they sink their claws into their next new mark.

After Mal’s training, they'd started out small, tricking strangers at grocery stores by convincing them they’d forgotten their purses, or that their cupboards were bare and they needed to feed their starving children when they were using maxed-out cards so they’d be declined. The restaurant pranks were their most popular techniques; they’d plant a strand of hair or piece of glass in their food, or they’d discolor the chicken with red food dye to make it look raw in the middle and receive a free meal out of the charade. Or they’d sit at the bar wearing their sexiest dresses, luring men into buying them all the cocktails they could possibly stand before fleeing to the cab the men paid for when the sisters became too drunk to drive, leaving the poor guys all hot and bothered with no money in their pockets.

The more cons they played out, the easier it became. Emma was always wary about it and her conscience often got in the way, but she slowly came around because she didn't want to let her sister down. Milah, however, was a natural. She had no problem lying and flirting with strange men to get her way, and always took the lead whenever they were working as a team. Soon enough, it was on to the big leagues.

Their first real mark was a computer geek from MIT who worked at Google, was a momma’s boy, and had never cooked a meal in his whole goddamn life. The millionaire may have been smart, but luckily he wasn't clever enough to let his brain do all the thinking or let his mother talk some sense into him. Either that, or he was just that desperate when a gorgeous brunette, who was way out of his league, showed interest in him. They were married three months later when Emma kissed him so Milah could walk in and catch them. Emma cried that night for ruining the man’s life. Several more cons and broken hearts later, the consequences of their actions gradually had less of an impact on her due to Milah’s constant encouragement and incessant reminders that it’s better than sleeping on the cold, hard floor in a crowded homeless shelter or a cardboard box on the streets.

“So how was the wedding?”

Milah shrugs, a half-hearted smile curving her lips. “It was fine.”

Even through the dark shades, Emma can tell something is wrong with her sister. She can always read her like a book. “You okay?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Why wouldn't I be?”

“I don't know, but I know when something's bothering you. We’re sisters remember?”

Milah's smile grows as she slowly turns up the radio. “Of course, and you're also my best friend, Em,” she adds, speaking over the music as she leans over and kisses Emma's cheek. “It's just exhausting getting married and going through a divorce, that's all. And I kinda miss my blonde wig,” she says with a small laugh before briefly glancing down and admiring her feet. “But that's okay. Give a girl the right pair of shoes…”

“And she can conquer the world,” Emma finishes enthusiastically.

“I promise, sis… everything… is… fantastic.”

The song Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds is playing as the music envelopes their ears. Milah throws her arms up in the air and Emma laughs, raising one hand while the other is still on the wheel. She grabs her sister's hand and they start singing loudly with the words of the song. Emma can't wait to get to their next destination. “Palm Beach, Florida, here we come!” Emma shouts at the top of her lungs.

“Whoohoooooo!” Milah utters in excitement, both of the them floating on a cloud; nothing in the word could possibly bring them down.

$*$*$

Approximately two days and 1,529 miles later—Palm Beach, FL

“What about him?”

Emma dismisses the question with a soft shake of her head, grimacing at the idea of having to kiss the old man leaving his huge mansion—he looks as though he’s on the brink of death. She's already had her fill of the previous man with a cane—Milah’s latest ex-husband. “I don't think so,” Emma grumbles, proceeding to cruise through the wealthy neighborhood. The avenue is stretching wide and flat in front of them, a perfectly-aligned row of palm trees on either side as the sunlight scatters through the gaps. They’ve been on the road for twenty-four hours over the span of two days, and regretted the decision of not traveling by plane (Emma is afraid of flying), so it’s a relief to finally reach their destination. And as tired as they are, they’re bound and determined to find their next mark.

Emma’s eyes are spanning over the nearby houses when she spots a modestly attractive man stepping out of his Mercedes Benz. He appears to be in his mid-thirties, has curly brown hair and is wearing an Armani suit. Perhaps a CEO of a large corporation? “What about him? He's kind of cute.” Just as Emma asks, another man, this one with dark hair who is equally as attractive and young, steps out of the house greeting the other with a hug. “Brothers maybe? That could be fun.”

Emma receives an eye roll as she stops at a red light.

“We don't play more than one guy at a time, I can only marry one, Em. And competition creates complications, especially between brothers.”

Despite her words, Emma continues to observe them as Milah looks ahead, but to the blonde’s dismay, the two men start kissing—making out to be more precise. “Ummm… I take that back… not brothers… and you're definitely not their type.”

“What do you mean I'm not their type?” Milah asks, clearly offended as she tilts her head to see what Emma is looking at. “Oh… I don't do gay guys either.”

“Maybe they're bi? You could have a ménage à trois,” Emma teases with a laugh as the light turns green and she gently steps on the gas.

“No thanks,” Milah replies, her words laced with distaste. “Get real, Em. Maybe you're into that, but I'm not.”

Emma shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Half an hour later, they arrive at the condo they're staying in for the next two or three months, depending on how long it takes Milah to get the next man to marry her. The last one took two, but that was a new record for her. And he was only worth six hundred thousand. His last name was Gold, but he sure as hell wasn't made of it.

They enter their room, blown away by the accommodations as they take a tour of the place. The beachfront apartment contains a large living space with a tan leather sectional, a matching loveseat and a large flat screen TV in the lounge area. There’s a separate laundry room in the apartment, and the kitchen is equipped with granite countertops and all of the stainless steel appliances they could possibly need.

The glass patio doors afford a spectacular view of the ocean, and opens to a balcony scattered with outdoor dining furniture and a sunbed.

In each of the two bedrooms, there’s a full patio window and a four-poster queen size bed adorned with a mountain of frilly pillows and silk drapes surrounding the bed. The en-suite bathroom that joins the two bedrooms contains a jacuzzi tub and shower encased in glass doors.

Emma and Milah are squealing in delight, completely in awe as they soak everything in. Between all of the crowded foster homes and the studio apartments they lived in which were ran by slumlords, this is by far the nicest place they've ever stayed in.

After getting settled and unpacking some of their things, Milah decides to test out the bathtub while Emma goes for a walk. It’s still early in the evening and she’s utterly exhausted, but she craves some time on the beach before retiring to her bed. The ocean always calms her.

$*$*$

Hook Jones is in jeopardy of losing his world number one ranking this week at the Players Championship in Ponte Verde, Florida. According to the scenarios presented by Twitter user @VC606, there are four players who could overtake Jones this week.–thebiglead.com

The sun is cresting the horizon, leaving an array of colors across the sky as Killian moors his vessel to the port. He normally likes to start the mornings on his yacht whenever he can catch a break, but watching the sunset is just as calming. It allows him to reflect and plan his game before the tour. Some days are a zoo, with the cameras and crowds following him around on the green; the feeling of being closed in is the worst part about being a golfer. Being on the sea is his escape.

It’s really quite ironic because ever since he was a child, he's been surrounded by people, even after he lost his family. He’s traveled around the world, and when he’s in Palm Beach he spends a lot of time with the children, who are his biggest fans. As much as he enjoys being around them, he’s always craving to have someone with him while he’s on the tour—someone by his side… someone along for the ride.

With his vessel securely anchored in place, Killian makes his way from the marina and passes a few patrons, offering a courteous smile and a small wave. Most of them are familiar to him, and some are obviously here on vacation.

Normally, tourists wear shorts when it’s sixty-eight degrees and end up looking like lobsters after spending four hours in the sun. Locals, on the other hand, wear winter jackets when it’s a touch below seventy degrees and always have deep brown tans. Killian can always distinguish a local from a tourist, not only by the hue of their tan, or lack thereof, and the way they dress, but also by the excitement buzzing in their eyes. Most of them spend their days snapping photos, drinking in the view and thinking of ways to move here, while the residents of Palm Beach spend their lives trying to find a way out.

Nearing the beach, Killian feels the cool breeze touching his skin and blowing through his hair. This is one of cooler evenings in May, although he’s been accustomed to much more frigid temperatures from all of his traveling.

His mind is frazzled with thoughts of the new foundation he had spent many years dreaming up and planning, the charity event to kick it off and the Players championship, where he is hoping to maintain his number one ranking. With everything going on, he has to be mentally prepared for the game, but he’s not worried. He’s always hungry for more wins, no matter how many he already has in the bag. Golf is his true love, and the game is all about focus and preparation.

However, nothing could've prepared him for the vision currently demanding all of his focus when his eyes fall upon a beautiful woman. Well, an angel to be more precise, with skin fair and pure, golden hair shimmering, even in the dim light of the evening air.

Bloody hell, she is breathtaking.

She’s walking barefoot along the beach, wearing a white layered mini skirt, a beige sweater and a wide-brimmed sun hat, her long golden hair flowing in soft waves. Her gorgeous legs go on for days, she has high cheekbones and glossy pink lips, and her emerald green eyes are lit up like a firefly in the night. Her creamy skin looks like porcelain, and a calm expression is settled over the beautiful features of her face as she gazes across the ocean.

She is definitely not from around here. Even if not for all of the evident signs, he would remember seeing a lass like her.

Killian watches from the shadows of the pier, trying not to be seen. There’s an aura about her that pulls him in like waves of the sea. Before he knows it, she is walking away, leaving him dizzy and discombobulated as he struggles to remember what he was doing. He has to shake his head and collect his bearings, heading for home in his blue Mustang, but how in the bloody hell is he supposed to forget a woman like her?

#cs ff #cs ff au #heartbreakers au #csbb 2018 #captain swan big bang #my fic #to play the game (and win your heart)

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pointy-hat-witch · 6 years ago

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Title: Stitches to your heart Series: KiriBakuWeek2019 Show: Boku no Hero Academia Pairing: Kirishima/Bakugou Summary: Kirishima decided to become a designer. Firstly, because of his new awakened desire to design, of course, but secondly, because of Bakugou Katsuki. A/N: Collection of works for KiriBakuWeek 2019. First time writing KiriBaku, they deserve so much love. Ha. This is heavily inspired by kirishimami's Designer AU, so please, give it a read! I was laughing and crying. It is so good!!

You can read it on AO3 if you want to! :)

Day 1 Dance / Suits / Music

Kirishima was 17 when he discovered the thing he wanted to be. His normal weekends where spent at home, either watching random movies or playing video games. His moms were mostly at work, earning money they wanted to invest in his education. An education, Kirishima didn’t know for what or where or anything else. He was grateful for them, of course, but at the same time, he felt pressure to not disappoint them. It was a dilemma he put off to think about most of the time.

So, it was Saturday evening, he was sprawled on the couch, potato chips on his stomach as he aimlessly switched through the TV channels. A flash of orange caught his eye and he stopped his thumb, hovering over the buttons of the remote control.

He ended up on some sort of news program, featuring some sort of fashion show. Kirishima raised an eyebrow. After a few minutes he gathered, it was a rather big fashion show for haute couture, runway models featuring outfits that were neither fashion nor wearable in Kirishima’s opinion. He searched for the orange tinge that caught his eyes, but when he didn’t find any indication of the color he was about to change the channel again.

Apparently, the designer changed because now another model walked onto the runway, wearing high fashion, still haute couture but with style. Kirishima could dig that. His eyes were fixated onto the fabrics, that seemed to cling to the models as some sort of second skin. Every outfit accentuated a different feature, bringing out something different.

The commentator, which Kirishima was ignoring until now, was explaining this fashion line:

“… as his first appearance. His first official fashion line works around the theme “heroes” which he tried to incorporate into his designs. He stated, his inspiration surged from imaginary heroes who have individual talents, “quirks” as he called them, and each outfit tried to maximize each talent. As we see here”, Kirishima followed gazed at the model in full armor, small exhaust pipes coming from their calves, “this outfit is titled “Ingenium” and accentuates the power of an engine.”

Kirishima stopped listening, intently focused on the models which walked over the runway after another. Each design was totally different, colors either popping in or being subdued in favor of design. It was breathtaking. Not slouching anymore, Kirishima sat straight up, mesmerized by this fashion line. His fingers twitched. In the back of his mind he saw his own designs, some fabric, some pieces of clothes he either wanted to wear himself or wanted other people to wear. He wanted to draw them, to get his ideas on paper.

All “heroes” models walked one last time over the runway, Kirishima let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he held in as he watched them. The last two models, titled as “Red Riot” and “Alien Queen”, walked down the middle and in between them walked the most handsome person Kirishima had ever laid his eyes upon.

His face was scrunched up, a deep scowl on his lips, but walking with dignity down the runway. And Kirishima finally found the orange-tinged he was searching.

Bakugou Katsuki, as the caption said, wore black slacks, a dark green dress shirt, and a screaming orange vest. He had his dress jacket dropped over one shoulder, his other hand pushed deep inside his pocket. It almost looked like he didn’t want to be there, but somehow Kirishima made out the glee in Bakugou’s red eyes. He basked in the attention and the applause he was given.

The three stopped at the end of the runway, statist A handed Bakugou a microphone, and he cleared his throat. Hesitating for only a second, Bakugou growled:

“I’ll only say this once: whoever has a problem with my designs, can fuck off. I design what I want and I know they’re fucking awesome.” And almost as an afterthought, he added: “Thanks goes to my models. They fucking nailed it.”

Bakugou flung the microphone off the stage, statist B or whoever caught it, and he turned around, walking down the runway. No one said a word, even the commentator was stunned to silence. And Kirishima laughed. He doubled over, clutching at his sides as laughter raptured from inside him. He didn’t even try to stop his fall, as he slid down the couch, rolling around the ground. He had to gasp for air a few times, eyes filled with tears.

When he finally recovered, still breathing uneven and an occasional chuckle left him, he turned his attention back to the TV but the next fashion line was being shown, not even half as interesting as Bakugou’s, so Kirishima turned it off.

He ran upstairs, two steps at a time, and plopped down on his chair at his desk, whirling around. He grabbed for papers, pencils and started drawing. He finally knew what he wanted to do.

Kirishima was 21 when his dream was finally in his reach. For the last 4 years, Kirishima filled every second with the intention to enroll in a design school. He sat down after school to design different clothes, followed up on every major fashion week, looked up designer, drove around to see smaller fashion shows.

His moms supported him wholeheartedly along the way and their money finally found their use. He spent some of them for some drives, but most of it to buy fabric to actually sew some of his designs. He wore it himself, at first, but after time his moms wore them too. Along the way, he even made the most precious set of friends.

When enrolled in college specialized courses for fashion design, of course, he moved out to live in Tokyo, thriving in the big city life, and quickly making friends with other design orientated friends. And they boosted his almost non-existent self-esteem for which he will be forever grateful.

Over the years, he followed up on especially Bakugou Katsuki. The rapidly rising star in the fashion industry. Through his father, Bakugou was exposed to the world of fashion design early on and only learned from the best. He brought fashion line after fashion line out, Kirishima tried to purchased one of the items once but almost blacked out when he saw the hefty sum, attended huge fashion shows once in a while and it was rumored, he would inherit the fashion company early on.

So, after 4 years of almost working himself into the ground, Kirishima applied for exactly this fashion company for an internship and, by some miracle, earned one of the four spots in that company. The day he opened the letter with the acceptance was both the most earth-shattering and glorious day of his life.

Before the internship would start, however, there would be a banquet in honor of new employees, not only for interns. It was a huge gala and it was expected to wear formal wear only. Kirishima knew he wanted to wear something that would impress Bakugou, not only in favor of his internship and his future work with him.

At first, Kirishima went window shopping with Mina, one of his modeling friends, to gather inspiration. It crossed his mind, to just buy a fancy suit, but was disregarded quickly for the idea to design his own suit. Therefore, he needed inspiration.

Gathering information, brain-storming with friends and family and a lot of trial and error, Kirishima was able to come up with a simple but striking design idea. He just had to execute it good enough.

It was in the evening right before the gala, when Kirishima made the finishing touches. He took a step back from his tailor’s dummy and just took in the sight. It wasn’t flashy by all means, but it was something, Kirishima took pride in. It was him, in some kind of way.

The black slacks were simple, the part he finished the fastest. They were accentuated by a red belt and huge belt buckle, adorned in silver. The highlight was the top. It had long sleeves, closed by a thin fabric at the end of the sleeves, for his hands to be almost completely covered, but giving his fingers enough free space. Over the shoulders ran a red pattern, similar to gear wheels that feathered out into the sleeves. From the left shoulder over the chest and to the right lower side, a lightning-shaped red zapped over the fabric. It was finished with a high collar, almost up to the ears.

Kirishima grinned from ear to ear. He allowed himself a minute to just basked in the sight and the feeling of accomplishment until Kaminari banged against his door.

“Dude! Are you finished? You really need to go. Like, now!”

Kirishima flinched. His eyes wandered to the alarm clock on his nightstand. Just past 7 pm. He had about 10 minutes to get ready.

“On it!” he yelled back. He stripped out of his jogging pants and top and carefully put on the dress top, pushing his hands through the sleeves and pushed his fingers through the small strap. The slacks were on in no time. The ends of his slacks were tight since his idea was to were something alike combat boots for this outfit. He rummaged through his closet and pulled out black boots with silver buckled over the foot front. He grinned. He already felt badass at it was.

After putting on the boots, he looked in the mirror and fumbled with his earrings. He pushed one end through his helix and the other end through his earlobe piercing, framing the outside of his ears in red strings. It was almost invisible with all his red hair, spiked up, but Kirishima felt it was just necessary.

He took another glance at the mirror, his chest swelled at his sight, and finally made his way outside.

It took another few minutes to calm his friends who were whooping and whistling and just overall overjoyed. It made it already worth it. They called a cab and within 20 minutes, Kirishima stood in front of a fancy hotel. The front was packed with people, paparazzi who wanted to get the first and best shot of every even the slightest noteworthy person coming up.

A lump formed in Kirishima’s throat and he had a hard time swallowing around him. He let the cab park a little bit before the hotel and the people, giving him a generous tip and got out. He beelined towards the entry and people started to notice him. With all his willpower he managed to not run away but walk as confident as possible through the crowd. It took some seconds, but then the flashes started around him. Kirishima felt his cheeks warm up and a smile formed on his lips naturally.

He walked up towards the entry, showed his invitation and was let in.

The lobby wasn’t huge, except for the ceiling which was impressing, and it was rather empty. There was a counter where jackets and bags were accepted, Kirishima didn’t have any use for that, and walked towards the double door. It was opened by an employee of the hotel with a bow and Kirishima felt oddly out of place. The room in front of him was huge. It was like a ballroom. A gigantic chandelier in the middle illuminated the whole room and where it didn’t reach, smaller lights were positioned. To his right was a long table with food, snack, and drinks, where most of the people were. To the left, the open glass windows allowed to walk outside to a terrace and a garden.

Kirishima swallowed a few times to get rid of his dry mouth. He took some steps to the buffet and took the first drink he could find, downing it in one go. Ugh, champagne. Kirishima made a face and searched for something non-alcoholic, he didn’t want to make the mistake to get drunk right away and possibly throw away his one and only shot to work at BKG Fashion.

He looked around for any familiar faces, he doubted he knew people here, but it was also a good chance to get connections. And that was when he saw the blonde spiky hair walking through the crowd. Bakugou wore his trademark scowl, a drink in his hand. Most of the people didn’t dare to get in his way, let alone speak to him, but the only ones who actually dared to, where told to “fuck off”.

Kirishima blinked and didn’t think twice as his feet already dragged him towards Bakugou. He came to a halt directly in front of him, stopping Bakugou in his tracks. His scowl deepened, even more, Kirishima didn’t think it was possible and glared at Kirishima.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“H-hi!” Kirishima cleared his throat. It was already dry again. “I’m Kirishima Eijirou, I’m gon—going to be an intern at your company. Nice to meet you.” He tentatively held out a hand.

Bakugou’s eyes widen for just a second, looked Kirishima up and down really slowly and he felt the heat back in his cheeks. Then, Bakugou scoffed, turned around and started to walk away. Kirishima was speechless. He knew Bakugou was kind of an asshole. He knew Bakugou could be pretty hard to talk to. But Kirishima didn’t work for two months on this outfit, slept only every third night, fought with his friends at times, just to be scoffed off.

“Care to introduce yourself, too?” The words came out of his mouth before he even realized.

Bakugou froze. Time stood still, but he didn’t turn around. It only made Kirishima madder. He still wore his smile, but he continued.

“What? You think because you’re famous everyone knows who you are and you can and you can ignore common courtesy?”

The next five seconds were the longest in his entire life. He didn’t hear anything around him, eyes fixed on Bakugou’s back. Then he heard something like a snort, saw a short tensing of Bakugou’s shoulders and then he left. He just left.

Kirishima died inside. Slowly and painfully. He groaned into his hands. That was just perfect. Of course, he had to finally meet his idol and then fuck it up royally.

He silently walked over to the buffet again, downed another glass of champagne and opted to send a few panicked texts to his friends, deciding to deal with everything after this evening. He picked up the last of his courage and got himself into the field. Even if Bakugou hated him now, he still was going to work in this industry and he could use every held he could get. Especially, since Bakugou hated him.

Kirishima got around fairly well, courtesy to his easy-going nature and fell into step with most conversations, laughing and actually having a really good time.

Around an hour later, he heard some uproar, a group laughed especially loud and a lot of heads turned in the general direction of the sound. Kirishima, overlooking most of these heads, spotted a small group, including Bakugou. A brown haired woman was laughing her guts out, hitting Bakugou’s back. However she survived that, Kirishima didn’t know. Apparently, she was Bakugou’s friend was Kirishima’s guess. The other two people in their group were laughing, not as loudly or as obtrusively but it was clear, they were laughing at the expanse of Bakugou who had the most ferocious grimace Kirishima had ever seen. He ducked his head and mixed into the crowd again.

The evening continued to be as entertaining as Kirishima was hoping for. He actually got some numbers, talked to a few other fashion designers who complimented his outfit and Kirishima felt all the tension leaving his shoulders.

Well, until he was suddenly face to face with Bakugou, yours truly, again. Next to him, Kirishima only vaguely sensed her, was nudging Bakugou’s elbow. Bakugou rolled his eyes at her and then held out his hand to Kirishima.

“Didn’t get to introduce myself before, I’m Bakugou Katsuki.”

His voice was still deep and low, filled with dread and menace but the usual heat was missing. It almost made Kirishima choke up. He gripped at Bakugou’s hand like a lifeline.

“Nice to meet you.” His voice came out thin through his constricted throat and it earned another scoff from Bakugou.

“See? That’s how people show “common courtesy”. Wasn’t that hard, was it?” The woman piped up, grinning widely and gave Kirishima a wink. His ears heated up and he covered it with one hand.

“I… I am so sorry. That was so unpro” – “No, it was the right thing. This little man needed to be put in place for once.” She slapped Bakugou’s back again with so much force, he had to cough.

“Shut up, round face.” He glared at her.

“Ah, where are my manners? Uraraka Ochako.” She held out her hand and beamed at Kirishima, ignoring Bakugou’s glare.

“Kirishima Eijirou.” Kirishima found his smile again, eased by the warmth Uraraka was radiating.

“Well, Kirishima-kun, I don’t want to take too much of your time alone with this famous person, so, see you around!” She waved and Kirishima could just raise his hand when she was already gone. He slowly turned his gaze back to Bakugou, who glared at the crowd, hands pushed deep into his pockets.

Kirishima pursed his lips. It was obvious, Bakugou didn’t want to be here, neither with Kirishima nor with the crowd. He grabbed Bakugou by the elbow, pulling him with him as he beelined through the crowd towards the glass doors.

“What the fuck? Let go of me, shitty hair!” Bakugou snarled and tried to yank free, but Kirishima held him with an iron grip and grinned over his shoulder.

“Relax, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“As if you could, fuckface.”

“Chill, dude.” Kirishima laughed at Bakugou. It was new that these insults were directed at him, but not new in itself. Kirishima prided himself that he learned to distinguish between honest insults by Bakugou and those who were just some kind of default.

He pulled Bakugou, who still was struggling against Kirishima’s grip but not nearly as strongly as before, probably just to give off the vibe that he was against being pushed around, through the glass doors into the open. It was already late and the air chilled down a little bit, but the heat from within was still enough to not freeze outside. Still, most of the people preferred to stay inside, therefore, the terrace was almost completely empty.

Kirishima led Bakugou to one of the benches slightly obscured by some bushes and finally let go of Bakugous arm.

“What was that for, for fuck’s sake?!” Bakugou growled again. He looked around and then at the bench.

Kirishima shrugged, pocketing his hands, and plummet down on the bench. “It was kinda suffocating inside.” If he said outright, he did that for Bakugou, he knew his head would be flying, it was the better option to just bend the truth. It was suffocating, but Kirishima didn’t mind it that much.

Bakugou scoffed, hesitating. He kicked at the dirt and then decided, the bench was the better option, sitting down beside Kirishima.

“So, what? You wanna have a one-on-one talk with your future boss to get bonus points?”

“What?” Kirishima’s head whipped around. “No way. As if you give away bonus points.” He laughed.

Bakugou furrowed his lips but didn’t say anything else. They sat in some sort of comfortable silence for a while. The music and voices were still audible in the background, but not even loud enough to actually understand anything. They were facing the garden, which was pitch black so they couldn’t even enjoy the view but Kirishima was content. It was the best he could hope four.

“Where did you get your outfit?”

Kirishima blinked. He raised his eyebrows, hesitantly looking to Bakugou. “Made it myself?” It came out more like a question. Kirishima wasn’t entirely sure, Bakugou thought his outfit was hideous.

Now it was Bakugou’s turn to whip his head around, looking at Kirishima with wide eyes.

“You’re fucking with me.” He deadpanned, gritting his teeth.

“No, man. Why would I?” Kirishima scratched his cheek, then wandered up to his earrings to nervously play with them.

“Are these…” Bakugou trailed off, pulling Kirishima’s hand away. Kirishima held in his breath as Bakugou leaned in, his breath almost caressing his cheeks.

“Earrings, huh.” Bakugou whispered, probably more to himself, but Kirishima felt his warm breath on his ears and shivered.

“Y-yeah.” He rasped.

Bakugou probably realized he was still holding on to Kirishima’s hand and let go abruptly, leaning back again.

“Your design?” He grumbled but most of his venom was gone. That was some victory and Kirishima beamed at him.

“Yeah. Took some time, but I made it in time.” He played at his belt buckle, drove over the smooth edges with his fingers. “Is it … do you like it?” He bit his lips, not looking up. But Bakugou didn’t say anything, so Kirishima forced himself to turn his head towards Bakugou.

Bakugou was staring at him with a glare. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

Kirishima blinked, slightly taken aback. “Uh? I- I don’t know? I was just asking.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes almost back into his head. “I know when I see something good. And You should, too, if you’re going to work for me.”

Almost immediately, Kirishima’s smile stretched over his face. His teeth were shining brightly between his lips and he wasn’t even trying to hide the warmth in his words. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

The scowl on Bakugou’s face faded for a second as he looked into Kirishima’s eyes and Kirishima swore, he could see a slight blush on his face. But it was too dark to really tell. Bakugou turned more towards Kirishima, one arm draped over the back of the bench. Kirishima cocked his head and was about to ask if Bakugou had something to say, when he felt his hand on his earring. Or more specifically, on his ear playing with his earring.

“Good choice.” Bakugou’s voice was just a bit deeper than before, but it did something to Kirishima’s stomach. Heat was filling his insides, crawling through his veins and he was sure, his ears were as red as his hair but Bakugou didn’t let go. His eyes were going up and down Kirishima again, just like the last time, but slower and it didn’t feel as if he inspected the outfit anymore. But Kirishima himself.

Kirishima swallowed around the lump he had in his throat again, but not the I-am-way-out-of-place kind of lump, but I-am-most-definitely-at-the-right-place kind of lump. He didn’t move, gave Bakugou all the time he wanted to look at him thoroughly.

“I like your suits.” Kirishima suddenly blurted out. Bakugou’s eyes snapped up and narrowed. His hand didn’t stop playing with his earring.

“My suits?”

“Yeah, like, the one you’re wearing now. Or the all … the other … ones.” Kirishima mumbled at the end, his brain catching up what he was saying all of the sudden. He slapped one hand over his face and cursed himself. That wasn’t one of his best moments.

“My suits in general or my suits … on me?” Bakugou’s voice ghosted over Kirishima’s ear and he couldn’t help but inhale sharply, gasping out air. His hand dropped down and he almost shyly looked at Bakugou from the corner of his eyes.

“B-both.”

“Mhm.” Bakugou hummed, not leaning back and Kirishima could feel the vibration of his voice. He slowly turned his head, silently thanking all the gods he could think of that Bakugou didn’t let go of his ear. He thought that he had to talk about Mina about his newly found interesting of earrings but pushed it to the back of his head.

Their faces were close, so close the tips of their noses were brushing against each other. Bakugou’s eyes were glazed over with … something, Kirishima didn’t dare to name it. At the same time, there was a challenge. Bakugou didn’t move, just staring into Kirishima’s eyes.

Kirishima didn’t hesitate any longer and leaned in. Their lips brushed against each over at first, but it was as if a dam broke. Bakugou pressed against his lips, aligning them perfectly. He tilted his head slightly to allow them a better angle and Kirishima was relishing in the feeling. Bakugou’s lips were warm and soft, in complete opposite of his cold and hard demeanor. But oddly fitting.

Their lips moved against each other and when Bakugou pulled almost tentatively at Kirishima’s earring, he let out a small gasp. Bakugou seized the opportunity and let his tongue slide between Kirishima’s lips, brushing against his teeth. Kirishima let out a shaky breath and pushed his own tongue against Bakugou.

The broke away for just a second to catch their breaths and then their lips found each other again. Kirishima’s arm darted forward around Bakugou’s waist and pulled him closer. Bakugou grunted but didn’t protest. Bakugou’s other hand found its way in Kirishima’s hair and he couldn’t care less about his hairstyle.

Kirishima didn’t know how long they were kissing. It could have been a minute or an hour. He didn’t even try to question it just enjoying the feeling of having Bakugou in his arm, his lips on his own and the small gasps he could coax from him.

Kirishima was 26 when he thought he was the happiest man alive. He stared at the mirror, pulling at his sleeves and his cufflinks as he thought back to the time he had gawked at the TV, seeing a fashion show for the first time. He thought about the time he finished his first design and then bringing it alive. He thought about his internship, it was hell on earth but the best thing that could happen to him. He thought about his work as a designer. He thought about his friends that were with him along the way.

And he thought about Bakugou. When he first saw him at this fashion show through the TV screen. He thought about how he idolized him for so long only to get told off by him the instant they first met. Kirishima chuckled. He was now fond of the memory. He thought about their first kiss that very evening on the bench in front of the garden that was pitch black. He thought about all the encouragement he received from Bakugou through his internship. Not once indulging their private lives with their professional work. It had been tough working together with the man he loved but it was worth it. Especially, since he knew, as soon as got home, he could kiss him senseless. Or Bakugou could kiss him senseless, he wasn’t picky.

He thought about the small fights they had along the way. Kirishima’s insecurities a deciding factor if he could make it in the fashion industry and Bakugou’s unwavering trust in him and his skills.

He thought about the admittedly very few vacations they had and the work they had done together.

He thought about what he loved about Bakugou. He could either make a list that would never end, or he couldn’t think of anything at all, just Bakugou. That was just how it was.

A knock on the door brought him back to the present.

“You ready, bro?”

“Yeah. Coming.”

Kirishima exhaled slowly and opened the door. Kaminari wore his best black suit and Kirishima was reminded why his best friend actually was a model. They grinned at each other. In silence they walked down the corridor, Kaminari nudging his elbow.

“You good?” He raised his eyebrow. Kirishima could see it in his eyes, telling him if you want to run, now is the time and I would be your driver.

His smile grew a little more. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Kaminari nodded and pushed open the double-winged door, walking down first. Kirishima inhaled one last time and slowly raised his head. His eyes immediately found Bakugou at the end of the aisle, glowing in his white suit. Kirishima’s smile came impossible wider.

Bakugou really does look best in suits.

#Boku no Hero Academia #KiriBaku #krbkweek2k19 #KiriBakuWeek2019 #Kirishima Eijirou #Bakugou Katsuki #Fashion AU #Designer AU #fanfiction

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canadian-buckbeaver · 6 years ago

Text

Into the Portal Hole

As the others back home work on Gaster's machine, Sai finds that her friends of the other dimension are more than willing to lend a helping hand.

Sai couldn’t believe it. She honestly couldn’t. She knew from Blue’s previous conversations that Stretch had once worked with the other scientists under his father, W. D Gaster, and her Edge had said something similar about his brother too.

But she was not expecting to have a small, ultra-intelligent taskforce in their kitchen. Gaster was re-drawing his blueprints from memory, his glasses taped to his skull. Stretch, Bee, and Red were hanging over him, all making comments or calculations about what could have possibly gone wrong in their test. “Do you think it was an external factor? One that you hadn’t calculated in?” Red asked, peering at the sketch. When he wasn’t crackling awful jokes, or moping around either of his mates, Sai could see exactly what Edge meant. Red was smart, almost as smart as Gaster.

“it would have to be, otherwise the failsafe would have kicked in and would have spawned back in their own universe…” Stretch muttered, squinting as he followed a gear line in the engine.

“try adding a quadrant of five here…” Bee said, pointing at something on the paper.

It honestly just made Sai’s head spin though she was grateful that progress was being made to get everyone home. If slowly. Bucky giggled. “You have the same facial expression that I do when the twins start talking science.” She said, smiling at her.

Sai sighed. “They are all just too smart for their own good… I hope the twins take after their daddy’s mind at least. If they take after me, they’ll be hooped. Gaster will have them enrolled in all sorts of math and science…” the twins were nestled in her lap, leaning against her as they fed off her magic.

“Hey now. If they take after you, they will be just as lucky.” Lines said, bumping her head against Sai’s hand. “After all, it takes a special person to keep monsters in line, and you have more than the rest of us.”

Nikki snorted and shook her head. “Certain punishment just gets Red all excited. You’ll need to show me how you do it with the rest of your crew.” Beside her, Artemis nodded.

Sai had to smile. Everyone was just so welcoming and friendly. Out of the rest of the AUs, she supposed that they were lucky to make it into one where she had the head start on friends… “Do you happen to have some water?” Sai asked Bucky. Feeding the twins always made her thirsty.

“Sure. I have bottled water in the fridge, bottom shelf, right-hand side.” She gently took Corbel from Sai, cradling him close. “Mind grabbing me one too, please?”

Nikki took Ignatius and carefully held him. “Me three,” she said, her eyes not leaving the babies.

Excusing herself for a moment, Sai walked by the scientist group where a stunned Grillby had been forced to listen to the numbers and scientific formulas. The poor man looked half asleep. Maybe she’ll need to save him and let him escape for a nap for a bit. He hadn’t been sleeping well at the mansion either, Sai remembered, pulling open the door to the fridge and scouring the shelves. Christ, there was a lot of honey here. She supposed that with double Stretches, the honey devouring was also increased. Por Bucky and Blue really had their hands full with these Papyruses.

Chuckling, Sai closed the door, eyeing the pictures that scattered it. There was a world here too, different perhaps, but just as developed as her own. There was a baby Blue sleeping next to his elder twin brothers, then the three of them standing beside what looked to be the Gaster of this world. The twins, now older and more tired looking, sitting at Muffet’s café – the shot had to be taken by Blue. Then there was Bucky sitting between the twins, a dark blush on her cheeks as the twins kissed her. And then a sonogram of four tiny souls curled close together….

Wait… WHAT?

Suddenly that explained Stretch’s and Bee’s reluctance at letting her out of her sight or move much.

“YOU’RE PREGNANT?” Sai cried out, interrupting of the all conversations that were being held in the dining room. Everyone jumped, spinning around to look at her. “WITH QUADRUPLETS?”

The Papyrus twins looked smug and proud of themselves, grinning as they chewed on their lollipops. Bucky smiled warmly at Sai. “Yes…. The twins went into heat about a month ago. We just found out the good news and told everyone about one… two weeks ago?” Bucky asked, looking around at the small group of friends, her arms wrapping around her middle. Now that Sai was looking at her closely, there was the smallest bump to her.

Sai’s mouth was agape, and she trembled slightly. Dropping the water on the table, she wrapped her friend in a huge hug. “Oh, I cannot believe it!” she exclaimed. She pulled back, looking at her other friend. “My goodness, you are small…. You’re gonna look like you have an exercise ball under your shirt by the end of it.”

There was a snort from Bucky. “I always imagined something of my stomach out to here,” she gestured with her hands, giggling. “Something like a half Pacman character.”

Nikki grinned, pulling out her phone. “Now we were practising,” she whispered in a stage-whisper. “We haven’t shown the twin these pictures but…”

There was an odd, high pitched squeak from a quickly reddening Bucky. “Hey! No, you promised that you guys didn’t save them!”

Sai caught a quick glimpse of a picture of Bucky with what looked to be a basketball shoved under her shirt before the phone was snatched by a bony hand. Stretch and Bee were peering at it, hearts in their eye lights. “you should send those to us,” Stretch said to Nikki. “we’ll pick up some of that salami that you like.”

“Deal,” Nikki said, grinning and taking her phone back, ignoring a sputtering Bucky.

“I SWEAR TO THE STARS IF YOU DON’T DELETE THOSE RIGHT NOW, I WILL KICK YOUR ASSES.” Bucky threatened them.

Bee and Stretch chuckled. “aww come on sweetheart. you know that you can’t do that to us 1 HP monsters… our children need us~” they purred together.

“I CAN LOOK AFTER THEM MYSELF IF NEED BE. ESPECIALLY IF YOU KEEP THOSE FREAKING PHOTOS!” Bucky threatened, the others laughing.

Lines shook her head, shaking her fur. “I keep telling you that I know a great place to hide a body. Or two. You just need to ask me.”

Grillby knelt under the table, grabbing a slowly escaping Ignatius. He came close to a laughing Sai, wrapping an arm around her, watching the chaos unfold. ‘Almost like home?’ he signed to her, his eyes twinkling.

Sai nodded. It was close to home… “So how are we getting home?” she asked, nodding to the paper.

“I believe that there is a movie that you close your eyes and clink your heels together three times.” A familiar, English voice said behind her.

Silence fell heavy on the group as the others turned around to face the newcomer. Stretch and Bee came in front of Bucky, Fell stepping in front of Lines in a similar manner. Nikki’s tail wrapped around a growling Red, a large red spike erupting from the grey fur, Pizza taking a defensive stance.

However, Sai leapt at him, hugging him tightly. “Sebastian!” she cried out, hiding her face in his crisp, white button-up. “How on earth did you find us?”

The demon butler chuckled, his eyes glimmering slightly red. “Now, how good of a butler would I be if I couldn’t rescue my mistress?” His eyes looked around at the others, his eyes resting at the familiar and unfamiliar, scanning them in his own way. “Though I am pleased to see that you were not in any danger.”

“Of course not! I had Grillby and Gaster here, and Edge has taught me more than a few things.” she fake pouted, a large smile on her face. Sebastian was here. They could go home.

Sebastian chuckled. “I do not doubt your skill m’lady. Forgive me if that is how it came out.” he smiled at her. “Now, shall I escort you and everyone home?”

“Yes!” Sai said, far too quickly. “I am so ready to get home and see everyone…” she paused, turning around to see her new friends. The others were silent. A little numb over the sudden appearance, but also that they would be losing her so soon… “I… I mean…”

Bucky smiled at her. “It’s alright. We understand. We are friends but,” here she chuckled. “I think that we would all feel the same way if it was us in your situation.”

The others nodded in agreement, still eyeing the demon butler as they slowly relaxed. “I would do anything to get back to Red and Nikki.” Pizza said, his hands reaching out to his mates. Giving them a gentle squeeze, he shot a dazzling grin at Sai. “We know what you meant.”

Sai trembled for a moment before coming up and hugging them all tightly. The little group hugged her tight, being wary of Bucky’s stomach. Sai was surprised to feel the tickle of tears in her own eyes as she stepped back. “I’m going to miss you,” she whispered.

“We’ll miss you too,” Bucky whispered back to her, smiling. “But now that you know we are here, you could always visit us.”

Sai nodded. “Yes… maybe you can come up to our universe and live there?” Sai wondered out loud.

Gaster chuckled. “We’ll update the mansion first before then.” He said to Sai, winking at her.

“Very well…” Bucky pulled her into a tight hug. “Then until we meet again.”

Hugging her back, Sai nodded. “Until next time.” she agreed. Drawing back, she quickly wiped her face, stepping back to be close to Sebastian again. Grillby and Gaster stood next to her, each of them holding one of the twins in their hands. Sai waved at the other universal copies even as the colours blended together, whirling together in a dizzying manner.

* * * * *

Sai stumbled a little bit as the floor solidified under her again. Sebastian’s teleport was a little different than Gaster’s… she gasped as there was a sudden vice around her, knocking some of the wind out of her. “SAI!” Bucky, her Bucky exclaimed, holding tightly to her. “Oh I was so worried and the machine wouldn’t turn on or work or…”

Another hug captured her other side. “I knew you would be back!” Alana exclaimed. “Oh, but I was so worried. I just…”

Sai sniffed and held her friends close to her, watching as Sebastian stepped out of the room, quietly as if he had never been there. Gaster and Grillby chuckled to themselves, holding the twins close to them. “I missed you guys too…. but I have so much to tell you guys!”

#undertail #polyamory #w.d. gaster #ut!grillby #us!papyrus #uf!papyrus #uf!sans #oc #female oc #w.d gaster/grillby/oc #twin papyrus au #underswap #established relationship

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