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anonquack · 3 years ago

Text

| Chef Q |

Alex Quackity x Reader, Oneshot, Requested by: @anotherdreamsimp !!

Word Count: 3328

Warnings: Some curse words, mainly just some fluff !

Summary: Quackity hasn't been streaming recently, and decides to come back with a cooking stream. Featuring you as a special guest.

Lately, Quackity had been studying like crazy for his final exams. That meant no streaming. He'd take a break from it to focus entirely on his studies. Absolutely nothing else.

He claimed to have his priorities straight, and had the goal to pass all exams with high scores in order to keep his grades looking wonderful.

This also meant there was rarely any time spent between you two, beside the occasional snack breaks you forced him to take so he wouldn't die at his desk.

It was tough not being able to show him a random video you'd found on the timeline, or walking up to chat with him whenever you wanted, but you knew this was very important to him. So you gladly supported him and offered as much support as possible.

Thankfully, all of his studying paid off and he passed with flying colors. A teacher had even informed him that he'd received the top score for one of his final exams.

You were the first person to hear the news, and you couldn't help but feel the adoration coursing through your body at how excited he was to tell you. Jumping up and down and shaking you lightly as he told you about his scores.

You'd offered to take him out for a celebratory meal, to treat him for all his hard work and also since you missed the fun outings with him. There was no way he was saying no to that.

—

After a day out and about, you two had made your way back home. Both of you were pleasantly full, having enjoyed the meal and also dessert. His request, for "doing so well on his finals." How could you possibly deny him that?

You both were also very content, a warmth and comfort surrounding the air around you two the entirety of the outing.

One thing that was impossible not to notice was how he'd become exceptionally clingy as soon as you two were out of the car. Gripping onto your hand tightly as you singlehandedly unlocked the front door.

"I've missed you so much these past few days." He murmered as you finally got the door to open and pulled him inside.

"I've missed you too." You hummed softly. It was always nice hearing him say these things. You locked the front door, and gently pulled at his hand to lead him back to your room.

It didn't take much of a pull for him to willingly follow you. "Can we cuddle or something?" He asked softly, almost as if he was a bit embarrassed to ask. You turned to him and gave him a grin, along with a small nod.

You'd missed him, even if you two had been in the same apartment this whole time. You'd especially been missing cuddles with him, considering he studied pretty much all day. There wasn't enough time being shared together so you gladly agreed to some cuddling.

Sooner than later, you two found yourselves in your pajamas, laying in bed peacefully as you scrolled through tiktok, screen tilted in order for him to see as well. It really was so nice finally being able to be this close to him again.

After some time, you found yourself looking through tweets on the timeline. A certain one caught his attention and he asked you to stop scrolling.

It was a tweet from a fan, saying they missed Quackity since he hadn't streamed in two weeks, but that overall they hoped his tests were going fine.

"Has it really been 2 weeks?" He asked aloud as he clicked on it and looked through the replies, all agreeing with the original tweet.

"Mm.. two and a half, I think." You answered, looking at him curiously as a guilty expression appeared on his face.

"Hey." You called out once you saw the expression wasn't leaving. He turned to you with a small frown.

"It's fine. You had a good reason for being gone so long. I'm sure they understand. Plus, you'll be back soon, right?" You asked, to which he nodded before sitting up from the cuddling position you two were in.

You sat up as well, noticing how his eyes widened slightly, and a small smile made its way onto his face.

"I just got a great idea." He exclaimed. "Y'know, I was going to just spend the next few days with you since I missed you but– how about we stream something together? That way I can enjoy both, and the fans get a stream too."

You stared at him in surprise. The fans did know he was dating someone, but you rarely ever came out on streams, not because he didn't want you to but because you didn't deem it to be necessary.

The few times you had been on, you'd received tons of love and support from the chat, so you didn't think anything too bad would happen if you were to appear on his stream again.

"What did you have in mind?" You asked curiously. The other times you'd been on were him playing horror games and an extremely scuffed IRL stream.

"Well.. I haven't done a cooking stream in a while." He began, but you quickly shook your head.

"Oh no. Don't tell me you're going to make us eat some monstrosity‐ like your past cooking streams." You visibly shuddered at the thought. You remember having to help clean up the mess after. And no matter how funny it had been, the actual cleanup was awful.

"No no– I was thinking maybe we do a serious one, y'know? Chat hasn't really been able to see my cooking abilities, and well.. I'd say I am pretty good at it." He grinned. He was unfortunately right.

You relaxed at the mention of it being a 'serious' cooking stream. It could never really be too serious when it came to Quackity, but it meant not eating dog food or poorly made pizza. You were in.

"So we'll make an actual.. edible.. meal?" You questioned again, just to be sure. To which he nodded.

"Yeah, and we can enjoy that meal after. Like a date. What do you say?" He was beaming. It was his creativity rolling in. And he was probably so proud of himself for finding a way to spend time with you yet also give chat the stream content they'd been missing out on.

"Alright. I'm in."

You hadn't seen him this eager to get out of bed and head to the grocery store ever before. Chat was really in for a fun stream tomorrow.

—

He'd tweeted it out several hours before you two planned on starting the stream that he'd be streaming today with a special guest, and that he had his chef hat ready to go.

As you scrolled through Twitter you could see the timeline freaking out over 'COOKING STREAM' and 'SPECIAL GUEST'. Lots of discussion over who it was.

You couldn't help but feel a bit bad since the fans were probably speculating that he'd met up with his online friends, but in reality it was just you. In that case, you'd try your best to make this a fun stream, and your presence an enjoyable one.

As the time for the stream to start got closer, you helped him set the ingredients you'd be using onto the table, in a way where it was in perfect view for the stream to see and follow along if they wished.

"We're supposed to start in 5." You called out as he slipped his beanie on, fixing the few hair strands that were sticking out a bit too much.

He smiled and made his way over to you, cupping your face and giving you a small kiss. "I'm so excited to do some cooking with you. They're all going to love you."

You couldn't help the warm feeling that spread over your chest at his words. It was like introducing you all over again. He'd recently gained a lot of new followers, and that meant they probably had no idea who you were. Always fun going through that again.

He dealt with some last minute editing and placing, checking all ingredients were there and that everything was set, before hitting the 'Go Live' button.

It didn't take long for the viewers to increase after the tweet notification went out, and the starting soon screen was the only thing really protecting you two from the roaring chat.

Everyone was dying to know what was going on, who the special guest was, and whether this would be yet another scuffed cooking stream.

You stood behind the camera as the starting soon screen finally disappeared and he began greeting the viewers, thanking all the subs coming in, and eventually also giving them a little update on how he'd done on his exams.

You felt so proud as you watched him boast about how his studying had paid off, and how he talked about being the happiest he'd been in a while. He deserved all of it. And chat thought so too.

After some rambling about his test scores and what they'd be cooking today, chat finally became too impatient and asked for a reveal of the special guest.

"Fine. Fine. Since you guys are so fucking impatient." He huffed, watching as chat flew by, telling him to 'get on with it' and to 'TELL US WHO IT IS'. You couldn't help but laugh at the relationship he had with his chat. Always bullying each other but usually knowing when to stop and send love.

"I've actually had them on multiple other streams, not so much recently.. but they've been on my horror streams.. some IRL streams.. and they are really really special to me, chat!" He said with a big smile. Some of chat was confused as to who he was referring to, while older fans began to question if it was YOU. They were very smart.

"Some of the viewers might not know of them, so this is like I'm introducing them to chat all over again! Come over here." He finally directed the last part at you. You couldn't help but feel the sudden spike in anxiety, but chose to ignore it as you smiled back at him and headed into the frame beside him.

With a small wave and a greeting, you watched as chat completely broke. A mess of question marks and your name being spread in chat. You couldn't help but laugh. It was an overwhelmingly positive reaction as Quackity explained to new viewers that you were his partner, and that older fans were already aware of this for a while now.

The amount of 'y/n our beloved' and people asking if quackity's partner was single were abundant in chat, and you couldn't help but feel stupid for thinking the newer viewers would hate you or something.

Having the approval of Quackity's chat also made you feel lighter, it made it easier to let go and just enjoy the cooking stream.

You two began to explain what you'd be cooking to chat, and you made it very clear that he actually had to try and cook this time, to which chat agreed wholeheartedly.

He'd taken a recipe from his mom for one of his favorite meals, one he hadn't had in a while. He explained to chat that he wanted to see how well you and him could recreate it until you two took a trip to visit his family.

"Hopefully we don't disappoint her too much." You mumbled as he placed the chef hat onto your head, fixing it so you looked presentable.

"She can't be because we're actually gonna try." He stated before beginning to explain to chat what the meal was since many of them might not have even heard of it before. As he did that, you began to set aside the ingredients you wouldn't be needing until later.

After everything had been explained, it was time to get cooking. His concentration to try and recreate his mom's recipe was adorable, and chat agreed on that too.

This stream wasn't loud and messy like the others, but it was still enjoyable in its own way. Quackity was radiating such wonderful light and energy, cracking jokes and genuinely enjoying himself. It was all thanks to the stress and worries being lifted off his back. You really enjoyed seeing him like this.

Chat was able to follow along later if they wanted with how organized you guys were being, but the banter he had with you and chat made it entertaining to any casual viewer. He always found a way to make it fun.

Not only that, but chat was able to see a new side of him. The Chef Q side. More often than not, a message would roll in saying they were amazed by how good Quackity actually was at cooking. You could already imagine some of the edits that'd come out of the stream.

His mom had told you two beforehand how long it would normally take to cook this meal, and it was perfect for a usual stream and some extras where you two would actually get to try the food.

There was moments where chat was warning you two that the food would burn or that he'd accidentally set the kitchen on fire, but overall you were enjoying yourself so much.

And chat was enjoying your presence too!

By the time you two managed to finish the meal, you both plopped down onto the chairs he'd set for the supposed 'breaks'.

He had some of the sauce on his cheek and his apron, but still managed to look good. He'd also smeared sauce onto your cheek, and at this point some strands were sticking out of your hat in such a messy way since the last few minutes had been rather hectic, food almost burning and all.

"Chat. We did it." He called out before cheering loudly and clapping his hands, to which you swiftly followed along, chat beginning to cheer as well.

"I think its only right that we try what we made, don't you think?" You ask, to which chat quickly types YES in all caps, wanting to see the finished product and also find out if it even tastes good.

Quackity let out a chuckle as he smiled over at you. "Not gonna lie, I'm a little nervous. We haven't even seen it so it might just be black. Burnt to a crisp. Or what if it tastes like shit? Y/N i don't know what I'm going to do if the food tastes like shit. Thats what we're supposed to eat on our date." He whined a bit.

You shook your head, "It'll be great. And if not, we can just order takeout. It'll be fine big q." You smiled reassuringly. Chat became a frenzy of calling him cute for the state he was in, declaring their love for how supportive and kind you were, and melting over your relationship.

Before you knew it, you were both revealing the meal to chat, and pleasantly surprised by the results. The presentation of the meal itself looked really good. It looked like what you'd expect from such a plate. Quackity had even gone as far as saying it looked similar to how his mom made it.

You gasped, smiling in surprise at him. "Really? Did we really do that good of a job." His face turned into one of regret, and a long segment of silence engulfed you two before he nodded hesitantly. You both broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Okay okay, seriously. Chat's waiting for you to try it." You placed a fork in front of him, earning a loud scoff from him.

"They want to see you try it as well." He mirrored your actions and you gladly took the fork.

"Alright. First bite. Let's see if all our hard work paid off! Chat, are you ready?" You grinned and watched as the 'YES's started rolling in, some viewers telling you both to get the fuck on with it, and others gushing about how the food actually looked good. You could only hope.

You watched as he began to dig in, mouth full and chewing slowly, truly trying to savor the first bite. You did the same, and the stream was silent for the first time in a while. Chat was in suspense as well, question marks and incoherent rambling rolling through the chat.

"Chat..." he finally spoke after swallowing his bite. "Chat. It's." He paused before showing a small smile. "It's not bad at all. I like it. It's good."

You nodded your head in agreement, "It's nowhere near as good as the ones your mom makes.. but I think you and I make a pretty good team."

"I think so too. And not just for cooking." He grinned, earning himself a playful eye roll and shy smile from you.

The stream proceeded to you two feeding each other bites of the meal, asking each other if it was good, and just enjoying yourselves for a bit longer before Quackity deemed it was time to end.

"Chat !! Thank you so much for tuning in and watching this.. actually coordinated cooking stream. I had so much fun and well, I ate yummy food. I'm happy." He laughed, thanking a few more gifters before doing his signature Bye, and ending stream.

He hurried over to your side, pulling you into a hug. "Thank you so much. I truly had fun. And they definitely loved you, but not nearly as much as I do."

You chuckled at his words, giving him a small kiss before cupping his face. "I had a lot of fun too. Thank you for always being so nice to me." You paused, observing how cute he looked with his chef hat still on. "I think I like Chef Alex." You reached over and fixed his hat a bit.

"Yeah? Should I keep it on?" He teased, coming a bit closer. You couldn't help the warmth that spread over your cheeks at how blunt he was.

"Yes, but you need to help me clean this up. Maybe after we finish the food, hm? C'mon. Don't think I forgot our deal."

He whined, already feeling too lazy, but he quickly followed after you as you two sat down to actually eat. Still wearing the silly attire he'd bought for the stream, far too unbothered to change just yet.

Through a mouthful he asked, "Cuddles and a nap after we're done?"

You smiled and nodded, to which he gave a silent cheer. That was enough motivation to get you both up and cleaning after finishing the meal.

—

Wrapped in each other's arms again. He couldn't seem to get enough of it. You were once again scrolling through Twitter, this time scrolling through his indirects, wanting to see what people were saying about the stream.

He'd ask you to stop to read certain ones he found funny, and even 'aww'd at the ones he found cute, mainly those talking about how cute you two looked.

Surely enough, there was already edits using the clips of him cooking, and you'd openly admitted to him that he looked "so fucking good." To which he responded by cuddling closer, if even humanly possible.

Quackity found the numerous clips of you two feeding each other to be the best part of the tweets. You two rewatched, saved, liked as many as you could before he became tired.

And with that, he was pulling you close, and leaving small kisses anywhere he could on your face. Eventually, his chest slowly rose and fell as he entered a deep slumber. You smiled, glad to see he was finally getting the rest he deserved.

"Goodnight, Alex." You whispered, leaving a small kiss on his cheek before closing your eyes as well.

#alex quackity #quackity #quackity x you #quackity x reader #quackity x y/n #gender neutral reader #quackity brainrot #quackity scenario #streamer #quackity headcannons #quackity imagines #chef quackity #cooking stream #quackity fluff #quackity my beloved #revealing lovers #leave some requests !!! I am accepting requests #look at me posting a few days apart wooo #quackity <3

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bakatenshii · 4 years ago

Text

Flushed

Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could.

flushed

/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it.

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding.

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted.

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you.

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun.

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal.

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy.

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you.

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour.

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care.

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time.

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite.

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy.

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart.

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use.

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time.

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean.

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart.

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream.

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction.

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself.

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted.

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become.

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective.

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up.

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight.

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close.

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue.

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it.

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh.

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint.

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently.

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go.

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high.

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em.

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you.

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.”

“Want a taste?”

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care.

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air.

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners.

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more.

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate.

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him.

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways.

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole.

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name.

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God?

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed.

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed.

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in.

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?”

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out—

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection.

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together.

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him.

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose.

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl.

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies.

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first?

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red.

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm.

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char.

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you.

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there.

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore, can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it?

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart.

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth?

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?”

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really.

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda.

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best.

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him.

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy.

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.

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natromanxoff · 2 years ago

Text

Queen + Paul Rodgers live at the Estadio Velez Sarsfield in Buenos Aires, Argentina - November 21, 2008

Photos supplied by: Francisco Tarantino

Roger lost one stick during the drum solo (just like in Birmingham) and for a while he had to drum with just one stick before he managed to pick the drumstick up from the floor. Brian began his guitar solo once again with some Keep Yourself Alive riffs.

Fan Stories

“On 20.11., Queen were supposed to arrive here arround 19:00, they would stay in Four Seasons Hotel, but before going there they'd do a press conference in the Hyatt Hotel. Well, finally, at that time, they arrived in 4 vans, one with each principal member and then the 3 extra musicians in a 4th van. They entered the hotel and the press conference started. It was like 1hr long so we went to the Four Seasons hotel and stayed inside to catch them. At 21:30 they haven't arrived yet, so I decided to go alone to the Hyatt Hotel again to see what's going on because it was impossible to get in. It was 2 blocks away so I started walking to the hotel and when I saw the main door, it was without any security guards, so I went in. I started walking around and there were some security dudes, I wasn't scared because it's usual for me to be in places were I'm not allowed to be, haha. So I went into the bar and asked the waitress for a coffee. While I was waiting there, I saw their manager going through another floor of the bar (sorry I didn't explain that, the bar was in a giant garden, with 3 terraces, he was in the 2nd terrace), he came through the stairs and I talked to him and he said that he didn't have time to talk, so I keep drinking the coffee. I went to the bathroom after that, and I saw him coming to me like for talking and he said "No, no, no", I was like "WTF? I'm just going to the bathroom" and I look behind his back and there was the glorious Roger Taylor, I greeted him and he shook my hand. I was so happy though, after that, I went to the bathroom, and one more time, to the 3rd terrace. I was drinking water now, and I saw a girl with curly hair coming out from the door and behind her was the biggest, the best, the magnificent Brian May. I stood up, shook his hand, said "Thanks for returning, shall we take a picture, Brian?" and he said that it was a private place, so I couldn't. I started crying in front of him, just because of the emotion of that moment, he hugged me and said that he was sorry... I just simply told him "I love you man", he told me Thanks, bye and he was gone. I finished the water, greeted all of them (Paul Rodgers, Brian, Roger, Spike, Danny and Jamie) and went outside the hotel... There were 160 fans more or less, and I was the luckiest one, the 1st one to meet them, I was so proud of myself, the first time in my short life, lol. 21.11. D-day, the concert was at 21:30, and I had to go to the stadium really early cause there would be a giant row of people for going into the show but I also had to go to school because I had a final test, so I went to the School, passed the exam and after that went to the Velez Sarfield Stadium. There were only 60 persons waiting in my door, I had VIP tickets for standing place. They were the best tickets, you could go to the front of the stage if you arrived early, so I did that and i went to the front row (see the pic of the journal). At 22:00 the show started,with Cosmos Rockin' Intro. They played great hits like Crazy Little Thing Called Love, I Want To Break Free, The Show Must Go On, Love Of My Life and more. I also got the Brian's May coin, it was the one which he played the whole night with. I cried the whole show, it was so emotive for me to watch my first Queen concert after 17th anniversary of Freddie's death and 27th years after the 1st show in Argentina. The audience was around 47.000 people, I was in the front row, I was hurt after it. I arrived to my home on 22/11 at 06:00 AM.

22.11. - meeting day. I went to the hotel and I met Roger Taylor in a park nearby, I took a picture with him and he also autographed me some vinyl discs. After that I returned to the hotel and waited for the others, and a van driver told me that they would go to a restaurant near the Riverside so I asked him about the name and we assisted there. We saw the whole band going into it but we couldn't go also because it was a private party, so we were about to wait till they went out. At 23:00 PM I decided to go back home. Around 03:30 AM I received a message from my friend saying that the band spent $6000 for food and drinks and they went out and took pics and gave autographs, I was so furious because I didn't wait... 23.11. - another waiting outside. I was arriving to the hotel and my friend called me telling that Brian was outside the hotel so I took a cab and I went as fast as I could where he told me. I saw him and he signed my vinyl. A few hours after that we saw Danny Miranda, Spike Edney and Jamie Moses outside the hotel when I was going to my house and we went together to the bus stop.” - Julian Speranza Balboa

(x)

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #brian may #paul rodgers #queen concerts #queen + paul rodgers concerts

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imagine-this-fandom · 3 years ago

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The Rescue: BNHA x Fem! Reader- Red Pitbull

the rescue intro: here

Inko led you through the store, only pausing to put Izuku back into his habitat. You followed her through the aisles of the shop, hearing the barking from the next room growing louder as you neared the door.

Inside was a wide variety of dogs. The shop was deceptively big considering its unassuming exterior. The Large room was a playroom of sorts. Almost a greeting room so people could meet the dogs in a fun and comfortable environment.

Your eyes tracked the movements of the dogs closest to you, searching for your potential new friend. There was a wide variety of dogs from young to old. Each had their own fun personality and you mused that you'd be happy taking any one of the furballs home. That is... Until you saw Enji.

You had never really been afraid of dogs, but this one... He was intimidating.

Pitbulls never really intimidated you. There were too many good ones out there for their reputation to bother you. This one however was scary looking. You didn't want to judge him right away, but he was every scary pitbull stereotype rolled into one. Rusty red fur covered the dog in patterns reminiscent of flames. White patches reinforced the flame look, snaking up his chest and up his paws like little fire boots. What caught your eyes the most was his eyes. Teal was not a color you had ever seen on a dog before, and on him, they were piercing, like the hottest center of a flame. There was an intelligence there that made you wary. Smart dogs were a handful and from the way he was looking at you and Inko, it seemed he had already made up his mind on you. His expression was pinched into as close to a scowl as his facial patterns would allow, white splotches on the ridges of his head forming eyebrows that gave the illusion of a glare.

You hoped against it, but as soon as you saw him, you knew he was the animal for you. Inko's leading grip on your wrist confirmed your suspicion, only loosening once you both stood before the muscular dog.

"(y/n), It's my pleasure to introduce you to Enji. Enji, this is (y/n). She's agreed to talk care of one of our residents here."

You watched the exchange, noting how his eyes fixed on her, his scowl deepening as she spoke. You couldn't help the giggle that slipped free, his expression was just so serious for a dog!

He whipped his head around to look at you, that ridiculous scowl still in place. He was trying his best to look intimidating and powerful, but the effect was ruined by the fact that he wasn't human. Had he been as he was before the quirk cursed him, Enji Todoroki would have been a fierce sight to behold. But now he simply looked like a pouting child throwing a tantrum, the scowl not translating right over the switch of species. His usual cold and intimidating demeanor were overshadowed by the fact that he was now just a little under two feet tall.

He watched you try to stifle your laughter, your form shaking with the effort as his expression got more and more exasperated. This was who he was expected to put up with for the rest of his time in this form? As the former number two hero, he was less than impressed. He gave a disgruntled bark, looking at Inko to ask if she was serious, but the look she gave him halted him in his tracks.

Endeavor had dealt with many villains over his hero career, but few held the kind of authority as a mother figure. She radiated sternness and he quickly understood that in this case, her word was law. She left the decision in your hands rather than his paws.

When he looked back at you, you had composed yourself again, a wide grin in the place of the wary expression you had carried upon seeing him for the first time.

"You really believe he's the one for me, Inko?" You tilted your head, examing the rather put-out-looking dog, surprising yourself with the hope that Inko would say yes. Sure he was intimidating, but that silly scowl made you smile. And pit bulls were hard to place, so it was a toss-up if he would ever get a chance like this again. You resonated with that more than you'd like to admit. Maybe it was your savior complex, but if you could help him, you wanted to. He deserved a chance.

The little fluttering hope in your chest flared happily when Inko nodded.

"I think you two will be good for each other. I trust you with him and think it's for the best."

with these words from Inko, Enji's scowl fell with a resigned huff. This would be a definite change, one he wasn't likely to enjoy. However, you were excited, and perhaps he could work with that.

You smiled softly and reached down to ruffle his ears. He was surprised by the touch but more so by the fact that it was a pleasant sensation. He quickly pulled out of your grip to grumpily sit with his back to you. He wasn't going to let you win him over so easily. He was originally the number two hero after all! His resolve was stronger than that, surely, he thought to himself.

He watched you move away to help Inko gather supplies, eyes following your every movement. You had seemed frightened at first, so he couldn't wrap his head around why you had accepted Inko's proposal. You were baffling to him, and he was determined to untangle the puzzle that was you.

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

Enji was confusing. He was so grumpy and far too much of a snob for a dog. You figured he was a rescue at this point. He refused to eat regular dog food, refused to sleep anywhere but a proper bed, and was intent on getting his way at all times. It was exhausting. There was a point when you almost returned him the first week, but it was also the point where you realized you didn't want him to go.

You had been walking him when a criminal attack happened just across the street. You watched in mute horror as a villain used their quirk to ransack a storefront, likely after the money in the register. You quickly turned your back on the sound of breaking glass only after affirming that someone was calling authorities. This was no place for a civilian to interfere. Enji, did not think the same way. He was tugging ferociously against the walking harness.

"Enji! We need to go, stop this!"

You tried to reign him in, but he just pulled all the harder, the woven material of the leash digging into your hands as your white knuckle grip was tested against the dog. It was a miracle he didn't pull you off your feet.

You fought against his weight to pull him away from the scene all while he barked and fought against you. Finally, you were able to pull him around a corner and away from the violence. Enji was not pleased to say the least.

How dare she, he thought, glaring at you, with as much anger as he could muster. Who were you to keep him from hero work? He growled lowly in his throat at you. He knew that if he were in his human form, his flames would be flickering dangerously.

"Now you stop that right now. We are going home, Enji. Now." You glared back, annoyed and if you were honest, a bit shaken by the event.

He turned around as if to go back, but was stopped by a sharp tug on the lead.

"No, bad dog. Heel. We are going home. You need to listen to me."

You pressed your lips into a firm line, doing your best to be as authoritative as you could, hoping he would see this as a fight not worth having. Oh, how wrong you were. With each insistent tug on the leash, he grew more irritated. It all culminated in one moment where his temper got the best of him. He wasn't used to being ordered around and he lashed out in the only way he could in this form. He bit your hand, aiming to get you to drop the leash so he could go without you.

You yelped sharply in pain, pulling the limb to your chest protectively, the leash forgotten on the ground. Your eyes held him in place, eyes watery with unshed tears as you looked at him in hurt disbelief. He hadn't bitten hard enough to break skin, but that did not mean you were unscathed. Angry red welts were beginning to form where his teeth had dug and scraped.

Enji felt guilt forming in the pit of his stomach, something he was not used to. The look of betrayal you were giving him made him feel off-kilter. However, he wasn't going to dwell on it

You bit your lip to keep the tears at bay before grabbing the leash off the ground with your good hand, keeping your eyes on him the whole time, watching for any sign he would attack again. Your movements were slow, cautious, and untrusting. backing up, you held the leash so the most distance was between you.

"Enji, we are going home. Now." You tried to keep your voice stern, but you winced as you heard the small warble to it from pain. He locked his limbs as the leash went taut once more. Before you could react, he grabbed the leash in his teeth and yanked it out of your hands, and raced back towards the action.

You stumbled after him, his name dying on your tongue as he stopped right in front of the villain, powerful jaws locking around the criminal's leg. It's like the scene was in slow motion for you as Enji faced the villain alone.

He dug his teeth in, determined to defeat the criminal despite his lack of quirk or usual form. His arrogance knew no bounds, but as far as he was concerned, he was just doing his job. Oh, how out of his depth he was.

The villain in question was named deathstalker. Upon one glance it would be easy to guess his quirk. Extending from his back, a tan appendage loomed above him, curled to a dangerous spike. Venom tipped and massive, the scorpion tail was a sight to behold. And right now... it was poised to strike at your dog.

Before you even knew what you were doing, your feet were tearing across the pavement. Your lungs burned with each panicked breath you sucked in, watching as the villain flung Enji away with an angry roar. You changed course to intercept him, flinging yourself over the dazed mutt just as the point of the tail struck, stabbing into your shoulder with a sickening speed.

Deathstalker had the nerve to laugh then, watching as you skidded sideways on the street, shoulder bloody and arms scrapped from your landing, but dog safely clutched to your chest.

"What are you, some kind of idiot?"

Stalking forward, he nudged your shoulder with his foot, eliciting a cry of pain as your shoulder burned.

"Hope you're proud darling, you just died for an exceptionally stupid dog."

He sneered, watching as Enji tried to wiggle free and get at him.

"Looks like he still has a death wish. What do you say, dear, shall I end his life too so he can join his dear old master? After all, he seemed pretty determined in the first place. All you did was buy him time to watch you suffer too."

He smirked and crouched next to you, his golden irises standing out against black sclera as they scanned the wound on your shoulder and shredded sleeves.

"You know sweetheart, he was going to die anyway. The stupid mutt bit me. And here I was having such a good day."

You fought the dizziness as the venom worked its way through your body, the wound radiating uncomfortable heat. You managed to look him right in those unnerving eyes, making eye contact before you took a deep breath. He might have been preparing for you to beg or plead for your life, ask for some reassurance that you weren't going to die. Instead, you inhaled before spitting in his face, eyes narrowed in anger.

Before the Deathstalker could respond, he was suspended in a forcefield as heroes dropped onto the scene. He beat angrily against his new prison as the heroes gathered around and began helping civilians.

You finally released your death grip on Enji, all the adrenaline draining out of you as the villain was moved away. You closed your eyes, not having the energy to do much but lay there.

Enji was instantly in your face as soon as he was free, examining you as best he could as he swore under his breath. All you heard was grumbling and growling from him as you lazily offered him your hand.

"I'm okay, boy. It's okay now..." Your head was fuzzy, but you weren't too concerned about that.

Enji growled at your words, knowing that Deathstalker would not have lied about the deadliness of his quirk. You needed medical attention now! He pressed himself against your side and barked, alerting the heroes to your position. He was furious, both with you and with himself, but mostly at the villain. But the anger boiling up would have to wait. He growled lowly as one of the heroes tried to shoo him away, determined to stay by your side as you were tended to. He had already failed once today, he wanted to be sure you were cared for now. Each moment you weren't seen to was one more moment that you were in danger. A danger that you had been in because of him.

You were put on a stretcher and loaded into an ambulance, Enji right by your side. He didn't usually stay with civilians after a fight, but with you, he didn't want to let you out of his sight. You were a stupid girl, charging in after him. But you had saved his life. And that rattled him.

~~~~~

You groaned as you awoke, hands going to scrub at your eyes after you were blinded by the white of the hospital room. As you sat and got your bearings, the events of before rushed back to you. The villain, your shoulder, and...

"Enji!"

Your eyes widened and you frantically tried to get out of bed, the heart rate monitor going wild behind you. Luckily, a bark stopped you in your tracks. Enji had been resting to the side of your bed, not having left your side if he could help it.

Upon seeing your concern, he jumped up against the bed, front paws resting on the mattress as he scanned you to see if you were truly recovered.

Once you saw the familiar red furry head, you relaxed, a wide smile spreading across your face.

"Hey buddy, you doing okay?"

He snorted. This was coming from the girl in the hospital bed? He was fine. A little bruised from the landing, but no worse for the wear.

"You're alright? Good. Never do that again. I have half a mind to take you back to Inko for that stunt." You frowned at him for a moment before your face softened into fondness. You reached out and cupped the side of his face, thumb gently stroking the side of his head.

"You really scared me, you know? I was so worried I'd lose you."

He let himself lean into your touch, telling himself it was for your comfort, and not because he enjoyed the sensation. He watched your expression carefully, surprised by the concern and relief he found there. You truly did not regret throwing yourself into danger for him. For getting hurt for him.

"That was a stupid thing for you to do too," he said, the voice escaping him a soft bark and whine instead of the words he wished to convey.

"I'm okay Enji, really," You smiled and leaned forward, placing a kiss on his head. "My quirk protected me for the most part. Someone else's quirk can't kill me."

He tilted his head to the side, confused by your statement. The injury had seemed pretty serious to him.

"My quirk neutralizes anything deadly that comes in contact with me. Sharp objects? Those can hurt me. But the venom probably became relatively harmless after he got me. It made me dizzy and uncomfortable, but it wouldn't kill me." You sighed, scrunching your face in displeasure when you remembered the side effects of the venom.

"I'm just glad I was able to keep you safe until heroes got there."

You leaned forward and whispered to him in a conspiratorial voice.

"Ready to get out of here? Because there's no way I'm gonna stick around while doctors lecture me about being careless and compliment my stupid quirk."

You grinned as you pulled back and carefully climbed out of bed, ensuring that you weren't pulling on your IV before petting his head and leading him for the door.

~~~~

It had been a few days since the incident, and Enji was starting to worry you. He was originally very pushy and confident. Determined to get his way. Now though, he was quiet and contemplative around you, no longer pushing for his way all the time. You'd never entertained the thought before, but now desperate times called for desperate measures. You were having an intervention for your dog.

That day, you got home from work, the usual tiredness pushed away by determination. Enji could see the difference and was decidedly curious. What had gotten you so worked up? It can't have been any villains as you seemed no worse for the wear. He mused that perhaps you were finally going to get another job. The one you were working at was clearly taking advantage of your good nature and hard-working spirit. Or perhaps the neighbor had finally asked you out. He snorted at the thought, amused but also a bit annoyed. His thoughts were cut short when you dropped into a sitting position right in front of him.

"Enji, you're a smart boy. I want you to listen to me."

You focused on him intently, watching as he squared his shoulders and focused on you, face all hard lines and serious fire in his eyes.

"You've been different. Ever since the villain attack, you've been treating me like glass. You're quiet, accommodating. It's weird. "

You frowned slightly.

"I want my old Enji back. You were a pain, but you were my pain. You were arrogant, sure of yourself. "

He eyed you carefully, admitting to himself that he had grown cautious around you since the attack. He knew that quirks couldn't cause lasting damage, but he wasn't going to throw your sacrifice back in your face. He respected you now. Still, you were asking for friendship, not reverence.

He was used to power being the only way to get things. Yet here you were asking for something else from him. You didn't want him to submit to you, but rather be himself as your companion. A confusing proposition, but... not one he was opposed to. He had already seen how selfless and strong you were. Perhaps he could enjoy learning more about you without the formalities he was used to.

"Hey, space cadet. Did you hear me?" You narrowed your eyes at Enji as he focused back from his thoughts. "Man, what am I doing?" You rubbed your eyes with the heels of your palms, "I must be crazy at this point."

You brought the appendages down as you heard an amused huff escape from Enji.

"Are you laughing at me now?"

You could have sworn he smirked as he barked an affirmative.

"is that so, furball?" You grinned and lunged forward, raking your fingers through his fur.

The sensation startled him and he jumped away. Oh, so that's how you wanted to play... He could oblige.

Your eyes widened as he turned back and came at you. You quickly curled up to protect yourself, squeaking as his cold nose came in contact with your side. He growled playfully and pawed at you, trying to get past your defenses.

You giggled, squirming as you tried to evade him.

"Wait, stop!"

He grinned. "You started this! Don't make this easy for me now."

You launched a sneak attack, curling your body around his head, laughing as you wrestled him to the ground and attacked him with tickles.

"I got ya! I Win!"

He managed to wriggle free eventually and lay beside you, panting, but content.

"Fine, fine, you win. Little ember. And I'll remember your words. No need to treat you carefully from now on." He rested his head on his paws as you lay beside him, face flushed from laughter as you caught your breath.

Who knew Enji had a playful side to him. Perhaps Inko had been right. You were good for each other.

Now you had your pushy bad-tempered pit bull back, and you were going to enjoy it.

~~~~

Enji proved to be a bit of a jerk, but you had softened him up. He Was constantly pushing your buttons. He was in your space constantly, making sure you knew his opinions on everything. But you fought back. He knew better than to mess with you and knew you wouldn't take his bad behavior. You were determined not to let his bad behavior continue. You simply left the room if he lost his temper, and you didn't tolerate resorting to violence. He learned quickly if he wanted to get anywhere with you, he had to be calm.

He began to look forward to your company, the bickering one-sided on your end, but for him, it was exciting. You refused to back down from him and he realized he wouldn't have it any other way. Still, he did enjoy antagonizing you.

"Enji, move your fluffy butt! I have to go to work!" You struggled uselessly against him as he pinned you to the couch with his bulk. His response to your plea was to grumble and relax even further.

"You big galoot, I have to go make money, or would you rather I not feed you?" He huffed and stretched before leisurely climbing off the couch. You rolled your eyes and ruffled his ears and hopped up, brushing red fur off your uniform.

Despite the playful threat, the money issue was worrying you. Enji was a big dog, and you only wanted the best for him. That meant that he had plenty of toys, good quality food, and all the love and affection you could spare. However, money was starting to run tight. You had started to work extra hours as the weather started to get colder.

You bid Enji farewell and left for work, determined to keep up the cheerful appearance.

Enji was left to his own devices while you left. Something he was growing less and less content with. It was fun messing with you, and you didn't take any of his stubbornness. He patrolled the house, working through a training regimen he had perfected for this form. He missed his human form, but being with you made it easier. He was far too intimidating as a human. As a dog, you joked with him, teased him, coddled him, and weren't afraid to let him know when he messed up. He still cringed to think of those first weeks where he had acted like he was still the number two hero. A hero doesn't hurt innocent people, as you had shown him.

He paused by the window, noting the snowflakes coming down from the sky. It was times like these, he remembered Rei. He had been focused on the power he could gain from a union with her when he had married her. She had given him twins, but he knew that she would have moved on by now. He didn't blame her in the slightest. Still, he knew that if he ever came back to her, he'd be a different man. But he knew that he couldn't love her, not truly. The marriage was one of greed, and she would always resent him for that, and he wouldn't be able to blame her. Still, he regretted not being able to offer her his apologies in person.

Watching the snowflakes, he remembered with sharp discomfort that he had been in this form for almost a year now. How the media explained his absence was a mystery and he had tried not to focus on what he had lost. He shook himself out of his thoughts and continued his routine, making sure the apartment was in order before taking the latch of the window with his teeth and pulling it open.

He eased out the window with practiced ease and began a patrol of the area. While he admitted he couldn't be much help in this form, he still couldn't completely give up his hero work. Keeping the apartment complex safe wasn't much, but he had someone to protect here. He had memorized your schedule and noticed that you had been getting out later, so he knew he'd be able to make another circuit before he returned to greet you for the evening.

He stayed out for a couple of hours but was forced to return early as the weather worsened. The gently floating snowflakes from earlier had turned into a whirling blizzard, the icy wind biting into his small form as he made his way home. Pulling the window closed behind him, he was glad for the minimal warmth the apartment offered. One of the things he noticed in this form was the absence of heat his quirk had provided him. He quickly began to regret his foray into the winter weather as his paws ached with cold from the ice-packed into them from his dash home in the inclement weather. He closed the window as best as he could, frowning to himself as it didn't shut properly. Unfortunately, without thumbs, he couldn't fix it, so he resorted to huddling into your blankets, buried under sheets and your stupid allmight themed comforter. One that he had conveniently chewed the face off of.

In his blanket fortress, he found himself dozing, surrounded by the scent of your body wash and detergent. It was a comforting scent and he quickly fell asleep, unaware of whistling wind pushing the window open where the latch had failed to close when he returned.

~~~

Enji dreamed of being human again. He flexed his fingers experimentally, testing the sensation, one he hadn't felt in a long time. He examined his surroundings carefully, the change in perspective disorienting. It was your apartment, but it looked older, the carpet worn and more decorations faded. He picked up one of the dog toys on the floor, marveling at the difference from just earlier that day when you had encouraged him to play with it. Had that been today? It felt like a lifetime away, as dreams never do seem to keep the passage of time constant.

He set the toy down at the sound of the door, eyes widening as they caught on your form. You were shorter than him now. Considering he was 6'4" in this form, it shouldn't have surprised him. But still, it was strange looking down on you. You rolled your eyes with a playful smile and started to put your things away.

"Enji, darling, close your mouth. You'll catch flies like that." He could hear the laughter in your voice as you teased him. Darling? He hadn't heard you use that word for him before. He found he liked the way it sounded from you. Especially if it was reserved for him.

He cleared his throat and stepped forward, helping you remove your coat. His heart caught in his throat when you looked back at him with fondness. He was usually so sure of himself. But this change was strange and he found himself flustered.

"You're so quiet today, hothead." You raised an eyebrow and placed your hands on your hips eyeing him as if he was a puzzle you had most of the pieces of but were having trouble placing the last ones.

"What's wrong? Did you break something while I was out?" You gasped and pointed a finger at him accusingly. "Did you try to get rid of my Allmight stuff again? I swear Enji, I will kill you if you did."

This was too strange to be real, he told himself, watching you silently as you began muttering to yourself and throwing him confused looks. This scenario was too good to be true. He knew this deep down, but he desperately wanted it to be real. He knew he had begun to grow feelings for you, but to have them returned like this felt too alien. He instinctively knew that something was off, but he wanted to pretend, just for a little longer.

He caught your hand mid gesture and placed a gentle kiss to your fingers, a small smirk forming at your flustered silence.

"Quiet yourself little ember. I haven't done anything to your stupid merchandise."

You huffed and pulled your hand from his grip, cheeks red.

"Well then why were you so quiet, dummy?"

He tilted his head lightly, a smile forming on his lips as he stared at you, enjoying the way you refused to meet his eyes a slight pout turning your lips down.

"I missed you," he murmured, gently tilting your chin up so you were looking at him once more.

You melted against him, leaning into his touch, gently holding pressing his hand against your face with your own. He noticed with a start that your hands were cold against his. Your face too. He frowned as you shivered against his palm, eyes opening to reveal crystals forming on your lashes. The color began to drain from your face, lips going blue as you stepped away from him.

He reached towards you, but your skin stung like frost burn against his touch. He desperately tried to pull you close to him, to heat you with his quirk, but he was no longer warm himself. Your skin grew silver and icy as you tried to push him away. His vocal cords were frozen, a cold lump in his throat that refused to form your name. He was forced to watch in terror as you went see-through, body made of ice. And then you crumbled beneath his touch, ice forming cracks, and your eyes met his one last time before you shattered into glittering crystalline ice shards before him.

He woke with a start, paws flailing in panic as he was roused by a loud noise. But it wasn't ice cracking he heard, but the front door striking the wall. slipping out from the blankets, he made his way through the thin powder of snow on the floor from the open window, hurrying to the living room to meet you and make sure you were okay.

The sight that met his eyes was straight out of his dream turned nightmare. You were shivering with cold, clothes clinging to you with ice forming at the folds. Your eyelashes were dusted with snowflakes, and your face was flushed with cold.

Enji whimpered, rushing forward to examine you. You gently shooed him away, not having the energy to be more strict. The freak blizzard struck on your way home from work. As you journeyed through the snow, you had tripped. You had attempted to steady yourself against a tree, but that only caused an avalanche of the cold snow to our down on you from above, soaking you thoroughly. You had hoped to warm up when you came home, but it was just as cold inside as it was outside. The window Enji had failed to close causing the winter chill to follow you inside.

You cursed and desperately removed your soaked jacket, hanging it up before stumbling to the bathroom. A strangled sound of dispair escaped your lips as the faucets failed to work. It seems the pipes had frozen. To top it all off, the lightbulbs flicked before plunging the room into darkness. The power had been knocked out. You were out of options to warm up. You staggered out of the dark room and worked to close the window. Enji trailed behind you, his fear growing as began to look more and more like the icy girl within his dream.

Peeling your wet clothes from your body was a difficult task while you were shaking. While you struggled with the buttons, Enji rushed to your dresser, dragging out the warmest clothes he could find. He left them by your side before sitting against your legs, offering as much warmth as he could with his body, as there wasn't much else he could do. He could hear your teeth chattering now, the sharp sound deafening to him. You changed as quickly as your cold temperature allowed and crawled into your blankets.

"Enji! Up." You patted the bed urgently, holding the blanket up for him to join you.

He curled up against your side, resting his head against your chest, hoping to provide heat to your vital organs. He whimpered against your cold skin, eyes searching your face with concern. This wasn't good. He hadn't been able to save you in his nightmare, and now he was worried he was going to lose you in real life as well.

You closed your eyes and shushed him, holding him close.

"It'll be okay Enji. Just try to conserve your energy. We'll be okay."

You reassured him, but you weren't so certain. With no heating, freezing temperatures, and an already chilled body, you weren't too sure what would happen next. Still, you had Enji and that meant that you'd give him everything you could. What little body heat you had was his.

You tried to fight off sleep, knowing that you weren't supposed to rest when you were freezing. Or was that with concussions? You didn't remember. You were tired, your body shaking with cold. Enji's whimpers were a near-constant sound now. His distress worried you, but you couldn't do more than try to keep him warm at this point.

You were hovering on the edge of sleep when it happened. A quiet pop sound came from nearby and you were vaguely aware of heat beginning to surround you. The blankets were removed and a heavy weight settled around your waist, warming you with an almost uncomfortable heat. You settled into it, wondering if you were reaching hypothermia. They said that once you got really bad, your mind started tricking you into believing you were hot while you froze. Oh well, so long as Enji was warm too.

Enji Cradled you close to his chest. He hadn't been prepared for the switch from dog to human, but he was beyond grateful for it. He had quickly moved you from the bed so as not to set fire to the covers as he activated his quirk. He cradled you against his chest, tucking your head against his neck, resting his chin on the top of your head as he let his quirk dance across his body at a low level.

"Hold on, little ember, you're going to be okay. Just hold on." Enji stroked his thumb against your arm, holding you close as he carefully upped the temperature slowly. He stayed awake well into the night monitoring your condition. He mentally thanked UA for their first aid and rescue classes, knowing that without them, he might have hurt you more than help.

He gently cared for you well into the night, too concerned about you to enjoy the feeling of you in his arms.

~~~~

You woke to a beam of sunlight cascading from your bedroom window. You didn't open your eyes though, you were too comfortable. You felt warm and content. However, the gentle rise and fall of your bed was enough to stir confusion in your sleep-addled mind.

You blearily opened your eyes, the last remnants of sleep blurring your vision. You stared up at red fur before your brain made the correction for you. That wasn't fur. It was hair. A red beard in fact.

Adrenaline shot through your system. You weren't in bed. You were in the arms of a stranger. A very attractive built stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

You kept your eyes on his face as you carefully tried to work yourself free, prying his fingers from your hip. You watched for any sign of wakefulness. You were almost free when you slipped up. His grip tightened as he began to rouse, eyes slowly opening to reveal the most striking shade of turquoise you'd ever seen.

Enji looked down at you through tired eyes, pleased to see that your color had returned in the night. However, the deer in the headlights look you wore didn't suit you.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked, voice rough with sleep.

You shuddered as you felt the deep sound against you.

"I feel alright, albeit confused," You spoke slowly and cautiously, eyeing the handsome stranger with apprehension.

"Who are you? Where's Enji? He wouldn't have let you in here."

Enji looked up in thought, considering his response carefully.

"Enji is not far at all, ember. He's safe. I want to assure you that you're safe too."

You couldn't help the incredulous noise that escaped you at that.

"I'm sorry, but this doesn't seem like a situation I would deem 'safe'." You mumbled.

He just smiled and shook his head in response. If he wasn't already holding you, you were concerned your knees would have given out at that smile.

"I'm here because of a quirk malfunction. One that turned me and my team into animals upon contact." He looked at you firmly, fixing you into place with his gaze, offering no chance for interruptions.

"My name is Enji Todoroki, hero name: Endeavor. And I was turned into a pit bull that was entrusted to a frankly obnoxious but kind woman. I shared her home and was quite the jerk if I'm being honest. And then, the woman saved my life after I foolishly went after a villain. She shielded me from what would have been a death blow." He looked ahead, not wanting to see her reaction to his explanation.

"She has my respect, and.... should she accept it, my heart."

He waited in silence for a few moments more before looking back at you. You blinked in shocked silence as you worked to process the information. When he opened his mouth to say more, you firmly held a finger to his lips as you worked through your thoughts.

Finally, you looked back at him and narrowed your eyes, removing your finger.

"Prove it. Prove that you're my Enji and not some creep with an insane story?"

His stomach fluttered when you referred to him as 'your' Enji. But he needed to focus.

"Well..." He shifted his hold, rubbing circles on your hip as he thought. "I bit you right before the scorpion villain fight. It was a mistake on my part, and I've wanted to apologize ever since. When you woke up in the hospital, you told me about your quirk. When you get upset, you brew your favorite hot drink and watch your favorite show, knees tucked underneath yourself on the couch. Sometimes you let me join you, leaning against your side. You always laughed when I grumbled at something the characters did, saying I was too much of a critic."

You stopped his babbling once more with a finger to the lips. He leaned forward and kissed the finger, watching as a blush spread across your face.

"So... you are telling the truth." You pulled the hand back to your chest, shoulders relaxed from their tensed state. You relaxed back against his chest before quickly leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"Thank you Enji, for saving me. I would have frozen." You watched as a self-satisfied smile spread over his face. he leaned down for another kiss before you stopped him with a giggle.

"Alright loverboy, that was all you're getting. First, you need clothes and then we're going to go out on a proper first date where you tell me about the human Enji."

"I'm looking forward to it." He grinned before kissing your forehead and standing, gently setting you on your feet.

The dynamic between you two was in for a change, but you looked forward to dealing with this new Enji and learning how to move forward with him in your life.

#endeavour #enji todoroki #enji #mha enji #mha endeavor #bnha endeavor #bnha enji #endeavour x reader #enji x reader #enji x y/n #enji x you #bnha x reader #x reader #reader insert #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha

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rocorambles · 4 years ago

Text

Beauty and the Beast

Pairing: Iwaizumi x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Life isn’t a fairytale and Iwaizumi is perfectly fine with that.

Author’s Note: Gifting this to @aonesteddybear as part of the SFW Haikyuu HQ Gifting Event. Hope you enjoy~

Oikawa had always used to joke that whenever Iwaizumi got a girlfriend, it would be like the live reenactment of Beauty and the Beast (which always earned him a well-aimed volleyball to the head). But the ex-ace secretly wonders if the brunette is right.

High school had been full of shy giggling girls who had nervously confessed to him or asked him out, entranced by the idea of dating the ace and vice-captain of Aoba Johsai’s renowned volleyball team, the best friend of Oikawa Tooru himself, the boy the entire Seijoh team and the rest of his peers highly respected and spoke well of. Even second-year Kyoutani Kentarou seemed to be on his best behavior whenever the spiky haired third-year was around and that was saying something.

Encouraged and urged on by Oikawa, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki to test out the waters, Iwaizumi had gone on a few dates. But he always felt like a bumbling inarticulate caveman no matter how sweet, how kind, how accommodating the girls were.

He cringes when he remembers how accidentally callous he had been with his words, making girls cry and left when he lectured them about eating less sweets and exercising more when they insisted on going to desert shops, things he would tell his own teammates out of a responsibility to keep them healthy, not because he cared about what they looked like. And he groans when he remembers the countless times his highschool dates had screamed in his face when he just shrugged his shoulders and said they looked fine, the same as usual, when they showed off a new outfit, new haircut, new makeup look.

Boys still flocked to him, younger students looking up to him as a role model, his male classmates fist bumping and slapping a hand on his back in friendly greeting. But gossip travels fast among highschool girls and as oblivious as Iwaizumi usually is to the rumors circulating around, even he notices the wary looks and whispers every time he walks past a group of girls.

"Iwaizumi is polite, but I heard he has no social skills. Did you hear how he made the last girl he dated cry?"

"Iwaizumi and Oikawa are best friends, but Iwaizumi isn't anywhere near as charming as Oikawa."

"Iwaizumi is kind of cute, but I heard he's kind of a brute when you get to know him."

Rough around the edges. Gruff. Lacks tact.

The descriptions never seem to end and although it stings a bit, Iwaizumi can't deny that there's some truth to all of the above.

So he swears off dating throughout the rest of high school, dedicating himself to volleyball, making it to Nationals, passing the college entrance exam, leaving highschool with no regrets as he spends as much time laughing and fooling around with Oikawa, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki as he can before hopping onboard a flight to California.

America is different. College is different. And suddenly he feels like he's the beauty and the girls around him are beasts.

Iwaizumi knows that even by Japan’s more conservative standards, he still falls on the quieter and introverted side of the spectrum, so acclimating to a place like California is a cultural shock to say the least. He feels as skittish as a mouse as girls blatantly flutter their eyelashes and casually lay their hands on his shoulders in class. He almost drops his drink in surprise when drunk college girls walk right up to him and attempt to lock lips at parties. And on the few dates that he does go on, he feels like a wide-eyed blushing maiden when he’s practically dragged into apartments after a date has ended under the guise of just watching a TV show together, only to realize that his date has much less innocent intentions.

He tries to convince himself that it’s not just him, that it’s just a clash of cultures and that he’ll get used to it. But he throws his phone across the room when he sees pictures of Oikawa looking perfectly at home in Argentina’s arguably more sensuous and passionate culture. Even Matsukawa and Hanamaki handle themselves just fine the few times they come to visit Iwaizumi and he groans when he sees the two men soak up the attention and physical touches without even batting an eye.

Fine, so maybe it is just him.

Tired of being siloed into the roles of beauty and beast, he once again pushes dating aside, opting instead to dive headfirst into his studies, join the university’s volleyball club, explore the west coast. He gets good grades. He makes new friends. He gets to continue playing the sport he loves. All in all, it’s a great life and he really can’t complain. But every time he walks past a couple on campus holding hands, every time he sees a couple sitting together in the college coffee shop, every time he video chats with his old highschool friends and they go on and on about the girls they’re currently seeing, he feels a sharp pang of longing deep inside of him.

Years pass and he busies himself with acing his exams and landing a solid career and now that he has his dream job as an athletic trainer for Japan’s National team, he hardly has time to think about anything outside of his rowdy team, let alone dating or women. And it certainly helps that the males he’s surrounded with on a daily basis all have one track minds, too focused on volleyball, on the court, on always excelling to care about romance or relationships. It’s a mindset he’s more than well acquainted with and he feels like he’s finally in his element as he barks orders and drills at the sweaty athletes, grinning when Bokuto’s spikes get stronger, giving a thumbs up when Hinata jumps even higher than before.

Who needs a ring on their finger or a woman on their arm when victory tastes even sweeter than any love story?

Or so he thinks until he meets you.

The team is celebrating another victory at their favorite bar and although Iwaizumi is happy for them, he keeps a close eye on how many drinks they’re chugging, knowing that the role of babysitter will always fall on Ushijima and him. But all seems well so far. Atsumu and Sakusa aren’t at each other’s throats. Hinata and Bokuto are speaking in relatively coherent sentences. So he decides to reward himself with another drink, making his way over to the counter and waiting for the bartender to notice him.

It’s a busy night and he sighs when minutes pass by, but he tenses up when a teasing voice reaches his ears.

“You’re going to get wrinkles if you keep on frowning like that.”

It’s instinctive, the way he scowls and snaps back at the stranger without even looking at them, telling them that’s just his face and if they don’t like it, they can take a hike. But he pales when he registers his harsh words and an apology is already forming in his mouth when he whips his head around to look at you, only to stare in surprise when you just cackle at him, eyes glimmering with mischief and curiosity as you introduce yourself, so different from the usual disappointed or judgemental looks he receives from women.

And he wonders if this is a prank or a dream, disbelief coursing through him at how easily the two of you converse after years of believing that he would never find someone he was compatible with. There’s no need to sugarcoat his words, to filter his thoughts and he watches in awe as you take it all in stride, never flinching at his frank words, rolling your eyes with an amused smile on your face before sending a quip of your own right back at him, filling in the gaps when words don’t easily flow from his mouth.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel like a beauty or a beast. He’s just himself. Iwaizumi Hajime. 27. Athletic trainer. A man quickly falling head over heels for the woman besides him.

Dating you is a breath of fresh air. It’s comfortable. It’s natural. It just feels...right. There’s no pressure on him to be prince charming (although he tries his best and ends up grumbling when you just laugh at his stiff attempts of eloquent conversation and polite mannerism). There’s no tears or vague confusing anger directed his way when he misses subtle cues or phrases something horribly (both of which he is often guilty of) and he just nods and listens, jotting down mental notes when you tell him directly and clearly why you’re upset with him.

And in return you see his more nuanced signs of affection and love. You see it when he roughly grabs your bags from you and holds them for you. You feel it when he silently corrects your posture when you’re working out together. You hear it when he briskly grunts at you to stop working so much and get some real food and sleep.

Life isn’t a fairytale. There are no magic teapots to provide guidance. There’s no spell to blame their fights on. There’s no magic that will instantly restore peace. There’s only two humans, two equals learning how to love, navigating through life together, sticking side by side through the fights, the tears, the laughter, and the smiles.

And Iwaizumi can’t help but think this is far better than any romantic fantasy, even a tale as old as time like Beauty and the Beast.

#haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #Iwaizumi #Iwaizumi Hajime

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alicemitch09writes · 4 years ago

Text

(un)loving miya atsumu

six

the boys in the club.

As soon as practice ended, you had just finished writing in the journal, signing off a few things, eyes glued to your written analysis and observations bent on heading home. Kaoru needed help with one of his homework and asked you earlier to help him.

Just then, a familiar voice called out to you.

“(Y/N)!”

Looking up, you meet the kind gaze of Aran. “We’re headin’ to that new boba shop by the station, wanna come with?” Behind him were Akagi, Oomimi, Kita, and a few other players, watching you with inviting smiles.

You paused, gripping on to your notebook.

Thing was, it had been a few days since the incident. As much as your seniors meant no harm, you didn’t want a reminder of your humiliation.

More importantly, this was Ojiro Aran – out of everyone in the team, he was the one who knew the twins best and the one of the few people they respected, he was their straightman as much as a big brother figure to them. And because you were associated with the twins, he had the same reception with you - if not, kinder and softer. Something akin to concern swam in those dark eyes of his, to which you had to ignore.

Atsumu – who was watching with a glare, brown eyes burning at you, threatening – would hate you even more for trying to take Aran from him.

And so, you shake your head. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to pass. But please, enjoy for me.”

Without another word, you nodded at them all, ignoring the sad look in their eyes, and left.

"Torino?"

"Karasuno," you corrected, almost exasperatedly. Seriously, how old was Coach Kurosu again?

Realization dawns on him. "Ah, haven't heard that name in a while."

"Are they any good?"

"Dunno, they're an old powerhouse."

Humming, you look back at the pamphlet in your hands. "A rather glorious comeback, wouldn't you say?"

The older man pulls his head back, barking in laughter. "That's a rather poetic way of saying it!"

It would be something your captain would say, but currently, he's busy having a practice match with the rest of the team.

As always, with him on the court, everyone played to their best and didn't half-ass or slack. Heck, even Suna was doing some work!

But of course, there were his plays - graceful, smooth, and focused solely on the defense.

Definitely a clear cut choice of captain, the standard, in your opinion.

"Aran-san, nice serve!"

A blur of yellow and blue flies to his hand, dribbling it with his one hand as he walks to the end of the court and waits for the whistle. With him serving, it had everyone on high alert.

The ball flies up in the air, Ojiro runs up, hands raised to meet the falling ball, sending it flying to the other side of the court just barely touching the outer line. Still an in.

Definitely an ace alright, enough to be recognized in the country’s top 5 aces.

Whoever the next ace was – it’s going to be a tough call between Osamu and Ginjima - they have big shoes to fill.

Quickly, you write in your notebook.

'Ojiro serves: Ins - 5, Outs - 1'

After a week of exams, it was only natural that people reverted back to their normal state – you with managerial duties for the school’s illustrious volleyball club. Fresh out of the burn of their academics, everyone seemed to be in high spirits.

"What're you standing around the court for? Chase after it!" Coach Kurosu yells. "Geez, my dog chases balls better than these nitwits."

And there's his dog analogy, you thought to yourself, hilarious as always to hear.

On the other side of the court was a team composed of Suna, Osamu, Atsumu, and Ginjima - the trouble children, and two other second years. Opposing them were the third years - Kita, Akagi, Oomimi, Aran, one third year, and another second year.

Honestly, your captain would've done well as libero, with his amazing receiving skills and read of the ball's trajectory. He wasn't the team's defensive specialist for nothing. Nevertheless, as a wing spiker, he does well for his part. Regardless if his skills were average, just the way he presents himself in and out of the court was astounding.

"Suna, nice serve!" you called out, watching the tall boy walk back in line.

Just as the whistle blew, the ball was sent flying in the air leaving the opposing team scrambling.

For one rather lackadaisical, Suna's techniques were something. If only he gave his all in all of his games.

'Suna serves: Ins - 4, Outs - 0'

Seeing gray-dyed, you closely watched as Osamu toy with the current blockers, not once intimidated by Oomimi, the top blocker of the team.

As the ball appeared before him, instead of spiking it, he tossed it to his waiting twin, sending the ball to the other court. A flash of gold - a hungry look in his eyes as the ball goes the way he wanted it to go, enough to blind from your spot.

"The twins are on point today as usual," Coach Kurosu says with a nod. You nod with him, writing into your logbook.

'Miya Twins quicks: success - 6, fails - 1'

Yep, everyone was definitely in high spirits today.

Your thoughts and observations were echoed by the two coaches after practice, after congratulating them for all doing a great job during the previous week. Exams were no laughing matter, they were a test to see one’s mental and academic capability – as they were all students.

Now that you think about it, as Coach Oomi was telling off a few of the boys, you had to follow up on their performance once the results were out. Normally, they’d get their test results in a week’s time, probably.

After that, a short break for the holidays.

Must be nice…

"Ah, by the way," you call out, making your presence known and just before the coaches ended today’s practice.

All eyes were on you, attention on high. Turning to your coaches pointedly, expectantly, they only stared back, question in their eyes. Frowning, your head tilted slightly, they stared back. The frown on your face deepened, unamused.

Seriously?

Planting your hand on your hip, your expression sours. "You both forgot, didn't you?" they winced.

"A-Ah, you have to be specific, (L/N)." Coach Oomi defended, Coach Kurosu nodding beside him.

Your frown only deepened, eyes narrowing.

"We just talked about it before practice started," though your voice was even, there was enough bite to it. And though older than you, the two men felt small under your reprimanding gaze. More so when you sighed, as though you've said too much. “And you both told me to remind you about it before we end today’s practice.”

As the team watched, they felt just as though you were talking to the lot of them – your voice thick with disappointment. Kita watched, unaffected by it all almost amused by it all.

With a sigh, you turned to the team, eyes easily finding blond-dyed hair. "Miya Atsumu,"

The setter straightens at the sound of his name. "Y-Yes?"

Lifting your lips up, a gentle smile filled your face. "Congratulations, you've been selected to join the All-Japan Youth Camp." You say with a smile – a true, genuine, and proud smile, despite knowing that you were the last person he’d like to hear it from.

Something in Atsumu starts at the sight of it.

It took a second for him to process your words, before he burst into joy. “Y-Yosha!”

Congratulations were tossed his way left and right from his teammates. Beside you, it seemed as though it finally came to the coaches as they sheepishly scratched the back of their heads, avoiding your gaze.

"W-Wait, how about 'Samu?" Atsumu asked, directing his question to you.

The smile on your face thinned. "Sadly, there's an invite for only one Miya."

Interestingly enough, Osamu’s only reaction was to blink, his gray-brown eyes becoming distant.

"B-But-"

"Should you have any concerns or queries, feel free to approach any of the coaches." There was a finality to your tone, causing the older men to jump.

“A-Ah, right. Thank you for that, (L/N).” says Coach Kurosu, smiling at you, apologetically and gratefully. He got a nod from you. “Again, congratulations Atsumu. Now for the rest of y’all, I don’t want the rest of you slacking behind just because of this, y’hear me?”

“No coach,” they replied.

“Alright, good. Dismissed.”

(A few days before his leave for Tokyo, Atsumu was at school with a rare free period shared with Osamu, Suna, and Ginjima. They all decided to head to the library, in lieu of studying but to loiter in actuality.

Atsumu was gushing to the brim, excitement in his bones to meet some interesting volleyball players from all across the nation. Heck, he might even see that one annoying player with the wicked spins on his serves.

“Ah, that’s Itachiyama’s Sakusa,” Ginjima says.

“Isn’t he one of the top high school aces in the country?” Osamu asked, voice thinly veiled with curiosity.

“Actually, he’s the top ace.” Suna said without looking up from his phone, fingers tapping and sliding every few seconds.

“Shit, for real?”

“He even beat Aran!”

A loud shush sounded off, the student librarian glaring at their table. The four boys quieted down, Osamu shoving at his twin, who retaliated with his own shove before Ginjima stepped in to break it off.

“Man, I’m gonna meet a buncha interesting people!” the setter gushes, he was practically radiating it off. In all their years playing volleyball, this was actually the first time that Atsumu was going alone. Although they talked it out with his twin, Atsumu sharing it with his brother and friends make it believable that he isn’t alone in this, it was enough to fill his spirits. (Nobody tell him he’s lonely about going alone, though)

“Just don’t go off starting a ruckus,” Osamu stands from his seat, because the student assistant was glaring holes into their table. He comes back a moment later with some books in his hands, a mix of cookbooks, sports, and literature books.

From his seat, the student assistant looked appeased by the sight of books before turning back to his duties. Their group exchanged snickers, returning to their idle state.

Just then, through the open doors, Ginjima caught sight of you passing by “Ah, it’s manager.”

Atsumu never turned so quickly on his life – which the Ginjima found rather comical – indeed finding you out the hallway uniform nice and tidy as always, not a hair out of place, with arms filled with textbooks.

With Kusakabe beside you.

It made his blood boil for some reason, seeing the two of you together – when there were a few other classmates as well. You’ve become close with Mr. Four-Eyes, it seems.

“Ah, she chose an extra class, right?”

“That’s right.” Osamu answered with a nod. “Chemistry, I believe.” To which everyone deflated at, it was a science with a bunch of math. Yet, unsurprisingly, it was rather fitting for you. It shouldn't also surprise them that you chose to add an extra class instead of having free time like them. College prep kids were built different, it seems.

Recovering, Ginjima watches the back of your head as he comments. “Ah, I keep forgetting manager’s in a college prep class.”

“Wasn’t her big sister in one, too?” asked Suna, looking up for once, chin resting on his folded arms.

When you were out of sight, Atsumu turned back to his group. “I think so? She was in Class 5?”

“Manager’s in Class 7, though.” Ginjima stated.

Suna scoffs. “There’s just a 2 difference.”

“Aren’t they just the same, though?” Atsumu frowned, now recalling how each of the (L/N) siblings were intellectuals. Mika, you, and Kaoru were all in honor’s classes, with you being in the classes for all of your middle school, junior high, and probably all of high school. Kaoru might even follow in your footsteps if he can balance soccer and his studies.

“Pretty much, I guess.”

“Nah, (Y/N)’s the smarter sibling.” Osamu answered again, rather smoothly almost defensively. “She’s been part of the top students since middle school.”

Ginjima and Suna hums, with the latter going back to browsing his phone.

“Osamu, you know a great deal about manager, huh?”

The corner of his lips twitch, briefly meeting his twin’s gaze before plucking a random book from their stack. “Yeah well, she’s my best friend.”

My best friend, Osamu says. Not ‘our’.

Ah, yeah, there was that. He couldn’t share the joy with you anymore.)

Walking down the busy hall, students flocking every corner, you carefully maneuvered even without looking up. What’s more, you were at the third year’s floor – which should intimidate lower year levels, but not you.

Glancing you, you found Class 5 and approached the door.

“Excuse me,” you asked the student closest to the door. “Is Aran-san around?”

“Ojiro?” turning to the room, the student called out. “Hmm, ah, there he is. Oi, Ojiro, someone’s here for you!”

As soon as he was called, a tall figure stands from his seat, eyes widening at the sight of you. He raises a hand as he approaches. “Yo, (Y/N), what’s up?”

“Ah, we’ve run low on some supplies,” you reported, hands folded behind you.

Almost immediately, he falls into vice-captain mode. “Yes, that! Well, don’t worry about inventory check because Shinsuke and I did them for you.”

“Really?" unconsciously, your shoulders relaxed. "That’s a relief.”

Aran's whole face softens down at you. “Hey, as captain and vice-captain, we’re both obliged to at least ease our manager’s burdens. We can help out, too, y'know?” You had to smile at that. “Just gimme a sec, I’ll get the list.”

You watch Aran walk back to his seat, leaving you alone to look around his classroom. It was no different than yours, except there was a certain feel to it. In fact, everyone in the room - although were, very much like you, students - had a feel that was different about them. Third years, huh?

“Here we go,” Aran returns with some papers in his hands.

“Thank you very much,”

“Now, don’t forget to ask the coaches-“

“Will do. By the way, how’s your little sister?” A little small talk couldn’t hurt, right?

The older teen sort of frowns, the same frown he uses on the twins. “I swear, the older she gets the more she’s getting on my nerves!”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” you stifled a laugh, failingly. If you remember correctly, Aran’s little sister was just Kaoru’s age.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh about it all you want.” Sighing, he threw his hands in the air. “Why can’t she be more like you?”

“Cold, stoic, barely human?”

He sputtered, gesticulating rather dramatically. “Oi!”

“It’s the truth.”

Grumbling, he clears his throat, fixes himself into his big brother persona, arms folded over his chest for added effect. “I wish she was more collected and responsible, like you.”

“A ringing endorsement from one of the top high school aces, I’m flattered.”

Sharing laughter, he reached over to ruffle his hand over your head. “You at least deserve to be complimented every once in a while.”

You hum, warmed by his words. "You could at least just talk it out with her, that's how I deal with Kaoru."

"Yeah, but she doesn't take me seriously."

"Neither does Kaoru," Aran looks surprised by this, you can't blame him, your younger brother was a brat and a lot to deal with. "However, it does help to aptly remind him time and time again of his misdemeanor. You most certainly have to be strict with managing him but also respect their feelings. In addition, you must speak to them like a child and not a subject of some sort."

For some reason, he felt a chill run down his spine. "S-Sheesh, you sound like Shinsuke when you say that."

Unable to help yourself, the corner of your mouth lifts into a smirk-like smile. "Who do you think taught me all those?"

His expression flattens, eyes shut as it comes to him. "Ah. Man. Geez."

He then sighs in defeat, shoulders lifting and dropping. "Still wished she turned out like you, (Y/N)."

"Trust me, you don't want a boring little sister. Anyway, good luck with her though."

"Will do, thanks for the tips," he mutters a few things under his breath, something like a prayer.

Tucking the papers aside, you just about turned to leave when you nearly run into someone.

“Atsumu, watch where you’re going ya lug!” Aran says behind you.

“S-Sorry-“ he looks down, eyes widening when he realizes he crashed into you, you blink back in concern. “S-Sorry-!”

“No, I’m sorry for not paying attention to my surroundings.” Taking a step back, you found Osamu, Suna, and Ginjima behind him - giving them all a bow before walking away.

Before he left for Tokyo though, both your families had a little get-together at the Miya residence.

To say it was awkward was an understatement, especially because of the rift between you and one particular twin, and because the family didn't exactly know about the situation - but you managed by helping around whilst the twins (plus Kaoru) played some games.

“Don’t you want to join them?” the Miya matriarch asked you kindly.

Over at the living room, the boys were loudly cheering, eyes glued to their game, Kaoru nestled between the twins.

You shook your head, focusing on chopping the vegetables. “I’m fine.” Cooking helped calmed you, busying your hands and sense of smell and taste helped calmed your nerves. Meticulously following through recipes in your head, focusing only on making delectable dishes for all.

As much as you can, you didn't want the family to notice something between you and Atsumu, didn't want to ruin the already bright atmosphere because of his success, didn't want to ruin his day, didn't want to ruin his reputation because of you.

Dinner was a quiet affair between the families, congratulating Atsumu over and over for qualifying for the All-Japan Youth Camp. Osamu heartily ate, sitting next to you, Atsumu to his other side. With his twin as the star of the feast, you saw him brimming with pride and a bit of shyness - especially in the presence of family. It made you smile, but only for a quick while.

So you ate quietly, keeping your head low.

It was already worth knowing how quiet you were unless asked a question. Nobody seemed to mind, used to your quiet presence.

"Kaoru, eat properly," you berate, reaching over, napkin in hand to wipe your brother's face.

It's also known that you were such a caring person - sister, most especially.

"You're almost an adolescent now and still you eat like a child." There was rice on his shirt on his table, how embarrassing. How is he 12?

"Nee-san, please!" At that, the adults laugh, seemingly used to it all. Even Atsumu laughed in. "I'm not a baby!"

"You'll always be a baby to us, brother boy." Atsumu teased your little brother, booping his nose with his finger.

Groaning, Kaoru angrily puts down his bowl and chopsticks, swatting you and Atsumu's hands away. The adults laugh again, especially at the combined forces of you and Atsumu.

The blond-dyed teen meets your eye, time freezing for a moment, you kept thinking of them as brown when they were actually honey brown. It was hard to look away from them, especially with how he took you in. Something kickstarted in your chest.

Clearing your throat, you quickly sit back, he does the same. Osamu fills his plate and yours too.

Feeling a vibration in your pocket, you take out your phone, eyes widening at a notification.

"Ah, Mi-" unsure how to address him, especially because the adults and Kaoru were there, you cleared your throat again, capturing everyone's attention, including Atsumu's. "Mika-nee sends her congratulations."

Like magic, his whole face lights up like a Christmas tree. Misery, it was it feels like, followed by a thousand arrows shot through your already fragile heart.

"She furthers that, 'she knew you could do it. Have fun in Tokyo,' it was a miracle how firm you kept your tone, in its usual monotonous tone. "And 'hello to everyone, I miss you all.'"

The adults then turn to tease Atsumu, Osamu reminding his twin that your sister was still with her boyfriend, resulting in them fighting. Bemused by their usual antics, the adults ask you questions about your sister's well-being, you answered as best you could before they began to talk amongst themselves about traveling, allowing you to wallow on the pain.

Yep, that was the Mika effect.

She could light up a room by just the mention of her name, amplifying the happiness of someone's achievement.

And who were you? Just a bystander. A ghost, even. Your words meant absolutely nothing, especially for Atsumu.

But - you peeked up, seeing him steal from Osamu's plate - at least it made him happy, right?

As much as it pained you, that smile on his face was everything.

"Nee-san, can you pass me some meat please?" Kaoru asks you politely, rice sticking to his cheeks.

Swallowing the pain, you robotically reach out and placed an ample amount into his waiting plate, grateful for the distraction.

Again, this was about Atsumu. Not about you.

Reaching over, you were just about to clean his face when he does it himself. "I can do it myself, nee-san." your little brother's grin was a mess, yet you couldn't find it in your heart to get mad, especially at the proud look on his still messy face.

With Atsumu gone for a whole week, and nationals coming up soon, practice as of late has been hectic and hard. Also, because the team was short of one Miya, it went quietly and peacefully – a strange and rather unnatural occurrence. That excuse any kind of indolence though, especially with nationals drawing near.

"Put your backs into it!" barked Coach Kurosu.

Somehow, because nationals were coming, practice went on slower than usual. And that was saying, you were still in the middle of winter.

The boys had to work themselves to the bone, beating the chilly winter breeze, pumping the blood in their veins. Each player gave their all, yelling out when both coaches couldn't hear them.

Blowing on your whistle, you called out. "Alright, take a 10-minute break."

Never have you seen the whole gym deflate, thankfully.

Heck, it was only the first half of practice!

Water bottles were handed and consumed in record time, a few players even fell to the ground, legs raised against the wall.

"I'm gonna die!"

"You're not going to die," you retort at the first year. "Just don't force yourself." The first year whines once more.

"There's a difference between forcing yourself and giving your all in a game," a cold voice added in, causing the first year to shoot up sitting. "That being said, you needn't need to slack off. Just play like you usually would."

"Y-Yes, Kita-san!"

Huffing you turned to your captain, who blinked back at you.

"Good work today, captain."

"Practice is far from over, (L/N)." he mused, eyes bright.

Humming, you glance at the stopwatch - eight minutes had just passed. (E/c) eyes then drifted over the gym, over the heads of the club members, a sea of black and white practice uniform. This was a scene you were used to all of your two years as manager, for all of four seasons.

Somehow, just looking out at it all, something felt missing.

No, not something - someone.

Someone with golden blond-dyed hair, bright honey brown eyes, a sly smirk, and astounding presence.

It was missing one Miya Atsumu.

Glancing back at the stopwatch, a minute had just passed you realized.

Lifting your head again, you were met with the same view.

Sighing, you pocket the stopwatch and announce the remaining minutes of practice there was left. Frowning at nothing, you felt something tug at your ponytail. Looking over, you were met with a darker version of a person in your head - darker hair, darker eyes, same gentle eyes.

"Osamu, what's up?"

"Can you help me tape up?"

"...that's rare, you don't normally tape up your hands." you say, leading the two of you to where the first aid kid was.

"It's winter," was all he reasoned, almost in a grumble. Almost childishly.

It almost made you snort, that was usually his brother's complaint - as he was more particular with his hands and being a setter in general.

"(Y/N), please." he whined, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Yes, yes."

With one Miya short, it meant one was left behind - Osamu.

Even without his twin, he pretty much carried himself just fine. Between the two, he was much more independent. Atsumu was always the clingy twin.

And with his older twin away, that meant, more time with the lad. More time with your best friend.

But as the saying goes, two is better than one.

Two Miyas is better than one.

Still, you made the most out of it, since there was no way you coming in between the brothers.

“You said that chicken noodle soup is your ultimate comfort food, right?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

Osamu was silent for a moment, watching the steaming white rice in front of both of you. “Mine’s onigiri.”

For some reason, that surprised you. “Really? Not your mom’s-”

“Yeah.”

Hands washed, the two of you dug on to the bowl of rice, carefully shaping it in your hands. “That’s a surprise. You never told me that.”

Although, it did explain how after you moved in and met him, he was asking you to help him make onigiri. Much like now. Except with his chubby hands then, most of his end product ended up badly shaped, too soggy, bland, or lacking.

Years of practice saw to his improvement, with his onigiris being perfectly shaped, flavorful, and rich in texture enough to beat the rice balls at convenient stores. Not to mention that he’s grown a penchant for cooking, after being friends with you.

Rice was a rather versatile grain that has a lot of varieties, depending on how you choose to make use of it. Japanese dishes were mostly simple but made had a lot of intricacies that rivaled gourmet dishes. Onigiri had a lot of variants – white rice, wrapped, seasoned, mixed rice, fillings, to name a few.

But for Osamu, the humble white rice onigiri was his favorite.

It was worth noting that through the years you’ve watched him mold his rice – once, burning his hands because they were too hot or because he was too impatient – he seemed rather determined in the process. He shaped the onigiri as though he were holding something precious, taking careful means, making sure that he had the right amount of seaweed and mayonnaise.

Most of his onigiris were huge, like the size of his hand. Well, he was an athlete and a huge glutton – so those two combinations spoke plenty. However, when he finally finished his first perfect onigiri, something crossed his eyes – it sent a twinge in your heart, seeing so much emotion in those usually guarded eyes of his.

“Osamu?”

The boy just stared at his onigiri for a while, as though in disbelief. Upon closer inspection, he looked as though he were in a daze.

“…have I ever told you why it’s my comfort food?”

There seemed a weight to his words, shown in the way his eyes glazed over a simple homemade rice ball. People have different ways of expressing themselves, some through writing, some through sports, some even through cooking.

Osamu conveyed his feelings through cooking, it seems.

Turning to face him, you wore a gentle smile. “I would very much like to hear it.”

Meeting your gaze, slowly, his lips lift into a smile.

Over a plate of perfectly made onigiris, Osamu tells you a story of his first love.

There was a knock at your door, followed by the doorknob turning. “Nee-san,” came your little brother’s voice, accompanied by crinkling plastic. “here.”

Flipping on to the next page, busily writing into your notebook, was all he got. You barely looked up from your notes!

Miffed, he tried calling you again, “Nee-san!” he dragged on the first syllable, doing the same with the last syllable with a baby voice. To no avail, much to Kaoru’s disappointment.

Though you were wearing earbuds, normally Kaoru would hear soft, gentle tunes playing off it, so you could still hear him. Only, you were really into your notes, as though your own brother wasn’t in the same room as you.

Puffing his cheeks, he paddled up towards you, poking you in the cheek. “Nee-san,” Much more disappointed and annoyed, he looks at the plastic in his bag, carefully lifts it up until the cold plastic touches your cheek, the touch shocking you instantly.

“Ah, Kaoru,” You gently pushed him away from you, pulling your earbuds off, rubbing at your cold cheek. “what are you doing here?”

“I knocked!” his cheeks were still puffed, the (adorable) frown on his face easing. “Here.” He raises the plastic earlier to you, at an eye level.

Bubble tea.

Blinking, you carefully take it from your brother’s hands. “Who’s it from?”

“Atsumu-nii and Osamu-nii.”

Your brows furrowed at that. “Both of them?”

“Yep! I have one, too!” he showed his own drink, heartily sipping from it, unaware of the questioning look in your face and tone.

You would understand if Osamu bought it, but Atsumu? And Kaoru, as much of a brat he can be at times, hardly lied – at least to your face. And he loved the Miya twins. He was also scared of lying to your face.

“We’re about to eat dinner, though.” You berate, especially at the amount of sugar in his drink. “When did they give it?”

“Just minutes ago! Atsumu-nii handed it over because Osamu-nii had to make dinner.” Ah, so that confirms it then.

Humming, you take the drink in your hand. “Thanks, Kaoru.”

The little boy toothily grins. “You’re welcome, nee-san!” rushing to the door, he turns to tell you, “I’ll come back when dinner’s ready!”

“Yeah, thanks.”

With a click, you were alone in your room once more. Music softly played from your earbuds, homework sitting idly.

Surprisingly, the drink was still cold. Just how long ago did they buy this?

Atsumu and Osamu bought this, you remind yourself, twisting the drink in your hand, fiddling with the straw with your other hand. Straightening your drink, you punctured your straw in.

Taking a sip, you let the flavors settle in your tongue before swallowing. “…not too sweet, just salty enough.” Just the way you like it.

Twirling the drink in your hand, it just occurred to you that today was Atsumu's return from Tokyo.

masterlist • seven

#(un)loving miya atsumu #alicemitch09 writes #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu angst #haikyuu!!#inarizaki

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inkandpen22 · 4 years ago

Text

Cuppa Tea, Cuppa Tea

Request: The first request is that the reader kinda is yawning a bit, but "oh, it's fine, I'm just studying a bit harder" but they're either lying and doing a bunch of work deep into the night (maybe translating old books or something) or it's insomnia, or actually studying til 4:00am or something (lots of "ors" I'm so sorry) and of course spike finds out and is like "I'm supposed to be the nocturnal one??" And I had a brief thought of somehow the reader being tricked to drink sleepy time tea or something that will make them sleep as much as they need, but idk if that would be weird 🤔 but anyway, I hope that made sense ^^;

Pairing: Spike x gender neutral reader

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Y/N is at Spike’s studying for a chemistry exam when Spike starts to worry for them.

A/N: sorry for the delay!!! This was so easy to write because honestly it’s relatable. Enjoy X

Masterlist

The words on the page start to blend and nothing makes sense anymore. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to process the words I'm staring at here. I have to pass this chemistry exam. I'm not even a chem major, stupid general education classes. I hear Spike move about behind me while his Passions episode comes to an end. Being one of the token full-fledge humans in the Scooby Gang means I'm sometimes dropped off at Spike's for safekeeping. Lately, there's a water demon terrorizing Sunnydale, so I've been instructed to come straight here after classes. Yet, Spike insists on meeting me right after the lecture. He went about finding out my course schedule so he can be thereafter my last class. Since I finish when the sun is still out, he has to use the tunnels on campus. He's the definition of smothering.

"Y/N, you need to go to bed," he advises, appearing beside the crypt I'm set upon.

My notes and textbook are laid perfectly on the crypt to study.

"Five more minutes," I yawn.

The candlelight is starting to radiate enough heat to feel it. They've been going all afternoon and well into the evening. Its light is starting to burn my eyes.

"You said that twenty minutes ago," Spike sighs, kneeling next to me.

"Oh bet, I thought it was only ten," I check my watch for the time.

Spike huffs in annoyance and snatches my textbook away.

"Hey!" I reach for the pages, but he moves it away.

"I'm so supposed to be the nocturnal one! Not you!" He reminds me with a fuss.

"Ever heard of insomnia?" I sass.

"It's not healthy," he preaches, setting my textbook down.

"Nor is being undead. That's a little pot calling the kettle black," I shrug while I reopen my book to the proper page.

"The more tired you get the more annoying you are," he grumbles, tossing his head back dramatically with a sigh.

"Dope," I nod with narrowed eyes.

"I hate you," Spike growls.

"Love to hear it," I mutter subconsciously as I continue reading.

"Ugh, oh my g-"

Absentmindedly, I read the chapter on proper chemical mixing. I can't even read the periodic table, how am I supposed to remember all of this?

I start to sing a familiar tune under my breath without much thought. "Oh say can you see by the dawn's-"

"Stop!" Suddenly, Spike's hand is covering my mouth. "Stop while you're ahead!"

"I was just getting started." My voice is muffled by his hand.

Spike slips his hand around and brings up the other to make me stare into his eyes.

"You're getting delusional!" He accuses.

"What's life without a little bad trip? Adds some spice," I dismiss carelessly.

"You're psychotic," he determines

"Says the serial killer," I shrug.

"You're! Losing! It!" He emphasizes.

"You! Eat! People!" I fire back mockingly.

"I need to so I can exist. You don't need to study to exist," he takes my textbook away again and strolls away.

"I need to so I can get a good job," I reason.

"Industrial America is overrated," he declares monotonously.

"You're also an old English man," I grumble.

"Yeah, so I know a few things," he smirks proudly.

"You never took school seriously?" I climb down from the crypt to fetch my book from him.

"Well... I went if that's what you mean. I had a rather expensive education," Spike describes vaguely.

I reach for my textbook and take it back civilly. "A White, upper-middle-class, during the Victorian Era, given a well-to-do private education? Well, color me shocked!"

"I can hardly stand you when you get in this mood. You need sleep," he rolls his eyes annoyedly.

"I hardly tolerate you every moment of every day. I need coffee," I correct.

"I will kill you," he threatens as per usual.

"Oh yes, bring me the sweet release," I grumble as I head back to my spot.

"You sicken me, you know that?" Spike questions sarcastically.

"Glad to hear it," I laugh humorlessly.

"Normally, people aren't so keen on being threatened," he reminds.

"Fair enough, granted I'm not 'normal,'" I form quotation marks with my fingers.

"Clearly," he mumbles.

"'Clearly,'" I mock his voice. "You even sound old!"

"I'm only one hundred and twenty-six!" He states, yet again, this week.

"Oh my goodness! You're right! My bad! You're practically a new spring chicken! Now get out there young one, and seize the day!" I tease.

"I'm going to make you a cup of tea," Spike declares, heading over to his make-shift kitchen. In reality, it's an electric kettle he plugs into an extension cord that's connected to somewhere outside.

"Coffee," I request, returning to my reading.

"Tea! You don't need any more coffee," he ridicules.

"You're depressing," I insult under my breath.

After a short time, Spike returns with a mug. I've managed to get through the last paragraph I've been struggling with.

"Here," he hands the white porcelain object to me.

The warmth of the mug contrasts the cold of my hands.

"What kind," I ask as I go to sip it.

"Green," he nods.

"Oo, so you are giving me caffeine," I wiggle my brows right as the liquid hits my lips.

"Only to shut you up," he sighs.

"Always the charmer," I wink.

After a moment of consideration and pondering, I can determine that this is good tea. Spike stands around waiting for my approval.

"This is nice, what brand is it?" I go in for another sip.

"An old one my mother used to use, been around for a while," he stammers.

"Lovely, thank you."

I compliment and he grumbles some response. ______________________ The sound of a distant lawnmower wakes me up in a jolt. I gasp for air, having been so deeply asleep that I hardly felt alive. I must've been more exhausted than I originally comprehended. My blurry vision adjusts to my surroundings and I'm tucked into a bed, but not my own. No, I know this bed. I've seen it before. The bright red sheets are hard to forget. Spike.

"What the-" I scream, "Spike!"

The bleach blonde vampy appears from behind a pillar across the room.

"Yes, Pet?" He says slyly, as though it's just any other morning.

"You asshole!" I curse at him as I hurry to get up.

"Feel refreshed?" He smirks.

"Did you drug me?" I come to the realization as I stand up that I don't remember falling asleep or getting into Spike's bed.

"Eh, somewhat," he explains vaguely. "I gave you camomile tea and maybe crushed up some melatonin in it."

My jaw drops, "you're insane!"

"Knocked you out like a bloody babe," he snickers, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"What time is it?!" I shake my wrist to my watch.

"Noon," Spike answers before I have the chance to check.

My eyes go wide as the harsh reality that I'm late to my class sinks in.

"Shit! Shit!" I rush to gather my things. "Fuck me! I have my test in thirty minutes!"

Spike strolls about casually around me, not giving two shits.

"You'll be fine," he assures calmly. "The sleep will help."

"It better!" I growl at the vamp.

"I'll pick you up after your class. We'll get coffee," he suggests with a smug expression.

"You don't drink coffee," I glare as I pack up my backpack.

"Damn straight, but you do. My treat," he offers.

"Oh, so kind!" I remark sarcastically as I struggle to slip my arms through my backpack and get my shoes on at the same time.

"Have fun!" He waves as I head to the door. "Good luck!"

"Fuck you!" I bid farewell as I slam the tomb door behind me.

"Coffee!" He shouts from inside as I stroll away. "Four o'clock! I'll pick you up!"

"Okay! Fine! Fine!" I yell in agreement, despite everything that just happened.

God, I hate to love him.

__________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @mx-pibbles

#spuffy #spike x buffy #spike fanfic #spikexreader #spike #buffy summers #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagine

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sweethq · 4 years ago

Text

♡ how you became friends with them // headcanon

𑁍 Characters: Oikawa Tōru, Kuroo Tetsurō, Akaashi Keiji, Sugawara Kōshi

»»—Trigger warning(s): none—-««

➶ Genre: hmmm fluff?

-ˏˋ A/N: i’m an absolute hoe for all of them, I just had to put them in the same post ˊˎ-

Click here for part 1!

your nephew’s friends were going to the park to play volleyball and he wouldn’t stop begging you to take him

both of his parents were at work, forcing you to keep an eye on the little booger

all you wanted to do was stay home and watch terrible reality shows

but you decided to be nice and grant him his wish

besides, it would be nice to leave the house every once and awhile lol

when you got to the park you saw your nephew’s friends playing volleyball with a guy who was definitely not their age

“do you know that guy?” you ask the young one standing next to you, hoping that the older boy in the distance wasn’t some creep that was preying on children

“yeah, that’s _____’s uncle. he’s really good at volleyball so he likes to come and show off”

what kind of grown ass man would want to show off his skills to a bunch of 9 year olds lmao

you didn’t question it any further and took a seat on a nearby bench while your nephew ran to his friends

after about two minutes of scrolling through your phone, your nephew returns

“tooru wants you to come play volleyball with us”

“did you tell him that i don’t know anything about volleyball?”

“yup. come on, let’s go”

deadass pulls your phone out of your hand, grabs your arm, and drags you over to the group

he was freakishly strong for his age

“hi! i’m tooru, what’s your name?”

“uh, i’m y/n”

“cool! do you want to play volleyball with us?”

“do i have a choice?”

“nope!”

he quickly goes over the gist of the game and shows you how to position your arms for a receive and how to spike the ball

honestly most of it went through one ear and out the other, but you nodded as if you understood everything he was saying

you finally started the mock match, you and tooru on opposing sides

first play into the game, tooru serves it (at like 30% power from his usual serves) and it’s coming straight for you

instead of taking a step backwards so you can receive it, you just stare at it until it hits you dead in the face hAAA

all of the kids started laughing while tooru stood there in shock

who would’ve known this would be the start to an amazing friendship

we all know, math is FREAKING HARD

and the fact that you had to learn about imaginary numbers irked the hell out of you

they don’t even exist, WHY DO I NEED TO KNOW THIS

but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it

your teacher could see you visibly struggling with this lesson, even seeing that you nearly failed one of your quizzes

she pulled you to the side after class one day and told it to you straight

“if you don’t get a B on this next test, you’re going to have to retake this class”

“y-you expect me to get a B?!!!?!?!?!?”

yeah the rest of the day you were depressed lol

how in the world were you supposed to magically understand all of the material within the next week?

that’s where smartboi!kuroo comes along

he approaches you during lunch, taking the empty seat in front of you

you just kinda 👁️👄👁️

“hi so i couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with our math teacher. i can help you if you want. i don’t know if you know this, but i’m kinda good at math”

he gave you one of his infamous smirks, making you scoff

you had never talked to kuroo before, but he had a reputation around school for being arrogant and cold

“please tell me why i would want help from you?”

“because if you don’t get help then you’re probably going to fail this class and have to retake it, and we both know that’s not what you want.”

you hate that he’s right

“ugh fine”

over the course of that week you and kuroo hung out every day after school

and you found out that he’s nothing like what people say he is, he’s just a big nerd

you start to become fond of him, liking how patient he is with you and how much effort he’s putting into your tutoring sessions

by the end of the week, you’re actually able to call him a friend

and you got a B on the test :p

you were not a morning person

you were the type or person that needed to set 50 alarms in the morning just so you’d wake up for school

unfortunately, sometimes 50 alarms still isn’t enough to keep you from falling back asleep

one morning, you closed your eyes after turning off your alarm, knowing that another one will go off in 10 minutes. I’ll get up then, you tell yourself

what you didn’t know is that the alarm you turned off happened to be the last one

you wandered back to sleep and waited for the alarm that never went off

when you woke up, you checked your phone and saw that you were most definitely running late

you quite literally jumped out of bed and threw on your uniform and shoes before grabbing your backpack and running out the door

you didn’t even bother grabbing something to eat or checking the weather, two things you usually did every morning

you sprinted towards the bus stop, hoping that you didn’t just miss it and have to wait for another

but of course, as you’re approaching, you see the bus depart

and, to make matters even better, it was starting to rain

you made your way to the bus stop, standing under the small roof for shelter from the rain, staring at the bus that was slowly getting smaller

you sigh loudly while taking out your phone, finding the bus schedule only to see that the next one won’t be coming for another 20 minutes

school starts in 15, which is around the same time it would take to run there

but at this point, it wasn’t just raining, it was absolutely downpouring. but what choice did you have?

you prepared yourself to ruin into the rain, but before you could leave the shelter of the roof above you, a cold hand grabbed onto your wrist

you turned around to see sugawara, a boy who was in your third period class

he reached into his backpack and pulled out an umbrella before handing it to you

“here, use this. if you run to school in this weather, you might catch a cold”

“no, that’s okay. if i take this, then you might catch a cold. plus, it’s your umbrella, you should use it”

he laughed before grabbing your hand and placing the umbrella in it

before you could protest, he pulled his hood over his head and ran into the rain

you were dumbfounded, but decided not to waste any more time and make your way to school

you returned his umbrella to him when you saw him in class, and bought him lunch as a thank you

found out that you guys live in the same direction, and decided to walk to and from school together

now you don’t need 50 alarm clocks, knowing that suga will beat ur ass if you’re not ready to leave by the time he gets to your house lol

it was the week before finals, so you were doing the same thing that most students were doing

pulling all nighters at the library and drinking way too much coffee

it was approximately 2:30 in the morning when you were approaching the last class you needed to study for

the problem was, you had left your textbook for that class at home (freaking idiot)

thankfully for you, the library had one in stock that you could borrow for free

you wandered around the building that was surprisingly empty

on most days, every seat would be filled regardless of the time, everyone wanting to cram as much knowledge into their heads before their big exams

you finally found the section you were looking for and started scouting the bookshelves for the textbook you desired

after a solid 10 minutes of grazing through hundreds of books, your eyes finally fall onto the one you’ve been looking for

the only problem was

it was on the top shelf

and you were definitely not tall enough to reach it

but were you going to ask someone to help you get the book like a normal person?

of course not

no, the only logical answer to this problem would to be to climb the bookcase and use the tips of your finger to hopefully bring the book into your grasp

so that’s what you did,,,, kinda

the book was just out of your reach, so you started to swat at it like a cat, hoping the momentum would make your reach a tad longer

and it did!

but instead of you grabbing the book, your arm decided to fling it off the shelf

and right onto the head of a pretty boy who happened to be standing right beneath you

“oh my god are you oka-” *falls off the bookcase*

you were surprisingly able to land on your feet, but you twisted your ankle in the process

“are you okay?” akaashi asked, seeing the pain flash in your eyes

“I should be asking you that, i just dropped my book on your head :(“

akaashi was definitely not planning on spending his friday night in a nurses office with some clumsy person that drops books on people’s heads

and he definitely didn’t appreciate having to be checked for a concussion when he could be using this valuable time for studying

but when he was given the all clear and your ankle was wrapped, you offered him your last onigiri as a peace offering

instantly forgets about the whole incident and becomes a happy puppy

you find out that you guys are studying for the same class so decide to combine your brains and study together

study buddies 4 life!

[taglist] — @avylee

📥 click here to fill out the taglist form

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu social media #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu writers #kuroo testuro #kuroo x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader

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the-shadow-of-atlantis · 3 years ago

Text

Hero Girl, Emo Boy

Tagging: @melyaliz

Looking around the packed auditorium Spike couldn't help but feel her stomach do somersaults. There were thousands of people here and not everyone would pass this exam to enter the school.

"Ow!" Someone shouted next to her and she jumped.

"Sorry!" She apologized quickly as she realized she had accidentally poked the girl behind her with one of her quills.

"Keep your quirk under control." The girl hissed as she plucked the quill out and flicked it at Spike.

"At least it wasn't one of my numbing ones." Spike chuckled nervously only to earn a glare from the girl.

Well someone was in a grumpy mood. Spike thought as she settled into her seat and played with her red wristbands to calm herself. One of the bad side effects of having a porcupine-like quirk is that when she got nervous she would accidentally shoot off her quills. Her brother had taught her how to control it and usually her quills always stayed inside her body but he obviously never planned for her to be in this type of situation.

Sighing Spike glanced at the people that were sitting next to her in her row making sure she hadn't poked them too. The boy on her left seemed okay but the one on her right was leaning back in his chair looking like he was asleep. Crap did she do that?

"Psst. Did I poke you?" Spike asked softly, nudging him with her finger though she was almost tempted to just leave him be with how dark the bags under his eyes seemed.

"You did now." The boy grumbled.

"Oh sorry." Spike cleared her throat. "It's just some of my quills can have a numbing effect to the point of knocking someone out so I just wanted to check."

"Should you really be telling me this?" The boy asked, opening an eye and looking at her.

"I'm just letting you know in case I poke you again and your arm goes numb. People usually like a heads up before that happens."

"You go around poking people often?" The boy asked.

"No, of course not." Spike said.

"Then you mind being quiet." The boy said.

"I can either nervously poke you or nervously talk to you. It's your choice." Spike said.

"Then I suggest you talk to the other guy. Most people usually avoid talking to me." The boy said.

"Why's that?" Spike asked curiously.

"Because of my quirk." The boy answered simply.

Spike thought about that for a moment. "People tend to avoid close contact with me because of my quills even though I can control them… for the most part."

The boy looked like he was going to say something but then the lights suddenly turned off and the stage lit up. There in the center stood Present Mic who began shouting at the audience.

The presentation on the practical exam was short and to the point despite the interruption of a very tall boy with glasses. However the explanation of the test left Spike feeling a little disappointed. How is fighting robots going to prove that someone is a good hero?

"This doesn't really seem fair." Spike muttered to herself.

"At least your quirk will come in handy." The tired boy said.

"My quirk can be used so much more than causing damage." Spike said as she stood up with her things. "Making destruction is easy, bringing peace is a lot harder."

And with that she left to go change out of her uniform and into a more practical outfit for the exercise.

Standing outside of the large concrete gate made Spikes quills stand on end. Quite literally a circle had formed around her people not wanting to stand too close to her hundreds of quills that poked out of her back, head, and arms. Spike took a deep breath trying to bring her quills back in and to make her hair turn back to normal it worked for a second then her quills stood at attention again and sighed. Looking around, Spike realized that the crowd looked strange as if there wasn't enough room despite being outside. Then she noticed another circle in the crowd as if there was something else to avoid. Walking over to the empty space the crowd seemed to split, letting her pass with ease until she reached the other circle. There in the middle stood the tired boy from the auditorium.

"Hey!" Spike said happily. "We're in the same group!"

The boy turned and looked at her, his eyebrows raising just a fraction as he took in Spike's appearance.

"Yeah I guess we are." He sighed.

"I never got your name." Spike said.

“I’m not here to make friends.” The boy said instead.

“Well that’s a lonely way to live life.”

“Its the practical way to live. This career path isn’t about making friends.”

“Of course it is.” Spike countered. “Hero’s have friends. Partnerships. Sure some don't stick. But if you keep viewing people as your enemy, how can you be a good hero? I'm not here to reach the top, I’m just here to be a good hero.”

Again the boy seemed like he was about to say something but then Present Mic appeared again and then promptly told everyone the exercise was beginning. Immediately everyone rushed forward, some not even carrying that they were now extremely close to Spike.

The training that Spike had received from her brother kicked in and she launched herself into the battle. Sure enough there was destruction everywhere Spike turned. Robot pieces flying everywhere along with pieces from the fake buildings. As she took robots down she made sure to try and avoid any crashes. Anytime some of the other kids got reckless she’d shoot her quills to prevent the debris from falling on others. She was just in the middle of trying to clear off an area that had gotten blocked when she heard someone shout at her.

“What are you doing?!” The tired boy asked. She really needed a better nickname for him. Gloomy boy? Grouchy boy? Emo boy?

“Trying to help.” Spike called out as she finally got the piece she had been shoving out of the way.

As if on cue a small group of people rushed past the now cleared street shouting their thanks.

“Watch out!” The emo boy shouted and Spike felt herself being tackled.

Where she had once stood there was now a large piece of building. Then the buzzer rang.

“Shinso. Hitoshi Shinso.” The emo boy said from beside her on the ground.

“Ah that’s much better than emo boy.” Spike breathed. “I’m Spike.”

“Isn’t it a little soon to be going by your hero name.” Shinso asked.

“Spike is my name name.” Spike said through a giggle. “My brother named me.”

“Sure, hero girl.” Shinso said with a chuckle.

****

“Hey you got in!” Spike said as she spotted Shinso near the gate entering U.A.

“Oh hey. Yeah I did.”

“Cool!” Spike glanced around at all the buildings. “Are you nervous?”

“Not really its just general studies.” Shinso said with a shrug.

“What?!” Spike said turning to face Shinso. “You didn’t get into the hero course?”

“No, but I will someday.” Shinso said.

“But…” Spike wanted to protest.

“Don't worry about me, hero girl.” Shinso said, nudging her arm gently. “Focus on yourself for once.”

Spike grumbled slightly as they separated to head to their lockers.

****

Everywhere Spike looked it seemed like everyone glared at her. They all hated her, hated her brother, hated the fact that she was still in the school. Swallowing hard she bowed her head and tried her best to bring her short hair to cover her eyes. She shuffled slowly through the halls when she suddenly saw a pair of legs standing still.

Pausing Spike slowly lifted her head and saw Shinso standing there in the middle of the hallway. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to talk to him just yet. This was the conversation she dreaded the most. It was okay if everyone hated her. But would she be able to handle Shinso hating her?

Shinso stared at her with his usual bored expression.

“People tend to avoid me because of my quirk.” He said.

Spike blinked as she took in his words tears threatening to spill.

“People tend to avoid me because my brother is Stain.” Spike whispered.

“People can be assholes.” Shinso said.

“Not all people.” Spike said with a breathy laugh and then sniffled.

“Better head to hero class hero girl.” Shinso said.

Yeah she could handle other people hating her. It really didn't matter as long as emo boy was at her side.

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salty-fang · 4 years ago

Text

Twisted Fate Sugar Edition

Part three (sorry for the long wait) thanks for being patient @loveswifi

Marinette had had a weird day. She had kept being pulled in the direction of people who could’ve been mistaken for male versions of herself. Jason, Tim and Dick.

She had met Jason first. She had taken a quick detour from her hour-long trip to the fabric store. It had been a week after her outing with Gina, Alfred and Bruce Wayne but a week before the whole Lila debacle. She hadn’t expected Lila to even be in Gotham so Marinette didn’t feel the need to worry. She should have.

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

Jason had loads of knowledge on malicious stalking. Growing up as a vigilante taught him some things. So, he was truly stunned when he saw two shady people watched that pregnant woman with wolfish glares that he actually felt the need to follow them. He dragged her out of there line of sight, which without an explanation was pretty stupid. She’d kicked him in the balls causing him to hiss.

“Let go of me.”

“I’m trying to help you. A woman and a man have been watching you for a fucking long time. I just wanted to make sure you knew them. By the way, I’m Jason Todd.”

“Marinette.”

“One of them literally has sausages for hair. I think I’m going to have nightmares for a while.”

“Ugh, you should meet Lila Rossi.”

“Agreste's new wife?”

“Yup. Her eyes are so cold and dead. And she wears so much orange. It’s so painful when you actually look at her that I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.”

“Yo, this chick is the same. You sure we aren’t talking about the same person?” she snuck a quick look around the corner, laughing at the confusion on both Lila and Kim’s faces. She’d laughed too loud as Lila’s head whipped in her direction.

“That’s definitely her. Still as annoying as ever.” Kim had whispered something in Lila's ear just as she rounded the corner. They had started sprinting towards her and were going to catch her if she didn’t move her ass.

‘I can’t run far in heels. I’m going to have to catch a bus. The doctor did tell me to take it easy. Can’t affect those triplets with too much movement.’

She had only made it outside the door when she felt herself be hoisted onto sturdy shoulders.

“Let go of me! Oh it’s you Jay. Give a girl some warning will ya!” she said sighing in exasperation.

“Sorry but you really thought I was going to watch them hurt my little sis.”

“Hey! I’m not little. And put me down. “

“That’s what your focused on? And I won’t put you down. You may think you don’t need help but you’re wrong. So let your good big bro do his job.

“Good my ass,” she muttered, ducking under a signpost. “More like arrogant goofball.” Kim and Lila had either disappeared or they just blended in with the crowd very well. They’d probably lost them. Thank God for that.

“Jay, you can put me down now.”

“Huh, are they gone?”

“Yup.” She said popping the ‘p'. “Thank you Jay. For everything.”

“No worries, pixie pop. You’re my sis. I’d kill a bitch for you.” Marinette had fallen in line with Jason. But with his long strides and her pregnancy she was always steps behind him. Sure he’d fall back to match her pace but Lila had waited until the perfect moment to capitalise. She’d tried to scream for help but she had lost the ability to. They dragged her round the corner to one of her favourite cafés. Her head ached where Lila had pulled tightly on her braid (think Lady Noire) as she felt several strands of her hair fall out. Had no one found her being dragged around slightly disturbing?

She supposed no one cared about business that didn’t affect them in Gotham. Wow. Great, just great. She’d submitted herself fully when another blue-eyed black-haired man had come to her rescue. Seriously, was everyone in Gotham like Jay Jay or had he just been a manifestation of her sleep deprivation. He’d seemed so real, so human but it wouldn’t be the first time her mind would make something so absurd up. It was probably her loneliness acting up again. There was no way any sane person would stay around her for so long.

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

Surprisingly it had been Tim who saved her, though she hadn’t known that. Unsurprisingly, Jay and him had two distinctly different personalities. He lived off coffee, looked twice his age with those bags but had such wit about him that he could manipulate the situation without the other party realising. He had been surrounded by so many coffee cups that she had thought he had been in his final year preparing for exams or perhaps working night shifts every day of the week. But nooooo, he was the co-CEO of a business. Starting at the age of 17. Marinette had felt some of the burden dropped on her and she wasn’t even in his position. No wonder he looked like he needed a pick me up. It was just as well that she’d come equipped with her special coffee. She’d make more for Gina later, he needed it more. Plus, Gigi wouldn’t be back in hours.

“I know you said it was alright to sit with you uhh...”

“Tim.”

“Right, Tim. I don’t want to bother you anymore but that coffee looks like it doesn’t do shit for you. I made some for my grandma but she won’t be back for ages so maybe... you would like it?” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Of course he won’t want some he probably thinks you’re a weirdo who poisoned his drink. Maybe you can take it back from him? “ on second thought-"

“Sure. Why not?” Ok Tim needs sleep. My God, I could have spiked his drink and he accepted it. He’s so vulnerable like this.

“If I give you my drink it will probably take a minute to kick in but... but you have to promise me that you’ll drink my power down later. If you don’t I’ll find you and I’ll get you to sleep one way or another. Don’t test me.” He gulped, eyes wide as he frantically nodded. “Good. Now would you like some pastries to go with your Marinette’s Super Special?” Her shift in character made him freeze. He couldn’t find his voice quick enough and instead opted for a simple thumbs up. She dug two flasks out of her bag, placing one in front of him and sniffed her own. Then, she brought two plates out, setting out croissants so buttery they made him drool, raspberry macaroons and a dozen mini chocolate chip muffins.

“You look like you needed a sugar rush so I guessed what you might like. Sorry if they’re not your favourites. Now chop chop eat up child!” Tim took a tentative sip of his drink feeling it slip down his throat. It had been just how he liked it yet slightly stronger. And then he felt the kick. It had been so small that his brain glossed over it but it’d been there. He was starting to feel more human again. And it had shown. His face had become less pallid and gaunt, his eyes held a fire that had been previously extinguished and his movements became less robotic, almost lighter. Before Marinette could utter ‘I told you so' everything had vanished. Tim was never usually a messy eater but he definitely was right now. Chocolate was smeared all over his chin , flakes from the croissant had littered around his suit and coffee had spilt on his white polo shirt.

“Beanie,” he muttered, a wild look in his egyptian blue eyes. “Please tell me you’re real. Or I at least died and went to heaven. You’re too sweet not to be in my life. I don’t know how I lived without you before. Please, I need you as my dealer. Your coffee is the only one I’ll ever drink again. Please.”

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

It wasn’t every day you saw Tim Drake beg on his knees and whine. But when you did, you would probably laugh your ass off. Whoever that poor girl was had just attracted the attention of invasive photographers. Unlucky, but at least they would get a show out of it.

“If I give you my coffee you’re not going to sleep. You’re going to be a living zombie and I can’t live with that. I’d rather not have anyone connecting me with your death from excessive tiredness.” Tim knew he had to play dirty if he was going to win. Thankfully, Steph had taught him how to master the art of puppy dog eyes which he aimed at Marinette. He then wrapped his arms around her leg, consequently being dragged along the unsanitary sidewalk to where both their belongings were.

“Please please please please PLEASE.” He noticed Marinette’s will become fragile. He wobbled his bottom lip, sniffling softly. “I’ll stop begging if you say yes. Please beanie.”

“Fine.” She huffed whilst he fist pumped the air. “But we do things on my terms alright?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Jeez. You’ve given me a headache.” She stated aiming a half-hearted glare at a sheepish Tim. “That’s an achievement, dude, not even Chloé could do that and her tantrums were super bratty.”

He had gone to apologise when shrill ringing rang in the air.

“Sorry,” he mouthed. “ I have to take this.”

“Jason what do you want? You just interrupted my deal with my dealer.”

“ I didn’t know you had it in you. But now isn’t the time. I need you to check security where you are. Pixie pop's gone missing.”

“Pixie pop?”

“I’ll explain later but right now she’s in danger. See you in 5 replacement.” With nothing left to say the line went dead and he decided to run some checks on Jason’s location whilst idly chatting with Marinette. She had asked for his unique insight on her latest design.

“What shade would you use on this? I’m only asking because of your peculiar style.”

“Definitely lavender but towards the bottom fade into a dark purple. And peculiar?”

“Who wears a suit on a hot summers day?” she asked eyebrow raised.

“Me. Batman. Business owners. Cosplayers. Bruce Wayne. The list could go on but I don’t have all day.” He said throwing an exaggerated wink at her.

“None of those people you mentioned are normal except maybe cosplayers so it doesn’t count. Better luck next time. I’m going to go pee.” Tim had opened his mouth to respond when he spotted Jason. He looked terrible. His hair was matted against his forehead with sweat, his eyes were bloodshot.

“I came as soon as I could. What did you find replacement? Spit it out. I don’t have all fucking day.”

“First, I want you to meet me dealer and then we can talk about what happened to ‘pixie' and who they even are.”

“Tim, as much as I’d love to meet your drug buddy, it’ll have to wait. She’s more important. I’m worried that the people who took her are going to seriously harm her.”

“Fine but you’re missing out on meeting the sweetest girl ever.”

“I’ll pass.” Jason snarled before turning back to the pixelated security feed. “That was where I last saw her. That’s weird. It’s like she disappeared from all footage. Do you have any other leads?”

“Jay-Jay?” Marinette barrelled into him locking him in a hug. “How do you know tater-tot?”

“Hey!”

“Sorry little lady but I’m looking for someone. Holy shit, is that you pixie pop?”

“Yup and who you calling little lady? I’m fun sized and could totally whoop your ass if I wasn’t pregnant. Just remember that Jason.” The way she had said his name sent shivers up his spine. She had delivered her sentence as a fact, not a threat.

“That’s why you’re my favourite, pixie pop.” Jason said, tearing up.

“Replacement, how did you even save Marinette?”

“They probably took a look at his half dead state and got scared off.” After an hour of re-introduction, they finally left. Jason drove her back on his motorcycle and dumped Tim’s limp body (from drinking Marinette’s calming chai tea) on his back.

With many hours to kill before Gina would be back from her night shift, she got changed into her gym clothes- a pink shirt with short sleeves and grey shorts- and headed to her local sports centre. Surprisingly, it was Dick who saved her this time

Marinette had been doing light exercise to keep in shape every day since she arrived in Gotham. She had a daily routine of squats, sit ups and weights, moving at her own pace. She had only attended the gym once before this and everyone had been friendly or had just gone about their days. Today was the first day anyone had actually approached her

“Hey sunshine, is it alright if I call you sunshine?” She nodded. “There’s a creepy guy watching you. He hasn’t actually done any workouts but he’s pointing his phone at you for a hell of a long time.”

“Thank you for telling me...”

“Richard but you can call me Dick.” She snickered. “If you want to that is.” Dick walked away to take a quick call from his brother when...

WARNING: YOU MIGHT NOT BE COMFORTABLE READING THIS PART. TW: sexual harassment. I'll put a brief summary at the bottom if you would rather skip

When she felt a firm hand squeeze her ass. She felt it trail down her shorts before she could even look at their face. She leapt away from his grasp, her breathing heavy as she looked around for any support. Unfortunately, the gym was empty, giving the predator an easy advantage.

“Hey baby did anyone tell you you’re damn sexy when you smile? Cuz you definitely are.” he aimed a snide smile at her. His yellow teeth glinted and his heady scent made her sick. “Princess, come back to mine tonight. We could have so much fun together and I’ll make you scream until you forget your own name. So, how about it?” He had approached he, pushing her boundaries, forcing her to back up against the wall.

‘No. Not ever. But especially not today.’

Marinette paled quickly. Gina wouldn’t be home for hours and he would most likely follow her home anyways. With no one to bear witness to this, he could do as he pleased. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He could seriously hurt her or worse... and there would be nothing she could do about it. She’d just fade into the background, just another statistic. No one would believe her because ‘she shouldn’t have dressed like that’ and ‘she definitely wanted it’. So, she would fight and if he won well so be it. At least she had done all she could.

“Has anyone told you it’s rude to hit on people’s girlfriends?” Dick said forcing himself between them. He knew she could handle it but something about that guy made him uneasy. Marinette had exuded confidence but she still trembled and he could see how tense her muscles had been.

“He’s your boyfriend? You could do so much better than him. Just tell him your coming home with me. Or better yet, I’ll pay you to do it in front of me.” Marinette could see the repulsion on Dick’s face, as she gagged. “Yes, that would be way better. I’ll seriously pay you. Got a couple hundred bucks if you want it.” He stated palming himself through his jeans.

“No thanks. Maybe after she’s given birth?”

“She’s pregnant? What a slut. I bet she poked holes in your condom so you wouldn’t be able to leave her. Anyways, got to get back home to the wife and kids. Hit me up when she’s good again.” Marinette flung her arms around Dick as soon as she was sure he was gone.

Tw over

“Thank you so much. He wouldn't have stopped if you hadn’t come Dick.”

“No problem, sunshine.”

“It’s Marinette.” She mumbled, scuffing her shoes against the gym floor.

“What?”

“The name's Marinette. I would have loved to meet you under different circumstances. Oh well. Nice to meet you anyways.”

“You too Mari. Are you driving back home?”

“I actually walked her. I’ll probably just call a taxi or walk back.”

“No way sunshine. That guy is a huge sleaze ball. I don’t doubt that he’ll try something funny. If no one’s coming to pick you up I’ll walk you back home. Ok?”

“Ok.”

Dick had been completely right. The dude had been waiting outside, most likely waiting for Mari to leave but when he saw them leave together, he raced to his car. Dick had memorized his license plate and got a brief description of the car but he would probably dump it somewhere. Still, no harm in trying. He watched constantly to see if he was following them and took some turns to shake him off. In the end, they had arrived and Dick hadn’t left until he saw her actually enter her apartment. He had to tell everyone about Marinette.

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

Marinette’s battery had been drained, both physically and socially after that week. Lila had pissed her off and she felt really bad for that guy she spewed on. Not like she would see him again. She’d spent all week working on the dress Tim helped her with to wear to her visit to the Wayne’s tomorrow. It had been her fastest completed project ever, though she had neglected eating and sleeping. Marinette had to agree with Tim. The fade into dark purple had been a nice addition and made it really stand out. Even Penny had thought so when she saw it on their chat about commissions. A hungover Jagged threw a ‘rock’n’roll’ over her shoulder and Marinette had felt a pang in her heart at the tenderness they treated each other with. Maybe, one day she could have that special bond with someone too. But she needed to focus on helping herself heal first. She could see the apologetic look written over Penny’s face to which she giggled at before declaring that she needed some rest.

Gina had forced her to rest before they visited the Wayne’s. Apparently today had been Thursday not Wednesday? The days had just blended into one. She had been intrigued to meet the rest of the family but she felt so weak.

‘Oh well,’ she thought. ‘Nothing a little tea can’t fix.’

Since she had found out she was pregnant, all her normal guilty pleasures had been off limits. No double espresso as bitter as her soul and no alcohol. She had to adapt to the restrictions because of her doctor. So, she whipped up a tea as strong as her go to coffee with way less caffeine. It had still her the kick she needed but it wasn’t as good as she would have liked. Still, she’d take what she could get. It still aggravated her when she would reach for a glass of white wine or coffee beans forgetting about the warnings. It aggravated her when she would call out to Tikki to transform forgetting she was no longer by her side. She would toy with her empty earlobes before letting her tears fall freely. Tikki had been the most loyal-kwami or human- and she still got taken. She wouldn’t pretend it hadn’t hurt but she had moved on. Some days she would remember she wasn’t with her and cry but on some she’d pretend everything was normal. Today was one of those days where she wore herself out from crying. Gina had caught her but even she knew Marinette needed space, assuming she was still upset about Adrien.

After a good half an hour of crying, she went to freshen up refusing to look like a puffer fish when she met everyone. Dabbling at her eyes, she applied light mascara and used concealer under her bags so she wouldn’t look as dead as Tim. She slipped into the dress, wearing it with pride. It had fit like a glove exemplifying her curves and showing her protruding baby bump. That had been the only downside as she wanted it to be a surprise. Though, nothing slipped past Alfred’s keen eyes. She’d been puzzled as to how she could style her hair before she settled on voluminous curls. It had required Gina’s help and a hell of a lot of hairspray but it had been worth it. She set her flower crown upon her head (delivered to her by Adrien) and placed one on Gina's. She’d been quite surprised when Gina told her she would have to go by herself but it wouldn’t be too bad. Alfred and Bruce were kind so she could just chat with them if the others were rude.

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

Damian was annoyed. Gina was late. Very late. And he’d been waiting for hours for her to arrive. A soft rap on the door sent him flying out of his seat as he scrambled to unlock the door. He’d expected Gina but on their doorstep was that angel from before.

“You,” he whispered. “Why are you here?” He didn’t like feeling confused so he schooled his features to be cold and cynical. Footsteps behind him caused him to instinctively slam the door shut.

“Sorry angel.” Not that she could hear him. Jason had stood behind him, watching him with curiosity.

“Demon spawn. Who was at the door?” Shit. He couldn’t exactly say how he knew her or his reputation would be tarnished. Everyone in his family knew Todd was the biggest gossiper and he would definitely spread the news. Like hell would he tell Todd. He’d take that secret to his grave.

"It was bArBarA. I mean Gordon. Yeah it was Gordon.” His voice may have cracked several times but it was a convincing lie, right?

“One, you almost never call people by their first names.” Jason said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Two your voice sounded awful. And you don’t stray from perfection. So, what’s your deal?

“Puberty?” He shrugged trying to conceal his panic.

“I’ll take your bullshit for now but you forgot Barbara’s already here. Let’s try this again. Who was at the door?”

“It was that harlot that Grayson suggested I try to court.

“Oh, that bitch. She’s all yours. Just keep her away from me. And Damian when dinner is over, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. Make no mistake.” And with that, he threw a quick salute over his shoulder and strolled away. Damian had let out a sigh of relief, turning to walk away before he remembered who was still outside.

“Todd tell everyone I went to the bathroom.” He yelled shutting the front door before he could hear his reply. He descended down the stairs only to find her missing. He had begun mapping out all the locations of the manor when his eyes fell upon her. He felt the air forcibly be removed from his lungs and he remained unmoving. Awestruck. His heart squeezed as he watched her sniff his magnolias that he tended to. The way her dress pooled around her and the small but present baby bump had made him flush.

‘She truly was an angel.’ His eyes glanced at the flower crown entangled in her inky locks as the moonlit sky enhanced her celestial look. ‘She’s also much more than that though.’

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” She saw his mortified face. “You know getting a door slammed in your face isn’t the greatest first impression a family could give.”

“I’m sorry. But what are you doing here?”

“Expecting a warm welcome, not being left out in the cold, really anything but this. And I don’t even know you so...”

"You do."

"Excuse me?"

"You puked on me. I didn’t think you were going to ever see me again so you surprised me. I didn’t want to explain to anyone how we were acquainted.”

"I’m so sorry. It’s these stupid hormones. And that stupid Lila. Everything is just stupid."

"Lila Rossi? She is pretty stupid.” And then something changed. His face was softer and he hadn’t looked like he would bite her head off. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m waiting for my grandma but maybe tomorrow. I’m meeting a stuck-up client so I’m gonna need to vent. I’ll tell you the details later?”

“Fine with me.” She hobbled away. She had been patiently waiting by the doorstep, her soft rap probably inaudible due to all the chaos. He whipped out his spare key, unlocking the door. He hadn’t expected that soft click to prompt the attention of his whole family.

"Marinette-"

“Beanie?”

“Pixie pop?”

“Sunshine?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH DAMIAN?” they screamed, rushing forwards to envelop her in hugs.

“I let her in. You guys didn’t even hear her knocking. Wait, how do you all know Angel?”

His eyes nervously flitted to hers at the slip of his private nickname. He saw the flush on her cheeks as her mouth formed a small ‘o'. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes as the others taunted him for his cute pet name. He felt Dick ruffle his hair, which took a while to style, and Jason poke his sides. He felt Tim snicker and Barbara pinch his cheek. And he felt Marinette link their hands together in solidarity, enduring the teasing with him. They had been so embarrassed that they completely missed the arrival of Gina and the scheming look on Alfred’s face who dished her the gossip. They missed the dark but silent chuckle that left both Gina and Alfred as they decided to meddle in their kids failing love lives.

“What’d I miss, my little chicks? Because Mama’s home.”

NOTES (optional)

In the part labelled with tw here is what happens:

Creepy old 50 year old man hits on Marinette and feels her up. He asks her to come home with him but Dick helps her out and stops him. He tells them he would pay to watch them go at it and calls Marinette names. He eventually 'leaves' to his wife and kids.

Tags:

@sassakitty @lunathealphafemale @krispydefendorpolice @blackmagicforever @nach0ava @wannajointhecrabcult @thornalchemist23 @moonlightstar64 @iloveitwhen @little-angel1031 @screwthisshit111 @rebecarojas07 @animegirlweeb @mystery-5-5 @moonystars14 @gingerdaile @spyofthenightcourt @mialuvscats @notmycupoftea26 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @kuroko26 @miracleofadisaster @novicevoice @iloontjeboontje @abrx2002

#marinette dupain cheng #damian x marinette #damian wayne #ml x dc #gina dupain #alfred pennyworth #batfam #lila rossi #kim le chien #damienette #daminette #maribat

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captainlilyuniverseworld · 4 years ago

Text

Son of A B****

Title: Son of Bitch Square Filled: Omega!Sam Ship (if any): Sam/Dean, Omega!Sam/Alpha!Dean Rating: T Tags: Omega!Sam, ABO, Mpreg, Backgound ABO Summary: Sam goes to see the doctor thinking there might be something wrong or that he’s too stressed, Dean thinks Sam’s just starting omegapause, turns out they’re both wrong Word Count: 2201 Written/Created for @spnaubingo

Son of A Bitch

“I’m sure you’re worried for nothing,” Dean said. “Just stressing yourself out.”

“But it could be something,” Sam replied. “I’d rather just talk to the doctor and see what’s going on.”

“Could be omegapause,” Dean mused.

“…Are you saying I’m old?” Sam asked. “I’m not even 40 yet.”

“Okay, pre-omegapause,” Dean added.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Saying that isn’t actually making me feel better, Dean. If anything it’s making me think about morality and wills and burial plots.”

“But you’re not thinking about what could be stressing you out,” Dean pointed out. “You’re welcome.”

Sam snorted. “The way your mind works will never cease to amaze me.”

“Sam Winchester?”

He looked up at the sound of his name and saw a nurse standing in the doorway of the waiting room.

“I gotta go, I’ll see you at home alright?” Sam added.

“Everything will be okay Sam. And whatever it is, which is nothing, we will face it together. Like we always do,” Dean told him.

Sam smiled a bit. “I know…Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Sam hung up as he stood and walked over to the nurse. “Right this way Sam. Since this is your first time seeing Dr. Sterns we have to do a couple routine tests for your file and then she’ll come in when we’re finished alright?”

He nodded and went through the tests. He made a mental note to see about getting Dean to the doctor at some point. They were both pretty healthy, but it never hurt to have a doctor sign off on it.

“Alright, I’ll take these samples to the lab and Dr. Sterns will be in a few minutes,” the nurse told Sam before stepping out.

He leaned back in one of the chairs and tried not to let on how nervous he felt. He sat up straighter as the door opened and a young woman stepped into the room.

“Sam Winchester? I’m doctor Sterns,” she smiled and offered her hand. “How are we doing today?”

“Just trying to remember the last time I was in a doctor’s office,” he chuckled as they shook hands. “Moved around a lot for most of my life, so I’m more used to the whole free clinic, and urgent care types.”

“Move around a lot for work?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Sam answered.

“Well, everything looks good, our labs are not too busy today so we should get those lab results back by the time we’re finished. I see you are a new patient with us, and you had a few concerns that prompted you coming in today. Why don’t we talk about those,” she said.

“Right, uh it might be nothing, and it could just be me stressing out over nothing, I’ve been having trouble sleepy lately, and I’ve noticed that sometimes I get night sweats. I’ve also been getting headaches a lot more, haven’t been in the mood for sex much lately, my mate told me to mention that one, I’ve had some cramping on and off as well and some weight gain…I went online, and from what I’ve been seeing I guess I might going into pre-omegapause?” he explained.

“If only all my patients were as thorough as you,” Dr. Sterns chuckled. “Some of the symptoms you describe can coincide with pre-omegapause. I see here you’re going to be thirty six soon, and it isn’t uncommon to start getting symptoms in one’s late thirties. However, what you’ve told me could also indicate pregnancy.”

“Pregnancy?” Sam blinked surprised.

That thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

“You mentioned that you haven’t had your heat in a few months? When was your last heat?” she asked.

“Mid May,” Sam answered. “And it didn’t last as long as it normally did. Usually it’s a week long this time it is a couple days. Three I think.”

She nodded and wrote something notes down. “If you don’t mind me asking, why is it your first thought was pre-omegapause and not pregnancy?”

“Well…if it was going to happen for me, shouldn’t it have happened by now?” Sam asked. “I mean…I’ve been with my mate practically all my life, and we’ve always shared my heat together, when I was younger I used to take birth control, but as I got older I started having bad reactions to it so I stopped, and there are times when we’ve forgotten protection, we just kinda assumed kids were just not in the picture for us.”

“Have either of you been tested to know for certain?” She asked.

“We were never in one place long enough to really think about it,” Sam admitted. He ran a hand through his hair. “But…you’re saying there’s a chance I could be pregnant?”

“There is a chance yes,” she nodded. “The blood sample will give us a more definitive answer.” Her computer chimed and she turned to look at it. “Which, it looks like we’ve got the results.”

“I haven’t been this nervous since I applied to Stanford,” Sam smiled a bit.

“Alright, let’s see here. cholesterol looks good, negative for any STDs or infections which is good, and the HCG levels in your blood are on the higher side, you are pregnant Sam,” she smiled at him.

“Really?” Sam asked.

She turned the screen so he could see. “Normal HCG levels tend to be around here, but when you’re pregnant they’ll be around here, and get higher the further along in your pregnancy. In some cases, very high HCG levels could indicate twins or even triplets. Given your age, it wouldn’t be impossible for you to have fraternal twins. Your hormone levels are a bit on the low side which could be playing a part in why you haven’t been feeling any nausea or morning sickness. That could spike the further along you get.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sam sat back in the chair. “Sorry,” he blushed embarrassed. “I don’t mean to swear it’s just…the fact that I might be pregnant never even crossed my mind and then to find out I am, and that I could have twins…it’s a lot.”

“Would you like to do an ultrasound?” She asked. “See what they look like? And it’ll tell us how far along you are.”

“Uh yeah, sure,” Sam nodded.

He got up and laid down on the exam table and unbuttoned his shirt while she wheeled over the machine. He shivered when the gel made contact with his stomach and watched the screen.

“And there is your baby,” she turned the screen so he could see better and pointed. “Judging by the size, you’re just about shy two months, which means, you conceived during your last heat, which explains why it was so short. Generally once pregnancy takes, the heat is finished.”

“Wow…They’re so small,” Sam was in awe.

“Let me print you off a couple of pictures, and I’ll write down a list of prenatal vitamins for you,” she told him.

She gave him some tissues to clean off his stomach and he sat up to wait for her.

An hour had him pulling down the driveway to their house. After almost two years it was still weird to know they had a house to call home. A permanent home. He pulled his car in next to the Impala and grabbed the grocery bag off the seat and locked the doors before making his way to the house.

“Dean?” He called as he stepped inside. “Hey boy,” he knelt down to receive a few kisses from their dog Zeppelin and Sam’s still not sure how Dean won that one one. “Where’s Dean huh? Where’s he at?”

Zeppelin barked and ran over to the sliding glass doors that led to the back porch. Sam took the pie he picked up from the grocery store out of the bag and set it in the fridge. He was pleased to see the writing on it hadn’t smeared on the drive home. He hid a few beers and soda’s in front of it. And maybe that should have been the tip off. He can’t remember the last time he had an actual drink, as he’d been drinking soda and water a lot more.

“Hey,” Sam stepped onto the back porch.

“Hey,” Dean smiled. “How’d it go?”

“Good, it was uh, it was good,” Sam answered.

“See? I told you you had nothing to worry about,” Dean turned his attention back to the grill. “Figured I’d make kabobs for dinner. I even made sure to do a healthy amount of meat and veggies so you won’t complain this time.”

“I don’t think meat on a stick by itself really counts as a kabob Dean,” Sam pointed out as he walked over.

Dean wrapped his arm around him as he turned the kabobs over and leaned up to kiss his temple. “Well lucky for me, pretty much the whole world agrees that meat on a stick by itself does count.”

Sam snorted and reached for a pepper. “I’ll go set the table. We eating inside or outside?”

“Outside, the weather’s nice,” Dean answered. “Grab me a beer too would you?”

Sam went back into the house and grabbed the plates from the cabinet and drinks for them. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Dean putting the kabobs on a plate, and tossing a few pieces of chicken to Zeppelin.

He could already picture Dean standing at the same grill with their little boy or girl. Talking them through the intricacies of perfect grilling. Sneaking extra food to Zeppelin when Sam wasn’t looking.

“I know you’re there Sam,” Dean said without looking over his shoulder.

“He’s gonna get fat if you keep sneaking him food like that,” Sam said as he set the plates on the table.

“He’ll be fine. Ain’t that right Zep?” Dean tossed the dog another piece before he turned off the grill and joined Sam at the table with a plate of kabobs.

“I’ve never seen so many vegetables on your plate before,” Sam teased. “And such variety.”

“At least I’m not getting a little paunch unlike someone,” Dean mused as he picked up his beer.

My paunch is our baby, Sam was tempted to say, it was weird to think it but it made him feel warm inside. He knew deep down Dean had always wanted a family, and Sam had always felt a little disappointed with himself that he hadn’t been able to give that to Dean despite his claims that all he needed was Sam. But now he was pregnant, and as much as he wanted to tell Dean, he didn’t want to ruin the surprise, so instead he just kicked Dean under the table.

“Ow,” Dean reached down to rub his ankle. “Mean.”

They finished eating in mostly silence, comfortable silence that came from years of living in each other’s pockets and Sam pushed his plate away once he was done. He covered his mouth as he burped.

“Excuse me,” he blushed.

“I will take that as a compliment,” Dean grinned.

“I picked up some pie on my way home,” Sam told him. “I put it in the fridge.”

“Is it apple? I hope it’s apple,” Dean said as he stood up. “You want a slice?”

“I’ll pass,” Sam answered. “But I’ll take a root beer on your way back.”

“Must be some good news you got at the doctors. You’ve been smelling all good since you got home, and you picked up pie? If it weren’t the anti-possession tattoos I’d think you were possessed by a demon or something…Which reminds…me…” Dean’s voice trailed off.

“Dean?” Sam leaned back to try and peer into the house.

He stood up and walked into the house and found Dean in the kitchen. He was standing front of the fridge holding the door open. He was looking down at the pie in the fridge. Sam had asked the bakery clerk to write We’re pregnant on top of the pie in frosting.

“Turns out it wasn’t pre-omegapause, or omegapause or stress…I’m uh. I’m pregnant Dean,” Sam told him. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said.

“Yeah…my thoughts too when I found out,” Sam chuckled.

“But what about…and all those times,” Dean said as he looked at Sam.

“Stress…it can decrease infertility and the chances of conceiving,” Sam replied. “The last decade and a half has probably been a little stressful what with hunting monsters and trying to keep the world from imploding…you know, just normal everyday stressful things.”

Dean laughed a little. “Yeah, totally normal stressful things…fuck, Sam this is…”

“Good?” Sam asked hopefully.

“More than good Sammy,” Dean answered. He set the pie down on the counter and walked over to Sam. His fingers brushed their bond mark as he pulled him down into a kiss and Sam melted into it.

“This is amazing,” Dean said as he pulled away. “You’re gonna get so fat.”

Sam snorted and shoved his mate. “Screw you.”

Dean just grinned at him. “I mean consider screwing is what led us here…”

“Oh my god, just eat your pie,” Sam laughed.

#@spnaubingo #Omega!Sam #ABO #ABO Background #supernatural #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #Sam/Dean #alpha dean #fluff #bingo board #spn wincest #wincest

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egoludes · 4 years ago

Text

bookends.

summary: midterms aren’t so bad when you have someone good in your corner.

pairing: hayden ‘harvard hottie’ x black!reader

notes: okay, full disclaimer, y’all: this is a little random and a lot self-indulgent. i saw this mega-soft gifset of hayden and got immediately inspired to write something. excited for this to be the first black!reader fic i’m sharing publicly because the direction i took speaks a lot to the energy i’m trying to receive as a black professional at this difficult time. it’s silly, but i hope this gives someone reading it the same good energy i felt writing it!

also, consider this my first (of many, hopefully!) entry for @jtargaryen18‘s 30 days of chris challenge!

warnings: references to school stress/exams, major pre-friends to lovers energy, fluff

The library boasts an eerie quiet, the only signs of life shuffling books, busy keyboards, the occasional sneeze. Midterm season at any school is a tense time (after so many years in academia, you like to think you’re well-versed in that), but, there’s no denying that Harvard is a unique ballgame. The atmosphere even now, midday Saturday with fall sun through ceiling-high windows and only a handful of students, is suffocating. Anxious energy through every aisle and study room.

You’ve been in the thick of it for a few hours now. Long enough for your neck to ache when you’re not propping your head up on your hand, and for your fingers to smart when you curl them around a ballpoint pen. You’d gotten your hair braided a few days before to ease up on maintenance in an already busy time; but you’re starting to regret that now that your study headache is aggravating an already tender scalp.

It’s amidst all this that Hayden finds you, pointer finger to your temple over a mess of outlines. Grinning wide, he sinks into the chair across from you with a paper bag at one side and his engraved messenger bag at the other.

“How long have you been here?” He asks, though he must know the answer. You’re a machine at exam time with a routine that would make anyone balk.

“Not that long,” you still say, defiant — albeit jokingly so — to the concern rising in his eyes.

“Uh-huh,” he nods, though not all that convinced. “And I’m guessing you’ve also definitely had something to eat.”

“I—“ Before you can speak up, your stomach answers for you in a growl that would be missed anywhere else, but echoes in that still library corner. You feel heat creep over your neck and quickly sink your face into your hands, groaning when you just feel Hayden’s smugness spike.

“Well,” he starts again, reaching a hand to tug one of yours from your face. The touch is careful, evenwith the shit-eating grin he has when you look up at him; and it lingers, his fingers curling around yours to keep your hand on the table’s dark wood. “Lucky for you, I am the best - dare I say, greatest - friend in the world and got you something on the way. Here—“

He pushes the paper bag towards you, and you tug it in the rest of the way with your free hand. The top shifts from the movement and from the opening wafts the smell of something sweet — delicious. You hadn't noticed how hungry you were until then, but the aromas rising to meet you do quick work of reminding you and you’re taking your hand from Hayden’s to dive in. You only need to see the logo to know he’s gotten you your favorite breakfast spread from your favorite cafe, tall coffee to boot.

Excitement thrums through you, rising in a happy trill that makes Hayden chuckle and your neighbors glance at you in barely veiled disdain. “Hayden,” you preen, trying to watch your volume, “you’re more than the greatest, holy shit!”

He laughs again, though this time with cheeks a shade of pink you take a particular pride in causing. “Hey, what can I say? Gotta take care of my girl!” Cue a playful glint to his blue eyes - you’re rolling yours before he can even get it out. “Plus, next time I need to practice one of my speeches with someone? You can’t tell me no.”

You snort at him, fishing a napkin out of the bag to throw his way. He barely dodges it and has to stifle laughter at the way another cut glance is thrown your way when he reaches to grab it from the ground. “All jokes aside, though, you have to take care of yourself - I know there’s no getting you out of here, but I don’t wanna see you get sick or anything either, okay?” He reaches for you again, this time to tap your face softly with his knuckles. He’s always been like this — boyish and affectionate in one fell swoop. It makes it hard to focus on anything but him when he’s around, and you don’t notice what you must look like, reaching up to squeeze his hand.

“Yes, dad,” you tease, squeezing at his fingers one more time before letting them go.

“Sweet - that’s all I ask.”

Something new settles between you then: a tender neither of you think to question, despite how often it seems to happen these days. He watches you through his bangs, longer than usual with the mayhem of papers and tests; and you watch him back, glasses slipping to the bridge of your nose. You both sport half-smiles, drinking each other in before he clears his throat, you press your glasses back into place, and you both return to the tasks laid out in front of you.

Underneath the table, your knees knock his, a product of his legs being so damn long, and you readjust, giggling, until you’re tangled up with legs slotted between each other’s to share the space. You pull your coffee out to settle into the comfort of his company and finish a few more pages of reading before you eat. Overhead, the sun beams through ceiling-high windows and suddenly, an afternoon in the library doesn’t sound so bad.

#harvard hottie x black!reader #chris evans x black!reader #hayden x black!reader #30daysofchris2020 #chris evans x reader #just in case because i don't think i've ever seen a harvard hottie fic on here ever so that tag probably DEAD lmao #harvard hottie x reader #chris evans fanfic #harvard hottie fanfic

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browniefox · 4 years ago

Text

Waking from the Long Winter

Ace Attorney - 5K Words

Phoenix Wright and a few moments during the ten weeks it takes to receive results from the Bar Exam.

A one-shot written solely for the half-joke I make within the first couple paragraphs lol. Character exploration of Phoenix finding himself again. Hinted narumitsu but just hinted.

oOo

Phoenix is sure there’s a joke here, somewhere.

Something about a lawyer walking into a bar, and then knowing to duck the second time. Or maybe not ducking, but running into it at top speed. Or trying to vault over the bar and getting his feet caught on it and falling on his face instead. There’s something there, he’s sure of it. More than anything, however, Phoenix wishes his brain would focus on the Actual Bar Exam instead of trying to make this stupid joke work.

He took the bar once before, of course. His memory of having done so, however, is shaky at best. Trying to look back at it, it’s nothing more than two days of pure stress. If he tries to pin the experience down to a word, it's just a really long and drawn out scream.

Taking the bar the second time, ten years later, is… different.

Phoenix studied, of course. Apollo had still had his flashcards and big binder full of notes. Slow days in the office were often punctuated with spontaneous quizzing on terms and laws and procedures. He’d spent late nights reading big law books and then falling asleep on top of them like he was in college again. He sat in on a lot of trials, reviewing the roles of the people in the court.

Now that he’s finally actually taking the Bar, it’s like a math test.

Obvious not as far as subject matter went. But it reminds him strongly of what taking a math test back in middle/high school had been like. Going into it scared and then being surprised by how quickly and easily he seemed to go through the questions. Of course, that also always ended with him getting the test back with a million red marks that revealed the test hadn’t been easy, he’d just been dumb.

For the first five minutes, nerves making Phoenix fidgety, the Bar exam had been scary and the words had refused to form comprehensive sentences. He’s pretty sure he almost had a panic attack. But then the five minutes pass, and Phoenix takes a few deep breaths, and when he opens his eyes again, he realizes he actually does know this stuff.

He was a lawyer, once, seven years ago. It feels like that should be more than enough time for him to have forgotten what being one was like, for all of the words to have become greek to him once more. And yet, his previous cases stick out to him on the page. Yes, he remembers using evidence law for the Skye case, he knows this. Ah, yes, he remembers studying this case because it reminds him of the Powers one. There’s even a question about spirit mediums at one point and Phoenix almost laughs out loud.

It probably also doesn’t hurt that he’d kept his enemies close during his disbarment, as well as working on MASON.

Kristoph had often asked for Phoenix’s opinion on cases, setting out the evidence and asking for the ex-lawyer’s input and expertise. He wonders if it was supposed to sting, if Kristoph had been trying to rub salt into the wound. If so, he had succeeded, sometimes. Other times, it’d been nice to fall back into those familiar ways of thinking, of trying to piece together a story, of trying to find justice.

Phoenix would never ever thank Kristoph for anything ever, but he did admit there were unexpected rewards for having put up with him for so long.

oOo

Paying for a barber hasn’t exactly been in the budget for years.

Not that there weren’t places you could get a haircut at fairly cheap, but every single dollar and penny counted. Even the months where things looked alright, where there was a comfortable sum left over after rent and taxes and food, most of it was set aside for when the rough times would return. They always did.

“Just a trim?” Trucy asks. She wears the fake mustache she insists on wearing every time he asks her to cut his hair. Her own was just trimmed by him, the floor littered with split ends. There’s layers throughout it, and now that it’s started to dry back out he can see his handiwork and nods to himself. The days of terrible and uneven cuts while trying to watch a video tutorial are well behind both of them, years of practice instead showing through.

The swivel chair from the desk has been moved into the bathroom and Phoenix looks at himself in the mirror, his hair for once not bunched up inside of his beanie. It’s long enough to pull back with a hair tie. Trucy is already gearing up to cut off an inch, the same inch she cuts off every time to keep it from getting too long. For years, that’s been the only reason to cut his hair. He runs his fingers through it. It’s to his shoulders right now and he blinks when he realizes that he hates it.

He hates how the long strands get in his face. He hates how sometimes he pulls his beanie off and his hair is staticy. He hates how if he doesn’t pull it back while cooking, if he has something on his hands, he has to awkwardly flick his head in usually-futile attempts to get the hair out of the way.

He hates it and he’s hated it for a while. But for some reason, every time before now, it’s felt easier and safer to keep it long and annoying.

“Actually,” He says, and then hesitates. He’s had his hair like this for so long now, and shorter hair… He steels himself and straightens a bit, “Actually, Truce, could you go a little shorter this time? Just, you know, a little-”

“Don’t worry, daddy, leave it to me!”

There’s a mischievous little glint in her eyes and Phoenix almost changes his mind, but she’s already spun the chair around and started cutting. Phoenix closes his eyes and waits. Trucy hums as she cuts his hair, and usually she does little tricks with the scissors, but this time she’s just cutting. He tries not to think about how close to his head the scissors sound, how much she must be cutting off. He’d asked her to, and he hates how long it was, and yet now that it’s too late to change his mind he’s nervous.

“Alright!” Trucy chirps and spins him back around to face the mirror. Phoenix opens his eyes.

A young lawyer, full of hope and trust and pure stubbornness, stares back at him.

And then he blinks, and the man has little tired wrinkles around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth and prominently between his eyebrows. He still has the couple-day-old stubble that he had yet to shave. There’s dark shadows under his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair. It spikes up in the back, just like it used to, just like it always has, like how his mom used to hate and try in vain to flatten down.

“Well, what do you think?” Trucy beams at him.

“It’s perfect.” He says.

And it’s true.

oOo

Phoenix has never owned a perfectly tailored suit in his life. He never found an issue with this. Off the rack was just fine, and a lot cheaper, and you didn’t have to worry about anything happening to it.

Apparently Miles thought that this was an issue.

Two weeks after Phoenix took the bar, Miles drags him to get a new suit. Phoenix stresses that his old suit was perfectly fine. He at least assumes it's fine. It is shoved somewhere near the back of his closet and by now is probably made up of as much dust as fabric. But it should still looks like a suit, and he can probably send it to the dry cleaners or something if he ever needs it.

Still, Miles insists on dragging him to get a new suit.

The people there all recognize Miles right of the bat, greeting him as ‘Mr. Edgeworth’, with a lot of ‘So good to see you again’ and ‘Are you here for the usual’ and ‘How is dear Ms. Von Karma doing’. His answers are amicable enough: ‘It’s nice to be back in the country.’ ‘No, not today, I’m here for my friend.’ ‘Franziska is doing well, thank you.’

Phoenix sees how they look at him when they don’t think he can see them. They don’t know that Phoenix is well used to being on guard constantly, no matter the time or place. He cedes that maybe he should’ve worn something today other than his hoodie and beanie and flip flops, especially with how the ‘flip-flop-flip-flop’ is just shy of echoing throughout the large store. He knows they must look an interesting pair, prim and perfect well put together Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth next to disbarred pianist and poker player Phoenix Wright. He doesn’t let it bother him as Miles picks around the room, finding suits that he approves of.

There’s too many shades of blue. Half the time, Miles holds up two and asks which one Phoenix likes more, and they look exactly the same. Still, they eventually end up with a few different ones for Phoenix to try on, and Miles and one of the men - the tailor? Maybe? Or the owner of the store? - walk around Phoenix and critique how it looks on him and then send him back to try on another. It reminds Phoenix how much he hates shopping. The whole process of having to try things on and take them off and then repeat is just a bit too tedious for his sake.

Miles more than Phoenix decides on which suit is best out of the ones he’s picked out, and then Phoenix's measurements are taken so that it can be fixed to fit him just right.

They’re looking at the ties, the last thing to grab before they leave, when Phoenix finally says,

“I haven’t passed the Bar Exam yet.”

Miles pauses for a second, then hangs the white tie back up. He doesn’t turn to face Phoenix but his eyes do glance over.

“You took the test.” He says, and Phoenix can hear the unsaid in there. ‘You took the test, right? You didn’t lie about that? You didn’t purposely sabotage your own test? You haven’t done something incredibly stupid already, have you?’

“I did.” Phoenix nods, and means ‘I really did. I gave it my all. I tried my best, I swear it.’

“Then you’ll need a new suit.” Miles says.

“But I haven’t passed yet.”

“Mm,” Miles hums, grabbing a dark red tie and looking it over, comparing it to the swatch of fabric that matches the color of Phoenix’s new suit, “You’re not going to fail.”

“But-”

“If you fail, then you’ll still have a new suit. There’s more reasons than being an attorney to own a nice suit, you know. If you ever eat somewhere nicer than the Borsch Bowl, for one. Or I have a wide array of incessant events I’m expected to attend throughout the year. They’ll be more manageable if I have someone there with me, but there is usually a dress code. Or perhaps I’ll be in need of a co-council at some point. I could use your eyes, and lord knows they’ll let absolutely anybody co-council, qualifications be damned.”

Miles doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Phoenix. He does, however, pick a wine red tie and add it to the growing stack.

oOo

When he moves the items off of the piano, he’s careful to make sure he remembers where everything goes.

It’s his office, it’s his piano, and while maybe most of the things he takes off aren’t his they also haven’t been touched in weeks, and he doubts that Trucy or Apollo would notice anything different. Still, he feels oddly like a kid sneaking food out of the cupboards while his parents are out. Trucy is setting up for a show and Apollo is out looking at a crime scene. It’s the perfect chance.

He lifts up the covering from the keys of the piano. He sits down on the bench, and a chill rushes over him that isn’t there. He can almost hear the sound of the Borscht Bowl, the clamour of patrons. He’s played this piano so few times, he can count them on one hand. He’d given practice a couple tries when he first got hired, until it became clear that being paid not to play was probably just as lucrative - if not more so - than actually having the skill.

Phoenix rests his hands on the keys, cold ivory under his warm fingers. He’d taken classes, once, years and years ago, when he was small and young. His piano teacher then had been an old and nice woman, but she’d had to stop teaching after a few months due to health problems. He can still find middle C, and that is more or less where his skills end. Usually, when someone requests a song, he plays ‘hot cross buns’ or ‘heart and soul’ or any other classic of the sort.

This time, Phoenix lets himself bang around with wild abandon on the keys, like he had as a kid, caring little for melody or timing or anything at all. The piano is probably out of tune. Not that he can hear that sort of thing, but it's a fair and safe bet to make. The piano hasn’t been played in a long while.

He steps away for a moment and runs a finger over the spines of the books on the shelves until he came across a thin one, so thin that the spine didn’t have any kind of title, just staples holding the pages together. Some hot-shot customer had come into the Borscht Bowl, slapped the ‘Beginner’s Piano Lessons’ book on the top of the piano and declared that Phoenix was going to need it once he was beaten at poker that night.

Of course, Phoenix had won. He got to keep the book anyway. By ‘got to keep’, he meant the customer had punched Phoenix in a fit of rage after losing and had been kicked out, leaving the book behind. Phoenix had kept it.

He isn't any good at reading music, but he has the afternoon to himself. He gets out a pencil, writing the letters above the notes, counting the keys to make sure his fingers land on the right ones. It is slow, and tedious, and not something he has to do. It's something he's doing because he wants to.

oOo

Phoenix has a love-hate relationship with Parent-Teacher Conferences.

He loves to go when the teachers will tell him ‘oh, Trucy is a joy to have in class! Trucy brings such a brightness to the classroom! Trucy is brilliant, what an amazing daughter you have! She’s so talented!’ And then Phoenix gets to beam at Trucy, and Trucy gets to glow under the praise, and then he gets handed her report card that he can place on the fridge so he can look at it every morning and be filled with pride again.

He doesn’t so much like them when the teachers look at him funny.

Look, Phoenix is an adult, he can admit that his appearance took a pretty sharp decline after he was disbarred. But some days it was all he could do to put on the hoodie and beanie, and he had learned pretty early in how to rationalize it all away as ‘putting on an act’, as trying to get Kristoph to underestimate him. However, an adult man who adopted a daughter, and thus had had someone declare him fit to raise a kid, looking like he was one trip to McDonalds away from being completely broke wasn’t always the best way to present one’s self to other adults, especially ones on high alert make sure their students were in a stable living condition.

One time, Trucy had even had to warn him to clean up a bit. She’d picked up on the worried questions her teacher had been asking her, about how often she ate and what her dad did for a living. Phoenix had put on actual shoes and a button up for that PTC. The teacher had still looked at him suspiciously, but he’d done his best to exude confidence and ‘I’m perfectly capable of raising a child on my own’. He couldn’t risk losing Trucy. If he lost Trucy…

He can’t lose Trucy.

Of course, the days of those sorts of PTC’s are behind them. Now that Trucy’s in high school and has eight different teachers, PTC’s consist of going between the school’s cafeteria and library to find Trucy’s teachers, get told if she’s a good student or a distraction or doing well or doing poorly, and then heading right to the next teacher. Some teachers they just outright skip, like Trucy’s gym teachers.

“C’mon Daddy, you have to dress up too!”

Trucy spins around in her magician outfit. The straplessness of the dress made it against the school’s dress code, so she never got to wear it to classes. She’d been talking about showing it off during the PTC, when school wasn’t technically in session, and Phoenix knew that she was probably going to take the chance to dazzle her teachers with some of her smaller tricks as well.

Put that in the list of reasons why he did like PTC: getting to see people be amazed with Trucy’s close-up magic tricks.

“Trucy,” Phoenix sighs.

“No, please? I always get dressed up, and you never do.” She pouts, crossing her arms.

“That’s because you’re the star of the show tonight.”

“But you’re my assistant! Please, just this once? I know you don’t like getting dressed up, but...” And then Trucy hesitates, which is so unlike her it catches Phoenix’s attention right away, “But I’d like it.” She finishes. For a moment, the room is plunged into darkness that only Phoenix can see as chains shoot out of nowhere and a single psych-lock places itself in front of Trucy.

Phoenix sighs one more time. He’s not going to pry, not unless it becomes a big deal.

“Sure, can’t have you performing with a sub-par partner.” He relents and Trucy claps her hand excitedly.

He goes back into his room, reaching for a button down. Something simple, he figures. Just something a little nicer than usual.

And he sees the suit Miles had bought him.

It’s in a big black bag to keep it safe from dust or whatever. Almost without thinking to, he takes the hanger off the rack and sets it on his bed, unzipping the bag and looking at the suit. It’s so much like to his old one. He runs a hand over it and then almost puts it back. But if he can’t wear it to a PTC, how can he wear it to any of the myriad of events Miles had listed off? He used to wear a suit everywhere. It had been border-line mandatory.

“Hurry up, Daddy, or we’ll be late!”

Phoenix jumps at the banging on his door.

“Just a minute, sweetie!” He shouts back.

It feels… different. He blames that on the light blue waistcoat that Edgeworth had insisted on. That, and the fact that it was a suit that was made to fit him exactly. His old suit had been second-hand, all that he’d been able to afford at the time. The blue, what many people seemed to remember about him, had been due to lack of options rather than real choice.

He looks at himself in the mirror, running a wet hand through his hair to try and get it into some semblance of presentable. He still has his stubble. He hadn’t shaved this morning. It’s not too late to tear off the jacket and vest and go with his original plan of just a button up.

“Daddy!” Trucy calls again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He shouts back, and with one last look at himself, one last effort to convince himself he looks fine, leaves his apartment looking more like the Turnabout Terror than he has in years.

oOo

More of Miles’ things seem to come weekly.

Apparently Franziska is doing a deep and thorough cleaning of the Von Karma estate. She keeps finding more things, and so boxes and boxes turn up on Miles’ doorstep.

Phoenix finds himself spending a lot of his time in Miles’ office, and it means he ends up spending a lot of time helping Miles unpack boxes. Some of them are things that really shouldn’t have surprised Phoenix, like Steel Samurai manga and dvds that Franziska has unearthed from hidden corners of the estate. Miles had admitted he’d kept them anywhere he thought Manfred wouldn’t look. Other little things like that showed up - small mementos or notes, most of which seem innocuous, but that Miles insists would’ve been disapproved of.

There are also other things, like pens or books or pictures. Some of these do belong to Miles while others of them are items Franziska 'didn’t wish to hold on to any longer’. While that seemed to be the case with some, it only took looking at Miles face to confirm for Phoenix that a lot of them had secret sentimental value.

He never understood their relationship. He’d been an only child, and while there were people he was close to, he’d never grown up in the same building with them, nor under the harsh condition Miles and Franziska had. He's glad he doesn't have to jump through the weird hoops and unsaid rules that Miles and Franziska do when navigating anything to do with the other.

“Okay, you can’t tell me these are important.” Phoenix holds up a pair of scissors. They’re cold and pure metal, no plastic handle like the three pairs Phoenix himself owns. All three of them always go missing at the same time too, which completley defeatst he point of having so many pairs.

Miles sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s sitting on the ground in front of the bookshelf. With the most recent influx of books, alphabetizing them means that the previous books need to be pushed to the next shelf, and it has created a chain of necessary rearrangement to every subsequent shelf as well. Phoenix has seen Miles force the work onto some younger prosecutors or even unlucky detectives, but with Phoenix here he does it himself.

“Open them up.” He says and Phoenix does just that. There are initials welded into the metal, M.E.V.K. Phoenix raises his eyebrows.

“Miles Edgeworth… Von Karma?” He says, just to be sure, and Miles nods.

“Mm, yes. Those are my shears. Franziska insisted on the initials so that if I ruined my pair, she’d be able to tell they were mine right away, and I wouldn’t be able to try and steal hers. She took them to get initialed herself.”

He speaks of the event with the calm and cool that is so Edgeworth, but Phoenix has learned to read between lines. He runs a finger over the four initials. Von Karma. The household Edgeworth had lived in and belonged to in all but the official name change. The name that he was able to carry on these shears.

“I’ll put them in your desk.” Phoenix says instead of the millions of other responses running through his head. He’s standing in front of it anyway. He pulls open the first drawer as Miles says,

“No, I’ll be taking them home. They’re fabric scissors, Phoenix. Using them on paper will ruin them.”

Phoenix’s response to that completely leaves his head when he sees the small golden pin in the drawer.

“What’s this?” He says, more to himself than Miles. He knows what it is, and yet he asks anyway. It’s a defense attorney pin. He can see the petals, the image of scales in the center. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen one recently, he has defense attorneys working for him, after all. But it’s so out of place to see one in Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth’s office that it takes him completely by surprise. He picks it up, turning it this way and that.

“Is this... your dad’s?” He asks, the first answer that comes to mind.

“Is what- oh. No. It isn’t.” Miles is looking over now, and there’s something in his voice that makes Phoenix’s brow furrow. He sounds… hesitant? Scared? Nervous? None of those seemed quite right, but Miles didn’t seem completely at ease. Phoenix returned his focus to the pin.

There are teeth marks in it, like someone had bit into it at one point. The edges of it are worn slightly, softened with time. It’s nostalgic to look at.

It’s even more nostalgic to turn over and see the number 26381.

“Wait, this is…!” Phoenix stares at the number, the number that is burned into his memory. He’d memorized it soon after receiving the pin. It was his number, the number that meant he was really a lawyer, that he had done it.

“... yes. It is.” Phoenix looks back up. Miles is still looking at him, the odd expression still there. Not hesitance, not nervousness, not fear.

Anticipation. Miles is sitting there, watching in anticipation, as Phoenix finds his old defense attorney’s badge in Miles’ desk.

“You have my badge.” Phoenix says. He turns it back around to stare at the face. Yes, that bite mark… that was from Ema, wasn’t it?

“I do.” Miles confirms.

“Why?” Phoenix says. He weighs the small pin in his hand and then tosses it, catching it easily enough. It’s so light and small.

Miles considers both Phoenix and the pin, eyes tracking the movement of the pin as it goes up in the air again and then returns to Phoenix’s palm.

“I didn’t want anyone else to have it.” He says. He’s still anticipating something.

“I see,” Phoenix says. And… he thinks he does, “You never told me. Would’ve been a lot easier to have given it to you personally instead of having to take it off and give it to the board.” He gives Miles a half grin.

“They wouldn’t have accepted that. They’d be upset with you.”

“What would they do? Disbar me?” Phoenix jokes. Miles looks like he’s trying not to crack a smile at the joke. It’s a joke at Phoenix’s expense, but the pain of the event has been numbed by time, and the joke is made to Miles.

“I suppose there wasn’t much they could do at that point, no,” Miles agrees, “It would’ve been easier to have gotten it from you personally. I had to pull some strings to get it.”

“And you didn’t tell me.” Phoenix brings up again.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d want it back.” Miles answers honestly.

Phoenix looks back down at the pin, his pin. He can see himself, six or five or even three years ago, finding out that Miles had his pin and begging the man to give it back to him. It had meant so much to him. Its absence had meant even more. It wasn’t as if he would’ve been able to do anything more with it than Miles had been doing; he’d have stuck it in a drawer, and on his worse days he would’ve pulled it out and cried over the small piece of metal.

Maybe if he’d found out a few years earlier, he would’ve been upset at Miles for not telling him, for keeping this from him. It was his badge, after all.

But now, seeing it placed in the top drawer of Miles’ desk where he could quickly open it and look at it whenever he’d wanted to, it fills Phoenix with something warm. This whole time, it hadn’t been locked away somewhere, or handed off to some rookie, or tossed away. It had been with Miles, watched over, polished, kept safe.

“Thank you.” Phoenix puts it back into the shelf, closing the drawer. The anticipation finally leaves Miles to be replaced with relief.

“It was my pleasure.” Miles smiles, and Phoenix returns it.

oOo

A lawyer doesn’t cry until it’s over.

For seven long and painful years, through even terrible twist and turn in the road, Phoenix hadn’t cried. Oh, he’d come close several times. Times where everything had started to get to him, when his chest had shaken with the sobs he so desperately wanted to let out, when he was reminded that he wasn’t a lawyer anymore, that the rule wasn’t his rule anymore. And yet the tears never came. His face stayed dry. And he’d rise again to carry on.

The packet comes in the mail ten months after the test.

It’s thick and heavy. He’s home alone, Trucy at school and Apollo doing some last-minute preparation for a trial. Sometimes it seems like the kid has better luck getting clients than Phoenix ever did.

He knows what the packet is the moment he sees it in the mail slot. He feels numb as he carries it to his apartment. He considers waiting to open it, but that seems like putting himself through unnecessary cruelty.

There’s a knife in the kitchen and he grabs it so he can cleanly slice open the top. It feels wrong to rip into it like an animal.

His shoulders shake as he slips the knife under the flap, his eyesight becomes blurry as he cleanly cuts across the top.

Win or lose, pass or fail, Phoenix thinks he knows how Godot felt at that trial. He imagines that if someone was watching him with the magatama, they’d see a final psyche-lock, placed firmly there when Phoenix had first started to close himself off for the war against Gavin, break apart.

Alone, in his apartment, for the first time in seven years, Phoenix cries.

It finally feels like it’s over.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #fanfiction #fanfic #browniefox writes #i shall post fic here #as a treat to myself

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planetsam · 4 years ago

Text

The impact is jarring.

“Shit, sorry,” the apology comes quickly and from his spot on the ground, Alex tries not to pray for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He wishes he had two left feet instead of the awful truth, “here, let me—“ he drags his eyes from the hand to the face and inhales sharply.

“Guerin?”

He looks different. Older. But the pain in his eyes is chillingly the same. Alex ignores the hand and finds his footing as he makes his way to his feet. It’s not how he saw this reunion going. Then again, nothing is how he saw it. Michael’s hand lingers for a moment before it falls to his side. He tucks it away before Alex can see the scars and while he appreciates the sentiment, they’ve been burned into the back of his eyes since the hammer was brought down. He focuses instead on Michael and forces himself to take in the man he’s become. He’d be lying if he said it hurts but he’s got no right to feel anything about how Michael’s turned out.

“Hi,” Michael says and however Alex was expecting his voice to sound, small is not it. Something shows on his face because he can pinpoint the instant Michael’s walls come down, “what are you doing here?” He asks.

“That’s—“

“Classified?” Michael offers and Alex rolls his eyes at his tone, “didn’t realize the ufo emporium was hosting actual aliens these days.”

“I was going to say none of your business,” Alex cuts in, “I figured you’d be long gone by the time I came back.”

Michael scoffs, looks away and Alex feels his hackles rise. Michael’s looking for a fight, again. Apparently nothing has changed. The scruffy, hollow look is still the same, he’s still finding sleep in the bottom of a bottle. Alex doesn’t know how someone so bright can throw their lives away like that, but hell there’s a lot about him Alex knows he’ll never understand. He’s got better things to do with his time anyway.

“I guess if you ever came back you’d have known,” Michael sneers. It’d be an ugly thing if there wasn’t something so sad about it.

“I never had a reason to come back,” he says instead, “and you’re right. Now the reason’s classified.

“Well I’ll let you get to your super secret alien business,” he says with a fake salute, “oh there’s a metal detector in there now,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks away, “don’t forget your keys, coins and whatever else you’ve got.”

Alex cringes at the thought of struggling out of his prosthetic. Or presenting that stupid card he was given. His mouth goes dry. He doesn’t want to answer the questions that will follow. Not today. He decides this trip was stupid, he’s not a teenager trying to get out of the house. He’s an adult who can leave whenever he wants.

Besides, he doesn’t exactly need to seek out memory lane when it’s apparently walking around town.

“Nothing ever changes with you, does it?”

Michael’s shoulders stiffen and Alex immediately regrets his question. He could blame it on the liquor but he knows that’s not it. Not after a night of watching Michael slip in and out of dark corners with different people. There’s a growing pain in the back of his skull but he’s pushed past worse. Right now he’s focused on Michael. Michael sets down the glass and glares at him.

“You got something to say?” He challenges and Alex feels his muscles tense.

“I just did,” he shoots back.

“Screw you,” Michael snaps and much to Alex’s shock he turns and walks away.

Maria shoots him a look and shakes her head but Alex is past caring. He follows him. He has orders to be here and he can’t do that if every moment Michael is there making different parts of him hurt. He follows him out into the night, wincing at the sounds of a fist slamming into brick. When he gets there Michael has his arms braced against the brick and his face turned away.

“What’s going on?” Alex questions.

“What the hell do you care?” Michael questions.

“There’s no way you’ve been on this kind of bender for this long,” he says, “you’d be dead.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“That’s not funny,” Alex snaps, “I have to be here,” he says, “I have orders. I have to be here,” Micheal presses his forehead against the brick, “it’s got nothing to do with you. You have—“

“No reason to go on a bender?” Michael fills in.

“Yes,” Alex says.

Michael makes a sound that sends chills down Alex’s spine. It’s a wounded sound, something that makes him think he’s never going to hear a laugh properly again. He had hoped pointing out he didn’t want to be there, that he wasn’t there for him, that it would somehow make things better. But the sound Michael makes makes him want to find a bottle and didn’t until he forgets it. The pain in his head spikes. Before he can help himself a hiss escapes his lips.

Michael’s reaction is instant. He steps out of the darkness and to Alex’s shock, his eyes go from his face to the one thing Alex has tried to keep hidden. Embarrassment sinks into his stomach as a thousand scenarios fly thought his head for how a Michael could have found out. Why he didn’t say anything. Who else could possibly know. Everyone, he reasons with a dry mouth. Everyone must know because it’s not enough that he gets his leg blown off and sent to torture his father with the reminder of how bad a soldier he is. No, he also has to show everyone that he can’t do the simplest thing like walk properly anymore. Michael’s eyes lock on his and Alex feels laid bare, like Michael knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Alex—“

“I have orders,” he repeats, “this is the only chance I have of serving my country,” Michael cringes, “I have to be here.”

“Yeah I know,” he says in that small voice again.

“No, you don’t,” Alex says, “I have to be here. I have orders.”

“I said I got it!” Michael says loudly, something desperate and defensive in his voice.

Alex doesn’t feel a breeze but there must be one that makes the lid of the trash can slam. It echoes in his rattled brain, sending the coming headache into overdrive. He wants to push past the pain and keep fighting but even he can tell there’s no victory to be had here. Michael seems to know it too. He scrubs his face wipes his hands before hiding them away.

“Just stay away from me,” Michael says, “it’s a small town but you can manage that.”

“The ‘small town’ isn’t the problem,” Alex says.

“Fine,” Michael shoots back, whatever he was about to say is lost to the tight press of his lips. Alex wants to pry his mouth open and snatch them out. Or do something even stupider but all he can do is nod, “see you around,” he says, “or hopefully not.”

Alex watches him walk away and realizes the sight is very, very painful.

“How did you know about my leg?”

Michael rolls his eyes as he drops his french fry. He looks annoyed and Alex knows he’s been trying to avoid him. Alex has been trying to avoid Michael in equal measure. It’s not hard on busy days. But proximity to Michael is fucking with his head. He’s turning every stupid moment over so many times it’s giving him literal headaches. He’s trained to push past the pain of things like that. But it’s an annoyance he wants to deal with.

“I googled it,” he says.

“No, you knew exactly where my leg was,” Alex says. Michael presses his lips together and looks away. The pain in his head throbs, “how did you know?”

“I could see the place,” he says, “through your pants. Danger of wearing tight jeans.”

Heat floods Alex’s face even though they both know that’s bullshit. He’s not expecting to see Michael’s face go pink as well, even though the real give away is the usual tell Michael has.

“I can’t tell if it’s worse that you’re lying to yourself or to my face,” Alex says.

“Think about it and get back to me,” Michael replies with a lop sided grin that makes Alex’s stomach do a flip flop he most certainly doesn’t need right now, “can I finish my fries, I gotta get back to work.”

“You have a job?”

“Yeah I have a job,” Michael snaps, though this is different than his usual retorts, “is that hard to believe?”

“A legal job?” Alex repeats.

“Oh my god—yes, Alex, I have a legal job,” Michael says, “Can I get this to go?” He asks loudly and then swivels to face him, “let’s keep avoiding each other.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex blurts out, still trying to process that Michael who has all the appearance and drinking habits of a small town criminal has a job, “I didn’t—“

“Yeah you did,” Michael cuts in, “I’m a mechanic,” he says and that small voice creeps in, the one Alex hates even as he is impressed at Michaels ability to let a stranger in, even a little bit, “I got my ASE.”

“I didn’t know,” Alex says.

Michael shrugs.

Alex turns from the sun as the pain hits harder. Michael swears under his breath and shifts forward but Alex holds up a hand to stop him. He shifts back though out of the corner of his eye Alex can see he’s ready to spring forward.

“I got it recently, that’s why it didn’t come up,” he says, his voice low and urgent, “that’s all.”

“Come up?”

“Of course you already looked me up, I just passed the exam. I don’t even have the certification yet. But we both know i passed, yeah? But it just didn’t come up, that’s all. If you look again it’ll be there now.”

Alex focuses on his voice and his own breathing as the sharp pain recedes. It’s manageable, it’s a linger ache which seems to be the best he gets these days. He looks over to Michael to say something but Michael is somehow already moving fast towards the door. He doesn’t look back as he goes, just gets the hell out of there as fast as he can. Like seeing Alex in pain is still something he doesn’t know how to deal with.

It’s confusing as hell but the bright light makes him turn away and when he looks back the truck is speeding off and Michael’s already gone.

When he goes back and looks it up, Michael’s name is in the database.

But the test is dated six months ago.

***

The headaches aren’t enough to distract him from the fact that he is being lied to.

And not in the usual way.

Alex has been fed lies his entire life. About being wanted and loved, about fitting in, about how if he accepted himself everyone else would too. It’s been a long time since he believed any of them. But the level that it’s been taken to is almost laughable. Almost. It’s weeks before he’s in the same room as Michael again. The funny thing is that some instinctive part of him still tries to trust Michael. Still clings to the brave, brave boy who would throw everything away to protect him.

“Been to a lot of drive ins lately?” Michael asks when they somehow wind up alone.

“Not unless you count my laptop and a humvee,” Alex says.

Michael snorts which is immediately calming and troubling. Michael’s always gotten his sense of humor but he’s always hated the military that hangs over Alex. The military and authority in general. The fastest way to get Michael to do something is to tell him to do the opposite, everyone knows that. Especially Michael himself. But Michael chuckles and Alex feels himself relaxing despite his best efforts to remain angry and on task.

“What about you?” He asks.

“Not really one for the drive in,” Michael says, drumming his thumbs on the bottle.

“Why’s that?” Alex asks.

“Come on, Alex,” Michael drawls.

The heat on his cheeks is back. He can just picture Michael and a long line of girls. Which feels—he doesn’t want to name the feeling that it inspires. He doesn’t have a right to that anymore. Michael can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants in the back of the truck. Instead Alex glances around until Michael gives him a questioning look.

“I’m just trying to decide if it’s safe to sit here,” he says.

Michael laughs in surprise but it’s a real laugh before he clutches his fist to his chest with fake dramatics.

“You know I take good care of my truck.”

Alex shakes his head but doesn’t argue for once because Michael has always taken good care of his truck. It’s why he’s the only person Alex knows who still drives his car from high school and it isn’t a complete death trap. He can also remember a time when he was the only one Michael made out with in his prized truck. Not half of Roswell. The bittersweet feeling lingers but for once the headache isn’t the thing that he’s most focused on. It’s almost nice to be sitting there with him. Even if the others would be back any second.

“So is Roswell as good as you remember?” Michael asks.

“Good? Are we talking about the same Roswell?” Alex asks, “remember when you couldn’t wait to get out of here?”

“Yeah but you did,” Michael points out, but there isn’t a challenge in his words for once, “so how’s it being back?”

Alex shrugs.

He wants to say being back sucks. That he regrets every second he’s spent away dreaming of this place because the reality is worse. He wants to grab Michael’s stupid lapels and demand to know why things are the way they are. Why everyone’s lying to him, why Michael lying to him is so much worse. He wants answers that not even Michael can give him. Like why his leg is gone or his head is hurting or what it’s like to get a full night of sleep. But Michael isn’t the brave boy who protected him and he’s not the type to ask the universe for things it won’t give him.

“I’ve been on worse deployments,” he says.

Michael shuts down.

Alex has computers that would be jealous of the speed which Michael goes silent and closed off. Like magic the rest of them are back and there’s no chance for anything except to sit there in the awkwardness. Alex gets through maybe half the movie before he gives up and slips away as best he can, before anyone can ask if he needs help.

“Nice ride,” Michael says from behind him. Alex glares at his reflection.

“You shouldn’t sneak up behind a solider,” he says.

“Sorry,” Michael says.

Alex glances down and realizes his hand isn’t on his firearm. He doesn’t feel the way that he usually does when people sneak up behind him. It’s another thing that doesn’t make sense in all of this. He turns around but doesn’t move out of the way. He should feel trapped, pinned, afraid. But he doesn’t. The more he thinks on it the more the pain in his head digs in. He’s hand enough of his body betraying him though. He can deal with the pain.

“Why did you follow me?” He asks.

“Came to see if you were okay,” Michael says.

“Why?” Alex asks.

Surprise gives Michael away. Or the lack of it anyway. He’s surprised at how Alex asks so directly but he doesn’t seem like the kind of surprised where there isn’t an answer. Or an answer he doesn’t want to say. He looks like he wants to crawl out of his skin or scream at the top of his lungs. When he reaches for more bullshit, Alex finds his patience snapping at the same time something seems to snap in his head. But he ignores the hot pain, he shoves past it. He’s survived worse than this.

“We used to be—“

“Don’t lie to me,” Alex cuts in, “this isn’t about what we used to be.”

“It always is,” Michael says.

“You’re doing it again,” Alex snaps. Michael blinks and looks confused in a much more honest way, “You keep getting this voice—“ he fights the urge to rub his temples, “this isn’t about what happened ten years ago.”

“You don’t know that,” Michael scoffs and if the wariness in his eyes didn’t give him away, the tongue over his bottom lip and heat in his face do.

“Yes I do,” Alex says, “you’re a miserable liar.”

The comment makes Michael’s jaw drop.

It also makes an explosion go off in his head.

Alex has a high tolerance for pain, it’s a virtue of his upbringing. This isn’t pain. He doesn’t have a word for what this is. It’s like his entire spine is being crushed into itself. His skull is going to break open, it has to. There’s no room for anything else in there. The words keep tumbling over in his head. Miserable Liar. Lying about something that’s just out of reach. He grips Michael’s forearms tighter, he strains to catch at whatever it is that keeps dancing just out of reach. The explosions keep happening, the pain is blinding and so is the heat. It hurts worse than anything but it isn’t the first time.

It isn’t the first time.

He’s been in three explosions, he doesn’t know how he knows that.

He remembers the one that took his leg.

He can’t say how he remembers the one that broke his heart.

And the third—

He reaches for the thought desperately and the answer comes to him a moment before he passes out.

The third took his mind.

****

“Here,” Michael puts the folded up cloth over his eyes, “shhh don’t try to talk,” he says as Alex parts his lips. Michael picks up his finger and puts it on his wrist, “tap once for yes, twice for no,” he says, “you want water?” Alex taps once.

It’s mildly humiliating to have to be helped to drink but the pain tempers the humiliation. Michael helps him lay down again, he sets the water glass to the side. The sound rattles Alex’s brain and Michael grips his hand back, rubbing his fingers over his knuckles until the waves subside.

“What happened to me?” He asks.

Michael seems to know not to tell him not to talk. Alex is touched and offended by the concern in equal measures. Michael doesn’t let go of his hand. Alex doesn’t have it in him to draw circles with his thumb or anything like that but he squeezes Michaels hand. Michael sighs several times like he’s trying to organize his thoughts. Alex opens his mouth to try and help with some kind of basic question but Michael cuts him off.

“You’ve been here for a year,” he says.

“What?!”

Alex shoves himself up before he remembers what a bad idea that is. The cloth goes flying as Michael lunges forward to steady him with one hand behind his neck and the other at his shoulder. There’s also a bin suddenly in his lap that he knows wasn’t there before but it saves him from puking on both of them. A bin magically appearing isn’t more stunning than finding out he’s missing a fucking year of his life. Or that he’s not in Michael’s trailer but some underground space with a chandelier that reeks of Michaels style and is an impossibly far cry from the trailer.

“Why can’t I remember?” He demands. The pain in his head flares and the dots finally connect, “it’s the headaches,” he says in case Michael hasn’t picked up on that. He lifts his head to see Michael’s shoulders sag, “what happened to me?”

“It’s a drug,” Michael says, “they inject it into your spine,” he taps the back of his neck, close to the base of his skull, “it takes away your memories and if you try to get them back,” he motions towards his sorry state.

“Who?” Alex demands. Michael cringes, “my father?”

“Your dad,” he licks his bottom lip, “this guy you were trying to date. Flint—“ he hesitates, “they did Flint first but he helped.”

Alex stares up at him, trying to reconcile the fact that he’s been experimented on, lost a year of his life and apparently was dating someone who helped do this to him. He’s almost grateful when his stomach turns over, though there’s nothing left in there to come out. If Michael hears the dry sob buried in the heaving he lets Alex have at least one shred of dignity and pretends he doesn’t. Alex fights back for control before putting the bucket aside.

“What am I missing?” He says.

“Alex—“ Michael starts, fear in his eyes. It’s fear now, Alex can place it. But it’s not fear of him. Michael’s scared for him. Which would be great if it wasn’t for the fact that he can already feel the throbbing coming back, “I can’t,” Michael says.  “Yes you can,” Alex replies. Michael hesitates, “I need to know what’s going on,” Alex tells him, “Michael, please, I need to know what they took from me—from us.”

Michael cringes and looks away and Alex realizes he’s stumbled onto something. It makes sense that something would happen if he’s been there a year. He was trying to find a way to get Michael to give him the information he needed to know. Embarrassment curls through him, he deserves worse than hearing he was in two relationships he can’t remember.

“It’s gonna hurt,” Michel says finally.

“Michael,” Alex repeats his name.

“I’m gonna be the one who hurts you. Again,” Alex opens his mouth but Michael shakes his head and seems to come to some kind of decision. He goes for his belt and folds the leather over itself, “it’s been a year,” he says grimly, “you might need this.”

Alex takes the belt and goes to put the leather between his teeth.

“I might hurt you,” he says, “physically.”

Michael shakes his head.

“Trust me, that’s not going to be a problem.”

***

“I never thought I’d miss the days when you just ran away.”

Alex cracks open an eye to see Michael standing there. He’s wearing a black cowboy hat Alex does and doesn’t remember seeing him in. It’s a nice contrast if Max used to be a cop, Alex could remember nothing and he’d still remember the cops around here wear white stetsons. The light only hurts his eyes because he’s wasted and Michael’s positioned himself in the worst way. Which Alex has a feeling isn’t an accident.

“Are you enjoying being on the other side of this?” He asks. Michael shakes his head, “you could be the one who runs away this time,” he offers.

“I’m shit at it,” Michael says.

“Yeah,” Alex agrees.

“You’re shit at it too,” Michael adds, stepping out of the stupid light to join him against the wall.

“I guess we’re both just good at burning our lives down,” Alex muses.

“Guess we are,” Michael agrees, “you gonna stand up?”

Alex considers it but between the liquor and the brawl he was just in, he thinks the ground might be better. Michael nods and suddenly Alex isn’t sitting outside the Pony alone. Michael’s explained everything to him but if Alex had any doubt about how Michael feels it’s pretty much gone when he willingly drops onto the ground next to him so Alex doesn’t have to sit in the ruins alone.

“I was a better fighter when I had two legs,” he says.

“You beat him pretty soundly,” Michael points out, “he just got a few lucky shots in.”

It’s true, he’s sitting on the ground but his brother and his ex are probably gonna be eating liquid meals for a bit. Alex can’t say he regrets it.

“I gave them a chance to explain themselves,” he tells Michael, “I didn’t just attack them.”  “You don’t have to explain,” Michael says quickly.

“I mean I’m not going to—“ he winces at the thought of Michael holding him down with his fucking mind and wonders why it’s important he reassures him, “if you thought I was.”

“Thanks,” Michael says and there’s no humor in his eyes even though Alex is pretty sure he’s just made a hysterical joke, “I’d understand if you did,” Michael adds, “after—“

“That’s not your fault,” he cuts in.

“Come on,” Michael counters, “we both know that’s not true.”

“It wasn’t,” Alex emphasizes, “I don’t blame you for it.”

Michael hangs his head. Alex doesn’t. There’s a lot of messed up shit in the story Michael told him that Alex could and does blame him for. But him losing his memories, the bomb, the things that led to this? Alex can keep the things he does blame him for separate from that.

“You’re not a saint Michael,” he says, “but you’re not a monster,” he looks over at him, “and this,” he motions to his head, “it’s not your fault.”

He knows Michael doesn’t believe him, he also knows it’s impossible to convince him. He can only hope that Michael doesn’t think he has to self-flagellate. Michael sighs and cracks his knuckles. He isn’t hiding his hands anymore. Alex wishes it was that easy to feel like he doesn’t have to hide his leg. Or lack of. It’s strange to have Michael have so much and Alex have nothing. On one hand he’s happy for him. On the other—Alex can put that feeling aside in the place where he puts all his feelings about Michael that he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“Are you done burning down your life?” Michael asks. Alex shrugs, “Alex?”  “That wasn’t my life,” he says simply, “I’m done if they are,” he offers.

Michael sighs loudly.

They both know the answer to that.

“You know this whole time I thought all of this was my fault,” Michael says.

“Are you disappointed?” Alex asks and the sarcasm brings a genuine smile to Michael’s face. His nose wrinkles.

“You know I kinda am,” he says.

Alex can’t remember the last time he laughed until his ribs hurt. It isn’t even that funny. Maybe it’s just that laying in the back of an alleyway with Michael laughing in the wreckage of both their lives, there’s something real. Even if that something is just a fucked up connection he can’t fully explain. It’s funny and it’s tragic and the wetness on their cheeks could be from either of those things. Or just from the exhaustion and pain that’s ruled their lives for God knows how long. A year? Ten? Always?

Michael looks over at him and it’s the easiest thing to push himself closer.

It’s Michael who pulls back.

“We can’t,” he says. Alex stares at him but lets him keep going, “I can tell you the fucked up shit I did, but you don’t remember,” he says, “that’s not fair to you,” Michael adds, squeezing his eyes shut, “shit none of this is fair to you.”

“I might never remember,” Alex points out.

“Yeah,” Michael says.

“Did you stop caring?” He asks. Michael shakes his head, “could you?”

Michael doesn’t hesitate when he shakes his head. Alex knows he feels more for Michael than he has for anyone. But those feelings haven’t stopped either of them from doing fucked up things to each other. He can’t blame Michael for not wanting to do anything more with them. It’d be a lot easier if he thought that was what was happening.

“I haven’t stopped caring for you,” he says.

“You did,” Michael tells him, “not that I blame you. With all the fucked up shit I did.”

Alex nods.

“You did a lot of messed up things,” he says, “but I don’t think I stopped caring for you,” he looks at Michael, “deep down I don’t think you believe that either. I think you want to, but I don’t think you do.”

Michael looks away. Alex hates being the manifestation of Michael’s need to punish himself more than he hates any role he’s been shoehorned into. Including being Jesse Manes’ son. He doesn’t have the words for that. He’s not sure the words for it have been invented. For someone you would rather sit on the ground with than be warm and dry. Or anywhere else. Alex has wanted to fit in places before but he’s never found that sense of acceptance he remembers with Michael.

“Do you think we can get past it?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” Michael says, “do you want me to go?”

“No.”

“You sure this is okay?”

Alex looks up at the sight of Michael standing in his doorway. He nods without any hesitation. Michael is very much of the ‘alternative living’ dwelling but living above a bunker with alien stuff has draw backs. Like some long lost alien relative coming and blowing it up. Alex isn’t sure how he beat Isobel to the offering of Michael coming back with him, but he was pulling into his driveway with Michael’s truck following. Alex is at least grateful the truck survived with only minor dings.

“I’m sorry about your bunker,” he says. Michael nods, “is there anything I can do?”

“Can we look for the piece of my ship?”

Alex nods, grateful for anything to do. He can’t remember and Michael only has a few clues like the bag he shoved it in. So they turn the house upside down, pausing only for snacks and beers. It beats dreaming about Michael losing another home and him being powerless to stop it. Of course the cabin with all its secrets doesn’t make this easy. Why would anything be easy when it comes to them.

“This is like being drunk and hiding something from yourself,” Michael says, half under the bed, “you know?”  “No,” Alex says honestly, “the stuff I hid I wanted to keep hidden. From my dad, or enemy insurgents.”

“There’s a difference?” Michael asks. Alex snorts and lays back, looking up at the wood beams, “you’re too good at this.”

“Sorry,” he says, “I do it professionally, if that’s any consolation.”  “Not really.”

Alex tilts his head. He spent years picking out patterns and discrepancies. Code and buildings aren’t terribly different when it comes to the patterns. And he’s always been good when it comes to discrepancies. He rolls over to the painting against the wall.

“Can you get the painting off?”

Michael comes out from under the bed and blows his curls out of his eyes in a gesture that shouldn’t be so adorable. Or so hot. He looks at the painting and frowns. Then it swings out, hinged to the wall. The keypad there is like a cruel joke. He likes to think he knows himself but the missing year taunts him. He looks at the pad and then at Michael. Michael stares at the pad for a moment and then punches in a code.

“Glad I told you,” Alex says, reaching in and pulling out the bag.

“You didn’t,” Michael says. Alex looks over at him, surprised.

“What was the code?”

“Date of our high school reunion,” Michael says.

Alex isn’t sentimental about a lot of things. Not in any version of himself. Tangible things can get broken too easily to be important. He passes Michael the bag and looks inside the safe. Everything in it is practical. Which he should have expected but finds himself disappointed all the same. He wishes his memories were in there. But the ship piece will have to do. He looks as Michael pulls out the piece of glass, the colors going blue around his handprints.

“It’s beautiful,” Alex says.

Michael nods, turning the piece over in his hands. The light trails across where he touches, changing the colors reflected across his skin. He’s beautiful. Alex is grateful that he was able to hide it, that he was able to give it back. No matter what happened in between that and him losing his memories. It’s a small thing but Alex has long since learned to be grateful for small victories. Especially when the big ones are so far between.

“I’m glad we found it,” he says, breaking through whatever spell has fallen over Michael and the last remaining piece of his home. It’s jarring and he wants to snatch the words back, even as something in the marrow of his bones tells him to stop him. That the longer he stares the more likely it is he’ll go. “What’s the date?”

“The date?” Alex nods and Michael seems to jerk back to life, “oh yeah,” he rattles it off and Alex tucks the numbers away, memorizing them easily.

“I have to figure out a way to remember these,” he says, “in case my dad tries something like this again.”

“You can just ask me,” Michael offers.

Alex’s mouth goes dry. He wants to say that he believes their friendship would be strong enough that if it happened that would be true. But the things they don’t say or can’t say have started piling up again already. There’s an ache that hangs over their relationship, their friendship, and Alex doesn’t know how to make it go away.

“Yeah but just in case,” he says.  “In case of what?” Michael presses. Alex blows out a breath.

“I don’t know, in case you decide to take a trip somewhere,” he says, “or you meet someone and move away. Or you’re busy,” he shrugs, “you know, just in case.”

He closes the safe and gives Michael a good extra few seconds to collect himself. He hears Michael put the glass piece back in the bag and he still takes his time before turning to face him.

He isn’t expecting Michael to be so close.

“I meet someone new?” Michael repeats.

“It’s going to happen eventually,” Alex points out then shakes his head, “no it already did. We both did.”

“And look where that got us.”

It’s a challenge and Alex desperately wants to fight back. But Michael has been clear—as clear as Michael ever is about his feelings when he isn’t broadcasting them. He has a year of fucked up memories of them that Alex has made his peace with he’ll never get back. It’s like his leg. They’re gone. There’s a time to mourn and then it’s time to move on. He can’t blame Michael for not wanting to be with someone who can’t remember moments like the ones he has. He can only blame him for not wanting to move past it with him.

“You said in the alley—“  “I know what I said,” Michael snaps, “but I didn’t know.”

“Know what? What changed?”

“I didn’t know you had the reunion as the code to your safe.”

Alex rolls his eyes.

“You’re the only one whose surprised at that,” he shoots back, “I told you—“

He gets why Michael put the glass piece down when his back hits the wall and Michael’s lips find his. The world slips away as he melts into the feeling. If he remembers nothing ever again he’ll remember the taste of Michael’s mouth. How he presses up the extra quarter inch like it makes a fucking difference. His hands are on Alex’s cheeks and then at his waist like he can’t figure out where to touch first. The frantic energy crackles between them and Alex has no idea how he didn’t know Michael was an alien. Or maybe Michael being special just eclipsed all of it.

Any awkwardness Alex envisioned for his first time without both his legs is gone. Michael doesn’t cringe at his prosthetic and when the bed moves in a way that’s got nothing to do with what they’re doing, Michael doesn’t have a chance to be embarrassed. They lay on his bed after gasping unsteady breaths.

“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t make up the couch,” Michael says.

Alex might feel love drunk but that doesn’t stop him from smacking Michael with the pillow.

* “I should have known when you said there was a metal detector,” Alex realizes aloud.

Michael cringes and ducks his head, focusing back on the car he’s working on. Because he is actually a very good mechanic and all it takes is a simple sign saying his customers can find him in Alex’s driveway for the operation to move there temporarily. From his spot on the porch Alex can work without the sun in his eyes while Michael buries himself in cars.

“I was just trying to keep you from getting those headaches,” he says.

“The UFO Emporium still runs on floppy disks,” Alex says, still flabbergasted he fell for it, “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

“To be fair,” Michael begins, stepping out from under the hood, “I was banking on you still thinking your leg was new and being too embarrassed to risk it.”

“No I know,” Alex says, “but I worked there, I should have known there was no way they would install a metal detector.”

“They might one day,” Michael offers.

“If they do we should move,” Alex says turning back to his screen, “it’ll be a sign of the apocalypse.”

“Or an alien invasion.”

Alex rolls his eyes and looks over at Michael who flashes a grin that makes his cheeks burn. The alien thing is, in some ways, easier to get used to than openly dating. Which seems backwards in his head but it’s not in this situation.

“Speaking of signs of the apocalypse, invasions and unbelievable things,” Michael says, “you know we’ve been dating a month.”

“I know,” Alex says, “that reminds me, I changed the safe combination to today,” he glances up at Michael, “in case I forget.”

Despite them dating for a month and all the other stuff, the gesture does exactly what Alex was hoping it would. Michael goes pink around the ears and blows his curls off his forehead before turning back to the car.

“I’ll remember,” he says.

“I know.”

#michael guerin #alex manes #malex #michael x alex #roswell new mexico #malex fic #roswell nm fanfic #Roswell nm fic #and yes it's also on ao3 #im stunned too I came up with a title and everything

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