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Stay, please || K. Takami /Hawks

A/N: This was requested by an anon, for Hawks angst to fluff. I’m not entirely sure if this ks what you wanted but i hope you like it anyway!

Genre: Angst to fluff

Warning: BNHA MANGA SPOILERS, angst.

Words: 7789 words

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The job of a pro hero, was something that came with a lot of responsibility. As a pro hero, you had the responsibility of someone else's life in your hands . The responsibility to keep them safe. It was a never ending battle between bad and good with when one villain had finally been defeated and captured a new one was lurking in the corners of the streets.

The training young teens who just decided what to with their lives, which was wanting to make the world a better place and saving people by becoming a hero, was rather cruel in some cases. There was no denying in the fact that learning is best done by practice, but putting 16 year olds into battles between adults they shouldn't have to fight could be..considered inhuman in some cases.

Especially when the 'teen' is a 6 year old boy who had no choice but to give his life to the country to be used as a tool to solve the life long battle between good and evil. He was seen as a 'secret weapon'. One that would make the world a better place. A future set out for him in every possible detail until his very retirement.

It was tiring, so very tiring. A constant cycle of waking up, going to work, overworking, getting home, go to bed. Barely any time for free time. The lack of it made him feel like he was stuck in a simulation, a system that he couldn't run away from.

He felt like he was being suffocated, a tight rope wrapped around his throat with the people he worked for his entire life at the end of it only pulling it tighter and tighter putting more and more responsibility on his shoulders. He was gonna collapse, his vision growing hazy and his knees trembling close to giving up.

"Keigo.."

The rope around his neck loosened. Hawks was so focused on walking forward towards the pointless direction he was forced to walk towards that.. he hadn't noticed when a soft pair of hands had started fumbling with the rough material. He hadn't noticed when breathing got easier again and he certainly didn't notice when his legs dragged him somewhere else.

Falling in love with you was the easiest thing he had ever done. The moment his eyes met yours he was absolutely swooned by the way they held such a calming warmth in them that he felt his wings puff up. You were incredibly beautiful to him and the red tips of his ears certainly didn't go unnoticed for he felt a cold feeling wash over him when the number one hero sent a glare at him reminding him he was on patrol.

He felt himself so drawn to your presence, always finding ways to sneakily run into you or find a reason to talk to you.

When the cold months creeped around the corner, meaning the sun set earlier in the evening, he did not hesitate for a second to insist he'd bring you home safely. He wouldn't hesitate to playfully tease you about the tiniest things, loving the either flustered or giggling reaction coming from you.

"Hawks..?"

His eyes were glued to the screen of his computer, scanning over all the tiny words that for some reason didn't seem to get through his skull no matter what he did.

He felt like his eyelids were being pulled down by tiny fairies who were trying to lul him into a deep sleep so they'd be able to kill him in his sleep or kidnap him afterwards..atleast, that's the story his grandmother had told him when she was still around when he was younger.

God, how long that had been and how fuzzy the memories were of her. Hawks never saw her often, for the relationship with her and his dad was horrible, but when he did he'd feel nothing but a warm fuzzy feeling he hadn't felt in years. A comfortable feeling he wanted to bask in forever with no worry in the world.

He tore his eyes away from the screen, immediately settling on your form after you had entered his office.

The crimson wings fluffed up just slightly upon seeing the sight of you, a reaction Hawks had no control over. Slowly, he spread them and even in the dim light of his laptop screen you could still clearly see the beautiful red colour they held. Every little detail of each feather, how they slightly shook when he stretched his entire body before folding back into their previous position behind his back.

"Ah, it seems i have died huh? Knew all this paperwork was gonna make my brain melt one day..Though, i thought angels had like eight arms were shaped like a pyramid and had like fifty eyes in total."

A playful smirk danced around his features, but it wasn't hard to take notice of the tiredness his eyes held. How to bags under his eyes would get darker by the day and how his voice sounded heavy laced with drowsiness.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't help but snort at his words. Your eyes were still glued onto his wings, mesmerized by the way they looked and never failing to impress you.

"What are you doing here so late, dove? Thought your shift ended two hours ago, did you miss me that much?"

Hawks noticed how your eyebrows scrunched together this time there was no little smile or snort at his comment. Did he cross a line he shouldn't of have crossed? No, you didn't seem mad..you looked worried.

Placing one foot in front of the other hesitantly, you made your way towards Hawks desk eyes scanning over all the littered papers and the opened document on his laptop.

"Could ask you the same question, Mr.hero..I had forgotten my keys so was unable to enter my house. Thought your shift ended three hours ago?"

The tone in your voice was more stern this time and the hero didn't miss the somewhat motherly undertones to it. Even the way the way your hand found its way into his hair, plucking something out of it but even the slightest touch made him coo softly.

Quickly snapping out of his smitten state, Hawks quickly recollected himself and grinned. No matter how hard he tried, he still looked burned out and absolutely exhausted. The small pile of energy drinks in his trash can and the empty coffee cup on his desk only making it more obvious. "Thought it would be fun to just sit here and stare at some words on a screen with no yellow light"

A small moment of silence took over the room. An awkward one at that..had he made an uncomfortable comment once again?

It was hard to let his eyes settle to the dark after having had them glued onto the screen for so many hours. He could very easily make out your silhouette and where your eyes were, but it was a little hard pinpointing the details in your face.

Being so focused on taking in your facial features, he hadn't noticed how your hand had slowly creeped up on him to settle onto his wings. Nobody ever really touched his wings, well technically they did of course just..not like this. Not with such tenderness while running their nails over his skin, like getting your hair played with but so different.

It was hard to keep his composure like that and the very moment your fingers moved he let out a shaky sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head and his body relaxing under your touch.

"You're so tense, should take better care of yourself Mr.hero.." You whispered, hands trailing from the base of his wings up his shoulders before settling onto his neck and giving it a small squeeze.

Hawks face felt warm. He wasn't sure if you were aware of what you did to him or if this was you trying to tease him in any way. It felt nice, so very nice. To be touched like this, with such gentle movements. He wanted to bask into it forever, for him the only one you'd touch like that and talk to.

Leaning his head back, Hawks peered up into your eyes while resting his head against your stomach. Your hands were now attached to his ears, tracing his ear-shells with your fingers.

"Please.." He whispered so very softly, his voice so desperate.

"Hm?"

"..stay"

Eyes widening slightly, the fingers once wrapped around his head slipped away.

Hawks was a very open book, it had been something you noticed right away when you first met him. He wasn't afraid to show his feelings about something or to state his opinion on certain things. His emotions always very clearly present on his face.

Yet, the emotion he currently expressed was hard to place. You weren't sure if it was fear, sadness or desperation. Maybe a mix of all of them but none of them really was the hawks you used to see on a daily basis. Were his emotions getting the best of him at the late hours of the night?

His rather cold hands took ahold of your own the chill spread out through the rest of your body something which made you shiver slightly.

"God Hawks, you certainly are sappy huh?"

A small grin tugged at the edges of his lips, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. His eyes followed your form as you sat down on his desk, eyes piercing into your own.

"Got me there, dove..Only for you though, baby bird."

With a small smack to the head, his chest felt much lighter when you started reading through the papers scattered around his desk, a pen in your mouth while writing down things here and there. How you'd rest your legs on the arm of his chair telling him to finish his part so the both of you could go home.

That was the first time Hawks started thinking about a future other than what had been set in stone for him ever since he was a kid. What is a selfish thing to do..? To think about a future that only he provided off in the end and hopefully you too, of course? I..think everyone's allowed to be a little selfish sometimes. That longing for something so precious and wonderful is something everyone deserves to have.

To be selfish and keep you to himself, to hold you in the late hours of the night and to be able to feel your skin against his own.

With his wing wrapped around your body, you walked underneath the dimly lit streets.Every time either of you laughed or talked, a small cloud would leave your mouth and disappear into the cold november air.

It was only such a small memory compared to the ones the two of you had made throughout the friendship you had, one that eventually blossomed into something more. Though, to Hawks it was the night he came to the realization that for the first time in his life he felt like..there was a destination, a goal, to where he was walking to.

Loving you was the easiest thing Hawks could ever do. It was like breathing unconsciously, blinking his eyes and how his heart pumped blood through his body. Something so natural and right, something he needed so desperately.

It was funny how he had gone 21 years through out his life without you but now that he had you for barely 2 years for himself, he felt like he couldn't go without you being there for him and having you by his side. He was addicted to your presence, you were like a drug he couldn't get enough of.

You had showed him that the little things mattered, that it was okay to make mistakes and that it was so easy to love something more than yourself.

Coming home, exhausted and beaten up, to be engulfed in the warmest pair of arms instead of his empty bed was the thing he'd look forward to every day. To be peppered in soft kisses and have fingers go through his hair welcoming him home being told that he had been missed. It was a thing that got him through the day, knowing there was someone out there waiting for him.

Although he felt like it, Hawks...would never truly be free.

Even though. You had loosened every rope tied around his body, took his hand and guided him elsewhere, he would always be reminded that those ropes were still there. No matter what, he was still doomed to serve the people he had given almost his whole entire life to.

At times it was a little hard, having to stay away from what he considered home for a couple of days sometimes even weeks, but the two of you managed. The media barely had any information about his personal life. Both the agency and he himself kept it hidden deeply underneath a pile of dirt a ton of feet under the ground.

They knew about your existence, sure, but you were known as one of Endeavour's right hands. The one who followed him around like a puppy everywhere he went, taking care of most of the media problems for him and the one he went to for advice regarding his hero work.

Deep inside, Hawks knew that he wasn't worthy of all this. That he wasn't made to live a life like he was currently living, but he always pushed away those thoughts. Negativity wasn't gonna get him anywhere, it would affect both him and you.

"We need you to play infiltrate the league of villains as a spy. Make them believe you're on their side, gain their trust and leak some unimportant facts we give you here and there. Mr. Takami we need you to do whatever it takes."

League of villains, spy, whatever it takes..?

His whole head was buzzing the entire time during the meeting, where they told him all the important details and went through all of the steps he'd have to take.

Hawks had seen what the league was capable of, hell, the whole entirety of Japan had seen so. Individually he could take most of them on, probably. He'd have to watch out for the one that went by the name of 'Dabi', his feathers didn't exactly mix well with fire. Shigaraki was also sketchy, but aside from that he had received the news that the league seemed to be plotting something.

Not the craziest thing, since they had been quite off the radar for a few months now. And especially with those creatures they called nomus nobody was sure what would happen.

Going home that day felt wrong. Knowing what was to come, a bitter feeling creeping into his mouth while his feet felt like cement blocks heavier with every step he took closer to the door.

"Keigo, welcome home!"

The moment your face appeared from around the corner his heart only felt heavier. The fact you were so very unaware of what was about to happen and did your usual routine of wrapping your arms around him, gently taking off his vizors and headphones before cupping his face and pressing a kiss to his lips.

He couldn't do it

"Tough day at work? You look like you went 3 days without sleep Kei..and for someone who kept me up with his snoring last night that sure is quite something."

Your comment usually would've made him snicker or atleast just crack a grin. You were always able to make him feel be better and make him laugh on his worst days. Always knowing what to say and do, knowing him like the back of your hand.

He felt so numb. All his emotions were flat, he had to do this. He had to, he'd do anything to keep you safe and if that meant letting you go... then so be it.

"(Y/n), we need to talk."

His hands wrapped around your shoulders and softly pushed you off of him before reaching out to your own, giving them a soft squeeze with his thumb drawing a circle over your ring finger.

Hawks always knew he was gonna wrap the prettiest and biggest ring around there. He didn't care if you didn't want something to extravagant or so flashy and scold him for spending so much money. It ate at him that he was able to show you off but he would, he'd let everyone know you were his and he was yours. Didn't care what the agency or your boss thought. Didn't care about the media. None of that, just you. You and him.

He promised himself he'd always keep you safe, no matter what happened your safety came first. He'd do anything and, if that meant letting you go, then..so be it

"I'm sorry, but i don't love you anymore. Its not fair to you if i keep hiding this from you. I think we should end this."

He wanted to grow old with you. So badly. To spend his last moments in your arms and to adopt a dog with you- Hell even, maybe if god would've let him, have actual kids with you.

Seeing you laugh it off at first made his heart crumble. Especially the moment he saw your face slowly change when you started realizing that it wasn't a joke. How your eyes twisted from pure joy, to confusion, to a mix from both confusion and sorrow. A glassy layer of tears welling up in your eyes, head shaking no and your hands letting go of his.

"W-what? What do you mean- I-i don't understand."

Your voice was breaking, like a thin layer of ice on top of a lake in winter. Ice so incredibly thin that it wasn't able to hold the weight of a little robin hopping around on it.

He wanted to pull you into his arms, hush you while whispering comforting words into your ear. Telling you that he didn't mean it, that he loved you more than anything else in this world. But he couldn't. You had to be safe, you'd be in great danger if he continued the relationship you two shared.

"Since when?" You asked softly, eyes fixated onto his chest. You were unable to look him in the eye, unable to show him how you were slowly falling apart. In all honesty, you didn't want him to answer. You didn't want to know when he stopped loving you, for it had only been half a day when he told you he loved you, held you in his arms and kissed your forehead oh so lovingly before leaving for work.

Hawks scrunched his eyebrows together, eyes never leaving your trembling form. "I..I think it was around last month i started having my dou-"

"Last month, Keigo? You wanna fucking tell me that all those night i spend in your arms, that when i brought you to my fucking parents for dinner and when you told me you loved me, all meant nothing to you?!"

There it was. The little robin landing on top of the surface, creating a hole in its path before taking off leaving the ice broken into pieces. The tears flowed freely from your eyes, sleeves desperately trying to wipe them away but failing to do so.

"What did i do wrong? I don't understand..I-is there someone else..?"

"What- No! Never, i could never..i-"

Hawks gritted his teeth and had to dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket or else he would slip and reach out for you. It took ever cell in his body not to wrap you up in his arms and apologize and pepper your face with kisses.

"I'm sorry, (Y/n). I'll go pack my bags."

Trying to move past you only to be pushed back, hands gripping at the sleeves of his jacket and teary eyes piercings through his own. "Kei, what's going on?"

Your voice was so soft, so comforting. It felt so normal to lean into your touch, to close his eyes when you cupped his cheeks and feel just the slightest bit at ease.

The hero could feel a lump of his own form in his throat, one he desperately tried to swallow, and started biting down on his bottom lip. "I-i..I'm so sorry baby bird i-i..i can't tell you." He whispered, barely hearable due to the lump blocking the air in his throat.

The arms wrapping around your trembling form, the hand on the back of your head, the voice softly shushing you and the warm lips pressing a soft lingering kiss to your forehead all made it feel like time stopped. Nor did those things prove that he had fallen out of love, to be exact it only proved how much he adored you.

You didn't notice when he walked past you, into the bedroom. Or when he packed a suitcase and all his stuff, feathers flying through the house here and there to collect some of his stuff.

It was only when he stood next to you again, his warm golden eyes filled with sorrow, that you snapped back to your thoughts.

"I'm sorry, dove."

Leaning down, Hawks pressed his very last kiss onto the corner of your mouth. One that lingered just a little longer than the others, one that held just a little bit more emotion. The one that was going to haunt him forever.

With the front door opening, Hawks took one last look at you. A small smile tugged at the edges of his lips and you could clearly see the tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. Eyes full of both love and sorrow, eyes that you had grown to adore more than anything else in the world for the very last time connected with your own.

"Thank you for everything, (Y/n)."

And with that, the door closed.

There were a few seconds of ear deafening silence before Hawks flinched upon hearing the heart breaking sobs coming from the inside of the apartment. Your whole world was wrecked within not even 15 minutes and the worst part of it all is that you didn't understand why.

Spreading his wings out, Hawks took one last look back at the apartment. At the place he once considered home. One where he had made his most cherished memories at and a place he had considered his safe place for oh so long.

It didn't matter anymore, what he did was to keep you safe. Something he had sworn to do the moment he first laid his eyes on you, a promise he was going to keep for as long as he lived.

In this case it had meant cutting all ties he had with you, to make you seem like a stranger to both himself and the people he worked with. The thought of you getting hurt by the league just for being involved with him, something that made you the perfect blackmail material, was a thought that haunted him. It was for your safety..

Now that he lost you, Hawks had nothing to lose. Not a home, not a future or..someone he loved. He was back to the very start, rope tied around his throat pulling him forward with no clear destination. Everything was numb. His mind, his body, everything.

A hero who had nothing left to lose was a hero who didn't care if he lived or died. Someone who didn't care for a pathetic title or name, it didn't matter.

With the moon peaking through the cloudy sky, light cascading down the hero's crimson feathers. With a few of his feathers supporting the sports bag, the hero took off leaving behind everything he once had.

There was nobody there to spot him, to freak out over seeing the number 2 hero flying over their heads or take pictures of him. Nighttime was the most peaceful time of the day to fly around for there were no worries just him soaring through the sky.

Hawks had no place to go in all honesty he hadn't thought this plan through entirely. He wasn't even sure if what he did was the best decision to make..maybe there was-..No. This was no time to have second thoughts on it, the damage had already been done.

With wings wrapping around his body, the hero dipped down towards the ground. The feeling of falling was always somewhat comforting. How gravity would pull him down, eyes closed for just a mere moment, while basking in the weightless feeling right before spreading his wings and gently landing on the ground, boots hitting the concrete.

"Took you long enough Mr. hero"

A tall dark figure emerged from within the shadows of the alleyway. There was no denying in the fact that the moment the hero caught sight of them, a chill creeped up his spine.

"Ah, give me a break had some trouble on the way here.." Hawks said with a grin, waving it off. A big sigh left his nose and he cracked his fingers.

"Well then, let's get to business, ha?..."

Hawks eyes narrowed the moment the man standing in front of him stepped into the light. Up close, the scars that littered his body looked even more disgusting. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about how he had gotten them.

"..dabi"

This job had to be the most complicated one Hawks had done before. He was a good liar, that certainly hadn't been the problem, but it was the fact he had to gain the league's trust. To convince them he was truly on their side, after all he was the #2 hero of Japan.

Dabi was, supposedly, the messenger and judge. He informed Hawks of all the things Shigaraki told him and demanded Hawks to do to prove himself. At the same time he'd judge Hawks, to see if he really was serious about all this and not a traitor.

The hero was walking on thin ice with every teeny tiny slip up that he could make resulting in the mission taking the worst possible turn. He had to be incredibly careful with what he said and did, continuously being watched by one particular villain that couldn't help but suspect him even after Shigaraki had given him an Ok.

Hawks was a good person that was too unfortunate to be forced into the situations he was put into. He was too unfortunate for getting attached to one of the villains, realizing that maybe after all some of them weren't that bad. Too unfortunate to have the years of training and manipulation take over his senses when he started to panic.

Hawks was a good person. He didn't mean to kill him. He never wanted to kill a somewhat good person.

He didn't mean to kill twice.

His mind was screaming. He had to keep his cool, had to keep himself together because he didn't have time to think for Dabi was already right on his ass with an intend to end his miserable ass.

Hawks hadn't thought about dying before. Well.. not like this. These last couple of weeks he thought he wouldn't care if he were to die. Its not like it really mattered anymore, after all there was nothing left for him. He was alone, back to living as a living puppet working for a corrupt hero agency.

It didn't matter anymore. None of it did.

He regretted leaving you behind that night. He should've turned around when he heard u cry, should've went back inside to cradle you in his arms. He wanted you back so badly. He didn't care if it was selfish, he wanted to leave everything behind and grow old with you, to hold you in his arms one last time.

Oh how he'd do anything to be able to touch you one last time..to apologize and tell you he loved you.

His wings were gone. The wings he knew you always admired from afar and run your fingers through, ripped out of his body leaving nothing but broken bloody bones sticking out of his back. He'd never be able to fly again, never be able to feel the freedom of being in the sky.

A boot was crushing his neck slowly making him suffocate, the villain looking down on him with an almost psychopathic smile on his way.

"Haha! Poor little Keigo Takami, seems like you've wasted your pathetic little life ,huh? And that calls himself the #2 hero?! Would've expected better from the hero association!"

Hawks felt numb. Without his wings he wasn't even worthy for the hero association, he'd be nothing. All of the sacrifices he made, all if the training didn't matter anymore. He was nothing.

As his sight got fuzzy, Hawks felt himself growing tired. Eyelids growing heavy, breathing slow and his whole entire body was exhausted. Something in him was screaming at him to stay awake but he pushed it away, simply too tired to care for it.

As he started giving in to the slumber, he couldn't help but let his mind wander to the image of you. From the day when he first met you to when the two if you worked together that one night. The day when he first fell your lips on his own and held you in his arms. He never particularly liked his name nor did he hate it, but whenever you called out for him it sounded like a sweet melody he couldn't get enough of.

"Keigo, you should rest"

...maybe he should.

Right before falling unconscious he could feel a faint force ramming into him but it didn't matter anymore, none of it did.

Finally..he could rest

Hospitals always had the most unpleasant smells. It was the mixture of chemicals and people who had been in bed all day that now smelled like sweat. Of course there was also the uncomfortable atmosphere. Most people were there to get tested for something or because they were sick. How such a thing would end were, in some cases, very unclear. Even the interior of hospitals were unsettling, bright white walls that blinded you whenever someone woke up from surgery and the rest of the cold colors they used for the furniture weren't exactly pleasing to the eye either.

He wasn't sure what happened, how he got there and how the battle ended. But when he opened his eyes, Hawks found himself laying on his side. It was very clear from the moment be got used to the darkness around him and the fact his whole body was aching with bandages wrapped all around him that he was in a hospital bed, his eyes following the IV tube to the bag hanging from the stand.

It didn't take a detective for him to notice that his wings were gone, completely. He wasn't sure if there was maybe some sort of bone structure left behind but the chances were incredibly small. It was weird, suddenly missing a big part of his body that he carried with him for 23 years. Like it had never been there.

It was nighttime and the curtains were still open. Perhaps the nurse had forgotten to close them. Its not something that he minded, after all he found comfort in being able to look outside at the very empty parking lot and street. There wasn't a soul out there and judging by how high the moon stood in the sky it was very late at night maybe around 3-4 am.

While pushing himself up to sit, Hawks was met by a horrible throbbing feeling on the inside of his skull. "Ahh, fuck" He hissed while taking his head in his hands, applying a bit of pressure to try and lessen the pain somehow.

His throat was dry, was there a sink? Lifting his head up, the hero took a quick look around the room his eyes still adjusting to the darkness. In all honesty it felt like a weird fever dream, waking up at night in a hospital that now felt very isolated and somewhat peaceful.

Perhaps he really was dead and this was a test god was putting him under to prove himself. Or he was just stuck alone in this world being forced to live forever as a clipped bird. The after life.

His breath was stuck in his throat, golden brown eyes widening. If he really was dead, he'd currently be in heaven, for there was no other way that the person currently sitting on the chair next to him with their head leaning on the bed as they clung onto the side of the pillow he was laying on was something other than an angel.

No, Hawks didn't believe in heaven or hell and he most definitely was aware of the fact he wasn't dead because the throbbing pain in his back and in his head could not of have been something a dead person should be able to experience.

"(Y/n)..?"

You stirred in your sleep, just slightly. Eyebrows scrunched together lightly as you buried your head into the mattress of the bed, hand gripping the pillow you were clinging onto a little harder. Lips puckered like a fish, light eye bags underneath your eyes and smudged mascara around your eyes. You looked exhausted and Hawks couldn't get enough of the sight before him.

Had you been here the whole time? Judging by all the get well soon cards pricked onto the whiteboard on the wall it had atleast been a good few days. There was a fresh bouquet of red and yellow flowers on the table near the window, a pretty big one at that.

Only then did he notice the crumbled up card laying on top of all the trash in the trash can. He couldn't exactly make out what was inside of the card, but he could very clearly see the logo stamp on top of it which belonged to the hero association he worked for. He immediately smiled at the most possible scenario being that you had seen it and gotten mad at them. After all, you never backed down with expressing your pent up feelings about the people he worked for when you two talked about it.

His mind slowly wandered back to your last encounter with each other, face immediately falling when he heard your cries echo in his head right before he took off that night. Hawks treated you horribly and yet here you were, clinging onto the pillow he once laid on. Maybe you only came so you could yell at him for hurting you, for laughing at him for being pathetic and having lost everything he had.

But you were here. Beside him. He didn't know what god thought he deserved a second chance in life and especially what god allowed him to see you again but god was he thankful.

Slowly laying down back on the bed, wincing slightly when he back made contact with the mattress, Hawks turned on his side so he was facing you. To him, you were the most breathtaking person that walked this earth. From the tip of your nose, to the cheeks he loved to squeeze so much to your parted soft lips.

He loved having you on top of him on the couch, your face squished into his chest as you dozed off into sleep. A moment where he'd turn off the tv and admire you, hand gently massaging your head and a thumb very softly tracing over the details of your face.

His fingers reached out for your face, golden eyes softening when your nose scrunched up a little the moment his thumb traced over it. He really must of have been a saint in his previous life for him to be so lucky to have met you, to have been allowed to love and be loved by you.

You looked so breathtaking like this, so peacful and content as if you hadn't spent days sitting on the same chair ignoring the nurses telling you to go away while worrying your head off. At one point you even pulled out your license, showing you worked for Endeavour and said you had to keep a close call on Hawks to make sure he wouldn't fall 'victim' to another attack.

Hawks shuffled his body a little closer to your head, breath fanning over your face with your face cradled by his hands. Taking one more close look at your face, the man smiled softly before he closed his eyes and leaned in. Lips softly pressed against your forehead, ones that stayed there for a few seconds before he backed up again.

"I'm so sorry, baby bird.."

It was a mere whisper, only loud enough for the both of you to hear. He wasn't even sure if there was someone else in the room, but he couldn't care less. There was a small lump im his throat, one he tried very desperately to swallow but to no success.

It was the moment that your eyes slowly opened, hands reaching out to rub the sleepiness out of them before widening when yours met a pair of golden ones that it disappeared. When your bottom lip trembled and your eyes watered, hand moving to cover your mouth as the tears started falling from your eyes.

Hawks smiled and lifted his hand, just slightly for his arm still hurted. He could absolutely miserable but he wasn't even aware of that. Of how bloodshot his eyes were or how half of his face was wrapped in bandages. Or how the bandages om his back had light crimson stains on them from his wounds still bleeding here and there. It was a horrifying way of seeing the one you cared about.

"Hey.."

Even his voice sounded like utter shit. As if the man had been a chainsmoker for the last 30 years.

"K-keigo.."

You didn't care if it hurt him, the damage wouldn't be that bad anyway. The moment you heard what had happened your heart stopped. The last month felt like your world collapsed. The home you shared was quiet and the bed you shared was empty and cold. Kicking your chair back you lunged forward, arms wrapping around his fragile body very careful not to touch the wounds on his back.

"Y-you..fucking a-asshole.."

Hearing things from him from Endeavour was extremely painful but what was more painful was, after he had already been hospitalized, hearing what he had hidden from you and why. The fact he didn't bother to tell you, way too caught up with the thought of you getting hurt.

"..are you stupid? We're a team aren't we!?For fucksake i work for Endeavour, Keigo i can protect myself. L-leaving me like that.. Y-you selfish bastard!"

Hawks groaned slightly at the way you were currently squeezing his body. He didn't hesitate for a second before be wrapped his arms around you and buried his nose into the crook of your neck. He didn't think he'd ever be able to hold you again, to be able to feel you like this and have you so close.

Even though you smelled like hospital and sleep, Hawks could easily pick out the smell of your perfume out of it. It was faint, incredibly faint, but he missed it so much.

He could feel your hot tears falling onto his shoulder and how your teeth chattered, it made his heart ache. All he could do was wrap your legs around his waist while pulling you even closer. He needed to feel you, to feel your arms around him.

"I'm sorry, dove..I'm so sorry for hurting you." He whispered, hands bawling your shirt into a fist. It felt so good to feel your hand going through his hair while your other arm rubbed his upper back, still careful not to touch the wounds on his back.

You wanted to be mad at him, you really did. For the fact be broke your heart and left you crying, for leaving without saying why, underestimating you, fighting in a war without saying a word and getting hurt like this only to leave you worrying for several days by his side day and night.

But you couldn't be mad at him. I mean, you were, but being in his arms like this was something you had been craving for weeks. To feel his warmth envelop you the moment his arms snaked around your waist and to feel him kissing you shoulder several times before nuzzling his face into it.

Furiously wiping your tears from your eyes, sniffling and letting out choked sob. "Don't you ever leave me like that again, i swear i'll-"

"Could never leave you, you're stuck with me now.." Hawks with a smile, slowly backing up from the hug to take a good look at your face. The moment he saw your teary eyes his gaze softened before he brought his hand to your face to wipe them off your cheeks. "..stuck with me for the rest of your life. After all i'm gonna need someone who's gonna take care of me."

The exaggerated sigh leaving his mouth together with the roll of his eyes made you chuckle. He always found ways to joke around and cheer you up but he still knew the right things to say and do to calm you down. "Shut up you birdbrain, god you're the absolute worst." You said with a laugh while his thumb continuing to wipe the tear, and some remains of mascara, underneath your eyes away.

With his hands cupping your cheeks Hawks couldn't help put press his forehead against your own before closing his eyes.

You were there. With him. There was no more hero association that would make his head explode, no more worries or things he had to do. Just you and him. Maybe, just maybe, Hawks would allow himself to be selfish. Selfish enough so he could work on a future where only you and him provided off, to be able to call himself your husband and to grow old with you. To stay by your side the rest of your life no matter what. Everything he ever wanted lied in that future.

"I love you.."

It didn't matter anymore. The ropes were gone and he didn't care what lied ahead because he was holding onto your hand as you guided him. This time he didn't care where he ended up, as long as he had the hand he was holding onto in his he'd be fine. Perfectly fine.

As a hand tangled into his hair, Hawks didn't hesitate a second before he connected his lips with yours. Never before had he needed it so bad, to feel your lips against his own and had he missed it so much. His hands moved to settle on your waist and neck, immediately deepening the kiss and sighing in content when your arms wrapped around his neck.

All those sleepless nights, those moments of doubt and when he couldn't help but think about his regrets moments before he collapsed..To have you here in his arms was the only thing he wanted.

As the two of you parted ways, Hawks was quick to peck your lips as a quick cherry on top. The kiss lingered for quite a moment and the both of you were catching your breath.

"I should probably go get the nurse.." You said under your breath still a little caught off guard by the previous event and what had happened in the last ten minutes. Your eyes were still wet and your nose still runny, but the way your cheeks had heated up made up for it in some type of way.

Pushing yourself off of Hawks to fetch someone who was doing the night shift, you were very quick to be stopped by a hand who clung onto your own. When you looked back at the man, you were met by a pair of pleading golden eyes.

"Stay.."

Upon hearing his request your eyes widened for a moment. ��It really was pretty late already, so bothering the nurses at this hour was not something you wished to do so especially since it wasn't exactly that important. After all, Hawks would be awake in the morning as well.

"..please"

He guided you onto the bed with him, hand still in your own, and shuffled backwards so that there was room for you next to him. Your body had given in, simply too tired to protest and with the way the mattress, blanket and arms looked so incredibly warm snd comfortable you really just wanted some sleep.

While being careful not to rip out any of the tubes attached to his body, you laid down next to him and immediately cuddled up against his chest. Face buried in his neck, arm immediately snaking around your waist to hold you closer and a soft pair of lips pressing against your forehead. It was like it had been weeks since you had a good night's sleep and didn't take long before sleep had won its battle against you sending you off to dreamland.

"Goodnight, dove.."

Hawks whispered while running his fingers through your hair, pushing it back so he could press another kiss to your forehead.

Even though Hawks had already been asleep several days, he was exhausted. It had been so long since he was able to sleep comfortably like this, his eyelids were screaming at him.

Hawks didn't know what the future was gonna hold for him. Whether he'd somehow be able to get his wings back or if he'd ever be able to work as a hero again. Everything was incredibly uncertain but right now, on this way too small for two people if not cuddled up hospital bed, everything felt like where it should be.

Just you and him. Nobody else or anything else getting in the way.

With a smile on his face Hawks closed his eyes and allowed himself to be taken over by sleep. Clipped bird or not, no matter what happened Hawks was gonna do anything in his might to keep you happy and that was a promise he was gonna hold onto for as long as he could.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks imagine #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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kafka-ish · 4 years

Text

without my enemy what would i do | r.t.

richie tozier has been announced to come to dinner and y/n doesn’t know if things could possibly get worse for her.

word count: 8.3k

warnings/included: !!TW!! mentions of suicide/attempted suicide, nsfw (smut, fingering, oral -- male receiving), enemies to lovers, bratty!fem!reader

a/n: this was in no way meant to glamorize/romanticize suicide or any topic relating to that so if that’s triggering for you either don’t read this fic or the end. also i was heavily inspired by freaky friday and some other fics i’ve read

y/n couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mom’s mouth that morning. It had started pleasantly. The two were sharing a fruit medley her mom had prepared the night before at the breakfast nook. But those eight words had ruined the rest of her day.

“I’m inviting the Toziers over for dinner tonight.”

The tea in y/n’s mouth must’ve fallen out because she had been scolded for soiling the white tablecloth. But y/n didn’t care. The only thing occupying her mind was the fact that Richie Fucking Tozier would be in her house.

“How could you do this to me?” y/n accused her poor mother who was now frantically sopping up the stained green tea from the white fabric which she had just bought. She supposed she could just switch out the cloth for the time being, but everything had to be perfect when the Toziers came over.

“I don’t understand why you have... such disdain for them,” her mom said calmly. She always had a way of keeping her heels in the ground while her daughter’s head was stuck in the sky. “The Toziers are a family friend,” she insisted.

“I don’t have an issue with all of them.” y/n got up and gently placed her plate and mug in the sink. She washed them thoroughly before exiting. “Just Richie.” She mumbled the last part under her breath as she made her way up the stairs. y/n still had to put on her school clothes and make her way to school—something she was going to do rather unwillingly now.

y/n and Richie went back—way back. The Toziers and y/l/ns have been family friends since the two were in diapers; always forced to play together while their parents had their Sunday luncheons, the awkward lets-be-partners-since-I-don’t-know-anyone-else in middle school. Sometime in between the summer of ‘89 and their freshman year of high school, something changed. Richie changed. He was still the funny guy who hung out in the back of the room making offhanded jokes, but he was also the guy who made it his mission to hook up with every girl who stepped foot in Derry.

And somewhere in between, maybe y/n changed. She traded her pastel sweaters for cropped, graphic shirts and tight-fitting tees. The pleated skirts she always wore were replaced by ripped jeans that hung low on her hips with the help of her trusty studded belt. And her virgin hair was highlighted to the roots ever since sophomore year picked up.

Maybe y/n changed.

It was after a long day of incessant chatter and a math teacher who couldn’t seem to stop talking about his ex-wife when the dismissal bell rang. y/n was then stopped in her tracks by the one and only, Richie Fucking Tozier.

“Hey, princess.” His eyes were hazy with smoke and she was sure the Marlboro in his mouth wasn’t his first of the day.

“What do you want, Tozier?” y/n was reluctant to actually stop walking so she could talk to the scum on earth also known as Derry’s resident Trashmouth. Her beat-up high tops scraped against the cement and the undone hot pink laces swung in every direction imaginable. How she hadn’t tripped over her own two feet yet was beyond Richie as he watched the girl in front of him with amused eyes.

Richie’s back slumped against the bricks that made up the walls of their high school. One foot was propped behind him on the bricks, the other planted firmly on the sidewalk. “Your shirt’s inside out.” His pink lips curled into a smirk as if he knew something she didn’t, and y/n’s frown turned into a scowl.

y/n looked down. He was right. Her favorite black shirt with neon red and yellow stitching of a guitar on the front was, indeed, inside out. But she wasn’t going to let Richie Fucking Tozier have the satisfaction of getting under her nails. Not like this, anyway. “Thanks.” She let out a breath, half to calm herself and half to let Richie know how annoying he was being.

But he knew.

“You’re wasting precious oxygen.” y/n’s glare flicked from his eyes to the cigarette caught between his teeth and Richie only smiled.

“What, from smokin’?” He took the, what Stan called, cancer stick out from his mouth with his index and middle finger.

“No, from breathing.” It was a lame comeback. y/n was never good at comebacks, but she felt her cheeks heat up and blood stir when a chuckle fell from his breath.

He hummed thoughtfully, “Hmm. Okay, sweetheart.” He stood up straight, now towering over an uptight and pissed off y/n even more. He took another puff from his Marlboro, waiting for her response. But she only plucked the cigarette from his mouth and stomped it out.

“Did you call me over to say something important or did you just wanna waste my time?” y/n should’ve just walked off before this conversation even started, but it was too late and she would curse herself forever for giving this boy the time of day.

She was met with a cloud of smoke in the face and she coughed furiously. His breath smelled like ashes and cinnamon Altoids. Richie Tozier had blown his stupid cigarette smoke in her face. And before she could tell him to fuck off or screw himself, his words rung in her ears.

“Your ‘rents contacted mine. Looks like I’m comin’ over for formalities an’ shit.” His features were still twisted in a sick grin that y/n wanted to slap right off him.

“Formalities doesn’t usually consist of the word shit,” y/n said and began to start on her way home. It was bad enough she was forced to spend an hour (or more) with him at dinner, she didn’t need to linger any longer.

Her feet dragged on the graffitied pavement harshly and her pissed-off-ness transferred from the front door to the dining room where her mom was already setting up. Her dad had yet to arrive home from work, which was at five o’clock on the dot. Their family ate at six.

“Are you still upset about this morning?” Mrs. y/l/n’s soft voice sounded condescending as she was too focused on polishing the fine china to see her daughter’s scrunched eyebrows and squinting eyes.

“Yes.”

y/n huffed and one of the highlighted pieces of her hair flew from her face when she did so. “This dinner is ruining my life. Richie Tozier is ruining my life. You’re ruining my life!” She cried. It might’ve been an exaggeration, but so be it. Her life was, essentially, ruined.

“Your life is ruined?” Her mother was in disbelief. “How so?” Even though she asked the question, y/n could tell she wasn’t interested.

“Because you’re inviting the Toziers over when I’ve explicitly told you how much I hate them.” A growl left her lips in a fairly animalistic way to which Mrs. y/l/n told y/n that hate was a strong word and to make sure she didn’t bring that attitude to the dinner table tonight.

“Why don’t you take a hot bath? You can blow off some steam.” She laughed, thinking about the absurdity of ‘cooling-off’ in a tub of hot water but y/n crossed her arms at her mom’s negligence. y/n’s mother finally looked up at her daughter, her eyes judging y/n’s outfit carefully. “I’d like you to change, too.” Mrs. y/l/n wasn’t really fond of her daughter’s recent style. She had always loved the soft cardigans and floral dresses she used to wear in her early years. Granted, she was the one who picked them out. But they were just so cute. Mrs. y/l/n didn’t understand the recent trend of choker necks and buying jeans pre-ripped and she knew she never would. She could only wish her daughter were the same cute, innocent little girl she knew from way back when.

y/n grunted, making it known that her mother was being unreasonable.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my day? No, because you never do,” y/n mumbled only loud enough for her to hear.

It was after three hours of painfully solving logarithms (which was more like staring at the dreaded piece of paper until eventually expressing defeat), a long soak, and an outfit change when four faces arrived at y/n’s front door and Mrs. y/l/n called her down to greet the guests.

“Are you sure you want to wear that?” Her mother’s thin eyebrow rose skeptically at y/n when she saw—what she would call—the atrocity she was wearing.

y/n shot her mom the same look, unsure of what was so offensive about a black tank top and low-rise jeans. She could be so conservative. “I can change.” y/n didn’t feel like putting up a fight tonight, but her mother placed a hand on her shoulder before she could move.

“There’s no time, now.” y/n could tell she was about to break out in a scowl, but Mrs. y/l/n did a better job at containing herself than her. “Just…just get a jacket or something. I don’t know.” She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation and y/n left before she could see Richie Tozier unabashedly walk in with his so-called ‘rents.

“Look who I found just as I was coming home, honey.” y/n overheard her dad kiss her mom on the cheek as she fished for her jean jacket in the coat closet. Gag me with a spoon.

“Maggie! Wentworth!” y/n watched her mom hug the two from the corner of her eye as she reentered the foyer wearing a jean jacket. “It’s been too long.”

“Indeed.” y/n found it hard to swallow her scoff and keep a neutral face.

“Yes. I’m so glad you invited us over tonight.”

Richie then appeared from behind his parents. His parents had also made him change, seeing as he wore a navy blue button-up (wrinkled, of course) and the only pair of jeans he owned that wasn’t ripped and reached his ankles. y/n suddenly felt embarrassed about wearing such casual clothes. It seemed as if everyone were dressed for the occasion.

“Oh my, Richie. You’ve gotten so tall,” A gasp left her mother’s red and overlined lips. She took a few moments to welcome the family, making her version of witty banter and repeating how it’s been too long. She then walked them to the dining room which was lit up by the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Why her mother set up a candelabra in the center of the table still unknown to y/n.

“I see y/n’s still shy.” Wentworth chuckled as he took his seat and y/n could feel the blood rush to her neck and cheeks (is it getting hot in here or is it just me?) when she realized she hadn’t said anything since the Toziers arrived.

She took her seat across from RIchie and begun to pick at the green beans on her plate.

“Oh, Went, don’t be fooled. She’s not shy. It’s just her teen angst.” The words left y/n’s mother’s careless mouth and her daughter’s eyes widened at the statement.

“Mom!”

“Ah.” Maggie smiled at her friend knowingly before stabbing into the perfectly seared cut of stake that sat on her plate. “Wentworth and I know a thing or two about teen angst.” She tittered into her napkin and it was now Richie’s turn to shoot his mom the side-eye.

y/n tuned in an out of the Toziers’ conversation with her parents. The topics ranging from their jobs, newfound hobbies, and the best recipe for meatloaf. Surprisingly, y/n hadn’t heard a peep out of Richie throughout the whole meal.

“Wow, you have outdone yourself,” Wentworth said as he had just about cleared his plate.

“Oh, that’s not all. I baked a lemon meringue pie for dessert if you’ll stay.” It wasn’t as if Maggie and Wentworth were just going to leave after finishing their meal. That’d be too easy. They had both complied, exclaiming that they could already taste how delicious it was going to be. “y/n would you be a dear and go fetch it for us?” Her mother asked. “It should be in the kitchen. On the island.” y/n stood up from her seat, grateful to get away from the scene she felt trapped in.

“yeah, y/n. would you be a dear and go fetch?” Richie couldn’t help himself but take a jab at y/n as she was walking towards the kitchen’s entryway. She’d turn around to give him the finger if this were any other setting. Maggie turned to face her soon, silently scolding him and whispering that it might do him good to help her out.

Richie bit back a sigh while he got up and trudged his way to where y/n was.

His eyes roamed y/n’s delicate fingers that moved with grace and dexterity as she handled the sharp knife that sliced through the homemade pastry.

“Hey.” If y/n were any less skilled, she would’ve dropped the weapon, ruining her mother’s sugary creation.

“Jesus, Tozier.” She set down the knife. “Don’t startle me like that.” She made sure to keep her voice low, not wanting her mom to become suspicious.

“You’d hate me for knocking and you’d hate me for just standin’ around like a creep.” He shrugged and y/n brushed past him. She held the pie dish in one hand and a stack of plates in the other. “Lemme help.” His head tilted to the side and his doe eyes looked pathetic under the dim kitchen light.

“You are a creep.” But y/n complied, allowing him to take the plates so she could focus all her effort on the pie.

“I’m a creep?” Richie looked to her amusedly. y/n didn’t answer. Her lips were sewn shut as soon as she found herself back in the dining room with all eyes on her and Richie hot on her trail.

“Thank you so much, y/n.” Mrs. y/l/n awed at her own work and started to dish out the precut pieces onto the plates Richie set down. “Speaking of y/n—as if I don’t speak about her enough—did you know she recently won the Academic Excellence Award for both Math and English?” The enthusiasm in her mom’s voice was alien to y/n’s ears.

“That’s great, y/n.” Maggie looked to her with a sort of light in her eyes she never looked at Richie with. “Rich, you never told us about this.” Her fork started for the meringue on Jenny’s pie first; soon after it would make its way down to the actual pie part.

“I didn’t see the point in sayin’ anything.” His face was stuffed full of pie and he shrugged.

Both Wentworth and Maggie looked at their son with disappointment.

“We care.” Wentworth then looked at y/n reassuringly. “Don’t listen to him, y/n... Wow, Jenny, this is great stuff.”

Once more, y/n got up from her seat. She didn’t bother helping herself to a slice of her mom’s pie and if she had the option, she wouldn’t have bothered making an appearance downstairs. “Can I be excused?” She asked her dad in particular who nodded. A sympathetic look was plastered on his face which was also stuffed with her mom’s dessert.

“Hey!” This was the beginning of one of Wentworth’s many great ideas. “Why don’t you show Richie your awards? It seems our boy could use a new outlook on what an Academic Excellence Award actually means.” He gave Richie a firm pat on the back before he begrudgingly stood up and walked over to where y/n was already making her way up the staircase.

“I wouldn’t blame ya if you feel all hot an’ bothered,” Richie said once they reached the top of the stairs.

y/n’s nose wrinkled at his words and she could already feel herself frowning at his unwanted presence. “What?”

“Aw. Don’t be like that, princess.” He threw his arm around her shoulder and y/n felt an odd warmth heat her body that wasn’t from the doing of her flimsy jacket. “Everyone wants a chance at the Tozier.” He took his free hand, the hand that wasn’t resting on her covered skin, and pointed to himself with his thumb.

y/n was about to ask who everyone was, but she didn’t want to give Richie the chance to list off the names of the girls he’s done. “I don’t like you, Richie.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, babe.” The two were now in y/n’s room. y/n didn’t allow her eyes to meet his. Instead, found herself organizing her already tidy desk. The only thing on it was her homework from earlier and a slew of highlighters.

Richie, on the other hand, took it upon himself to take a tour. His long legs made their way across the perimeter of y/n’s room. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be found and if she had spent half the time she did cleaning to go to the attitude adjustment program his mom always talked about, maybe they’d get along better.

“Your room’s changed.” Richie was now admiring her trophy shelf. Above it hung multiple metals; all gold and he stood in amazement for a while. Richie had always been smart. His grades always surpassed his parents’ expectations, but he never tried. He never made a deal to push himself or shoot for the stars. He never got why awards were such a big deal. Hell, Derry didn’t even make a big deal out of them. But as his magnified eyes stared patiently through his coke bottle lenses at the shiny medallions and gold cups that were displayed proudly in y/n’s room, a part of him wished he had tried harder.

“Yeah.” y/n wished she weren’t so quick as she cleaned because that meant facing him sooner. “People change, I guess. The room’s just a part of the process.” She bit her lip and thought back to how things used to be. Richie and y/n were nowhere near close, but she hadn’t always hated him.

“y/n, I want you to meet someone,” Maggie Tozier said softly to a small girl who wore her hair in pigtails and a puppy dog face wherever she went.

y/n, who spent her days hiding behind her mom’s legs and was never the one to talk to people who weren’t her friends or parents, looked between Maggie and the boy standing next to her as she sat crouched in the grass in her backyard.

The y/l/n’s had invited the Toziers over for lunch and Maggie thought this would be the perfect day to introduce her son to their daughter.

“Hey!” Richie Tozier had always been a loudmouth. From when he was first able to speak, the Tozier household was filled with nothing but incessant chit-chat, whether or not it was worth listening to. Maggie and Wentworth loved him regardless. “I betcha can’t fit your whole fist in your mouth. I can-!” Richie unhinged his jaw and he was about to force his balled-up hand to the back of his throat until Maggie scolded him for being ungentlemanly. “Sorry, ma.” He looked down, discouraged until he caught a glimpse of y/n’s shy smile and the beginning of a laugh.

It would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship—maybe even more—both the Toziers and y/l/n’s had suspected.

How wrong they were.

Sure, Richie and y/n were ‘friends’, but they were the forced-acquaintance-like type. The only time Richie and y/n had any solid interactions with each other was when their parents had their lunch dates together and they served as the tag-a-longs.

At school, y/n found her own group of friends with Stacy Howards and Regina Carmichaels. Stacy was a pretty girl who found out about her love of cheerleading at an early age and even though the popularity got to her from time to time, she still knew where her loyalties lied. Regina was like y/n—quiet, reserved, and focused on her studies. But she didn’t wear anything that revealed above the knee, on account of, she wasn’t allowed. The three had been inseparable ever since the third grade.

Richie had seemed to find his own group, too. A young boy named Bill Denbrough who would grow into his looks and lead them through silly adventures, Stan Uris (one of the only Jews in Derry), and a hypochondriac whom Richie called ‘Eds’, short for Eddie Kaspbrack. But his group would only continue to grow while y/n’s would stay because while seven’s the lucky number, three’s company.

y/n exhaled sharply, recalling how things used to be. The simpler times. She looked over from her desk to see Richie, whose hands were tracing the raised words scrawled on the metal trophy.

Perfect Attendance Award (1989-1990)

“Don’t touch my stuff!” She shouted and a startled Richie pulled his hand away shakily but also clumsily, causing the golden cup to fall from its stand and the others to shift. They were now slightly askew from their original place. y/n cringed at the sound of the award hitting the hardwood floor; certain that would leave a mark.

“Sorry,” Richie mumbled insincerely while he bent down to pick it up. He recklessly put it back and it was definitely not in the position it sat in beforehand.

A scoff accidentally left its way from y/n’s mouth and an idea formed in Richie’s head.

“Is this how you treat all your guests?” y/n couldn’t see the smirk on his lips because he was turned away from her.

“Only the insufferable ones.” y/n’s eyes narrowed at the back of Richie’s head. “You can be a real asshole sometimes.”

“I hate to break it to ya, but you’re no walk in the park either.” Richie turned around. He was preparing himself for a smack to the head or jab in the gut. He didn’t expect for y/n’s searing stare to have some sort of newfound effect on him.

y/n had always been pretty. Whether it be when they were twelve and she wore white, collared shirts under her yellow, cable-knit sweaters. Or in freshman year when her hair grew longer and her shirts got shorter.

But the question, if Richie had ever thought about her or not, would remain a mystery to y/n. It would be weird to make out with the girl you knew since Velcro shoes and He-man, right? Right?

y/n’s eyes trailed from Richie’s to his lips, similarly to how she’d done earlier that day. But earlier that day a cigarette was nested between his perfect—chapped lips. Now, the only thing that stood between their lips was the space between them and tension.

“Whatever.” y/n was about to leave, not caring that Richie Tozier would be left to his own devices in her room. She just wanted to be in any room he wasn’t. But a hand, decorated in silver rings and chipped nail polish, stopped her from doing so. This was the second time someone had stopped her from leaving by laying their hand on her shoulder.

There was no time to ask for questions because Richie’s lips were attached to hers, kissing away her grimace. It was a total paradox: his lips were cracked, yet soft and even though they had just eaten dinner she could taste mint on his tongue.

The kiss was rough and full of want. Richie wanted to know what she tasted like. Richie wanted to know what she felt like. Richie wanted to know her.

y/n pulled apart from him. She stayed long enough to know what his kisses felt like but left fast enough to leave him wanting more.

“Why’d you do that?” She said in between gasps for air. They were both left breathless from the intensity of it all.

Richie shrugged and y/n hated how apathetic he could be. “Just felt like it.” His hands slipped into his back pockets. His eyes then started to travel from her neck to her body. He started to wonder what she looked like without that jean jacket on. Or any clothes on.

y/n knew what Richie wanted. It was just the question if she’d give it to him or not. She shrugged her shoulders in an equivalent fashion as to how Richie shrugged his so that the jacket slipped off, revealing the exposed skin her tank top allowed for.

A faint whistle echoed from Richie’s lips. The same lips that were just on hers a moment ago. He took the time to stare at—no—admire her sharp collarbones and the skin that her top left no imagination for. A sudden rush of goosebumps pricked y/n’s now exposed shoulders at the sound of him whistling and she had to tell herself to keep her composure.

“Is this the part where we have amazing sex and afterward I’m just suddenly supposed to forgive you?” y/n’s words were like a knife, stabbing into Richie’s unusually open state. Nonetheless, her arms were reaching to take off her shirt and her legs were already kicking off her loose jeans.

“Don’t try an’ break the fourth wall.” Richie mirrored her. His shirt flew across the room, it wasn’t like he cared where it landed. His only pair of good jeans marked where he once stood. He was now on her. His lips left sloppy, wet kisses that trailed from her heated cheeks to her neck.

The two were fast to make their way to y/n’s bed—Richie taking his rightful place on top of her and y/n wrapping her legs around him. Her hips bucked up to his as she tried to relieve the built-up stress and ache in her core, but it only caused the heat in her underwear to pool, even more, soaking it further.

“Christ, you’re dripping.” Richie felt the dampness from her panties transfer to his boxers. His index and middle finger reached down, swiping at her heat through the lacy fabric. y/n whimpered as she watched him lick the slick from his fingers afterward. “You have to be quiet, okay? If we get busted my dad’ll sock me.” Richie whispered in her ear, his lips barely ghosting the shell of it.

y/n’s eyes fluttered at the small sensation. Do it again, Richie. But she would never admit her longing for him. Her legs tightened around him (if that were even possible) and she only wished that Richie would get the hint without her having to say it.

“Needy, are we?” y/n’s eyes rolled under her shut eyelids at the sound of Richie’s voice. The boy was all talk, non-stop. If they didn’t hurry, y/n feared her mom would check up on the two. All she could do was pray the Toziers kept them busy with conversation.

Richie held himself up with his left arm while his right hand rubbed indecipherable shapes on her clit. y/n wanted to cry out, but she knew better than that and she would get more than just a handful from Richie if she did. His long, dexterous fingers knew their way around a girl and y/n couldn’t help but think to how many times he’s done this before.

He was fast when he slipped a finger into her, then one became two, and two became none just as the top of y/n’s head hit her headboard from throwing her head back in pleasure.

“Why’d you stop?” y/n whispered. Her hips ground against him again and she could feel how hard he had gotten. These few seconds of paused breaths were about as much fun for her as it was for him.

“I think I hear someone.” Richie blinked and sat up. His full attention had reverted to the sounds outside her room and he was sure those footsteps weren’t y/n’s imaginary friend.

y/n saw this as an opportunity to get Richie back for all the times he’s gotten at her. The accidental trips in the hallways. The snide comments. The times he’s hooked up with other girls that weren’t her. She pushed him so he laid flat on his back, all sprawled out for her. She pressed a kiss to his lips. She kissed him hard. All the pent-up anger and resentment she had towards him was released into that kiss. Her lips then trailed their way down his body. They were feather-light and tickled his freckled skin. She was careful not to make marks, but it was tempting. It was tempting not to leave a purple bruise on his hipbone only for his next hookup to ask who’s that from? And for him to reply actually, I don’t think we should do this.

y/n looked up at Richie with the same puppy dog eyes she used to wear when they were six and Richie just about had a heart attack. The girl relieved him of his confinements (and other things), only for his manhood to unveil itself. It was eager for her, the tip glazed with precum and y/n’s mouth couldn’t help but water at the thought of being the one to get him off. She took him in her dainty hands. The same hands he watched handle the knife with. The same hands that wound their way around his neck and played with his unruly hair when he was on top of her. She pumped him cautiously; tenderly, before taking him in her mouth. She first kissed the tip, remnants of precum glossing her lips, and then swallowed around him.

Richie moaned at the feeling and y/n giggled, the vibrations sending him into endless bliss. The girl below him took one of her hands and placed it over his mouth in the same way he had told her to be quiet earlier. She smiled, feeling his mouth on her hand and her mouth-

“Richie?” It was Wentworth Tozier and y/n had never been so glad to be behind closed doors.

y/n released the hand that was cupped over his trash mouth. “Yea-yeah, dad?” His eyes were wide and not because he was in awe of the night he had been waiting for since forever, was finally happening.

“Are you ready to go? We’ve just about finished up.”

Richie found it all of the sudden harder to contain his sounds and the sensation of y/n’s mouth taking his length multiplied by tenfold.

“Ye-yeah.” Richie cursed himself for turning into his stuttering friend. Except instead of a stuttering Bill, it would be a stuttering Richie.

“You’re not having any issues in there, are you?” Wentworth pressed further and Richie’s hands flew to y/n’s hair. Her head bobbed up and down at the command of him and the only thing Richie could do now was cross his fingers for a fast release.

“I just lost my ring,” he managed to get out.

“Aw. It’s not the nice one, is it?” Wentworth recalled how much that one had cost. The rings Richie wore were mostly costume jewelry, aside from the one plain band made of real silver.

“N-no.” Richie was frantic. “But it’s just one I like.” He stifled a grunt using his own ring-clad hand—where every ring resided just fine.

“Do you need any help?” I need you to go away.

“No!” He was suspiciously eager. “y/n’s helping me.”

“Okay, okay. Three’s a crowd.” Wentworth knew how to take a hint. “Your mom and I’ll be waiting in the car. Please be down shortly.”

It was only until Richie couldn’t hear his father’s footsteps anymore when he choked out a moan he’d been holding in for far too long.

y/n separated from him after swallowing the lst of his high. She left him with a thick stripe from her tongue pressed to the underside of his cock and breaths so heavy he could barely hear himself think.

“Christ.” Richie was still trying to find his breath and y/n only eyed him innocently. She got up from the bed to retrieve her clothes, he would have to get his own, giving him a full view of her backside.

“You talk too much,” y/n said nonchalantly. Her hands that were once on him were now searching through her drawers for a different pair of underwear. She’d have to shower again once the Toziers left but the pooling between her thighs felt too uncomfortable to tolerate for a second more.

Richie was sat upright on y/n’s four-poster bed. His glasses were fogged, an accurate representation of how his mind felt. A weird haze kept him from thinking straight. It was different from when you smoked green and he couldn’t help but think that this was the first time he’d gotten off in weeks.

“Richie?” y/n asked almost concerned. She appeared in front of him and she looked like she came straight from one of his dreams. Her cheeks were still flushed and hot from earlier when their skin collided and she hadn’t combed the sex out of her hair yet. Richie hated the Led Zeppelin t-shirt that covered her figure and he wordlessly pleaded to stay the night, the only indication coming from his big doe eyes that were blown with lust and sinful thoughts. “Richie!”

The shrill sound of her voice made him blink and he finally saw y/n for who she was.

“You have to leave.”

“Gee, sugar. You sure welcomed my stay.” His pupils were quick to contract when they made a trip to the back of his head.

y/n scoffed and before Richie could make a smart comment he was met with his clothes thrown at his chest and another order to leave.

“The princess gets what the princess wants,” were the last spoken words before y/n slammed the bedroom door behind him. But y/n wouldn’t confess that it was Richie she fantasized about that night while her left hand traveled beneath her fresh pair of underwear. She’d pretend her fingers were his, but it wasn’t the same when she couldn’t meet the same feeling of euphoria he gave her.

Unsurprisingly, it was Richie to address their rendezvous the next day. They were at school: y/n hung by a row of lockers with Stacy at her hip as she talked about her new cheer routine.

Richie immediately spotted y/n who was sporting dark wash skinny jeans and another band tee, but the hem reached just above her navel. He faintly recognized the blondie next to her, recalling if they had ever done it or not but he assumed if y/n was friends with her the answer was most likely no.

“Hey.” His voice was coarse and a shallow part of y/n wanted to know if he had found another girl to get off with when he left her place.

“Hi.” y/n’s eyes never left Stacy’s and she pretended not to be interested in what he had to say.

“y/n.” Her stomach felt hollow at the sound of him saying her name. She digressed, still giving her friend her full attention. “y/n.” His voice was firmer now. They had all the time in the world, seemingly because it was the end of the day, but Richie needed to talk to her now.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to someone?” y/n bit back harshly. She didn’t mean it.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to you?” Richie grew agitated and y/n liked the sound of desperation from him. Desperate for her.

“It’s fine, y/n.” Stacy was understanding but she shot Richie an offhanded glance that left him speechless and self-conscious. “I have practice anyway.” After she kissed y/n’s cheek goodbye, she skipped off to what y/n presumed was the football field.

“Whew, where can I get some of that action?” Richie wiggled his eyebrows which earned him a slap to his shoulder.

“What do you want?” y/n still didn’t make eye contact with the boy in front of her—a pattern he was just now starting to pick up on.

“Last night…” Richie’s eyebrow raised suggestively, and y/n knew exactly what he was hinting at just from the tone of his voice because what else had happened last night?

“Last night was a mistake,” y/n lied. She had to keep her guard up around him or else she’d get hurt.

“You think so?” Richie’s back slumped against the lockers next to hers while y/n continued to shove books into her bag. “I kinda liked it,” he admitted.

y/n’s eyes widened, and she swore her ears were deceiving her.

They weren’t.

Richie and y/n had spent the past week switching between each other’s houses. On Tuesday it was Richie’s because the ‘rents would be AWOL and on Wednesday it was y/n’s because it was her house the yearbook club would be meeting on that day and she had to be there to set up.

“I don’t see why ya have to go to that stupid thing,” Richie grunted before pushing in. “Who buys yearbooks anyways?”

“A lot of people.” y/n said, partially annoyed that they had to be fast and also annoyed at how much Richie talked during sex.

Their sessions were usually quick and sloppy. Neither taking the time for foreplay, and neither caring. Hands gripped skin and teeth clashed. As long as the other got their release, it didn’t matter. It was a system. Richie would meet y/n at her place and y/n would meet Richie at his. They’d part with a goodbye and nothing more. Anything more would be crossing the line.

It was on a Monday when Richie Tozier found himself shakily opening the handle to y/n’s front door. It was out of character for him to be nervous about this stuff, but he was. They’d been hooking up after school for a few weeks now and although they hadn’t had a session planned for today. It was like an unspoken agreement.

He didn’t bother to see if the door was locked or not. He already knew the y/l/n’s kept a spare key under the welcome mat so he welcomed himself to use it.

Her house was eerily quiet. He bet he could hear a pin drop if he tried to find the one sitting at the bottom of his backpack. But he didn’t. For a second, it occurred to Richie that no one was home. He wanted to recheck if the cars were in the driveway until he remembered y/n didn’t drive. Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was now Richie ‘The Snoop’ Tozier as he made his way up the stairs to her room. An uncomfortable stillness blanketed the air but Richie only continued his path.

He caught on quick once he saw the door to her room was open, giving Richie a full view of y/n leaning against the edge of the balcony that was connected to her bedroom.

“y/n!”

She looked peaceful as the wind lifted her hair—it would take her body too, just one push.

y/n didn’t notice her name from his lips as he called for her. The only cohesive thing that ran through her mind was the sound of her thoughts. Do it. Do it. Do it.

She was about to. Her grip on the railing tightened before letting go completely and her feet pushed off to meet the air’s welcoming breeze. But the exoneration y/n had ever so hoped for was replaced by the tight embrace of Richie Tozier as his arms wrapped around her torso. He held her tight even though her body fell limp at his touch.

“y/n.” She wanted to crawl in a hole at her name on his tongue. The high-spirited and playful little girl Richie Tozier once knew and held close was replaced with a sad—miserable—teenager and Richie had to take a step back because it became apparent to him that he didn’t know her at all.

A hot tear burned its way down her cheek which Richie wiped with the pad of his thumb.

“Why do you care?” y/n whispered. She was too weak to move so she sat with him. She sat with his arms strewn around her to keep her from doing anything stupid.

“What do you mean why?” Richie was calm under the weight of the situation. Honey dripped from his voice, soothing her open wound and y/n reluctantly felt her body relax with his.

“We hate each other.” The words stung because honesty hurts and Richie’s dry mouth swallowed, buying him time to think of a reply.

“Where did it all go wrong, sugar?” He asked. Richie genuinely wondered what had changed between them and y/n’s heartbeat picked up rapid-fire because she remembered the events, as well as she, remembered her eighth-grade valedictorian speech.

It was the summer of ‘89. School had just let out and y/n rushed home to change from her school clothes and call up the Toziers’ landline—a number she had memorized by heart.

She threw open her closet door, blood was rushing through her veins as she decided what to wear. It took her a moment and she wondered what Richie’s favorite color was. She finally decided on blue to match his eyes.

Mrs. y/l/n had scolded y/n for running in the house because she just swept the floor and she didn’t want tracks again, but y/n didn’t care as she dialed the home phone with the precision of a hunter. y/n sat patiently in her baby blue sundress with her legs crossed on the velvet armchair while the dial tone rang. A giggle couldn’t help but escape her lips from the thrill of it all.

She’d never been so bold to call up her crush and now she was finally doing it.

“Hello?” It was Maggie Tozier’s voice and y/n could tell she hurried to the phone before this.

“Is Richie there?” y/n asked timidly. She wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t get the chance to talk to him because she died from a heart attack right there, but she praised herself in her head for containing her loose giggles.

The other end was silent for a moment. “Richie can’t come to the phone right now.” Maggie sounded sad and y/n understood. “Maybe try again tomorrow?”

She did. She had tried again that whole week and she was met with the same answer each time.

Embarrassment finally took the form of a soon-to-be-highschooler as y/n couldn’t bring herself to call the line, or even look at the phone that next week.

Summer of ‘89 went by as fast as it came. y/n had grown a few inches only for Richie to shoot up like a tree.

She’d only seen him sparingly. Once at Mr. Keene’s pharmacy where he was hanging out with Eddie, Bill, Stan, and a few other familiar faces; faces she’d seen before but couldn’t place a name to. The other times she’d seen him were at the barrens, but she couldn’t bring herself say anything to the boy, let alone look at him.

Their final meeting was on the first day of school: freshman year. Richie stood a good head above her and y/n had finally found the courage to confront him after her fun-less summer.

The days were still hot even though school had started to pick up and it didn’t help that Derry High had neglected to get their AC unit fixed until snowflakes carried through later that year. To combat the scorching sun that beat down on the Derry residents’ backs, y/n wore a yellow, pinstriped sundress that jutted out at the hip and ended above the knee. Her mom insisted she wore the new Mary Janes she’d splurged on, just for her, and to go with them she paired white frilly socks and a silver necklace.

“Hi!” y/n was hopeful that the one and only Richie Tozier hadn’t forgotten who she was over the summer of not calling back and sparse interactions. She stood at his locker and looked at him with the same puppy dog eyes she did when they were six. The same puppy dog eyes she’d give him the night he would come over for dinner and over welcome his stay in her room.

Richie stood there frozen. His hand had a death grip on the new history book he had just received earlier that day and even if he wanted to move, his muscles wouldn’t allow for such a thing. He forced a smile on his pretty lips that had snuck a cigarette in the bathroom earlier—a habit he picked up from over the summer—but didn’t say anything.

“I called you…” y/n said, a sort of sadness hinting in her words. She could tell there was something different about him, but she didn’t know what it was. “Busy summer?”

He felt his breath hitched and found his fingers, along with the other muscles in his being, able to move. Richie swiftly and recklessly stuffed the textbook in his backpack while y/n was tracing the numbers engraved on the metal plating of the locker next to his. The thrill of finally being in high school hadn’t yet left her body when all Richie could think about was when they’d get the fuck outta there.

“You could say that.” Richie didn’t really know what happened that summer. All he knew was that there were a couple missed calls from y/n—according to his mom. And it’d be too embarrassing to try and rekindle what little they had now.

“Well, if you aren’t busy right now…” y/n’s words started to trail off, becoming a distant memory in Richie’s mind until they picked up again. “We could hang out after school?” There sparked a glimmer of hope in her big eyes and Richie felt his insides twist into a bow.

The loud, ear-piercing sound of metal hitting metal made y/n jump when Richie slammed his locker door shut. “We’re not friends.”

“What?” She was in disbelief at what the boy in front of her was saying even though he wore a straight face.

Richie sighed. “Look. I don’t know how many times I have to explain this to ya but listen good: just cos our parents are all chummy doesn’t mean we gotta be.” He hadn’t blinked since he started talking and his hard stare confirmed the awful feeling in y/n’s stomach.

“F-fine. If that’s how you feel.” y/n kept herself from bursting in front of the boy she harbored a crush for. She turned away from him and made quick to excuse herself from his presence.

y/n remembered never touching her Mary Janes after that day. They still sat in the back of her closet collecting dust—still shining as if they were new. She would spend the rest of her freshman year in t-shirts she’d cropped herself and figuring out how to get the most natural-looking tears in her jeans.

y/n remembered hating Richie Tozier ever since.

Silent tears streaked her cheek. Some fell on Richie’s sleeve and he felt guilty. “Oh, kid. I don’t hate you.” The sound of his heartbeat through his shirt soothed her, like how a lullaby calmed a child. Richie didn’t expect an answer from the girl in his arms. He just stroked her hair and hoped she’d stay as still as she was in his arms when it was time for him to go.

“Regina hates me.”

y/n gave Richie no further explanation as to why three became two in her already small group of friends. It was earlier that day when she had found out Regina Carmichaels had been talking to Ellie Wozniack behind her back—revealing y/n’s deepest secrets and embarrassing stories—since grade school. She only found out from Stacy who was in the handicapped stall during her lunch period. The cheerleader was doodling pink hearts on the wall that separated the two toilets in the girl’s bathroom next to the cafeteria when she heard a familiar voice groan in disgust about how much she couldn’t stand y/n. It was in study hall when y/n and Stacy finally shared a period when Stacy told her friend what she’d heard and seen through the crack of the door.

“My mom hates me.” y/n’s voice cracked, and Richie felt his grip tighten. She didn’t go into detail either. She didn’t have to.

“You have me,” Richie whispered in her ear. His thumb traced indistinguishable patterns against the sleeve of her shirt much like the night that started it all. One last sob escaped her dry throat and y/n felt herself turning in Richie’s arms.

Her eyes meticulously searched his, noting every fleck of color, every detail. His mirrored hers in expression and she felt her heartbeat slow.

The two didn’t have to say anything, they just knew.

It was Richie who pressed a kiss to her temple. The soft skin of his lips made their way down to her lips—they spent extra time on her cheekbone which was wet and salty from the tears that streamed down it.

The other times y/n and Richie kissed, it was rushed, neither of them taking the time to notice the other; only caring about getting off. But as Richie’s soft lips captured y/n’s, it was different from the times before. It was slow as each party took the time to explore each crevice of each other’s mouth and discover the natural feeling that stayed hidden in the pit of their stomachs in which only at this moment did it reveal itself.

The kiss they shared exuded a feeling y/n had never felt with him the previous times their bare skin found each other. It was nice. Richie was taking all the precious minutes he had with her and it was as if he were seeing her for the first time.

A certain feeling of loss washed over both of them when they had to pull apart for air. When her lips were bare, the only thing y/n wanted being to feel him on her again.

“I never meant to hurt you.” Richie took her hand in his. He knew he wasn’t the sole reason for all her problems, but he could be the one to relieve her of at least one.

y/n was quiet. Her hand squeezed his, letting him know she heard him. “Stay with me?”

“I’ll stay with you forever,” Richie said, his words only loud enough for her to hear, only meant for her to hear.

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x reader fluff #richie tozier x reader angst #richie tozier x reader smut #richie tozier smut #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier imagine #this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and i don't wanna leave u guys in the dark #posting bc i hit 100 followers and im not done w my wips yet #if this is triggering to u just lmk and i'll take it down or we can work something out #maybe this does work out bc it's suicide prevention month..#maybe #tw: suicide mention

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jubilantwriter · 4 years

Text

Jaspvid Week 2020 Day 7: Free Day

(AO3) @jaspvid-week

fuckING DONE AAAHHHOOOOOOOO. time to work on that fucking SECOND PART to DAY 6 SEE YA GUYS SOON enOUGH!!

The Man Who Sits on the Bench

Summary: There is a bench that sits alone in the park. No one knows why it tends to sit empty, but sometimes, a person or two will occupy its seats to have a conversation. To sit and remember. To sit and think. For that's what benches are for, yes?

Today, someone sits on the bench. He lets his thoughts overrun him as he counts every regret he holds with clenched fists. But luckily, as a soft hand takes his and a gentle smile greets his sad eyes, he finds that he won't have to sit alone any longer.

Word Count: 9854

What makes a human life, if it is nothing more than a collection of regrets? Experiences missed, chances forsaken, memories shattered, and relationships lost - to say one's lived a life worth living would suggest that all such regrets were settled, accepted, and taken as is, so long as the life nearing its end is satisfied with the ending they received.

To say one has no regrets would be a lie.

But to come to a state of acceptance, perhaps that's what makes a human life more than a culmination of past regrets too far gone to resolve.

Ah, to be that lucky.

So then, what becomes of a human life, if it becomes nothing more than a collection of regrets?

What happens when all of those regrets come crashing down all at once?

...The sky is a beautiful shade of blue today.

Clouds, white and fluffy, pass by him as if mocking the heaviness in his chest, the weight of his regrets keeping him pinned down as they continue to float by without a single care.

And it all comes crashing down around him.

I shouldn't have said that.

Why did I do that?

I wish I could go back in time.

I wish I said "I'm sorry".

I wish I said "I love you".

I wish I wish I wish I wish-

And in that moment, a second lasts a minute, a minute an hour, and then that hour becomes nothing more than a single moment in the past that he can't take back.

He reaches his hand up towards the sky and sobs.

The sky.

It's so beautiful.

I wish I said "goodbye" before I left.

And then a gentle hand grabs his.

////

There's a man who sits on the park bench. Every day, without fail, he sits down on that same bench, looking up at the sky with a pensive look as he waits for someone to join him.

Everyone walks past him, minding their own business as he continues to sit all alone, eyes distant with thoughts too far away for a single person to grasp in that moment.

And then.

When he blinks, he suddenly finds himself in familiar company.

A gentle smile.

Soft, green eyes that are a shade too light for his liking.

And a dress the color of precious emeralds.

"Good afternoon, Jasper!"

"Ms. Clementine." He nods to her and turns his gaze to the people walking about in front of them. Sunlight beams down brightly as the summer graces them with its last fading breaths. A gentle breeze reminds him that fall is coming as the leaves continue to fade the green from their visage.

"How are you today?"

"Not too great, to be honest."

"So about the same then?" She chuckles to herself, her Southern drawl softening her voice. "What's on your mind, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"The usual, I guess." He sighs as he leans against the bench's armrest. "...I just miss him."

"Your fiance?"

He flinches. "More like... my ex, right?"

"If that's what you make of it, then sure. Your ex."

A fight flashes in his mind. Raised voices. Clenched fists. Tears streaming down someone’s face. His face? Or David's? Perhaps both?

It was a dumb fight.

Stupid, dumb, awful fight.

What were they even fighting about? Why did it get so heated? Was it even worth all of that anger?

It feels like it's been so long. But yet, the feeling remains.

He brings his hands up to his face.

"I messed up. So bad."

"Hm." A gentle hand rubs a comforting circle into his back. "What could you do to make it better?"

"I could say sorry." He wipes his eyes uselessly. "I want to say sorry. Sorry for yelling. Sorry for getting mad. Sorry for everything. But will he even hear me? It's too late, right?"

"I'm sorry, Jasper." She smiles sadly as she keeps her hand in place. "I wish I could help you there."

"Me too." A weak laugh. "I wish I could help me too."

They both look up at the sky, the clouds weightless and free. How he envies the clouds above them.

"Do you need more time?"

"...Yeah."

But then again. He has as much time as he needs, doesn't he? He closes his eyes and feels the breeze brush past him.

Maybe, when he opens them, he'll see their smiling faces again. Hear their laughter.

"Why don't you tell me more about them?"

But her soft voice breaks his daydreams, and when he opens them, he sees nothing but the passing faces of unfamiliar strangers. A moment passes between them as he tries to catch sight of a familiar shade of red, a head of thick, curly black hair.

But no such people pass by this spot he sits in.

"...Do you think that'll help?"

"It might. Sometimes, people just needa get some things off their chests. Remember the important things." Clementine places her hand over his and squeezes gently. "And I'm a mighty fine listener."

"So like," Jasper gives a dry chuckle as he looks at eyes the wrong shade of green, "do you moonlight as a therapist? Is that what this is? A therapy session?"

"'Fraid not. I don't really have the credentials for that." But the smile she supplies is almost as bright as the ones David used to wear all the time. "As long as it can help you in the end, I don't mind listening to a few tales or so."

"...Why are you doing this?"

Clementine's eyes soften as wisps of her hair blow gently in the wind. "Because pullin' people up is my job, sweetheart. And I ain't aboutta leave ya to drown just yet." She turns her attention to the passing people in front of them, a distant look in her eyes as she keeps her hold on Jasper's hand. "What's the point of helpin' someone up if you don't pull them all the way up to their feet, right?"

Jasper gazes across the street and stares at a flickering pedestrian light. Idly, he thinks that David and Clementine would have gotten along quite nicely.

And quietly, the two of them watch as the light switches to red.

\\\\

He cups his hands around his mouth and breathes out. White puffs of warm air blow out from his hands as he waits for a familiar weight to settle besides him. It's the chill that reminds him of piles of raked leaves, jackets dug out from the closet, and laughing boys as they chase each other to hear the crunch of the fallen leaves.

Clementine sits down quietly besides him and watches the beginning of fall with him.

For a moment, neither of them choose to speak, leaving Jasper content to just blow puffs of air as a brash voice from his memories yells with excitement, Look, Jasp! I'm a dragon - ROAR!

"Lovely weather, don'tcha think?"

"Yeah." He lowers his hands and looks up to the sky. It's clear and bright, but the chill refuses to be chased away by the sunlight as it begins to bite at his nose. He turns to face the woman besides him, and notices that she's changed her summer dress for something a little thicker. More suitable for the weather they're fairing. However, despite the slight change in wardrobe, he finds that the long coat she dons still shares the same hue as her summer dress.

He looks away and pretends that the green reminds him of the grass in spring.

"You look like you've got somethin' on your mind." She nudges him gently, a soft smile on her face as she gets his attention. "Mind tellin' me your woes?"

"Oh, they're not like, woes." He smiles awkwardly as he runs a hand through his hair.

"What is it then?"

"I guess..." He looks out to their surroundings and sees the familiar buildings, the bustling townsfolk who ignore the pair on the bench, and realizes that he's imagining a place quite unlike the town they live in. "I guess this kinda weather just... reminds me of stuff."

"Stuff?" Clementine hums thoughtfully before snapping her fingers. "Stuff... as in, a thing? Or stuff, as in, someone you don't wanna admit to be thinking of?"

A blush rises to his cheeks as a familiar guilt settles in his chest.

"Ahhh." She doesn't say anything else after that.

Instead, the two of them sit in silence as Jasper lets the guilt eat him through. Memories of warm smiles in the chilling cold flash through his mind, and the words tumble out with a thought attached to them as he imagines a familiar head of red hair bouncing through the crowd before them.

"David loves the fall, even if he won't say it."

Leaves drift down around them as people continue to rush on by to get home and away from the cold.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. When we were younger, he used to jump in piles and piles of fallen leaves. It didn't matter if they were moist or dry, or if the ground was dirt or concrete. He just loved falling into piles of them, to watch as the leaves would fall around him and cover him up. He'd laugh and laugh and laugh, and then he'd tug me down with him. And we'd lay down and pretend the leaves were snow."

He can see it as if it were just yesterday. Two boys, one a brunette and the other a ginger, laughing as they laid sprawled out on the ground.

Leaf angels. That's what David called them. When they would pretend the fall was winter, and they wanted to leave their mark on the world in any way they could.

And then they got up with leaves in their hair to admire their handiwork.

It always felt like it was just them two. And when David would point and laugh and clap his hands because the leaf angels came out looking so dumb?

God.

He's sure he had the biggest, dumbest smile on his face when he laughed with him.

And then David would reach over to pluck a leaf out of his hair, admire it, examine it, really scrutinize it, and then proclaim that this leaf, the one in his hand, the one from Jasper's head, was the best leaf because he plucked it from the best tree in front of him.

And Jasper would do the same. Pick the biggest, prettiest leaf from David, a shade of red just like David's hair, and he'd admire it, examine it, really scrutinize it, before shaking his head and proclaiming that no, he found the best leaf because he plucked it from the best tree in front of him.

And they'd laugh.

And laugh.

Water drips onto his hands, even though the sky looks so clear today.

"Fall was my favorite season too." Leaves the color of David's hair fall all around him.

He holds his hand out to catch the prettiest one that floats down in front of them.

Bright red.

Like from the bestest tree.

The bestest tree that isn't in front of him anymore.

A gentle hand takes his and squeezes it tight. He turns to Clementine, a soft smile on her face as her hair sways in the wind. Neither of them say a word as he lets that leaf go.

And the sound of childish laughter fades in the wind with the leaf.

////

The weight in his chest is heavier than usual. As he kicks at the fallen snow, he wonders if David and Max are keeping warm. Their little apartment - David remembers where the space heater is, right? Max never liked the cold, so they bought him a space heater for the winter since the apartment's heating system wasn't the most reliable thing.

Are they managing okay? He wishes he can visit them.

But.

Would that be right of him? After he left them like that?

It feels as though he’s tied down in this spot. He can't move from the bench, so here he sits. He kicks at the fallen snow, the sky looking cloudier than usual.

"Evenin', Jasper."

"Hi, Clem."

"How're you feelin'?"

"Not great."

"So the usual, then." She sits down next to him, smoothing out her dress, now thick and woolen to combat the cold, but still that lovely shade of emerald green. "What's on your mind today?"

"The cold." Snowflakes begin to drift down around him as he speaks. "Max doesn't like the cold. But Davey's pretty chill with it, if you catch my drift."

She chuckles but makes no move to speak, so he continues.

"You know, I hope the kid is getting used to living here. It was a process to adopt him, just to get him in our care, y'know? But Davey fought tooth and nail for him. Max has the same kinda funky spunk that Davey had when we first met. So it made sense."

He imagines seeing a head of curly, black hair bobbing among the masses as he hangs onto the hem of David's shirt, angry tears in his eyes. But relief was apparent in how he held himself. Like, even if he didn't want to admit it, he was glad to be around David.

That was how he first met Max.

A kid filled with so much hurt and anger and pain. A pain that was different from David's when they were kids but so goddamn similar that he had to fight the urge to bend down and hug him. But he smiled, kind and welcoming, as he helped Max unpack his little backpack filled with just enough things he deigned to call his own. Slowly, the couple would help fill up that room that Max could finally call his own with things that he could proudly say were his.

Max didn't like him at first. Hell, for a while, he didn't think he liked David either. But the thing about similar people- sometimes, not always, but sometimes, you can approach them the same way. So he would be on level with Max, crack a joke or two, and offer him a silent understanding that gave the boy room to breathe.

Just like he did with David all those years ago.

Because, despite all those layers of hurt and anger and desire to prove himself, there was a layer of something that needed to be understood. Something that desired a patience that Jasper was willing to give. And he gave and gave and gave until Max was ready to smile that small, secret smile that would show up once every blue moon. And then it'd show up every once in a while. And then every so often. Until the small, secret smiles weren't secrets anymore, and he could grin loud and proud as he kicked through piles of snow with boots David helped him pick out, and oh, the joy they both held as two similar souls found a little bit of solace with each other, an understanding, a lasting connection.

And so they found themselves a happy, little family. One where Max could feel truly loved, truly wanted. And the little space they gave him? Filled with laughs and memories and new beginnings and smiles and joy and so much healing.

They were supposed to be there for Max.

But now, that all hinges on David now, huh?

He wonders if Max hates him now. For leaving him behind. For leaving them behind.

He wouldn't blame him at all.

"I hope they're making snowmen right now. That kid deserves all the good in the world. It'd be nice to see him having fun again."

"Would that make you feel better?" Her hand lands on his shoulder with a comfort he's forgotten he's allowed to feel. "Knowing Max is okay, that David is alright, would that help you feel better?"

"...I don't know. Maybe." He turns to face her and sees only that quiet understanding and patience that he's come to expect from her. "I just. I wish there was something I could do. Something that said, I'm sorry, you know? Even if it's too little too late. I just. Want to give them something. Even if it's not enough."

Even if it can't undo what he's done.

The snow continues to fall.

But he can't feel the cold anymore.

////

The blossoms push through the ground with an ease he wishes he could experience. These little flowers, they get to experience something new before they wilt and die. They'll never know of the pain regret brings, or of leaving people behind, or of broken relationships and snap decisions that he wishes he could take back.

He stays seated on his bench as he stares at the flowers in the distance. The melody of a nearby street performer catches his attention and brings a faint smile to his face. David always liked idling by them, listening to the music they could produce before dropping a dollar or two and continuing on their way.

He loves music. That was why Jasper picked up the ukulele. Small and portable, he could pull it out easily and pluck out some chords and entertain David with some musical nonsense. But David loved that musical nonsense. He'd laugh and clap his hands and smile that beautiful, lovely smile that Jasper loved to see. And maybe Jasper didn't have words to accompany his music.

But he could hum.

So he'd make a little tune, a little rhythm, and he'd hum.

And oh, David loved every minute of it.

The only downside was that he couldn't hold David as he played the ukulele. Couldn't hold him and dance with him, hips swaying to whatever nonsensical tune that Jasper could produce, foreheads pressed together as they hummed together and held each other close enough that it could be a waltz, but really it was just a simple side step back and forth, a one-two one-two to a melody produced from Jasper's love.

He wonders if David kept that mixtape he made for him when they were teenagers. It was filled with songs from their youth, songs that reminded him of David, songs that they would belt out together in the summer heat that made them feel alive in spite of the shitty world. Songs that made them feel real, feel connected, feel understood.

He hums to himself as he kicks at the ground. There was one tune that David loved to hear when they were alone together, one that didn't need a ukulele, just Jasper's throaty hum.

He had wanted to make a song of it. Something that was more than a few seconds long, a few chords on repeat. But Jasper was never a lyricist. So he just added chord upon chord until he had something that sounded right.

Lighthearted, gentle, sweet. Something to sway their hips to. Something to hold each other to.

He meant to play that song for David on their anniversary. Maybe record it. Maybe let it play on his computer or stereo or something. Because if it was a song meant for them to dance to, then he'd need his hands free to hold his Davey close, so that he can press his forehead against his, look into those beautiful, shining, precious emerald greens that light up with joy and love with every passing minute, and together, they can forget about the world around them for a few minutes. So that they can sway and hum and feel each other's warmth.

As if they were the only two in the world.

But he never finished his song.

Just like he never said he was sorry. Or goodbye.

He buries his face in his hands and lets out a shuddering sigh. A familiar hand lands on his shoulder. It's a shame that her hand is the only one he can feel nowadays. But it makes sense.

When he laid there on the asphalt, staring straight up at the sky, his blood pooling around him as people screamed for help, he wished for the pain to stop. To not feel anything. To feel numb.

And in that moment, his wish was granted.

But it could only do so much, he found out. It doesn't stop the pain in his chest when he looks up and meets eyes a shade of green that looks just a bit off. A reminder that seeks him out everyday.

How he misses David's eyes even now.

"Heya, Jasper."

"Hey, Clem."

"Stuck in your past today?"

"No, not today."

She takes her hand back to clasp them both together in her lap. Quietly, she hums thoughtfully as she stares up at the sky. "Almost been a year, huh?"

"Yeah."

"But I'm guessin' you're not yet ready to go, aren’t ya?"

"No, ma'am."

"Don't worry." She ruffles his hair affectionately with a soft smile. "Take all the time ya need."

A sorry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "I don't really want all the time I need."

"Maybe a talk?"

"Isn't that all we can do?"

"If that's what you believe." Clementine turns her attention away from him and towards the crowd. "You humans are such silly creatures."

"What do you mean?" He follows her gaze out into the crowd and wonders, for once, what it is that she sees.

"Y'all think so lowly of yourselves that it's so easy to forget the amazin' feats y'all manage to pull off everyday, dead or alive." Clementine's hand reaches out to grab at nothing, at something, at everything, before pulling back and revealing to Jasper a plucked flower sitting simply in her hand. "A flower never had so much meanin' before someone came along and thought, 'Ah, perhaps, this one will be enough to represent my love.' A plucked flower can only be considered dead, until someone comes along and makes it a gift instead, or turns it into a crown, makes it into an arrangement, tucks it away in someone's hair as an accessory." She tucks the flower against Jasper's ear and giggles. "A plucked flower is a beautiful, dead thing. But sometimes, it becomes more than just a beautiful, dead thing. Sometimes, there's a meanin' to it. A symbol. A somethin'. An anythin'." Her hands settle on her lap as she closes her eyes, strands of her hair flowing freely in the still air. "It's what you make of what you have. So tell me, Jasper, what can you make of you?"

"I..." He touches the flower lightly with his fingertips and feels the softness of the petals. "I don't know."

"Hmmm." Clementine's eyes remain closed as she continues to smile. "Maybe give your memories a little bit of a ponder."

Jasper blinks. Looks up at the sky. And remembers.

It was a clear day, just like this one. Slowly, he lets his eyes drift close, like he did on that day.

And ponders.

What can he make of him? What can he make of a dead existence that serves nothing more than a reminder of what used to be? Was his death supposed to be meaningless? Does he want it to stay meaningless?

Does he want to be meaningless?

...No, of course not. But then, what does he want to do? What can he do?

A bird sings beside them, the welcoming chirps beckoning the arrival of spring.

...Sing. Or rather, hum. He can't sing very well but- well, he had that little tune. That tune for David. Their anniversary. A song for them.

But... it's too late, isn't it? Too late for him, too late for their song. Too late to make it up to David.

Except. As he listens to this bird, this bird that sings a song that holds a meaning only to itself, to other birds, until someone else comes along and stops to listen, and really listen to this song it sings-

Isn't it just another tuneless melody?

Until.

Someone. Or something. Puts meaning to it.

He opens his eyes and looks at the bird. It continues to sing, sweet and sure as it calls out to another to listen. Meaningless until meaning is made. Maybe... just maybe...

"I," he weakly begins, catching Clementine's eyes as she turns to look at him with that knowing look of hers. "...I, um."

"Yes?"

"I..." He scratches at his cheek, looking from the bird to Clementine and reading the patience that's etched into her very being, and knows, simply, as he relaxes, that all she's made of is kind understanding. "What if... I was a bird?"

"A bird?" She tilts her head to the side. "Why?"

"Uh. This might be stupid but, I thought- you know, maybe." He stops to take a steadying breath as he squeezes his fists against his lap. "It's just- I had this song, right? A song for Davey. For our anniversary. I never got to finish it, before I uh, got totally wasted by that car but- you said I should make the best of what I had and- maybe, maybe that's all I have left."

"Left for what?"

"Left... left to give." A death is nothing but a reminder. A stopping point. A memory that serves to put an end to more memories.

But.

If he could take one thing of his, just one, and make it into something, anything. Anything to make them smile. He would do it.

Make meaning out of something meaningless.

"I want to give them something happy. Even if it's small. Or for a moment. I don't... want them to leave them on that sad note forever."

And Clementine's smile brightens. "Of course." And she reaches into her pocket. And pulls out a something. An anything. And she takes Jasper's hand, and gently places it onto his palm. "I can't make living things, but sometimes, it doesn't have to be living to look alive."

A small, mechanical bird sits motionless in the palm of his hand. He closes his hand around it carefully and thinks.

He thinks he can finish that song now.

////

...It's been a year, David thinks. A long, painful year of realizing what it's like to lose the person who had warmed his side for so long. A long, painful year of realizing that a single, missing voice is enough to create a vast silence that he can't tackle by himself. A long, painful year of coming to terms with how sudden endings can come about, whether he wants them to or not.

It's been a year.

Max tugs on his sleeve, frowning as he drags David out of his thoughts. "...Come on, we're here already."

And David looks over to where they're heading. Oh, right.

To get to the park, they'll need to use the crosswalk. The very crosswalk that he...

He squeezes his eyes shut as a shuddering sigh runs through him. Even after a year, he finds himself unable to forget about the fight that started it all.

Of course Jasper would be opposed to inviting Mr. Campbell to their wedding. It didn't matter that Camp Campbell was how they met, or how David was able to meet Max, or that Mr. Campbell had changed. Jasper hated the man for personal reasons, something David had easily forgotten in pursuit of his own wants.

It was a stupid, dumb fight. He's replayed the fight over and over again in his mind. What he said. What he should have said. How he should have kept Jasper from walking out, kept him from shouting that he needed to leave and get his chill back, kept him from crying, kept him from losing his temper, kept him kept him kept him-

Kept him in his arms before Jasper could have walked across a crosswalk too late, when the lights stopped blinking in his favor and a speeding car trying to turn a corner missed the sight of him at the last second, and all he got as an answer to Jasper's retreating form was a stranger's voice calling from his phone.

Funerals are expensive. He used to wonder if weddings would be more expensive. But between the burial’s costs and the empty side of the bed, he realized that, without a doubt, funerals were much more costly.

And now, today, after a year of empty beds and chairs at the dinner table, he promised Max that he would walk with him to the park.

"We don't have to do this." Max stands firmly where he is, eyes flicking to David and the crosswalk and back with a nervous energy. "We can just not go to the fucking park. I don't even like parks. I don't even like nature! Let's just go home and watch shitty movies or something."

"...I know you don't like this but." He looks down towards Max with a sad smile. Of course, he wasn't the only one still grieving Jasper. Maybe Max didn't know him as long as David did. But he still heard the sniffles. The little hiccups and whimpers that Max pretended weren't coming from him as he locked himself in his room. To have finally let another person into his life, only to have them dashed away because of a fight he wasn't involved in. For a while, he was sure that Max hated him for being the reason why Jasper left in the first place. "Nikki wants to play with you in the park. She can only be cooped up for so long, and I think we both know she's reaching her breaking point."

"I guess, but..." They both turn their attention to the crosswalk. "Is this really the only way to the park?"

"It's the closest for sure."

"We can always take the long way around."

"But then we'd just be avoiding the whole thing." David squeezes Max's hand. "And we can't keep avoiding it forever, no matter how much it hurts."

"Are we still talking about the same thing? Because I'm pretty sure I'm talking about the damn crosswalk."

"Of course, kiddo. Come on, we'll do this together." He plants a hand on Max's shoulder and realizes how much the short boy has grown. Thirteen years old, and he's finally hit that start of his spurt.

Though, Jasper would have still picked the boy up to spin him around for fun. Even if Max would yell and claw at him for doing so. Max stares up at him with a worried frown as David squeezes.

One year. So much happens in one year. And yet, would Jasper have known what he missed? Of course not. David squeezes his eyes shut. He's thinking too much again.

"David..."

"You know you can call me 'dad', right?" Although, not much can change in a year either. He feels Max shrug as David breathes through his nose.

"Let's just get to the park already." Max leads the way as David opens his eyes, watching as the crosswalk signal changes from red to white. He doesn't look at the ground as his gaze focuses on the trees in front of him.

It's a short walk. Not much to think about. Not much he wants to think about. Or remember. He doesn't want to focus on how heavy his steps feel, or where he's walking, or how the crosswalk looks so completely normal, as though nothing happened here. He doesn't think about how there's a stinging at the corners of his eyes, how he needs to take deep breaths through his nose, how Max tenses up with shoulders hunched as he speeds up his pace.

They make it across like everyone else. The crowd moves around them as David drops his hand from Max's shoulder. It's just a crosswalk. David's hand squeezes his chest as he focuses on the view of the park in front of them - how the tree branches with their newly grown leaves swaying in the wind, children laughing as they play on the open field with vibrant green grass, and he wonders and thinks and muses over how many people use this crosswalk to get to the park, walk over the spot where he was hit and left to bleed out by a driver too scared to stop, and wonders and thinks and muses over if they know they're walking over the spot he died on-

It's just a crosswalk.

He takes a deep breath and looks over at Max with a smile that barely lifts. "See, bud? We're fine!" He's fine. He has to be. His thoughts spin for a moment, repeating over and over again like a record he's forgotten he left on the turntable.

He's fine. He has to be. He's fine. He has to be. He's fine he's fine he's fine he's fine it was just a fight he'll come back-

Max grabs his elbow, and the record scratches to a stop. The permanent frown on his face twitches near the corners as he sighs.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." He nods over to the path along the park. Despite his trudging steps and begrudging stare, Max pushes them onward along the park. There's no rush to his steps - he keeps his pace even, slows down even to glance back to see if David is invested in nature as he normally is.

But the path along the park isn't much of a gander. Trees don't border so much as dot the area in a uniformly sparse manner. Every once in a while, a bush comes into sight as their shoes step along the sidewalk's cement. It's the kind of nature that cities allow - one that has to satisfy him until he has enough money for a house out in the country. One that borders a forest maybe, or just far enough away from the city that David can step out and look into the night sky to lose count of all the stars he can see. That was their-

Well. It's just his dream now, isn't it?

Gwen says that grief affects everyone differently. Some grieve for a year or more. Some may grieve for a year or less. Others may grieve until the end of their life. But the feeling lasts until he's ready to move on, so she said. So what keeps him spinning in place? Unable to move forward, the same song on repeat, too hurt to change the record and needing someone else to put a stop to his thoughts for just a moment. How much longer does he have to grieve until he's ready to stop the record himself?

"David." And here comes Max again, lifting the spindle himself with that same, pained frown. He shouldn't be putting Max into this position. He's just a kid. A kid who lost a dad he barely got the chance to know. But here he is, tugging on David's elbow with that knowing look in his eyes as they come to a stop in front of an empty bench, and he points up at the branches above them for a distraction. Green leaves. They were just as green the day Jasper left too. "You uh, you know about birds, right?"

And David smiles. Because faking it until he makes it was how he managed to get through the rough patches of his life. So maybe he just has to do it again. Smile until it hurts just to smile. Smile until the pain replaces the ache in his chest and he forgets why he was trying to smile in the first place. Smile bright and the people behind the camera are none the wiser.

"Of course I do, Max! I am part of the online bird watching society, after all."

"Like a fucking nerd."

"Now, what did we say about language?"

"That your shitty attempts at trying to censor my language border on stupid and annoying, and is useless at best?" The boy rolls his eyes as he points again with greater emphasis. "Just tell me what kinda bird that is before I lose interest."

Given the bored stare Max has directed at the bird, David already knows that Max never had any interest to begin with. But he'll keep standing here, staring at the little brown bird above them until David tells him what it is. David's not sure where Max got all this patience from, but...

A familiar laugh rings in his head.

"Guess you've really rubbed off on the kiddo, huh?"

Of course.

He studies the bird as he bites his lip. It's not easy, given the fact that he doesn't have his binoculars, and his vision is just a tad bit watery, but he makes out familiar white speckles on the wings, a bright, yellow beak, and a light grayish brown underside. "Oh, that's just a house wren!" The bird looks down at him with a slight tilt of its head. "They're pretty common around the States, but they have a very nice song that they sing during the nesting seasons! Although..." He frowns as he looks around the area. "Usually, they prefer areas with more trees in them. Better for nesting, I'd say."

"Cool." Max shrugs and turns back to the path before them. "I think that's enough nature talk for me. Let's get some ice cream or some shit."

"Wait." There’s something odd about the bird. The way the sunlight seems to give it a little glint in its eyes as it studies David with its little eyes full of... birdy goodness! "I want to hear its call!"

"No."

"Please, Max?"

"No."

"It'll just be for a minute!"

"Uuuuuaaaaaughhhhh." Max slowly tilts his head back as the groan continues. "Fucking- fine!" His head snaps forward as Max jabs a finger into his chest. "But only for a minute!" With that, Max flops down onto the bench as he's texting away on his phone.

David remains where he stands as he stares up at the bird with a smile. It's just a tiny little creature, looking down at him curiously before fluttering its wings and looking over at Max. A series of chirps erupt from the wren as it begins to sing its song. The short, staccato-like notes are sweet to David's ears as it distracts him from his thoughts, but Max lets out a soft gasp before cursing as David looks over in surprise. Max fumbles with his phone as his eyes are caught in a wide, startled look when he finally catches it mid-air and jumps to his feet. He turns to look up at the bird and points at it with a yell. "What the fuck!"

"What's wrong?"

"Why does it know that song?!"

"Song?" David looks between Max and the bird as it continues to sing. He listens closely and... it just sounds like the same notes being repeated over and over again. "I mean, all birds have their own songs they sing. Or sometimes similar songs!"

"No no no, I'm not here for your nature lecture bullshit, I mean-" Max quickly pulls up an app and types in a song title, grumbling as he screws up a few times in his frantic typing. "...This!" A picture of a yellow star with eyes greets him as a fast-paced, upbeat tune plays from the phone.

David blinks slowly, the tune reminding him of when he and Jasper were younger, and Jasper was showing off the raddest game he owned.

"Is that... Mario?"

"Ye- wait, how the hell do you know?" Max looks between him and the phone suspiciously as David shrugs with the memory biting at his heels.

"It was one of the games Jasper used to play when we were kids." The sound of childish laughter echoes in his ears as a bit of sadness melts back into his smile. He turns to stare back up at the bird as it tilts its head at him. A shuffling of feet alerts him to Max's presence, and he knows for sure that the bird has his attention as well.

"Weird that it'd know that song."

"Some birds are good mimics!" But this one isn't. The fact that it chose to sing that song is... strange at best, but he doesn't want to question it. It was probably by coincidence - the song is fast-paced, with the only variation being the occasional note changes that the bird could make with little to no difficulty. A song like that could hardly be difficult for the normally verbose songbird.

"Still..." Max doesn't sound convinced as David looks down at his son. The boy's eyebrows are crinkled together, eyes focused on the bird as he frowns in thought. "I dunno, it's just that- you know, Jasper used to play Mario Kart with me, remember?" His green eyes flick to David, and the emotion hiding there nearly startles to David. "It's- it's fucking weird, right? Like, it's weird that it knows that song, and it's from Mario, and Jasper played Mario Kart with me, and he played Mario with you as kids and-" Max pauses for a moment, his eyes searching this way and that before he looks down at his hands and clenches them into tight fists. "...It's weird, right?"

David wants to say that no, it's a coincidence. That no, it could just be Max thinking that's the song that he heard. That no, Max is just wishing that's what he heard, because he wants to talk about Jasper, because he still misses Jasper, because they don't talk enough about Jasper anymore and try to pretend that they're both okay when they're really not, and he wishes David would just talk to him, please, please just talk to him because they need to talk-

But instead, he closes their conversation with: "Maybe."

And that's all Max needs to look back up at David. With large, shining eyes of a hurting kid, because he's just a kid who lost a dad, and he needs his remaining dad to be there for him but.

But as Max stares at him with those big, shining eyes, a part of him goes numb. Distant, even.

Because he's not ready. He's not ready to talk more with Max about Jasper, about their feelings, about their hurt. David is better at repressing things, at pretending he's okay until he breaks under pressure and collapses into an emotional heap that someone needs to come and sweep up. And he swears that Max can see David pulling inside himself again. Curling back up into a ball so that the memories won't flood him again, and the broken disappointment is already settling on Max's face before the tears even fall-

The bird starts to sing again. David blinks, and turns to stare up at the bird. It continues to sing as if the notes it sings are completely harmless.

Which... they are, aren't they?

It's just a bird.

A bird that's... singing something awfully familiar.

It sings notes it shouldn't know to string together - what should be short, almost staccato-like rapid fire chirping comes out instead as lingering notes with pauses that form a rhythm that he recognizes. Short notes that swoop up and down, sometimes even lowering in pitch as it sings a song that belongs to a tucked away ukulele.

It sings... it sings a song it shouldn't know. With every note it sings, a little bit of the past pools into the corner of his eyes.

A smile. Blue eyes like sapphires. Brown locks soft like a familiar comfort. Hands strumming gently. Fingers plucking strings of a stickered ukulele. A voiceless thrum. Hips swaying. Foreheads pressed together. A song without words. A dance without movement. A love without end.

A song. It was a song Jasper would pluck out for him every once in a while, always a little different, but always so much the same. "It's not finished yet," he had said with an embarrassed blush, the Jasper in his mind grinning bashfully as he held tight to his ukulele, "but I promise it'll be done soon. A baller song for an even more baller person!"

But the song never got completed. At least. At least that's what he thinks.

The bird continues to sing as familiar notes float through his mind in a different sound, recognizable in how the bird sings with a light dip to its voice, notes held and blending together instead of becoming a staccato. Smooth and steady, with a gentle rhythm. There's a little tremble to the bird's singing, a tremble that can't be made with a ukulele, but instead, with a voice. It makes sense, he thinks, since the bird is singing, but it feels... different. Like its voice belongs to someone else. A someone who knows exactly how this song plays, and in turn, David's own shaky voice hums along. Because he knows this rhythm. He knows what note comes next, what it sounds like in his head, how he tries to match the song with his own accompaniment because he doesn't know how to play the ukulele, but he can hum.

He can hum along to a strum of a song that neither of them can play.

It's a wordless song.

Jasper was never a lyricist, so all the songs he made were made for humming and mindless strumming. But maybe because it's wordless, because there's no need to strive for rhymes and messages when the meaning is clear in the expression, and he knows by the sound alone that the music sings of "I love you", over and over on repeat. He closes his eyes and hums along, repeating the "I love you"'s over and over again.

Soon, the bird sings notes he's never heard of. Notes he never got to hear Jasper play. A hand takes his as the song turns somber. Wistful. There's no more lilting high notes, just steady, lingering chirps that peeter out to a soft quiet before picking up again. Even the singing of the bird softens, as though the bird loses a bit of the power it once had behind its previous chirps, now releasing softer tweets that only David and Max can hear. The song ends on one sustained chirp, the tremble clearer now than it was before. He opens his eyes to see the bird staring down at him, head tilted to the side as it watches him. A gentle squeeze draws his attention, and he meets the watery eyes of Max.

"What." Max's voice cracks, making the boy frown as he takes a deep breath and tries again. "What the fuck was that?" A flutter of wings takes their attention, but by the time David looks back up to the bird, the little beauty has already flown off somewhere. Still, he smiles up at where it once was before leading Max back to the bench to sit down.

"That," he squeezes Max's hand and wipes away the boy's tears, "was a house wren."

"No but-" Max swats away David's hand half-heartedly as he uses his sleeves to wipe the rest of his tears away. "You knew that song. You hummed along like it was some dumb tune you listen to in the car!" The boy hesitates for a moment, green eyes searching David's in confusion before speaking in a hushed tone, "How did you know that song?"

It's David's turn to blink in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Max shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket and kicks at the ground, "I mean, yeah it took me a while but- Jasper would- sometimes, he'd just start playing this tune when you weren't home, and I'd hear it, and he'd always pat next to him and ask me how it sounded, and I would always say it sounded like hot fucking garbage but-" Max's lip trembles before he bites into it roughly, frowning as he curls forward in his seat. "But I didn't mean it. It, it sounded okay, but it wasn't a fucking masterpiece. It was like, decent but. I mean he'd laugh it off but it's like, I dunno, did he actually know?" Max turns to David, his eyebrows furrowed together as he chews at his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. "Did he know?"

David blinks slowly as he wonders if Max means the song or... but the answer is simply obvious, isn't it? Gently, he ruffles Max's thick curls and drops his arm down to pull his son closer. "Of course he knew."

"You think?"

"No one knew Jasper better than I did." Even though he thinks idly, he should have known better at times. "I'm sure he knew."

The soft chatter of passersby fills the space between them as David stares at the crosswalk. He almost misses Max's words if it weren't for the fact that he's remembering how to pay attention again.

"I wish..." Max pauses as David looks down at him, watching as he bites at his lip. "I wish I called him 'dad' once." Max doesn't look at him as he kicks the sidewalk. "I dunno I mean- I feel like I should’ve."

"Well," David takes in Max's furrowed brows, his slouched appearance, and how he struggles to keep up his confident act, "I think, Jasper wouldn't have wanted to rush you into saying it."

"It's not like I didn't want to."

"It's just that you couldn't?" Max looks away ashamed, but David simply ruffles his hair with a smile. "It's okay if you weren't ready to say it."

"Yeah but..."

"I found out, pretty late into my life, that 'dad' is just a title that people can use." David thinks back to his father who left, and the man he ended up looking up to, and how they both failed him. And how he wanted so badly to call them "dad", even though the title never rang true for either of them. "It has about as much meaning to it as you can put into it. Sometimes, we call people 'dad' when we don't mean it. And other times, we call people 'dad' when they don't deserve it. But there's plenty of people we don't call 'dad' who still feel like one." He thinks back to the kindly neighbor who helped him with his camping skills after school, and treated him with a kindness he saw only in his mother. He thinks back to Jasper's dad, and how the man's boisterous laugh always managed to cheer him up whenever he came over. "Maybe you didn't call Jasper 'dad', but that doesn't mean you didn't see him as one." He nudges Max lightly. "And did you see him as one?"

Max scoffs. "Hard not to."

"Then I'm sure you made him feel like one." Max blinks and looks up at him. "I think he already knew you saw him as a dad." David feels a familiar worry bubble up, and he almost hesitates when he asks, "...Do I feel like a dad to you?"

He expects Max to hesitate, to really consider it, but instead he just.

Looks away and nods, almost embarrassed to admit it. And then softly, he adds, "It's not like I have much to go off of, though."

But it's enough.

David tries not to cry as he takes a steadying breath. "Of course, kiddo." Quietly, he stands up and pats Max's back. "Why don't we get some ice cream?" Max nods and jumps up, already marching ahead of David as he makes a beeline towards the ice cream parlor. David spares a glance back up at the tree, to where the wren used to be.

And he squeezes his fist before relaxing it.

All things take time. Max calling him dad will take time. David moving on will take time. And the two of them healing from Jasper's death will take time.

"David, hurry the fuck up!"

"Coming!" He turns back to his son and trots to keep up.

It'll take time before the spindle is lifted completely.

But until then, they can both take turns bringing the record to a stop. Until they can both lift it together. And fill the void with music of their own creation.

Until then, they have all the time in the world.

////

Jasper cradles the mechanical bird in his hands and cries. He smiles as he watches his little family walk off into the distance and blend into the crowd. A gentle hand rests on his shoulder, giving him a moment to look her way. Clementine smiles, and her green dress reminds him of his two favorite people.

"Did that help?"

"It did, yeah." He tries to hand the bird back to her, but she shakes her head and keeps his hands closed over it.

"Consider it a present."

"I dunno what else I'll use it for, but thanks."

"Of course, sweetheart." She steps back and makes a motion with her arm. Jasper shields his eyes before a soft light opens before him. When the light forms a door, he looks to her and back at it. She nods towards the door. "Are you feelin' ready to go?"

"I..." He looks down at the bird, and then towards the space his family just left. They walked away looking lighter than before. David was smiling and Max- well, the kid rarely smiled, but he looked at ease at the very least. He hugs the bird to his chest, thankful for letting it lend its voice to him. "Yeah, I think so."

"Glad to hear that." Clementine offers her hand to him, and he takes it gingerly.

"Will I... do I get to watch over them? Is this like a heaven kinda biz, or..."

"It's the afterlife!" She chirps happily and opens the door for him. "I can't say I know what it's like over there but." She hums softly as Jasper hesitates at the threshold. "I've heard that some people wait, or others move on. It's up to them to decide."

Jasper looks down at the bird cupped carefully in his hands and nods. "I see."

"Whatever choice you make, I'm sure it'll be the right one."

"Yeah. Um, Clem?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks." He turns to give her a smile, watching as her gaze softens. "Thanks for... giving me all this time to think."

"Of course, Jasper." She watches as he walks through the threshold, the door closing behind him. With a little skip, Clementine hums a little tune as she continues on her path, the color of her dress turning to a light purple. As she looks down at a list in her hand, she blinks in surprise and giggles. "Oh, silly me!" She looks back to the empty bench with a content smile. "I forgot to ask him the name of his lil ol' song."

////

There's a man who sits on the park bench. He visits everyday without fail, always content to gaze at the passersby going about their lives. Normally, he sits by himself, as if waiting for someone to join him.

And today, that someone finally does. A young woman in a deep, blue dress smiles at him. He smiles back warmly.

"Oh, hello.”

"Afternoon, may I sit with you?"

"Of course."

She sits down next to him as they take in the light of the summer sun. He speaks up again, closing his eyes as the wind gently ruffles his grayed hair. Without a hint of resentment, he asks, "I take it you've come to take me away?"

"You're a bright one!" For someone who works for the dead, her voice is so full of life. "Are ya already ready to move on? Or would ya like a moment to yourself?"

"Whichever you please."

"I hope you don't mind me indulging in a bit o' conversation then." He turns to her as her eyes shine warmly. "Humans are always so full o' regrets, so I find it kinder to try an' resolve what I can before helpin' 'em move on. Is there anythin' on your mind?"

David looks down to his hand and plays with an old ring. "...Nothing I don't think you'd be able to help me with. I'm sure his spirit is long since passed."

Clementine looks to the two rings on his hand and gently covers them. "Maybe not, but I would like to know the story behind these two rings, if you don't mind?"

"Of course not." He smiles as the memories wash over him. Tapping on the older ring, he says simply, "This was given to me by my first love. He died before we could get married, but I couldn’t get myself to take it off even as I learned to fall in love again. And this one," he taps on a wedding band gently, "was given to me when I finally let myself love again. It wasn’t easy- my son, it’s not easy for him to open up to others but... Well, he was willing to try again too.” The older man gently spins the second ring as he feels just a bit younger from the memories. “And then he had another dad. They’re both still alive, and I’m worried how my son is taking my death, but I know he’ll get through it together with my husband. He… when my first fiance died, my son took it hard but. He healed from the experience. I’m just hoping my death doesn’t open up that old wound."

Gently, the woman taps the first ring. "Why did you keep this ‘til the end? Did you regret not marryin’ your old fiance?"

"...A little bit. But," he holds his ringed hand close to his chest as he remembers two smiles, so different yet so loving, that bring a familiar warmth to his chest, "I don't regret loving either of them. I just wish..." He blinks slowly, looking back up to stare at a familiar crosswalk. "It's just a little wish, but I wish my parting words to my fiance were... nicer ones." He shakes his head. "But that's already too late, and I know nothing can change the past."

"You're right." The woman stands up and offers her hand to him. "But the dead don't have to worry about that. Time is meaningless when you have no body to constrain it to. Make it meaningful until another door opens for you." She gestures with her arm, and a soft light nearly blinds his eyes. "I'm sure you can find someone to spend it with."

A familiar bird flies out of the door as a figure turns to look at him in surprise.

"...Davey?"

"Jasp?"

There once was a man who sat on the bench.

The two embrace in the light of Clementine's door, laughing through their tears as the brunette cups the ginger's face lovingly.

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you more!"

"Then tell me everything I've missed."

"Of course I will."

There once was a man who sat on the bench.

Every day. Without fail.

But now the bench sits empty.

And empty it shall remain, until another day. Until another man.

But for now.

There is a bench that sits empty.

#camp camp #cc jasper #cc david #cc max #jaspvidweek2020 #cc cute waitress #i miss linebreaks #why did tumblr get rid of them?#anyways i love the cute waitress aka clementine #i will find every excuse in the book to write her #she's also not what she seems here #still genuinely kind and sweet tho that's no act #dkjfskd god i #cried so much writing this one #stay tuned for part 2 of day 6!!

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moodysnowflake · 4 years

Text

Hello there!

Warning guys, nasty SPOILERS ahead, both of FFVII (+ Remake) and FFVII Crisis Core.

The severity of spoilers is arguable, it depends on the level of involvement you have or you got in the series, so please be aware that what you're stepping onto might be a wildflower lawn as much as a war minefield.

I saw, read and heard a lot of people complaining about Cloud's dancing scene/minigame, grumbling about how:

1. Stupid it was;

2. Degrading it has been;

3. Zack would have been disappointed.

Let's take it in strides, shall we?

1. Stupid? I'd rather say silly, more than stupid. Stupid means doing something that you've no idea how/why you're doing. FFVII never made that a mystery: there was a goofy vibe in the original too, and that was on purpose. You couldn't handle the story otherwise, it would just have been a mess of violence, death, tears and blood. Light moods are needed for you to recuperate, recharge batteries and balance. Otherwise, we all would've ended up like Sephiroth.

Character perspective wise, Cloud might not have understood from the beginning (as much as I love him to the bottom of my essence, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer - that's also why Sephiroth can do what the fluff he wants) what the hell Aerith roped him into, but when he gets the idea he accepts it (in his very Cloud way) and faces it with one of the most determined look he has ever sported. He's willing to let himself be dragged on and about the stage by Andrea, because he knows this is for Tifa, so it doesn't matter if he has to shake is ass in front of a bunch of strangers. He never really cared about his reputation since Crisis Core; he doesn't care about what people think, he's doing it for the woman he loves (shut your trap, he loves her as much as she loves him, he just needs time to untangle himself from his nightmares - and someone smacking him on the head really hard).

Secondly, player perspective wise, is it really such a stupid section? How many did manage to get a perfect score on the very first try? Camera speed, moves and angles pulled some interesting stunts, didn't they? Tricking your depth perception, together with the lights going bananas. Even if they weren't; everything has been coordinated and perfectly synced with the music. If you'd refrained for two seconds from blabbering insults you would have noticed that you could've actually used lights as another cue to help you sync, with the music and Cloud's movements. It's called peripheral vision, you need to expand your focus as much as you can and split it both on the background and the forefront. That gives your brain the capacity to better throw information at you so you can react faster, 'cause you're actively trying to remain perceptive of your surroundings too. Just like in battles.

If that shooting dynamic would have been present during battle, nobody would have survived, not even a doomrat.

2. Talking about degrading. Did Cloud strip naked? Did he have to put on a honeybee outfit? As much as he was very uncomfortable, Andrea (a.k.a. the game) pushed him only up to the limit that still felt secure enough and over which it could have been really perceived as abusive. Andrea could have done that and Cloud would still have obliged (because Tifa) but his objective was not humiliating him. He wanted to play with the dangerous SOLDIER, over which he, paradoxically, even for a tiny bit, had the power and control. Still, he didn't overdo nor overuse it (that is some good representation of a BDSM Dom, btw).

Moreover... I mean... Did you really look at him? Those were not exactly noobs moves, he nailed that too (but that's something I'll talk about next).

About the dresses: are you seriously complaining about them? I admit that the black/white one is not exactly the best (but it's your fault for ditching all Wall Market's quest... you had it coming), and I prefer the blue corset one over the lilac/black silk.

Point is: you have to sneak a guy who's built like a fucking BRICK WALL into Corneo's audition. How in the ever-loving hell are you supposed to do it? The only things playing in Cloud's favor are his facial features and his height: he's the smoothest skin I've ever seen, light jaws and is compact enough not to stand out too much among average-height girls, but that's it. He has shoulders and muscles for days. You have to cover him as much as you can, and how would you do that, if not with a broad gown, puff-sleeves, and a corset? If you're wondering about the chocker/high neck+thick necklace: it covers the Adam's apple, genius... And all the frilly, shiny laces of the lilac dress and the extensions are needed to divert the attention from his neck, clavicles and forearms, otherwise, you'll notice the buff.

That's why he had to look like a Victorian maiden.

Putting him in a catsuit, with latex or leather stretching over every inch of skin, or a sundress, with arms and legs on display... That would have been a bad idea.

Andrea is talking about not being afraid, and that's an awesome message: if you feel comfortable and beautiful, why not doing it? If you're happy, do it. It's not your problem if other people are insecure about themselves and try to pick on you because they're afraid and, most of all, jealous of your confidence, identity, and fortitude. They're just disrespectful and sad, and you should avoid them like the plague.

And again, Cloud doesn't seem that much fazed about it. I think he's more annoyed than anything; having to move in that huge-ass skirt, squeezed in a corset which is not letting you breathe and turn around would make everyone who's not used to it lose their shit. Women or men, regardless, it's a pain either way, especially if you're a fighter and need to move freely. Also, if you notice, the heels he's put in are not that much higher than his combat boots... Sure, they're thinner, but that's why he's not wobbling like a newborn calf. Did you see him swaying through the streets? That was some awesome heel-walking.

What ended me was how he was moving after he woke up. Have you seen how completely ungraceful he is, and at the same time fluidly stands to check on Aerith and doesn't trip over his own feet? In a dress like that, being that agile is shamefully amazing. Then, he swings like he's in the SOLDIER uniform, spine blocked because of the corset, moving his center of gravity too much because of too broad steps, awkwardly bobbing, switching too much weight from feet to feet, getting his stance rigid. That's precious. And hilarious af.

He has to held still as much as he can to try and convey the feeling of being scared, but we know he's just trying really hard not to wreak havoc in the audition room and slaughter everyone.

(Despise lighting, which being warm oriented would have mingled with the blue of his irises and shift them to green, I still believe that in that scene his eyes were going mako. In some millisecond-split moments, they seem to really flash out. That's hella relatable: you're using all your self-control not to cut open the scumbag who's lusting and sniffing and drooling and being awful to your friends. Plus, you're being groped and talked down too? The only thing you can do is look, and boy does he Glare™

(Cloud is not afraid/disgusted of other men touching him, but people seem to forget it. He just doesn't want Corneo to touch him. He doesn't move when Andrea touches his lips nor react when he swings him around in the dress, he doesn't move when Biggs pats him on the head on the pillar (I bet he would give everything to have Zack do that again, just one more time...dammit [I know what happens in the final cutscene of the Remake, but the post below this one explains why I think this]), he doesn't pull away when he grabs his hands, and not only he grabs it back, but grasps with the other one too. [Captain Levi vibes, anyone?])

He didn't have control over his eyes and I firmly think he didn't even intend to; he let them glow on purpose, just because that was the only thing he could unleash and nobody would have noticed.)

Cloud dancing is not stupid, nor offensive. Cloud is a loyal, caring friend, who doesn't have prejudices and is comfortable (as much as he can be) with his sexuality and identity that he's not questioning it nor getting scared (and violent) at the situation.

Do I have to dance and dress like a woman to help my girl? If it's the best way, so be it. She needs my help, I'm not gonna let her down. Gonna be a pain in the ass to fight, but I'll manage. I'm not that insecure of myself that a dress is going to make me have an existential crisis.

If you're a man or a male, and your friend/lover/person you cherish would ever be in a life-threatening situation (and this is, 'cause if they were on their own, they would have died), and the only option would be for you to dance and put on a dress to save them, but you refuse because you have to dance and it's a dress... Just a fucking dress... Well... You're not that decent of a friend, nor human being...

3. So. About Zack. If you think he would've been disappointed/disgusted... Are we talking about the same character? 'Cause I think we're not.

Zack Fair, SOLDIER 1st class (previously 2nd), 6 foot and a ladder, black hair, blue eyes, scar on his left jaw. Droll af?

Just because he's a legend, a powerful, passionate and strong-willed person, doesn't mean he couldn't be a quirky dumbass.

The first line said to him in Crisis Core is "Get serious" by Angeal... Angeal who described him to his mother as a PUPPY.

The same guy who jostled his mentor, a fucking SOLDIER 1st class, in front of their boss, when he knew he recommended him.

The same guy who tried to get Aerith on a date after 5 minutes.

The one who grabs a parasol to fight troopers without breaking a sweat.

The one who faked defeat by sixth-grade-Yuffie in Wutai.

The one who dances with the Cactua he summons?

When Angeal discusses the plan and tells him to charge the front gate of Wutai on the first game mission, he's jumping like an over-excited dog.

And, most importantly, the only living being who actually managed to:

- Make Sephiroth care (after Hollander with implanted Jenova cells escapes, he tells Zack Genesis’ copies had been seen in the slums... And with that frigging Knowing™ look, and a smirk, he tells him "Permission to return... Granted", Seph's gentlemanly way to say 'I know you have a girlfriend down there, you should go check on her':

Then Sephiroth says goodbye first

And fucking smiles (Zack wasn’t able to see it ‘cause he was already walking away)

- Yell at him over the phone and live;

- Pull a GENUINE laugh out of him. When they're trying to locate Angeal and Genesis, Sephiroth calls him. The conversation goes as:

S:"You and I are gonna find them [Gen & Angie] before they [Shinra] do, and..."

Z:'And WHAT?!?!' *angry bark, to which Sephirot pulls the phone away*

S:"...Fail to eliminate them"

Z:'For real?!'

S:"[AMUSED HUFF] Yes, for real" *playful mocking of Zack's words*

Okay, that was a huff, BUT STILL... Not even Sephiroth (when he was still a human being...because yes, he was, and a pretty decent one too) was immune to his Puppy Dog Energy. Look. At. That. Smile.

So this is what I think.

The only thing Zack would be disappointed about would've been Cloud not dancing enough.

Heck, he would've jumped on the stage as soon as given the signal and dragged Cloud along, yelling in his face to be heard over the music "This is gonna be great! Let's show them what a SOLDIER can do! We're gonna put all these cute bees to shame!" ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

Then again... If Zack would've been there...if we think about it, a part of Zack was there.

During his childhood and infantry training, I seriously doubt Cloud had any occasion to dance or learn how to do it.

Plus, he couldn't have done it during his 4-years mako-comatose state.

This doesn't leave that many options.

It is very likely that, like his fighting ability, his dancing moves were coming from Zack's memories too.

In a way, we can say that Zack, in the end, was there on stage with him.

Gosh, I'm gonna cry so much... ಥ_ಥ

#ffvii remake #ffvii theories #cloud strife #honeybee inn #cloud dancer #zack fair #me gongaga #ffvii crisis core #ffvii compilation

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sunca · 4 years

Note

Hey congrats on starting your writing blog !! Could I request Narancia with 2 and 87 from the yandere prompts? Maybe in like a school setting of sorts? Thank you in advance!! 💕

"𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎"

Yandere Narancia x reader(Yandere Prompts)

2. "Please pay attention to me."

87. "What do I need to make you love me back?"

~~~~~~

Scenario.

Warning : Death, blood, gore, physical violence, curse words, kidnapping, mentioned of stalking, yandere stuff, a bit of lust.

Count : 4030

Thank you. I appreciate it. (•-•)\💖

Sorry for the wait. I've been busy these days but as soon as I finished those stuffs, I went straight down to writing and fixing this.

Please accept this art as my apology. Long hair, fancy Narancia is a must and reader as a small chibi.

Requests still open. Thank you and I hope this brings satisfaction to you.

Sadly, I couldn't post this with read more. ;-; Forgive me.

I almost forgot. Recommended song for this.

Anson Seabra - Stay with me

~~~~~~

Sleepless nights and those stares which hunted you in the darkness. You tried to sleep soundly as much as you could but those nightmares picked you like a marionette and made you dance as they willed. Traces of fingers on your skin offered the ecstasy of waking up. Only to have chills rushing on you. Sweats and tears tainted on the mattress. The warmth of another person, the breeze would steal every night. The welcomed window with a broken lock in your view. An orange wrist band disappearing into the leaves of a nearby tree.

You hid your yawn with your book from your teacher. She shot a glance at you but you just tried to hide between your shoulders. Dark circles lingering around your eyes as you tried to wipe your tears away. You once again looked down at your book to greet with an x and its long lost number. y and z waiting for their soulmates. Numbers running around on your page playground. A discontented sign falling down along with your tense shoulders.

Slender fingers rested on his cheek. His chin stood gracefully on his palm. His captivating purple eyes sojourned on your back. You who couldn't concentrate won't be able to detect his enthusiasm for you. He planned to open his heart for you today. He could only wish it would go well. He can only wish. The echo of the bell rolling into the class directed his attention to turn to his dear friend.

Fugo closed his book and let it rest for a period. His hand reaching for the lemon coloured lunchbox and water bottle. Narancia then get attracted to your magnet but blocked by a girl who stood between you two. Narancia looked up to see her lunch box held tight to her chest. She then build up her courage to ask him to spend his precious time with her. He leaned back. Creating more space between him and her. Showing uninterested body language. A single worded rejection. His feet walking on your yellow path. You getting up to get some space from people, stopped in your tracks when he came into your view.

"Hey, (Y/N)! Nothing to do at lunch. Right? Come join us! You've been busy with that club and activities. I missed you," he whined with puppy eyes. You being your dithering self because of restlessness. "Sure," You replied with a small puff and smile, blinking your fuzzy vision away. His gleaming smile blinding you so easily. "Great! Let me grab my lunch box fast! Wait here!" He gleefully replied and headed back to his seat. A soft smile staplered on his cheeks.

The three of you sitting under the unfixed clouds. A baby tomato rolling under your fork. You listened to the back and front between Fugo and Narancia. This bickering was bringing out more headache for you. Then suddenly, Narancia wrapped his arms around your torso and faked a cry. "(Y/N)! See? Fugo is making fun of me! I just don't understand math and he's calling me 'stupid' again!" You let out a tired sigh and patted his head. "I'm calling you stupid because you are! 33×12 is 36? Oh. What a genius! How many times do I have to teach you that?!" Fugo looked as if a strawberry now. His face all red because of rage.

"Oh, Fugo. By the way, did you heard-," Narancia looked up at you. His hands not retreating back from you but holding more tightly. You were focused on Fugo and letting him know about the new series he caught upon. The two of you would buy the book together or inform each other about the news related to that series. You and Fugo having interest in a same subject once in a while. Narancia was not getting any of it. His eyebrows fusing.

"(Y/N)! I burned my hand the other day!" He put his hand in between you and Fugo's eye contact. You just nodded and patted him again but didn't stop communicating with Fugo. Narancia's hand slowly drafted back to your shoulder. Tears welding on his eyes. His cheeks swelling. He then slowly fell onto your lap. His hands closest to his heart which was aching for you. Both Fugo and you stopped in track. You looked upon a teenage boy in tears, sulking like a baby and resting on your lap.

"Please pay attention to me, (Y/N)."

His voice shaking. You felt bad for not giving him the attention he deserved and run your fingers through his hair gently. Narancia has always been like this whenever you ignored him a bit. You didn't want to speak it out loud but it slipped through. "Aww~ my baby," you wiped his tears away. Narancia started sniffing and sobbing. You picked him up by his shoulder and he sat up. "Don't cry. Don't cry~," Mischief in your sugary voice. "Aww~ There. There," you comforted him with a hug and caressed his head. Fugo scoffed and focused on eating again. Turning his gaze away from the two of you.

After a minute or two, the door to the rooftop swung. A pair of canary preying you in. Burgundy hair combed back neatly. His sharp jaw ready to slice anyone in two. His flawless face shining like silver. Turtleneck white sweater revealing his ravishing physique. Black jeans hugging his slender and long legs. The papers in his grip rustled as the breeze flowed in.

Once he saw you, he stormed up to you. You looked up at Kevin, your club's president. Narancia, on the other hand, didn't want Kevin to come and destroy his paradise, and he knew Kevin would be a bad new for him. As soon as he saw Kevin, Narancia glanced to you. Narancia didn't expect and want this to happen but here you are, looking at a boy other than him.

"Oh, Kev! What brought you here?" You greeted him and drew back your hands. Narancia didn't bother to move from your side. Fugo twisted his neck to look up from his lunch to your target. Fugo repositioned himself since he saw who was it and listened to hear whatever Kevin had to say. "(Y/N), Mrs. Smith said you made some mistakes in the paper sheets for the club. You better get there now and I have things to do," Kevin stood beside Fugo and waited for you.

"I will go there once I finish my lunch," you glared up at Kevin. Narancia was also glaring at Kevin. "She didn't look like she was busy which is unusual," Kevin insisted. Kevin's demand irked you and you rolled your eyes. "Fine," you groaned as you packed your lunch back up. Narancia complained as he clasped your arm. "(Y/N), you don't have to go." Narancia's puppy eyes striking your week spot but you couldn't say no to the class president. "I'm sorry, Narancia but I have to. I will see you back in class when this is over. Ok? No worries," you gave Narancia a reassuring smile and stood up. Narancia's eyes were narrowing at Kevin. Fugo noticed this and observed him carefully. So then, he could step in if Narancia was to burst out.

You headed to the teachers' office and prepared yourself. Kevin was walking on the corridor of the old, abandoned school building. He just needed to grab some stuffs from there. He was on his way until he saw a group of people in a class. He pulled the door open and shouted, "Students are prohibited to come here withou-," he saw an adult looking like a street rat handing a bag wrapped in tape to a student. "YOU! Outsiders are prohibited here too and state your busines -" Before his sentence ended, —wham!— his unconscious body fell onto the dusty floor with a thud.

Narancia tried his best to keep his serenity but something clicked in him. He threw his orange juice and stood up. "That motherf*cker!! $&j#fc;h-e)g£sv%y!!!" He cursed as the bottom of his shoe stamped upon the poor lunchbox. Noodles flat under, the sauce splashed across the concreted floor, the plastic scattered into pieces and his shoe fouled by the mess. Fugo noticed the buzz in his pants pocket and reached for it. Checking the ID, he then picked it up. "Pronto."

"Damn it!" Narancia exclaimed as he rubbed his shoe on the clean surface of the floor. "They're always trying to steal my (Y/N) away. A*sh*les!" Narancia kicked the air and his feet yeeted his shoe. Narancia was too furious to pay attention to Fugo or his talk. He then let out a frustrated sigh and hopped. "Yes. We'll take care of it. Arrivederci," Fugo hung up and shoved the phone back into his pants. He then reversed his direction back to Narancia who was putting on his shoe again.

"Narancia," he calmly called him to see his fumming face almost as if a tomato. "They're making a move now. Gior- Boss want us to take action. Bruno said he will send the info in 5 minutes," Fugo's sentences were short but held engrossing mystery in them. Narancia's face was dark and occupied with a wide grin which would inject a chilling trepidation to everyone sane but Fugo wasn't bothered. The thought of finishing an order perfectly enraptured Fugo as he couldn't wait to spend more time with his beloved who was in a cage. "Go fetch (Y/N) after this," Fugo shot a smirk and encouraged Narancia. The two boys communicating with their eye contact. You who thought Fugo and Narancia were normal teenagers and not knowing anything about their past, didn't even notice the foreboding gift future has in store for you.

When you entered the club room, you couldn't find Kevin anywhere. "MuMu, have you seen Kev anywhere? I need him to check these sheets," you asked a girl who was filling in forms. "Ah! He went to that old building in the west. He said he needed some files from class B," she answered and you smiled at her. "Thank you!" You replied and headed to there. Looking over the papers in your fingers again. "This will be fine. I guess...," you spoke to yourself.

Narancia and Fugo were checking out the rooms at the ground level. They entered the 5th room when you entered the hall. You then zigzagged and stepped on the first step of the stairs. 'Class B. Huh. That would be third floor.' You thought to yourself and rubbed your temple. "Wait. This building has three stairs. Right? What if I miss Kevin? I can't let it happen! I must hand in these today," you talked to yourself and hurried your steps. "Nothing's here too," Fugo looked up to Narancia. He was squatting and checking for footprints or any sign of their target were here or the packs since the info showed they stored some in here. "Let's move on," Narancia replied as he head to the stairs.

You arrived on the third floor and everything was a mess. There were plastic bags, dry leaves and dusts. You looked up to the sign on top of an entrance. It read 'E' and you moved on to get where you wanted to be. When you passed through class D, you heard something. You stopped in track and paid attention to it. It was as if something was being beaten. You backed to the wall and approached the back door of the third room. You sneakily opened the door a bit and peeked in. A strange scent hitting your nostrils.

There was a group of students and some people in normal attire. Smokes surrounding their heads. Cigarettes in between of their fingers. Some were staring down at the centre. You followed their gaze. A fist rose and fell like a tsunami. You couldn't see who was the victim since the desks and some males blocked it. You keeled for a better view and in between legs, you saw a familiar male with burgundy hair. Blood rivering down on his lips and chin. His nose all red. His face swollen.

You questioned why he didn't fight back and you covered your mouth. His fingers bending back in. Blood stained on his white sweater. Two knives attached to his belly. You started to tremble and your breath hitched. You wanted to step in and help Kevin but it would be around 15 against 1. You don't even stand a chance.

You gotta get out of there fast and affirm the teachers. When you raised your head back, the door swung open with a creek. You looked up like a cornered prey under the gaze of a predator. To meet with a pair of eyes staring down at you. A grin sent chills down your spine. You didn't waste any time and sprang for the escape. The shadow behind you chased you down. You were pulled back by a hand wrapping by your waist. "HELP-!" Your mouth covered by a hand.

"Did you hear that?" Narancia glanced at his friend who didn't turn away from his staring towards the ceiling. "Hear what?" Narancia had a confused expression. Fugo then looked at Narancia. "Narancia, call out Aerosmith. They might still be in this building," Fugo commended him. "Okay?" Narancia raised an eyebrow and spread his arms horizontally. "Aerosmith!"

You were struggling against two males. The others were staring or laughing at your inadequate struggles. You kicked, wiggled your body out, punched and did everything you could but nothing seemed to work until you remembered a method. You kicked the male in front of you where the sun don't shine and curved in your spine to smash that nose with the back of your head. The grip around you loosened. Your feet trying to be your life saviour, betrayed by a hand grabbing on one. Your face came in to kiss the floor. A crack rang in your ears and a light flashed before you. You tried to get back up but restrained by a pull.

You rolled around and punched anyone who was in sight. Your hand captured in a grip but you used all of your force and took your hand back. Your other hand reached something and you grabbed it. Panic swung your hand and —Shluk!— crimson liquid spattered. A glass shard deep in the throat of a student. Blood trailing down from his mouth and nose. He choked out and a daub of red landed on your cheek, soon to roll slowly to side. Your eyes went wide. You brought up your hand to wipe the burning sensation on your nose and hide that glup. You were stunned. Your brain tried to reload what you just did but errors delayed it.

Tap, tab, tap, dab, dap, dab, dap, swissh, dab, swissh, dab, dap, zwish, dab, dap, zwish, Dap, zwish, Dab, Dap, zwish, Dab, BAM!

The door swung open, brining you back to reality with a flinch. Your head spun and you saw a ray of hope along with two boys. Narancia's scanning fell upon you as soon as you goggled him. Your nose red. Blood smeared on your philtrum, upper lateral subunit and upper lip. Your obscured tears failed on you. The look in your eyes begged him to save you. Your lips quivering. Your quietened sobs emerging. "What the f*ck!?" A wrongdoer swore out loud and they prepared themselves by picking up some chair, wood stick, spiked bat, and pocket knives.

"Na-Narancia...," You ran towards him but your legs gave out and you crawled. Clinging on his leg. He crouched towards you. Holding your trembling hand in his. Your poor body shaking like a leaf. Tears streaming down on your exquisite cheeks. Your state in this situation and a murmur of your voice turned on the insanity inside him. "Fugo, I will leave (Y/N) to you," Fugo took over his role and supported you to stand up. Narancia's face was hard to read when you glanced at him. Narancia stood tall.

Your back leaned on the dirty wall. Your breath hitching and you hugged onto Fugo tightly. Burying your face in his chest. Snivelling all your emotions out. Screaming were heard in the distance. Fugo patted your back and separated you by your shoulders. "(Y/N)?" He called your name and you looked up at him. "I need you to stay here and not going anywhere. Ok?" he waited for your answer. You nodded while sobbing. He set up a reassuring smile and left you there. You sat there and wiped your tears away. When you glanced at Fugo, you saw him walking into that room.

"YOU BASTARD! YOU WORTHLESS LITTLE S*HT!! YOU SHOULD GO DIE IN A S*HT HOLE, YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING B*TCH!!" The dead hooligan lied flat under Narancia's shoe. Narancia's breathes were hitching, and veins were popping out on his forearm and the back of his hand. Blood painted the wall and floor red. The pool under his shoe sticky and thick. They deserved it. No one and by means that, not even a single soul is allowed to hurt his perfection whom he worship daily. Anyone who left a scratch on (Y/N)'s body will be left with a missing limb but made her bleed more than a drop? Haha. Ya gotta be kidding about it.

Fugo stopped him in track. "(Y/N) need you now. Go. I will take care of them," Fugo's hand on his shoulder, giving Narancia a proud smile. Narancia stepped back and cooled himself down. Fugo took out a glass bottle and a handkerchief. He opened the cap and enclosed the lid with the handkerchief. He then turned them upside down. Soon to be back in their position. He handed the handkerchief to Narancia. "Here. Take this just in case." Narancia took it and in a split second, there was a wide, merry grin on his cheeks. He put it in the skirt pocket. "Yea! Thanks, Fugo!" He exclaimed gleefully and ran out of the class with a jolly behaviour. Fugo chuckled at Narancia's usual behaviour and put the covering back on.

Of course. You must be waiting for him all this time. You need him like he needs you. You sinning his thoughts and nights. You who was defenceless. He who was resistless to you or your beguiling body. His hands not wanting to depart from your skin. His lips brushing softly on your throat. He was addicted to you. You who spellbound him, lured him in, ensnared him, planted a seed called possessiveness in him, seized his obsession only to yourself and inveiged him to come swoop your fragile soul from this heartless world. He's your knight in shinning armour after all.

"(Y/N)!" You heard a familiar voice. Your sugary name cloying him more and more. He was drunk upon the bewitching splendour of your beauty. Your voice ripping his stability bit by bit. His body towered you. Trapped you between his torso and the wall. You were in a daze. His tranquil smile avenging your cruel actions towards him. His loving gaze hypnotising the poor prey.

You turned your head to the source. A breeze revealing a dazzling boy to you. "Narancia!" You called your friend's name as you eyed him up. He who bathed in his enemies' blood. You wiped your tears again as you stood up. Observing the boy before you in terror. "I killed them for you~ (Y/N)♡," his voice sickeningly sweet. His usual cute smile inverted into a nightmare with blood staining on it. "Thi-This is wrong. So wrong...," you choked out. His eyebrows raised with disbelief. "What are you talking about, (Y/N)? This is the right thing to do! They hurt you! You are a perfection and I'm your guardian! If anyone try to corrupt you, they are devils and it's my duty to get rid of them! Hehe," he chuckled lightly. As if taking out the fire of life was nothing more than a joke to him.

"Naranci-" you were cut off. "I love you~" The grin not dropping from his face. "W-Wha-What?" You asked again not because you didn't quite catch it but because you didn't get what he meant by that. "I love you♡" An adorable giggle rumbled down his chest. "Wha- N-No! Liste-" you tried to speak again. "No? You don't love me?" The wretched look gushed down your throat like a blazing lava. Guilt's hands tightening around you throat. "No. No. That's not-" Your panic dragged and chucked you down the cliff.

"Then what do I need to do to make you love me back, (Y/N)?"

You stopped. You legitimately stopped. He wasn't trying to hear out what you had to spill. He wasn't even trying. It seemed as if he won't give up or drop that subject. No. He wouldn't and you have had it. You took a sharp breath in. Your legs spun and took a step farther away from him. Your back getting smaller and alarm bells rang loudly in his head. Your direction fixed on the stair. He pulled you back by your wrist and made you face him. His hand sneaking around your waist.

"Let me g-" your lips sealed with his. Your heart jumped like a rabbit and your mind reset itself. If you were just an innocent civilian, he wouldn't do anything to you but remember that time you helped him with that winsome smile? Remember that time when you let him rest on your lap? Remember that time you held him tight in your sleep? You have given him those blushes, those smiles, those giggles, those restless nights with only you in his head, those hushed moans and those vivid dreams. You have stolen his only heart and tried to flee with it. Did you think he was that stupid to let you go after everything he went through for you?

A white silk between the two teenagers sparkled under the orangy ray. The sun slowly dying on the horizon, letting his lover breathe and shine in the darkness with her small sparkling fairies. Your breathing uneven. Unable to leave his dusky purple soul. He fed upon your candy as his right hand flew up to cup your cheek. His thumb swinging left and right. Your cheek dough under his fingers. Your life like a droplet of rain in his palm.

His touches varied into needy ones. His desire asking for more as his lips once again sucked the life out of you. His tongue burrowing into you. Your hands constraining him away from you. Your head trying to break away from his grasp. Your brain sending red flags in your view. Your anxiety lining tears on your lower eyelashes. Your lung shrieking for the oxygen you needed. Him devouring on your sobs.

Your leg swung back to aim whichever part of his leg you can reach. —Wham!— he groaned and reached for his luckless shin. You didn't waste any time and hurtled wherever you can but far from this pitiful boy. Your legs wanting to give out under you but your brain forcing them not to. Your heart ringing in your ears. The stairs blurred in your vision.

You set your foot upon the second floor and aimed to make a U turn to descend more. Coincided with a yelp, your flimsy body was tugged back by a hand wrapping around your chest. Your nose and mouth were covered by a hand, linked with a cloth. Due to the intense exercise you had, you respired a small amount of chemical with a gasp. The sharp smell made you press harder into his chest, gratifying him more.

Your fists hitting his hands, pulling them away. Your body twisting in order to be freed. Your tears messy on your cheeks. Your limbs faltered. Your muscles relaxed. Your soul doors pulling the curtains. Your head rested on his shoulder. Your consciousness fell into the dark abyss. Pulling you along with it. A word echoed in the void.

"𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙮."

#jjba #jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizzare adventure vento aureo #jojo vento aureo #jojo golden wind #jojo #jojo fanart #jojo part 5 #jojo narancia #jojo fugo #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere narancia x reader #yandere prompts

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating. ... 18+

word count. ~4000

chapter 9.

FLASHBACK September 1, 2018

"Just post it," you're chiding, indignant and exasperated and still, so incredibly soft. You're prone against his shoulder, bone of your chin digging into the muscle that lines his back and undulates with every breath. He moves forward, not to dislodge you from your position, but enough to shift the sharp turn of your jaw. You say nothing further and settle into the warmth that radiates off him, nose lost to the hood of his sweatshirt.

The mouse sits heavy in his palm, an anchor rather than 67 grams of nothingness. There's too much power in the little black device. It makes his jaw ache and his brow furrow. You can feel the uncertainty radiating off him in waves, invading your senses in an unwelcome assault.

"Kook, come on." Again, softer this time, laced with tenderness and belief. It spills off your lips, buttery and sweet like carnival kettle corn. Your arms find a home around the slant of his frame, fingers locking neatly over his chest, right where his heart lies beneath flesh and bone. The steady thud of it is a reminder of his humanity. "You've worked so hard for this."

This, being his portfolio. His life's work made reality, brushed with the most utmost care and so much talent you're not sure where it all goes.

Gouache portraits, vivid blues and greens splashed over cream; wondrous proportions laid out bare, rendered to perfection with a keen eye and careful hand. Production of stories you'd never be able to express, painted with the most glorious skill and cut to maximize impact. Melodies woven in between and above; the sweetest sound you'd ever hear, awash with the light and shadow.

His finger hovers over the button on his mouse as if it's a Doomsday device. You want to scoff but bite it back, pressing your face into the freshly-washed powder puff that is his hair. It smells of peaches and honey, mingling with the distinctly Jungkook scent that lingers on his skin.

"I can't do it." He whispers the words like they're shameful, yanking his hand away and stuffing his hand into the kangaroo pouch bundled around his waist. You sigh. It's quiet but with your close proximity, he hears it and it's an echo that repeats over and over in his ears. Eyes squeeze shut, dent forming between his brows as he exhales a shallow breath. "I heard that."

"You were meant to," you return easily. Because while you'd always be in his corner, supporting him when he needed it most, you also weren't about to let him rest on his laurels.

Before he can stop it, you've got the mouse in your hand. Click - like it's the easiest motion in the world.

"Did you just—" You're retreating as soon as he's speaking, skittering back five steps and out of reach when he whirls around in his stupid red and black gaming chair. The fury is immediately apparent in the baring of his teeth, the tension in his jaw. It propels him forward and he's so much taller, his strides so much longer, that he's upon you in a second.

"You needed a push!" It's a meagre excuse, squeaked out in indignation as you anticipate death by asphyxiation.

Instead, he's crushing you against him so tightly you really do feel like you can't breathe, though it’s different. Still, it's better than what you'd anticipated and you pat his back where you can reach, arms locked to your side by the intensity of his hug. You think he might squeeze the life out of you but you don't move to untangle yourself from him, instead mumbling soft reassurances against his chest. "There, there."

"Thank you." It's so hushed you think he might've meant it only for his ears, but you feel the way the words ghost over the shell of your own. It sends a shock straight to your toes, rousing an adoring smile along the way.

"You're welcome," you hum in a voice thick with satisfaction. You loved being right. It didn't happen often - at least, not with Jungkook - so you revelled in it at every opportunity, allowing your ego to triple in size and engulf everyone in the immediate vicinity.

Not one to let his defeat go so easily, he huffs. The way he rolls his eyes makes you worry he'll sever an optic nerve. "Still a brat, though."

"Yeah, well—" You're returning his childish petulance tenfold, tongue sticking out from between lips that taste like too-sweet plum wine and Sprite. "—takes one to know one." And boy, did you know one. Had, for the better part of three years. Sometimes you loved it; sometimes, you didn't quite hate it. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The boy snorts from above you, withdrawing just enough that you can breathe and wiggle your arms. He really was a muscle pig - your shoulders thrum with a dull ache. "Shut up."

"Don't think I will," you answer, watching the way his eyes glint and his jaw ticks. He tongues the inside of his cheek as he glares down at you, silent. You know what that means. You brace for the feeling, feet planting into the hardwood like you're an oak taking up root. It's futile.

In a second, you're upside down, suspended over his shoulder like a toddler. Well, not a toddler, because that would be incredibly bad parenting. It's something funnier - a six year old playing airplane. Except you're in your twenties and you've got much longer limbs than a child and they flail wildly, elbow knocking into the back of his head with a painful sounding thud.

"Watch it!" He exclaims, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. He doesn't sound too bothered, though, the words dropping off into a laugh that bounces around the room and pitches higher. "I wouldn't want to drop my precious cargo."

It's a threat that has you stilling, if only for a minute. The last thing you want is to have your face make friends with the floor. That'd happened once - on concrete, even - and you'd felt awful for days after. Of course, he'd felt terrible, too, leaving an enormous fruit tart from Maybell Bakery outside your dorm the next day.

"Go ahead. I've been craving some fresh bread."

"That was one time."

You can tell you've struck a nerve by the way he tenses beneath you, forearm flexing over the small of your back. You can't help but snicker, swatting his sweatpant-covered ass just enough to jostle him.

"I was kidding, Mr. Sensitive."

He doesn't dignify that with an answer, instead shifting into action. His bare feet carry him in a tight circle before he deposits you onto his bed and not a minute too soon. You'd started to feel a strain in your neck, blood rushing to your head the longer you were hung like a rag doll.

"You're a pain in my ass sometimes." Though the words are unkind, his delivery is not. There's far too much tenderness in his eyes, the way they crease and nearly disappear when he offers you one of his trademark bunny smiles.

You return the expression with ease, wiggling your thin, piano-honed fingers at him. "Literally."

"Yeah, literally." With another exaggerated roll of his eyes, he flops face-down on the bed beside you, arms curling around a pillow and dragging it under his cheek. His knees hang off the edge before he's dragging one up, locking it over your legs in some contortionist cuddle. He peeks at you from beneath his fringe - it's just the right side of too long, curling prettily over his doe eyes and obscuring his eyebrows. Despite the eye contact you carefully maintain, he says nothing, merely peering up at you like he's trying to read his future or see the stars.

Finally, you speak, turning your gaze back to his popcorn ceiling as your hands find comfort in the weight of his leg, the tendons flexing in the joint of his knee. Your neck was beginning to kink. "What?"

"Thank you, again." Because once isn't enough. Never will be, when it comes to the two of you. You've always pushed him to do what he needed, even when he wasn't so sure himself. He can't thank you enough for that - or for the fact that you're always there, right at the edge with him.

You smile then and meet his stare again. "You're welcome, Kook. Happy birthday."

"What is this?"

You're half-asleep and groggy, struggling to push past the awful clutches of Sandman and his dreams. They linger in every crevice, coating your lashes in dust and your tongue in cotton. Luckily, there's no ache behind the fatigue, no lurking monkey about to crash its cymbals in defiance of you and God.

Through the frame of lethargy, you make out the familiar slope of shoulders, of a delicate pair of hands. Past that comes his adorable smile, all squishable cheeks and barely there eyes, mouth contorted into that peculiar shape. He's not where he should be - in bed beside you, fast asleep. Instead, he's statuesque, barely dressed in a pair of soft cotton shorts and nothing else with your breakfast tray held aloft. There's a pile of waffles - they look surprisingly good - and two mugs. Somehow, there's also an assortment of flowers thrown into what looks like a water glass.

Had you died and gone to heaven? Surely not.

"Happy birthday," your - yes, your, you remind yourself - golden Adonis sings in a voice so rich, so tender, you immediately feel a lump forming in your throat. He's looking at you like a kid on Christmas morning,0 hopeful and filled with childish wonderment. It stokes the warmth that spreads through your veins, lava in place of platelets. It burns from the inside out but it's pleasant - sitting too close to a fireplace on a chilly winter evening rather than an open flame.

Nails bite into the fleshy underside of your palm in a belated attempt to rouse yourself from the very pleasant daydream. It stings but nothing comes further. You're not imagining things.

You have to applaud your past self for whatever she'd done to deserve this.

"You really didn't have to." A moment after it slips off your tongue, you wish it hadn't. The last thing you want to seem is ungrateful. Luckily, Taehyung is steadfast and unbothered, dropping forward onto a knee to slide the tray over your clean white linens. He looks so good, all honey skin and tousled bedhead, that you can't focus when he catches your lips in a lingering kiss.

His laughter crowds your mouth, along with the taste of peppermint toothpaste and, just behind it, honey and what tastes like tea, floral and earthy. "I wanted to."

A sound most similar to a sigh - maybe a bit needier, filled with adoration - meets the air when he withdraws, settling himself on the edge of the bed with that same heartbreaking grin. He pushes your birthday breakfast toward you, earnest and lovely. He even unceremoniously shoves your utensils between your fingers, forcing them into your grip like a toddler.

"Eat," he commands, though his tone is too light to really elicit any movement from you. It's only the way he looks that prompts you to dig in, cutting a generation portion of waffle loaded with what looks like whipped cream and strawberries. You raise your fork aloft, gesturing for him to take the first taste. He simply shakes his head and with gentle pressure, redirects the forkful back to you. His loss.

The strawberries are surprisingly sweet yet incredibly tart, their freshness breaking up the honey glaze. The fact that you haven't even brushed your teeth isn't lost on you; you can't bring yourself to care when you're melting into the flavours and humming delightedly.

"Is it good?"

"If you'd just try some, you'd know." You answer with hearts in your eyes and affection blooming like roses across your cheeks, sparkling shades of warmth springing across fields of baby's breath. Another forkful is raised and this time you won't allow him to redirect, holding the mouthful aloft and meeting his stare with purpose.

A moment passes, then another. The edge of his mouth ticks higher. Your eyes burn from your refusal to blink.

When he accepts the bite, you allow an exaggerated breath, the sound expelling from pursed lips with triumph. "Yum?" You question, giddy and grateful. You sneak another bite while he chews, tongue feathering across his bottom lip to catch some residual cream from the corner.

"I did good." He sounds so proud, chest puffed like a baby bird that's learnt to fly. You're torn between the intense desire to squish his cheeks or kiss him silly and you stare at him for a long moment as you swallow, the intoxicating flavour of honey and strawberries sitting like a spring picnic on your tongue. It sinks into the spaces between your teeth - a shot of loved-up sugar right into the veins - and you set your fork down.

Free hands find the slope of his jaw and act as a cradle, thumbs smoothing over the soft dry petal of his bottom lip. He peers at you curiously, strands of silk brushing over his gaze as he works to meet your stare.

"What?"

You want to pass all of your affection into the smile you offer and the kiss you press, chaste and light. "Thank you." The emotion in your voice rings true, echoes heavily in the breath you pair it with. "You really, really didn't have to." But I'm really glad you did, are the words you don't say, allowing them to hang between you like a gossamer thin thread - a spider's web interconnecting all the different ways you adore him.

"I know," he hums as he moves in for another kiss - one that lingers and pulls and draws you deeper into the abyss that is him. Careful hands slide the breakfast tray to the farthest corner of the bed, far away from wandering limbs, and then he's dragging you closer, over the soft white duvet. Fingers find a home in the small of your back as you find the same nearly in his lap, knees caught against the line of his side. Like this, he envelopes you, all sharply angled shoulders and imposing, but you don't mind. It feels nice being wrapped in his embrace.

FLASHBACK April 24, 2019

You need to get this done. You can't stop until you've finished because you've been losing steam the entire week and now you're running on fumes, halfway to the finish line and about to collapse. The strain behind your eyes feels miserable, like hot coals have replaced your usual organs, and you've nearly chewed a hole through your bottom lip. It feels like a punishment in and of itself to feel the constant throb and the metallic tang on your tongue.

Why did you always do this? You'd had all semester to work on this and yet, here you were, stark raving mad and exhausted on a random Friday.

No, Saturday now. It was almost five in the morning.

Frustration colours your complexion, marks the tired skin in patchy shades of red, and you blow a sharp breath out under your breath. You know you have no one to blame but yourself but you try to ignore the guilt that licks up the column of your spine and settles like a heavy collar around your neck. You can't linger on it too much - you're too busy trying to hack this artist's block to dust.

Lids squeeze shut of their own accord and the heels of your palms dig into the sockets, as if that'll help drive the emptiness from your thoughts or, at the very least, alleviate some of the mind-numbing pressure that's been building since you started this futile task six hours ago. The consistent press helps a little - draws blossoms of light against the back of your eyelids - and you exhale a beleaguered sigh, head dropping ever so slightly. Between the headache that's settled in like an unwelcome house guest and the general tiredness of being up for nearly twenty-four hours straight, you're not sure which is worse.

You also don't have much time to think about it when your phone starts going off, vibrating madly across the flat top of your desk. It's face-down - you'd wanted as few distractions as possible - and you consider ignoring it for a moment.

Only when you consider the time do you decide to answer it. After all, nobody just called at this hour. It might be important.

You hardly hazard a glance at the screen before you're swiping across, dimly noting the familiar silly photo of your classmate and friend plastered across the pixels. "What's up, Jeon?" The words come out scratchy and for the first time, you realize how parched you are. You're not quite sure when you'd last drank or stood up or anything. God, you were a poor excuse for an adult.

"Open the door."

It's equal parts impressive and irritating how chipper he somehow sounds, as if he's just woken up from the best sleep in the world and powered his way through a strongman's breakfast. Chapped lips twist, descending into a pout you know he can't see, and you force yourself to focus on what he's said and not how you'd give anything in the world to trade places with him and his sunny disposition.

Wait— what? Open the what?

"What did you say?"

You can practically imagine the lines at his nose and around his eyes, the dimples that you're sure are carved into those cheeks of his. "I said open the door!"

Before you can think anything of it, you're rising from your chair - nearly knocking over your neglected glass of water with the movement - and allowing your slipper-wearing feet to carry you out of your bedroom and to the front door. You bump into the table in your hallway, earning a grunt and sharp inhale of breath as your fingers soothe what you know will be a bruise in the morning. Maybe you should've turned on the light. Maybe you should've stopped at the washroom to make sure didn't frighten him with your insane hair and sleepless pallor. Maybe you should've done a lot of things.

Instead, you slide the lock, open the door, and nearly shriek when Jungkook’s upon you faster than you can react.

"Happy birthday!" A single solid arm is crushing you to his chest, his breath warm against your temple, before he engulfs you fully. You feel your feet leave the ground momentarily, fuzzy slippers clattering to the floor as he squeezes you with just enough force to steal your breath away. It might be why you're not reciprocating - you physically cannot - or it’s the fact that your brain is playing catch-up and your limbs are already a little boneless from lack of sleep.

"What are you doing here?" You manage to squeak against the smooth fabric of his jacket. It's the same one he always wears - black with Yohji Yamamoto embossed across the left-side of his chest - and it smells intoxicating, a familiar blend of his cologne and laundry detergent. You inhale the scent like it'll sooth your half-asleep, ragged nerves. It does, a little, and you're grateful for that. You don't even pull away when he finally releases you, stepping back just enough to let you slide back into your slippers and peer up into his face.

He really had no business looking so good. Despite the early hour, his dark hair is neatly styled or at the very least, freshly washed. It's fully dry and surprisingly fluffy, falling over those big doe eyes in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through it. It's a little longer than usual, too, and you reach a hand out to smooth strands behind a silver-adorned ear.

"It's your birthday," comes his response, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

A brow quirks - tries to, at least - and you regard him with something not quite suspicious but definitely confused. It plays across your features in shadows, peeking around the fan of your lashes and the frame of your mouth. "It's also... four in the morning."

"Five, actually." There's that stupid adorable smile of his, presented like a gift and topped with squeaky laughter. "And I told you I was coming over."

"No, you didn't." You'd have remembered that - right?

"I did." As if to drive his point home, the glaringly bright screen of his phone is all but shoved into your line of sight, artificial light burning your retinas. You shift away, swatting at his wrist as he watches in barely concealed amusement. He thinks you're frustrated by his very 'I told you so' smile that fits snug over his mouth and wrinkles the delicate skin around his eyes; he's surprised when you take the device back in your hands and peer at it like it's the strangest thing you've ever seen.

Well, he certainly hadn't lied. A handful of texts - maybe more than that - mock you, text bubbles indicating he had indeed sent you messages all throughout the night. Little one-liners asking what you were doing, followed by a gentle head's up much later that he'd see you soon. Of course, you'd ignored them all, far too engrossed in making near zero progress on your semester-end project. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth - equal parts tentative embarrassment and residual fatigue. Lips purse, straighten into a firm line, and arms fold over your chest. It's reminiscent of a spoiled child and frankly, beneath the burnout, you know it's not a good look. Unfortunately, you can’t find it in yourself to rearrange your expression into something more socially acceptable.

Luckily, he's seen you like this enough times to not mind - you always fell into ruts like this when your procrastination met a hard deadline - the irritation seemingly unable to penetrate the sunny turn of his mouth and slope of his wide, open shoulders. "So, are you ready?"

"Ready for..." You trail off, partially out of confusion and partially out of a lack of capacity to consider the question.

"We're going on an adventure."

Again, so simple and yet so cryptic. It draws your eyebrows into a little knot, consternation setting into every thread. "I have a project to do, you know." Despite this, there's a pearl of longing that dangles from your syllables.

He zeroes in on it without hesitation, drawing you easily against him. "I'll help you with it later," he says, as if that's a good enough excuse. You suppose it is. "In the meantime, go get ready? You look like you have a rat living in your hair and I don't want you getting mistaken for a homeless vagrant on the train." Despite the mockery, his expression is soft, smile sweet and playful as it always is.

It's impossible to deny him when he's like this, cherubic and enticing.

With a sigh that blows past chapped lips and disappears into his chest, you relent. "Fine." You're careful to keep your tone just a little grating, as if you're somehow doing him the huge favour. You know he can see right through it but neither of you mind; it's all a part of your silly routine. "Come in and wait for me and don't eat my cereal."

"No promises."

notes. here, take my weird birthday-centric chapter. i wanted to add more to this but my brain hasn’t been cooperating with me lately.

i swear the next chapter will be better - with more exploration of the present! - but thanks for reading. :)

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toloveawarlord · 4 years

Text

Ch. 2

Characters: Elaine, Arthur x Theo, Vincent

Pairing: Elaine x Isaac (eventually)

Tagging: @plumpblueberry @lady-moonbroch

A/N: This chapter turned out nothing like the first draft XD Enjoy some Elaine spending time with her Uncle and she meets a boy!

Four days into her new job as Theo’s assistant, the mood in their home had drastically lifted. Elaine never complained and paid close attention to every task given to her, exceeding all expectations. She quoted things he’d said to her years ago and questioned smartly, craving the knowledge he had. Having her along had proved quite useful with prickly clients, smoothing over situations with a charming smile and sweet words, likely emulating Arthur.

Theo enjoyed having time with her. In recent years, they’d grown strained. The teenager wanted more freedom and broke rules in place to protect her because she believed them unnecessary. Now, at nearly eighteen in only two days, she’d fought harder. Being able to keep an eye on her put the art dealer at little more at ease.

His daughter sat across from him, glancing at him out of the corner of her vision. Elaine hadn’t taken the news that she couldn’t accompany him today well. Instead of anger, she’d pouted silently all morning.

“I take it that you aren’t happy with today’s agenda,” Arthur piped up with an amused grin not quite hidden by his cup of steaming coffee. The previous night Theo had informed him of the impending unhappy teenager.

Elaine stuffed the fork full of pancakes into her mouth, enough to make her cheeks puff out to match her frown. She’d gotten up extra early and made pancakes and extra sweet coffee, but the answer remained unchanged. Now, she wanted to drown her sorrows in syrup and butter until she got sick.

“Vincent has asked for you to help him today while I’m gone.” Theo could easily see the motive behind his brother’s sudden request. He’d promised to make her do some work instead of spoiling her the entire day.

The teenager flinched at those words. She couldn’t very well turn down her uncle, as she adored him so much. Help isn’t the word she’d choose to describe what the day would entail. He’d likely ask her to do a small task or two, nothing that required much effort. “Fine. I guess I can do that.”

Working didn’t bother her. She assisted around the house with the chores without complaint. If Comte asked, she would readily agree. It irritated her that this client wouldn’t allow her entrance to his home, prompting this sour mood. No promises of being quiet or staying outside had swayed Theo. He couldn’t risk spooking the man.

“If you find yourself in need of something to do, I can have you proofread for me.” Her grimace only made the mystery writer chuckle again. Her disdain for that job well-known. Though she enjoyed his stories, playing editor didn’t appeal to her. A tedious thing.

Theo cracked a grin, rising from the table. “You better thank Vincent for saving you from that.” One check of his watch ended the conversation. He bid his family farewell before heading into town alone.

“Are you sure you don’t want to help your Papa with his work?” Arthur teased further. He had been a tad jealous that she eagerly wanted to assist Theo over the course of the week. Ah, but he was also grateful that the two were more understanding of each other.

Elaine stacked all the empty plates to carry them to the kitchen. “I love you but no.” Her curt reply still amusing. Setting the dishes in the sink, she licked the sticky syrup off her fingers.

“Off you go then. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

The young vampire didn’t need to be told twice. Housework didn’t appeal to her either. She did her part, pitching in when needed, but if told she didn’t have to do it... the teenager bailed as quickly as she could.

Inside the mansion, the hallways were quiet and empty. At this hour, everyone should be awake, except for Leonardo perhaps. Rapping her fist against Vincent’s door, she cast confused glances down the hallway.

“Goede morgen, Elaine,” Vincent greeted with a bright smile. He laughed softly at her confusion. Since Arthur and Theo had moved out of the mansion with her when she was only 4 years old, daily happenings didn’t reach their house as quickly as it spread through the mansion. “We’re the only ones here today.”

“I’m okay with that.” She flashed a disheartened smile, unable to shake the dark cloud hanging over her. Her normally mischievous and lively attitude disappeared. The others might have tried to make her understand. She understood perfectly fine.

That didn’t make it less saddening.

“Come here.” He’d barely open his arms and invited his niece to find comfort with him when the teenager stepped forward and accepted the warm hug. Vincent stroked his fingers through her copper hair. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but she reminded him so much of Theo when he was a child. “You know, he couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful you were on the job.”

“Really?”

It wasn’t that he hadn’t said so to her. Theo would give praise often, especially when she came up with new ideas. Telling the others about it, that was rarer.

Vincent hummed in response, a gentle smile on his lips as she peeked up at him. “I’d say he was outright bragging. I’m not surprised. You’re his daughter after all.” Placing a kiss on the top of her head, he laughed softly at her uplifted mood.

Elaine lingered a little longer before releasing him, soaking up his sunshine-like warmth. “I guess I could stop pouting about it.” Relenting her sad feelings, she sighed softly before questioning. “So, what was it you wanted my help with?”

“I finished the final painting and I thought I’d ask for your expert advice on where to put it in the gallery space. That is, if you want to.” His request was well-received with a glowing smile from his niece. Theo had mentioned that he’d given her the sole responsibility of choosing how to use the space to best showcase the art. The uncle looked forward to seeing what she’d done.

***********

The paintings on the wall were shrouded in black cloth, to hide the precious items from view until the day of the showing. Only a select few knew what was beneath, ones trusted by Theo to make this a success. Elaine had been gifted one of the only keys to venue, a testament to her importance.

“I believe I’m looking forward to this event more than any other,” Vincent commented, allowing the staff to hang the framed piece in its designated spot.

The heat in her cheeks caused the teenager to turn her gaze anywhere else. “It’s not much different from how Vader does it. I’ve been to more of these than any other event in the city.” The location changed but ever since she learned to walk, she’d been toddling around, observing, and learning how it works. Before she’d even realized, she’d begun understanding color theory and composition.

“It wasn’t too long ago that you were only a few years old and correcting patrons on the medium or style of the art. You always had this incredibly serious expression, much like Theo.”

“That was so long ago! I’m almost eighteen!”

Vincent chuckled with a loving smile. “Yes, I guess that’s right.”

The chime of the door timed perfectly with one of the staff calling to speak with Vincent. Elaine stepped away to investigate the newcomer. Violet eyes narrowed at the sight of a boy, likely no older than herself, attempting to take a peek at the portrait veiled by the black cloth. “Excuse me, but you can’t be in here.” Her tone less than polite, Elaine thrust her palms against his chest to push him away from the art piece.

“Oh, my apologies. I’ve been most curious about why there are staff entering but it’s never been open for business.” His emerald eyes filled with hidden intent that didn’t quite match the half smirk on his lips. The boy never resisted her pushing him back to the door and onto the street. “A secretive operation, I presume, miss?”

“Elaine and we don’t open for another two days.”

Her biggest fear was that he was a spy for le academia and all of her father’s hard work would go to waste if they were discovered. He didn’t fit the typical appearance of a high bred family, usually scrawny and uptight, and he wasn’t either of those things.

“I’ll have to pop in when you are open. My name is Leon Autry.” He flashed another brilliantly smug smile and winked. “Might I inquire your surname, should I have any future questions?” The reason lost on the recipient. He’d yet to ask anything relevant to the gallery.

Elaine turned on her heel to return inside. “It’s Doyle.” Even though she didn’t quite like the boy, she couldn’t risk turning away a potential buyer. Her cheeks were warm, and it wasn’t clear if it was from embarrassment or anger. The young pureblood didn’t have many friends her age, and that led to a bit of awkwardness when around humans her age.

“Ah, like the writer.”

The girl stilled, hand hovering above the door handle. Perhaps she’d heard him incorrectly.

“You might not know of him. He’s a British writer, mystery, I think.”

Or perhaps not.

“I believe it’s Arthur Conan Doyle. Any relation?” Leon asked as if he already knew the answer, like playing a game of truth or dare in order reveal a secret for confirmation.

Elaine relaxed her shoulders. Although she could hardly admit that she was indeed was the daughter of that very Arthur, albeit the vampire one, she wouldn’t allow him to glean that precious information from her. “No, but you aren’t the first to ask. But wouldn’t that be grand? Imagine being related to someone as talented as that.” Her dreamy smile fowled his for a moment.

“Imagine.” The façade of his grin had ghosted away for a split second, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Elaine, are you ready to head back?” A third party interrupted, much welcomed by the girl. Vincent approached the two, protectively a half step in front of his niece. The tension between the two children enough to worry him.

Her head bobbed once in response. “Yes, let’s go home.” The way Leon’s eyes followed her unsettled the girl. Elaine settled back on the seat in the carriage, mulling over the strange interaction. Was it so unusual for someone to draw a connection between her name and the human Arthur from this era?

Whatever the case, she now had a proper mystery on her hands.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #ikevamp vincent #ikemen vampire fanfiction #arthur and theo have a child #elaine odette doyle #truth in simplicity #isaac is coming soon i promise

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capsized-heart · 4 years

Text

Warbirds

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Summary: Ships and planes and weapons of war named after women and dubbed she, her. Powerful, deadly. Yet, the real thing, the real body is demeaned and made less than man. When you and Carol are up in the sky and screaming through the air in your metal birds, they will see just how fragile you are.

Following Carol and Reader throughout their training in the Air Force.

Word count: 4.6k+

Warnings: smut, mild violence

A/N: It feels so good to post again! I’m so sorry I haven’t written anything in a bit, my finals this semester have been c r a z y, I’ve written 20 pages worth of papers and I still have one more left before I’m fully on winter break :’) but almost there!

I’ve had this idea for a while and....I honestly had too much fun with this. I did a lot of research and watched some documentaries on what trainees experience through basic training and I find military uniforms more attractive than I should so I didn’t hold back on this one.

Please enjoy my girl Carol!!!

“Wake up! Wake up! Open that day room door! Lights on! PT uniform of the day, PT shorts and shirt!”

The piercing voice of Dorm Chief Williams shatters the air. Fluorescent white blinds you, pulse thundering as you’re jerked from sleep, kicking off your covers. Your muscles scream, vision blurred and swimming and you stagger to your feet.

Cadets around you are already making their beds and changing into their gear. You reach for your own combat uniform, pull on the deep navy tracksuit with the reflective insignia of the U.S. Air Force glowing over your left breast.

You turn and see your bunkmate starting to stir. You feel your heart hammer in your throat and push at her shoulder.

“Carol. Get up. Hey, let’s go, Warbird.”

Williams, a tall and intimidating woman personifying dread itself, marches over to your bunk.

“Danvers, am I keeping you from your beauty sleep?” Williams barks with the most intensity you’ve ever heard from her at 0600. “Should I call the canteen and have them bring you breakfast since you’re so busy slowing down my whole squadron?”

Carol jolts to attention. “No, ma’am!”

“Then get the hell away from me and into gear. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Williams scowls, watching Carol fly to her post to dress before she turns on her heel and makes her rounds through the rest of the dorm. Finished with your own tasks, you help with Carol’s bed, smooth out her uniform, secure her hair in a tight bun. She gives you a tired smile.

“Fall out!” Williams calls.

You’re out the door in a minute flat. The short, sharp blasts of Reveille drive motion around you as you fall in line with the male recruits.

The morning is brisk, stimulating, turning your breath into puffs of steam as sweeps of indigo crack open the sky like the pearly, iridescent insides of seashells. It’s pretty, the color reminding you of waves and ocean.

Maybe you should have joined the Navy instead, Carol would say, a quick quip about how you would make such a charming sailor girl bobbing away on a ship. She always likes to tease you for your love of beautiful, superficial things.

From the moment you shed your civilian status, the Academy taught you to appreciate the little things in life; the glow of morning that tints the clouds with amber and cream as you watch the world from your cockpit. Chirping birdsong, a sort of secret you like to think that exists only between birds and Airmen, the few humans capable of sharing the sky.

You loathe how much Carol affects you, since day zero, the very start of BMT. How you can hear her voice in your mind this goddamn early.

Your MTI picks up a cadence and you match your step to the young men and women beside you, your wingmen. You feel unity, harmony beating through your bloodstream as you jog in time with your sergeant’s calls, the crisp air making you feel well rested and energized despite getting your usual four hours of sleep.

Moments like these that give you purpose, the indescribable excitement of being a part of something bigger than yourself. Of belonging.

“Lookin’ good and feelin’ good! Who are we?” Your drill instructor booms.

“USAF! Aim high! Fly, fight, win!” The squadron sounds off in unison.

You’re three weeks into BMT. Twenty-one days of primal shock, verbal abuse, blood, sweat, tears. Four weeks, twenty-eight more days until you graduate from the ranks of cadet, four weeks until your MTI awards you your dog tags and the title of Airman. The start of your career as a fighter pilot.

But until then, you’ll have to survive the next twenty-eight days.

You’ve learned more about yourself in these three weeks than you have in your entire life, your mind and body hardened with discipline. Broken down psychologically and physically and molded into the young woman your squadron needs you to be.

You and Carol are reminded of your womanhood every day. You and the others have to push yourselves harder, faster just to prove you can keep up. O’Neill, a petite little firecracker of a girl and fresh out of school, had gotten her period last week. You’d watched her wretch up bile after morning drill, the exertion and stress and cramps too much for her body to handle. The MTI had screamed at her, blue in the face, ordered her to drop on her stomach right there and crank fifteen pushups.

You cannot separate your femininity from your body, even in a military unit that declares that all are treated equal as soldiers. You are not an equal by default.

It’s belittling. Exhausting.

But you’ve shown that you can hold your own against the boys. You’ve learned how to shoot clean and fight with your bare hands, how to assemble, disassemble, and repair your M-16. You could do it in your sleep, the sharp click-click of a reloading magazine heard in your dreams.

This week, along with your usual physical conditioning, you have CBRNE training, MOPP training. You’ll be exposed to CS gas and simulations of biological warfare, your leadership skills put to the test.

You can do this. With Carol by your side, you feel like you can do anything. Little fledglings earning your wings, pushed from the nest, learning to fly when the ground is rushing up to meet you. Make or break.

Twenty-eight more days.

The gas is meant to simulate suffocation, they tell you.

“Masks off! Break the seal! Break, break, break!”

You’re already dizzy, head spinning from the chamber exercises when you stick your fingers in between the small space of your mask and pull hard.

The seal breaks with a sharp hiss.

Fire floods your eyes, your sinuses, down your throat, constricting tight like smoke and flames and hellfire. You taste fireworks, poison. Your eyes instinctively shut, blurry with tears and you cough hard, sputter, hear the echoes of other cadets hacking and gasping.

The simulation is meant to put trust in your equipment, to make you vividly remember that your mask and gear will save your life. And as you stand there with your lungs struggling to expand and the MTIs rounding on each of you in the hazy, cloying smoke, you believe it.

“Airman Recruit Danvers, Division 164!” You hear Carol pant somewhere in the fumes, along the walls of the chamber where you’re all lined up. You keep your mask raised above your head as instructed, waiting, suffocating in silence until it is your turn to state your name and division number. The MTIs move down the line with their masks still fixed. Haunting, weaving through the gas and toxins like plague doctors. The image of death. Vultures tearing fledglings apart with pointed beaks and white bone as you watch cadets choke on their own breath.

The primal impulse of fear trickles from your hypothalamus as the minutes tick on, until your lips and tongue buzz like fire ants, until you can no longer feel the tips of your fingers. You’re sweat-slicked and gasping when an MTI turns to you, screams for your identification.

You sound off. Your entire body is shaking, fevered. You are the last in your row.

You burst through the doors and out into the afternoon air with a stream of cadets behind you, taking flight as you thunder on the asphalt to the open courtyard.

You all cough, spit, clear out your lungs with curses and muted laughter as your squadron stands together beneath cotton clouds and blue sky.

Carol finds you in the mix, the few precious seconds where you’re not forced to fall in line. Seconds to catch your breath. Her skin is flushed and wisps of hair fall to frame her face, her bun messy. She grins and the two of you bump fists, playful.

Your cheeks redden, lungs tight with something other than CS gas. It’s strange seeing Carol disheveled when you’ve been so hardwired with self-control, down to how you’re expected to wear your hair, present yourself.

You like seeing her like this.

“Do we have confidence in that gear?” MTI Galloway emerges from the chambers and asks of you all.

“Yes, Chief!” You roar.

Carol calls you Phoenix after that, running so fast out the chamber and looking like a fire had been lit up your ass.

The nickname is fitting for a duo like you. Raptors, birds of prey, fierce and skilled and yet simultaneously embracing and shielding your femininity with unfurled wings.

Have women not been compared to birds in art and literature throughout history as a means to show fragility? Fleeting beauty?

Why not strength? Why ever not for sleeker attributes, or as hunters?

It’s curious. Ships and planes and weapons of war named after women and dubbed she, her. Powerful, deadly. Yet, the real thing, the real body is demeaned and made less than man.

When you and Carol are up in the sky and screaming through the air in your metal birds, they will see just how fragile you are.

You hit the ground so hard that the air rushes out your lungs in a loud wheeze. You can’t breathe. Your face burns, ears ringing. You can hear the screams of your MTI. You’d rather die of embarrassment right here.

The rope dangles in front of you, fifteen feet straight up, still swaying from where you’d fallen, taunting. Physical conditioning for your Basic Expeditionary Airman Skills Training examination next week, fittingly dubbed the BEAST. Rope climbing and complicated field obstacle courses after you’ve crawled through miles of sand and dirt, navigated through tactical drills with your full pack of gear.

Your arms tremble, your entire upper body drained of all strength, skin biting from the sand. Weak, exhausted. Your palms raw from the rope. Tears of frustration sting at your eyes as your MTI screams out your surname in another bloodcurdling roar to get your ass up out of that dirt.

Yet, the low scoff of a nearby cadet is what piques your attention.

Dalquist. A boy a few years older than yourself with an ugly, crooked grin and sandy hair. A show-off, a boy who thinks himself a man. He smirks again with crossed arms, tuts his tongue as his eyes flicker over you.

“They’ll never let you fly.” He snickers.

Then, Carol is there beside you. She grips your waist strongly, shifting your weight and the two of you slowly rise together amidst the swirling dust. You draw in a shuddering breath.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe they’re all right. Maybe you don’t belong here.

You feel Carol’s muscles tense and manage to squeeze her arm in a silent warning. The entire squadron watches the three of you. The last thing you need is falling to Dalquist’s level and getting punished for it.

So she hits him with a reply quite enough only for the three of you to hear.

“You better hope not.” She rasps.

Your time in the classroom is a welcome break from the stresses of field training. You meet Dr. Wendy Lawson, an incredibly gifted and terrifying brilliant quantum physics scientist when she’s brought in to give you post-deployment training. She teaches you flight mechanics, squadron resources and financial management. You learn about her research on quantum energy.

Lawson is especially kind to you and Carol upon hearing your aspirations to take to the skies as fighter flyers. Her standards are higher for you and she encourages you to speak out when you’ve been too timid to respond to the whole class, the twinkle in her eye giving you courage, a voice for the first time in your life.

Together, Lawson and Carol work to coax you out of your shell.

The days trudge on. You throw Dalquist’s remark behind every new simulation you’re given, every mile, every pushup of your physical conditioning.

And it shows.

Your endurance and stamina have nearly doubled, bringing out new muscles in your back, your arms. You’re stronger than you’ve ever been, strong enough to grapple an unsuspecting Dalquist to the ground during field training. He stares up at you in humiliation and horror and you push him harder into the dirt, until your MTI snorts and tells you to let him up.

The mile and a half lap you take known as the Airman’s Run the week of your graduation is a breeze. Your body is familiar with the motion and exertion, the rest of the cadets who’ve made it through BMT with you dressed in new uniforms of pressed blue shirts and the trademark navy garrison cap.

Family and friends watch as your squadron marches in a parade of waving flag and timed step. Your heart swells with pride, with unparalleled accomplishment.

You’re finally presented with the Airman’s Coin and your dog tags. You’ve completed Basic Training. You are no longer a cadet, a trainee, but an oath-sworn member of the Air Force. Next weekend, you’ll be moved into dorms and officially begin your pilot training.

And then you’re free. For the first time in seven weeks, you are dismissed after the ceremony and to spend the rest of the weekend however you please.

Free time. Privacy. Privileges you took for granted as a civilian. You feel giddy, excited.

“We did it, birdie.” Carol’s voice sounds from behind you. You turn, her smile radiant as ever and mirroring yours.

She looks like she was born to wear the uniform, her shirt crisp and cap perfectly straightened atop her pinned back hair. Your pulse stutters, you find it difficult to swallow.

“We did it.” You laugh, a little too breathless with the way she’s looking down at you with that mischievous glint in her eyes. Her gaze catches your lips, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

God, so self-assured. So confident.

Honestly, you could use a little of that confidence.

“What do you say we get out of here? Go see what this city has to offer aside from base?” She says.

Your knees nearly buckle. You have a feeling that you know what will happen off base, at least, what you hope will happen.

Technically, you wouldn’t be breaking protocol.

And with the two of you buzzing with adrenaline and boosted egos, how can you even think of saying no? You deserve to celebrate.

You leave Lackland Base and head to downtown San Antonio for the rest of the weekend, for two whole days all to yourselves.

You visit the River Walk and explore as much of the fifteen-mile long city park as you can, strolling along the banks and gorging yourselves on street food and local cuisine. No curfew, no officers screaming orders, just the two of you leisurely enjoying a Friday night beneath a soft sunset and twinkling fairy lights.

You have dinner and drinks at a quaint little steakhouse with a live band and music, the musicians donning cowboy hats, boots, chaps and all. It’s corny. It’s absolutely perfect.

The lime juice is sharp and bitter on your tongue as you throw back your third shot of tequila, lap up the salt you’ve sprinkled over your knuckles. Carol isn’t far behind you. Pretty soon, the tavern lanterns swim pleasantly before you and you sway gently to the music in your seat, blissed out, flushed, content.

Carol’s fingers fondly brush your cheek and she laughs, her eyes crinkling and you think it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. You grin back, a bit too eager and lopsided, lean across the wooden table to grasp her hand.

You drag her to the attached karaoke bar next door and slide a few quarters into the jukebox before she can stop you. The two of you belt out your renditions of Nirvana, Heart, Elastica. Your blood is warm and Carol dances beside you with wired microphone in hand, laughing so hard you’re both crying, pulse pounding behind your temples until finally the jukebox clicks with the last of your change and the next requested song is queued up.

The hotel you check into is just down the street and you practically fall through the doorway trying to get each other out of your uniforms. It’s jumbled and chaotic as you slip out of your combat gear, tripping over boots and pants as you finally touch overheated skin, giggling like children.

Disorderly when your lips meet, her hands coming to cradle your face, holding you still with a low groan, a grip that surprises you. It heightens the flush of alcohol sitting in the pool of your lower belly as you kiss her back, wind your arms around her.

You gasp when she tightens a hand in your hair and pulls, mouth ravaging the skin of your neck with tongue and teeth. She walks you blindly until you’re flush against the wall, turns you around with her frame pressing hard against your back.

Her fingers are sure and true when they cup, caress your heated flesh, not an ounce of hesitation in her. You keen, circle your hips hard into her as she works at unraveling you, forearm circling your neck, leaning to put her lips at your ear, breath hot.

“So pretty. My birdie is so pretty.”

It’s been so long since you’ve last been intimate. The military discipline over your physique has made you forget what it’s like to treat your body with love, to feel pleasure, to be touched by a young woman you’d do anything for.

“Let’s see you fly high, hmm?” She breathes. “You want it faster? I wanna see my little birdie soar. Can you do that for me?”

It’s so easy to let go.

Your flesh clenches around her and you sigh, your entire being quivering. Carol braces you, holds you close as you tremble with aftershocks, burning and burning.

Your world is hazy, melting when Carol leads you to the bed and hoists you on top of her, thighs straddling her lap. The liquid courage returns, coy when you grasp the cool metal of the dogtags between her breasts and yank her forward for another breathless kiss.

Her arms are strong, hard with muscle and hands splayed against the naked skin of your back as she coaxes you to earth shattering heights again and again. Until the grey light of day.

Sunday morning, you sleep in until ten o’clock, roused by streaming sunlight and birdsong. Peaceful quiet, a treat in itself with Carol’s arms lazily draped around you.

Your stomach drops when the sergeant cracks open the C-17 door and the atmosphere shrieks into the aircraft. Your gear is heavy, you’re sweating hard, and your Airborne Division is about to jump. You find it hard to breathe and try not to lock your knees, try not to faint. Gut wrenching, everything inside you screaming that this is suicide. Leaping from a roaring aircraft with nothing but a kevlar sac to break your fall.

You see the Airman in front of you subtly cross himself, pretending to scratch his chin.

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Fingers grip your waist. Carol stands beside you.

It’s too loud for conversation, the air and engine pressing down on your eardrums with tight pressure, but she gives you a nod, another squeeze of your hip. Her lips mouth a single word.

Fly.

Then, the men in front of you are rushing towards the yawning mouth of the plane and you and Carol are running together, side by side, fearless. And then you jump, spreading your arms, dive like hawks.

The sky is a dome of robin’s egg blue, sun shining and tipping the edge of your gloved fingers with liquid gold. You fall fast, hard. Wind rips through and around you, weightless as gravity pulls you to earth.

Pulse ramming, pure adrenaline, ten agonizing seconds of freefall. You pull the pin and your parachute deploys, rocking you backwards as the fabric unfurls and catches the air. You grip your harness tight, float through the heavens and watch as dozens of parachutes dot the horizon around you.

You whoop, shoot Carol a “hang loose”, smiling wide, goofy and vibrating with excitement.

Her laughter carries across the sky.

You’re there beside her when the two of you are promoted to officer rank. First in your class, looking out over a sea of grim, bored looking faces that stare back at you with quiet hostility.

Your officer uniforms are sharp, handsome. Crisp navy suits decorated with shining medals and visible proof that you have fought tooth and nail to be on the stage where you stand now. You wouldn’t want anyone else here with you but Carol. Your wingman. Your everything.

Your names are called and you rise together in unison as Senior Airman Dalquist pins your new patches to your uniforms.

Weeks later, you learn that Dr. Lawson’s plane has gone down. It punches a hole straight through your chest, wrenches up your insides when the news is broken to you.

After BMT, you’d lost contact with her. You wish you could have told Lawson that you’ve done it, that you and Carol are dominating the skies.

And now she’s missing.

You’re in the hangar and up in the air before anyone can stop you.

The crash site is still smoldering when you touch down at a hidden lake surrounded by a halo of pine and sand. You and Carol rip off your helmets, jump out of the cockpit as soon as your wheels are on solid ground, racing towards the wreckage of an eerily familiar F-16 Fighting Falcon.

Lawson lies slumped forward, still strapped into her seat. The glass of the cockpit has exploded all around her, leaving her open and exposed. It looks grim.

“Doc?” You say. Your voice shakes a bit, but you quickly will all fear out of your mind, take a deep breath and allow your body, your muscle memory to take over. Let your training come back to you.

You push back at her helmet visor, sit her upright. Press three fingers against the artery of her neck.

Cold. No pulse.

Then, you see the smoking hole in her chest, where plasma energy has burned through her jacket and blood drips bold and blue onto her lap.

You exhale hard, ignore the strangeness of the latter to check Lawson’s dashboard for any working electrical machinery. No luck. All fried, all scrambled from the crash.

“Carol, we need pararescue stat. Get them here.” You order.

Carol nods wordlessly, composed, turns on her heel to radio them from your own plane.

You brace yourself against the frame of the cockpit, hang your head in shock. You can’t bear to look at Lawson like this. You don’t want to remember her like this.

In those tense moments of silence, a soft, strange humming reaches your ears, seeming to emulate from the F-16 itself. You take a step back to fully survey the wreckage.

The crash has exposed most of the plane’s wiring and paneling, including the engine. Though, this is no engine like you’ve ever seen.

Monstrous, pulsing with blue light and an aura that draws you closer, pulling at your curiosity. It distracts you long enough for you to almost miss the approaching silhouette of a man from behind the suffocating smoke.

He’s dressed in a bizarre emerald jumpsuit with a blazing yellow star in the center of his chest. His step is charismatic, unfaltering.

And what scares you most is the unholstered gun in his hand.

Carol calls your name in a frantic shout.

You put two and two together. Lawson’s killer.

“We have no interest in hurting you.” He tells you, finally pausing at the crest of the crash site. His voice is surprisingly charming and it sends a chill straight down your spine.

We?

You’re afraid. Your old commanding officer, one of the strongest women you’ve ever known, lies shot and killed with blood the color of toxic waste. Her engine looks foreign, otherworldly. Your mind begins to race.

“The energy core. Where is it?” The man asks and brandishes his gun. You force your breathing to steady, to find a sense of calm. You have to focus. Questioning will make him irritable, panicking will get you killed.

Intuition is enough to tell you that the core is not to leave in this man’s hands by any means.

You catch sight of the glinting handle of a pistol resting between Lawson’s knees. You flicker your gaze away and to the proximity of the engine. Then, you look to Carol.

Her eyes shine with tears in the shimmering heat. Her body is tense, drawn tight like a bow, fight-or-flight. You fear she’ll run to you, that she’ll get herself killed trying to protect you. If the roles were switched, you know you would do just that.

So you act before she has the chance to. In one fluid motion, you draw Lawson’s gun and fire a single shot at the exposed engine.

It explodes like heat and magma. Azure energy engulfs you in a millisecond. Like lightning striking your bones, fire that scorches through your entire being and condemning a blazing death of unbearable, burning power, collapsing like a supernova reborn.

Your nerve-endings detonate, a fusion of flesh and skin and pyro that incinerates you to your very core, destroys you from the inside.

You scream, high and horrible. You’ve never felt such pain.

Your eyes ignite in crimson, red hot, flaring with light. Everything inside you rushing upwards and expanding until your mortal frame can no longer contain this threshold and you burst, combust with starfire.

The blast hits Carol next, lifting her up and dissipating, coiling like mist through her skin in synergy. She glows like an iridescent comet, blue light rolling off of her like water and waves, her own eyes flaring turquoise, then white.

When the two of you hit the ground, trees and sand bend and blow around you, knocking the man unconscious as the inertia from your combined energy throws him backwards.

You cry out as you try and hold yourself, crumpled. You are charred, your body humming with poison, radiation and flame, eager to crackle out of you at your slightest impulse, eyes still flaring powerfully.

“I-It hurts..” you gasp weakly.

A true phoenix. Broken and born from ashes.

Carol is there cradling you as tears leak down your face. Wisps of magenta and teal ripple around her with every movement, glittering with cosmic potential, like she contains her very own galaxy. Achingly beautiful.

“I know, birdie.” Carol murmurs as you choke, sputter from the pain. “Fight it. Give it to me.” She says and reaches for your hands.

Carol yelps softly when you push a bit of your glowing gold into her, as she trades starpower for fire and you watch the cage of her chest bloom like a lantern, veins and eyes rimming with ember. She does the same, giving you the moon and stars and the gleaming, lavender milky way.

You let go and Carol gasps as she absorbs a new piece of you. Your mind clears, the pain nothing more than a dull ache.

Exhaustion and shot nerves finally set in as the two of you lie there, quiet enough to hear the wind whistling through pine. You throw your arms around her, your kiss tasting like tears and sand and flushed sunlight.

Carol braces you against her, hoists your arm around her shoulders and lifts you upright. Side by side until the very end.

Then, you take to the skies, blazing like comet streaks and crimson hawks.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x you #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel x female reader #captain marvel x you #carol danvers fanfiction #captain marvel fanfictio #carol danvers fanfic #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel drabble #captain marvel fic #carol danvers #captain marvel #marvel fanfic #reader insert

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iheardarumorxxx · 4 years

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Midnight Sun, Chapter 9 - Port Angeles

Right. I remember this chapter from Twilight. I also have heard quite a bit about this chapter. This is gonna be a ride.

Eddie starts off this chapter saying that he used to be the ‘responsible’ one. I would like to remind everyone that Edward Anthony Masen Cullen spent a few years eating people he percieved to be horrible criminals because he didn’t like animal blood and was being a whiny baby. But go off, Eddie.

SM is still trying to paint Jessica as a rude bitch and I still don’t buy it. It is extremely clear to anyone with eyeballs that Mike has a thing for Bella, and it is pretty obvious that this date he’s going on with Jessica is because Bella said no. So her thoughts come off as insecure. She’s a teenage girl, so I think insecure is a pretty standard thing. Not always, but SM has painted these kids as the stereotypical teens, so.

Basically, I still don’t buy the attempt to make Jessica seem evil.

Bella has wandered off to go get that book she wanted, and Eddie is simply freaking out because he let his daughter out of his sight for one minute and she wandered off. He’s about half a second away from considering getting a leash to put on her. Seriously, though, that’s how this reads. A parent frantic because they lost their child in a crowded store or park. We all know she’s gonna get a serious scolding for this one. Maybe even grounded.

a volly of snarls erupted from my throat

Okay, we’re still not to the big rant about vampire instincts in this universe, yet, but I want you guys to remember this for later. It absolutely aides in the point I plan to make there. Also a ‘volly’ of snarls. That sounds so forced and I genuinely laughed out loud when I read it. Anyway, Eddie has found Bella and she is with the Evil Bad Guys Who Have Ill Intentions.

I would see how he enjoyed the hunt when he was the pray. I would see what he thought of my style of hunting.

Technically a spoiler because it hasn’t happened yet in this book, but not because we’ve seen it in Twilight. Eddie literally does not do anything to this Lanny guy or his friends. He gets out of the car, makes a mean face at them, and then gets back in the car and drives off. Maybe SM has Eddie go back out and hunt them later after he drops Bella off, but that doesn’t fit in with his squeaky clean good boy persona that Daddy Carlisle puts on him, so I doubt it. The scene as we know it comes off as very ‘man, if my girlfriend wasn’t here I’d kick your ass’. Because Eddie is a lot of bloated, puffed up talk.

When SM uses dialogue tags like ‘ordered’ to describe how Eddie says things, it just really hammers home that point I’ve been making about red flags. Even if it’s practical, like him telling Bella to put on a seat belt, especially since Pires bend the will of cars to their inane and idotic physics.

We went on a tangent about one of Eddie’s kills from his Vampire Batman days, and like honestly? I watch a lot of Criminal Minds. I see a lot of this kind of stuff, and it is absolutely awful that people like that exist in the world. I’m not saying that they shouldn’t be stopped. HOWEVER, this idea Eddie has that he was playing a good guy by taking justice into his own hands, I don’t jive with that. Now, I am aware of how faulty the criminal justice system is, especially with victims of sexual assault and domestic violence. I’ve lived that, myself. But if Eddie is so comfortable taking another life, no matter how he tries to justify it, he is no better than the people who he’s deciding to kill for their crimes.

a highly justifiable murder

See, this. This is why I don’t buy that SM’s Cullens are the paragons of good that she is constantly trying to say they are. There is no such thing as a justifiable murder, no matter what. Solving heinous acts with heinous acts simply perpetuates a cycle of heinous acts.

I wasn’t giving her a chance to say no.

This is a trend that will continue throughout the entire series. I will point you to all of the times that Edward never gave Bella a choice in a matter, including leaving her in New Moon, and DISMANTLING HER CAR ENGINE IN ECLIPSE SO THAT SHE COULDN’T GO SEE HER FRIEND. That one in particular rubs me the wrong way for reasons, but we won’t do that here. Just know that Edward never actually lets Bella make a choice in this series, and even when he pretends to, he does everything in his power to make the outcome go his way.

And now we’re at the restaruant. I’ve heard some stuff about this scene and god, can I not WAIT, but for now, let’s just talk about the one off waitress character. She is clearly only here to be a rival to Bella for this scene. Brief, unimportant, underdeveloped. And honestly? One off characters don’t actually need that development, not really, but what I can’t stand about this one is that she is literally only here, both in this book and in Twilight, so that SM can puff up how clearly Bella is so much better than she is. Because, you see, Eddie doesn’t find the pretty hostess attractive, he only has eyes for Bella. Her entire point is so that Edward can look at Bella, and therefore, the audience as Bella is their SI for this world, and go on about how much better and prettier and more perfect she is than this woman. It’s just gross.

“Do I dazzle you?”

This is still, in my personal opinion, the best and most iconic line in a series full of iconic lines. Eddie the Dazzle Machine. Charming the pants off people when he’s trying to scare the shit out of them. It’s hilarious, and so fuckin’ romance novel cliche, and I love it.

This restaurant is apparently a real place in the real Port Angeles. And from what I understand, at least when the Twilight craze was in full swing back in 2008, they got a lot of extra business and a lot more people ordering the mushroom ravioli. Even put something about Twilight on their menu. Good for them, taking advantage of that free marketing. I have never been to Port Angeles, and am allergic to mushrooms, so I can’t say I’ve experienced the dish, but if any of you have, please let me know if it’s worth the hype.

Its so funny that right now, Eddie is worried about Bella being cold and going into shock, while Bella is over there huffing the fumes off his jacket like it’s a paint can, and he can’t even tell that that’s what she’s doing. The girl is doing everything short of just shoving her whole face in it and inhaling, but he’s too thick to get it.

And here we are folks. The meat and potatoes of this chapter. The big comparison. The reason the cover has a pomegranete on it. Edward Anthony Masen Cullen has the absolute GALL to compare Bella, the boring, walking video game avatar to Persephone. Lets break down Persephone for a second here. There’s a lot to break down, but let’s stick to the basics, for fear that this rant gets wickedly out of hand before I can stop it. Persephone radiates optimism and hope. Persephone is soft, sweet, but has a temper that could kill a man. Persephone is sympathetic. When in the ever loving FUCK has Isabella Swan ever shown any of those characteristics? She is NEVER optimistic about anything. She fucking exists in a constant cloud of negative thought and assuming the worst. She isn’t hopeful about ANYTHING, not even her future with her PRECIOUS Eddie because she’s always questioning his intentions and feelings for her. She is not sympathetic in the slightest, no matter what SM tries to shove down my throat. She treats her friends like shit, she manipulates and lies her way through conversations so she doesn’t have to deal with them, she compares Mike to a FUCKING DOG. Bella is not comparable to Persephone, and it’s fucking beyond ham-fisted, it’s fucking EGREGIOUS to try to make that comparison.

I could see more of an argument for comparing Eddie to Hades, since, ya know, Hades fucking stole Persephone to be his wife and most stories about Hades paint him as kind of a moody, brooding dickbag, but I’m still calling fucking foul on this attempt at comparison, SM. No dice.

Moving on.

Eddie describing Bella’s skin as ‘velvety’ gives me war flashbacks to those grocery store checkout novels with Fabio on the cover that my mom used to read. Eghhh.

So, Bella touches Eddie’s hand and it’s described in a way that gives me very G-rated sex vibes. Which just makes me wanna tell them to get a room because they’re in public right now, and also don’t do that in front of Bella’s salad ravioli.

Eddie is still being super controling and weird about Bella eating, and honestly, I super wish that Bella had had the good sense to get the hell out of there with Jess and Angela. Or that she would have the good sense now to excuse herself, find someone on staff, ask to borrow a phone, and call her dad. Because this guy is literally throwing out every red flag that exists. I know I say this a lot, but if Bella were a normal girl, she would not be charmed by this guy, she would be freaking creeped out and trying to get away from him. He isn’t even subtle about his creep factor or charming enough to play it off.

Edward thinking he has any edge at all is like white bread thinking it’s the right kind of bread for a hamburger.

Anyway, chapter ends with Eddie paying the bill and the pair getting in the car to head home. And the drama chord of the last sentence that’s supposed to play in your head when you read it falls flat. They’re on the way back to Forks and Eddie is chomping at the bit to hear Bella’s latest theory that we know from Twilight isn’t actually a theory so much as she heard a story from Jacob and then did some searching on some shitty Angelfire website. Or Geocities. Either way. And then she just went ahead and had a big old prophetic dream about it.

Next time, we get the awkward car ride home and more. Thanks for hanging around guys. As always, feel free to message me (though, please note to anyone who has sent me anon messages that are rude or angry because I’m making fun of this book, I’m gonna ignore you.), recommend what books I should put on my list for my next recap series, and feel free to buy me a snack using the CashApp tag in my bio.

See you next time, babes.

#sierra recaps stuff #midnight sun #midnight sun spoilers #midnight sun recap #twilight #ms chapter 9

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nxrthmizu · 4 years

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Daminette December Day 10: ‘Fluff’

(Once again the Minuit au in which Damian has the Cat Miraculous. In here, Marinette is old enough and owns the bakery on her own, and both Minuit and Ladybug know each other’s identities. They’re both 23.)

@daminette-december2019

---

“M-Minuit?” Marinate asked blearily, opening up the trapdoor just to catch a sight of the black-dressed superhero sitting on her balcony, holding a bouquet of roses.

He stayed silent, only smiling a little at her as he extended the hand holding the flowers, gesturing for her to take them. She blushed, climbing out of the trapdoor to take them, shivering a little in the wintery cold.

“Thank you, chaton. They’re beautiful.” She breathed softly, her warmth sending puffs of white clouds into the cold atmosphere.

“You’re cold.” Minuit stated, already reaching to take off his furry coat. Ignoring her protests and her ‘But you’ll be cold’s, he reached over, pressing her into his chest as he wrapped the coat around her, zipping it up and pulling the furry hood over her dark hair.

“There.” He whispered softly, patting her head gently.

She looked at him, confused. “What are these for, though?”

Minuit shrugged. “Take a guess.”

Marinette pursed her lips cutely, frowning as she searched her brain for a valid reason. “Well, it’s not my birthday, it’s not valentines, it’s not our anniversary...”

Minuit nodded in agreement.

“So what is it?” Marinette asked, her curiosity piquing up.

Minuit shrugged, smiling a little as his cute angel went back to racking her brain for an answer.

“Do you want to know the answer?” He asked, a smirk forming on his face as she turned to him, eyes glowing widely.

“Yes, yes!” She grinned excitedly. She was just cute and easily excitable like that. It was one of the things he loved about her- How she would appreciate all the little little things in life so, so much.

He bit his lip, mentally preparing himself for it. “Plagg, claws off.” Underneath his suit, he’d dressed formally, and he retrieved a small velvet box from his pocket. Getting down on one knee, he smiled, seeing tears already start to form at the brink of her bluebell eyes.

“Marry me?” He smiled hopefully, opening the ring box.

“Yes!” Marinette cried out happily, “Yes, yes! A thousand times yes!”

He slipped the ring onto her finger, kissing it gently because he wanted to.

They stood there in precious silence for a while, until Marinette finally broke it with-

“So, how was patrol?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Bumblebee was being noisy as usual. Complained about the cold all the way.” Marinette giggled.

“That’s what she’s like.” Marinette pointed out, climbing back into their room down the trapdoor.

Once Marinette turned 20, her parents decided to leave the bakery to her, and Damian moved in with her shortly after, and as they already knew each other’s identities as Ladybug and Minuit, their superhero lives became easier and less of sneaking out every time. Damian had used some of his money to renovate the bakery, and they’d renovated Marinette’s bedroom to fit the both of them. The other rooms downstairs were for the other superheroes to crash in, and as the gang often spent time together and had sleepovers, the Dupain-Cheng and soon to be Dupain-Cheng-Wayne bakery became the base for the superheroes.

“We should go downstairs first, angel.” Damian told Marinette, who was still peering at the ring happily. “I think the gang might want to know what happened.”

“SO? You better said yes or else all those hours I spent helping him pick a ring are wasted.” Chloe scowled. “If you said no it would be utterly ridiculous!”

Nathaniel sighed fondly at his girlfriend. “Calm down, Chloe.”

“So?” Luka grinned, waiting for the answer.

“She said yes.” Damian answered them quietly, a proud little smile on his face.

Kagami nodded. “Congratulations. Hurt her, Wayne, and I will slit your throat.”

Damian snorted. “As if you could beat me in fencing in the first place.”

The dragon holder’s eyes flared in anger, and the two prepared for a battle before Luka stopped them.

“We’re here to celebrate the engagement. Your fencing can wait till tomorrow. Also, Kagami, I’m sure Mari would love to have her fiancé in one piece.”

Marinette looked around at the five other people huddled inside her living room, and her heart gave a sudden burst of warmth. These were her family, and boy, wasn’t she glad to have them by her side.

---

Okay maybe that wasn't so much fluff at the end. But I hope you guys enjoyed it! I’m on edge of my chair and my brain is half dead and all that I’m spewing out is just stuff that goes through my brain without being processed.

[@miraculous-simmer7 @bluerosette23 @ladysblackcat @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dast218 @kris-pines04 @shamefullove @thesunanditsangel]

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rosemaidenvixen · 4 years

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Both Sides of the Sky

Claire Nuñez only started courting Lord Strickler's son to appease their parents, not because she actually likes the timid, soft spoken boy. Despite herself, Claire soon becomes fast friends with Jim, and perhaps desires something more. Maybe marriage doesn't have to be so bad after all? However, as they grow closer, it becomes clear that Jim is in grave peril, and Claire is the only one who can help him. But if Claire wants to save the boy she loves, she may have to sacrifice her future with him.

Ao3

Prologue

It was a perfect summer day. Not a single cloud marred the robin’s egg blue of the sky. Claire watched the willow branches spin and sway in the breeze against the cerulean sky from her seat at the tree’s base. Part of her wanted to put down roots and stay there forever.

The sound of shouting and rustling in the rest of the garden informed her that the servants her parents had sent out to search for her had started looking in the garden.

She fisted her fingers in the fabric of her dress. Let them worry. It wasn’t like she cared.

It was her tutor, Lenora Janeth, that found her first. Claire pointedly kept her gaze fixed on the sky above as the older woman dashed around to her side of the tree. She heard Lenora gasp in shock, and from out of the corner of the eye Claire could see her puff herself up, ready to deliver another one of her long winded speeches about responsibility or a lack thereof.

But instead of giving the lecture Claire was expecting, Lenora let out a deep breath and slumped her shoulders, deflating “Claire….I’m sorry, I know this wasn’t the news you were hoping for,”

Lenora’s unexpected sympathy caught Claire off guard. Overwhelmed, she buried her face in her skirt, unwilling to show her tears.

Lenora sat down next to her, making no move to speak or to touch her, allowing Claire her dignity while she sobbed her heart out.

Claire didn’t know if they’d been sitting there for minutes for hours, but eventually something compelled her to speak up.

“It’s just….when Mom gave birth and they announced it was a boy, I was so happy….” she hiccupped out a sob “And then when they announced that I’m still the heir….”

The whole time her mother had been pregnant Claire had desperately pleaded with whatever forces were listening that the child would be a boy. And when the baby had been born and named, Enrique Nuñez, Claire had been beside herself with joy. Her parents had a male child that could take her place as heir of the Arcadia Abbey. Someone else would have to take lessons in language and business and history. Someone else would be bearing the full weight of their parents’ expectations.

And Claire would be free, free from all of it.

But then came the awful announcement this morning. The announcement her parents made that they were breaking tradition. Even though a male child was supposed to be ahead of their sisters’ in inheritance, regardless of age, Ophelia and Javier Nuñez had decided to defy convention. Their first born child, Claire Nuñez, would remain the heir of the estate.

Which meant that she would spend her days locked into monotonous routine. Every waking hour dedicated to bettering her family’s fortune and bettering herself as caretaker of it.

Claire would be both ruler and prisoner of the Arcadia Abbey until the day she died.

A fresh wave of sobs broke out of her, Lenora gingerly reached out and placed an arm around Claire’s shoulders, this time Claire welcomed the contact, leaning into Lenora’s embrace.

They stayed there for a while, Lenora rubbing Claire’s shoulders as the young girl cried. After some time Lenora spoke up “Claire, I know your parents put a lot on your shoulders, too much in my opinion,” she added in a rare display of insubordination “But think of it this way, nearly every young lady spends her girlhood flouncing around and enjoying themselves, but none of them ever grow into women that rule over the wealthiest estate in this side of the country,”

Claire raised her face, looking into Lenora’s sympathetic gaze “I know that must be precious little comfort to you, but try to think of your duties as a privilege rather than a burden,”

Claire sniffled and nodded.

“Do you want to spend a little more time here?”

“No I….” Claire wiped the remaining tears out of her eyes “I’m ready to go back,”

Lenora helped her to her feet and they headed back to the house. Claire looked down at the dirt smears and grass stains on her dress and winced. She was not looking forward to hearing another lecture on the proper cleanliness and presentation a Lady of her station must show.

It was probably just the shock of it all that had her so upset. Even as the Lady of the Nuñez estate, her life wouldn’t be all work and no play. She would still have time to go to dances and operas and spend afternoons at the library or strolling around the city gardens.

Claire was just having a difficult day, that was all.

No sooner did they step inside than they were set upon by her mother.

“Oh Claire, there you are,” In a surprising turn of events, Ophelia didn’t criticize Claire’s filthy dress.

“I have exciting news,” she beamed at them “I’ve arranged for you to go for a morning walk tomorrow with Lord Strickler’s son, James,”

Claire felt her heart sink. It may have been her imagination, but she thought she saw Lenora wince.

If Ophelia noticed of her daughter’s crestfallen look she paid it no mind “We’ll leave first thing in the morning, your father and I will accompany you, but you and James should be able have plenty of time by yourselves to get to know each other,”

Claire felt her dread intensify with her mother’s every word. It was bad enough that she was still stuck in her role as the heir to the Arcadia Abbey, but her parents weren’t even waiting a month after the formal announcement before trying to arrange a marriage between her and suitable young man.

“I’ll….go to my rooms, to start getting ready for tomorrow,” Claire forced the words out and headed to her chambers, ignoring the sympathetic look Lenora flashed her on her way out.

First her lessons, then her inheritance, then being married off the the first young man that caught her parents’ fancy….

Who was Claire kidding, she was never going to be free from any of it.

#Tales of Arcadia #Trollhunters #claire nuñez #jlaire #both sides of the sky #fanfic #rmvwrites

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ice-cream-nekogirl · 5 years

Text

Izuku’s Hell

Hey ya’ll! I’m about to do something not that original lol after showing your version of Hell in https://ice-cream-kitsunegirl.tumblr.com/post/184306689634/young-love-and-an-episode-of-friends-bakugou here, I thought... what would the BNHA boys’ personal Hell’s be I wonder~? I really like the concept of the personal Hells they ma

So... I’ gonna write what I think would probably be their personal hells!! With you, the beloved reader being there to make sure to be there for your precious cinnamon rolls!!

Argh... I’m mean lol... but I live for the feels and the angst... and this is all cuz of my OC Shinigami striking again... his quirk is ‘Hell Prison’ except there’s no spirit plane, instead it just knocks them out and traps them in a comatose-state and showings them their personal Hell’s that they have to wake up from on their own.

First Victim... Deku!! Precious green bean~!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLnpvbBSjUY

The second Izuku opened his eyes he felt disoriented and beyond confused as he looked around with wide eyes full of quivering shock. “W-Where… where am I…?” He said to himself, even though part of him already knew where he was and what he was doing as he felt at least a million eyes on him and he saw nothing but rubble and destruction where he was standing.

Then it hit him. He had become the new Number 1 Hero, fighting against the world’s most evil villain: Tomura Shigaraki. This was all too familiar as he remembered All-Might’s tragic, epic fight against All For One. Except this was way worse, Izuku gasped when he saw how much damage had been done, all the buildings destroyed, fires blazing and crackling as the stink of smoke suffocated him.

And then he saw it. Blood, so much blood and several bodies of the fallen that didn’t survive some of the mayhem born from his fight with Shigaraki. All the lives he didn’t save…

“No…”

He thought in horror as tears welled in his itching eyes but then they widened the moment he focused his vision on Shigaraki. But Shigaraki wasn’t alone as he held a hostage by their throat and pressed his disgusting body against their back with his arm wrapped around their waist. Green eyes dilating as dread held his heart when he realized his worst nightmare come true.

It was you.

“N-No, no…”

It was you, and Izuku was way too far to even try to go over to you in time to save you as Shigaraki held you close in his clutches. His deep chuckling felt disgustingly warm on your neck as he sneered at your boyfriend. “You’re just like All-Might… you can’t really save everyone after all. Not even your beautiful girlfriend…” Shigaraki’s twisted smile shook Izuku to his core as he looked at your terrified figure, and all the sounds of screaming and crying out for help were ringing loudly in his ears.

‘DEKU!!’

‘HELP ME PLEASE!!’

‘PLEASE SAVE US!!’

Izuku was hyperventilating as sweat trickled down his neck and forehead, feeling a wave of dizziness overwhelm his senses as he heard the cries, and saw the blood that almost made him want to vomit before he heard you yelp out in fear. He gasped when he saw your tearful (E/C) eyes when Shigaraki’s arms tightened around you.

“You’d let thousands of others die for one…? Some hero you are…”

He continued to taunt him as Izuku, for a moment let those words strike him as he stood there, frozen in terror. Until he saw Shigaraki licking your neck as you groaned and whimpered as you tried to pull away, “I-Izuku… please…” Your tears streamed down your face as you looked at your boyfriend, praying and hoping for him to hurry before Shigaraki did anything worse. He couldn’t let Shigaraki hurt you, he swore he would protect you, just like he had sworn to protect everyone…

But he couldn’t let you die…

You were the only person who believed in him when no one else did, and the love of his life. He HAD to save you.

“(Y/N)! I’m coming!!”

He took the first step, running faster than he ever had in his entire life, his senses fueled by adrenaline and fear as he headed towards you. But why did he feel like he was moving so slow? Why couldn’t he reach you?

“Izuku!”

You cried and reached your arm out for him when you thought Izuku had made it, his own arm stretched out to try and take your hand. Except your fingers started to turn into dust as Izuku’s eyes grew wide as he watched your face contort into one of horror and betrayal…

“You… said… you would… protect me…”

The words left your lips before your body fell apart and disintegrated as he saw Shigaraki’s fingers had dug into your throat and your hip. There was nothing left except a puff of dust that used to be you as Izuku stopped dead in his tracks and fell to the ground, unable to stop the tears dripping from his horrified eyes…

“(Y/N)!!!”

He clutched the dusted remains of you as the particles sunk into his fingernails as he wailed for you, his tears raining into the ashes beneath him. The sounds of the civilians screaming and Shigaraki’s cackling overwhelming him as he sobbed even louder and shut his eyes and covered his ears in hopes to block it all out.

This wasn’t real… this wasn’t real…

And the minute he opened his eyes again, he saw your body back in one piece but still being held by Shigaraki. He could still save you…

“(Y/N)! I’m coming!!”

“Izuku!”

But he couldn’t save you. He kept running and running towards you, reaching as far as he could and trying to take your hand, but Shigaraki kept pulling you away from him. His fingers sinking into your flesh and decaying your body again and again for Izuku to rewatch on a loop…

“You… said…”

“(Y/N)!!!”

“You’d let thousands of others die for one…?”

“I’m coming!!”

‘DEKU!!’

“Y-You would...”

“(Y/N)!!!”

‘PLEASE SAVE US!!’

“Some hero you are…”

“P-Protect me…”

“(Y/N)!!!”

Shigaraki always held onto you, his wicked grin torturing him as those awful fingers killed you over and over again before Izuku’s eyes.

Your ashes clouded his face as he screamed and cried even harder and louder in horror and mourn as he fell back to his knees into the ashes, distraught and wracked with fear as bile rushed up to his throat as he retched and spewed out the contents of his stomach…

Hyperventilating and helplessly sobbing as he kept his eyes shut. It’s not real… it’s just a villain’s quirk…

IT’S NOT REAL!!

Izuku’s eyes snapped open as he shot up from the bed he was lying on with a loud inhale of oxygen, before he gasped in horror when all of the sickening visions and dreadful suffering sunk back into him after he woke up. Tears automatically flooding his eyes as he whimpered and started to hyperventilate as he stared down at his lap, and barely registered an array of voices calling his name and warm arms coming around him.

“Midoriya!!”

“Deku!”

“Izuku! Izuku you’re awake! Are you all right?!”

It was you, and you were in one piece and Izuku’s head shot up frantically as he looked around and saw the worried faces of Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki and Aoyama.

You were still there… you were here, safe, secure and he could feel you again but he was so scared and shook up that he could barely even move as you held onto him even tighter when he started crying. “Midoriya! Are you all right?” Todoroki was the first to ask him, concern etched over his features when he saw how terrified his friend looked.

“You were hit by a villain’s quirk. Mr. Aizawa caught them before they could escape but everyone is worried.” Iida gave him the intel and despite his fear, Izuku heard his friend and it all made sense to him and now he knew why he had woken up here in the nurse’s office.

“It was quite an attack…” Aoyama was visibly worried because he had seen the whole thing and as soon as the villain touched Izuku’s forehead, the boy had gone down and appeared to be passed out and had to be carried off. He didn’t suffer any internal injuries, but it was like he was in a coma, even though it had only been 15 minutes.

“Deku… what happened?” Uraraka was beyond worried because she has never seen Izuku look so scared as he remained silent for a moment, save for his little whimpers and sniffles.

“Izuku…” You pulled away and cupped his damp cheeks and looked at him with worried tears in your eyes, “Izuku… sweetheart are you okay…? W-What happened…?” You asked your beloved as gently as possible, but the poor thing looked ready to burst into tears again when he thought about that… that Hell...

“I-I was fighting… f-f-fighting… S-Shigaraki… j-just like A-All-Might f-fought All For One… b-b-but…” His voice cracked as he struggled to talk and more tears welled into his eyes and dripped into his clothes, “H-He… t-there were s-so many bodies I-I… I couldn’t… s-save them… a-and y-you… h-heeee h-h-held you hostage b-but… I-I couldn’t save you…” Izuku started sobbing through his barely coherent sentences, closing his eyes tightly in a poor attempt to stop the tears, but he couldn’t, “I-I-I… o-o-on… a-a lllloop… I-I-I t-tried… b-but I-I c-couldn’t reach you…!! (Y/N)! I couldn’t save you! I couldn’t save anyone! I’m sorry!! I-I tried! I broke my promise!! I-I’m so, so sorry (Y/N)!! I’m so sorry!!’” He wailed loudly and your first instinct was to engulf him into the biggest hug as he buried his face into your neck, sobbing his heart out while you rubbed his back in soothing circles, not caring about how wet your clothes were getting.

“I-I’m so sorry... I’m sorry... I-I’m sorry...!”

“Shhhh… no… no, no Izuku… d-don’t… cry… please don’t cry baby you’re okay… it wasn’t real… it wasn’t real… I’m here… I’m here I promise… don’t be sorry... there’s nothing to be sorry for...” Your own voice started breaking as you gently hushed your very upset and scared boyfriend, rocking him a little bit as you kept whispering ‘it’s okay’ to him as many times as needed.

“You’re the greatest hero in the world Izuku… you’ve saved so many people… you’ve saved me so many times… Shigaraki can’t get me… I’d never let him… and I’d never let him get near you either…” It hurt remembering the ordeal at the mall where Izuku barely escaped with his life because of that degenerate. You wished over and over again that you could have gotten to him sooner, even though thankfully Uraraka showed up to make him leave, you didn’t want to imagine what would have happened to your dear Izuku if not for her…

“I’m right here… I swear I’m right here… and you didn’t break any promise… you’re okay… I’m okay… we’re all okay…” You didn’t dare let him go, kissing the top of his head as you smiled a bit when Izuku’s cries quieted down and he wasn’t trembling as bad once he felt your warm arms holding him and your soft voice reminding him that he was back to reality.

Neither of you saw how much Iida, Todoroki and Aoyama were blushing as they each looked away rather awkwardly at such a tender moment between you too. Uraraka on the other hand, appeared more somber, yet touched and relieved that Izuku was okay…

“Take a deep breath for me ‘Zuku…” You whispered softly as Izuku shakily complied, his breaths still a bit shallow but with your encouragement he was able to slowly calm down as he focused entirely on your voice and your arms around him.

He was here... you were here...

“I’m… I’m so glad…” Izuku sniffled and was able to speak more clearly again after calming down a little bit, even though he let out a small sob of relief as he hugged you rather tightly. His breathing shaky as he felt your body against his, taking in your smell and your warmth and nuzzling into your shoulder as you hummed stroked his soft hair.

You loved this boy so much it broke your heart seeing him break down like that, but no villain was ever going to frighten him like that again. “Me too… oh Izuku… Izuku I love you… don’t let any villain’s quirk make you doubt that okay…?” Blushing, you pulled away to gently peck him on the lips as the boy perked up and his cheeks flushed a bright red and his expression turned bashful.

“I…I won’t…” He stuttered rather shyly as you giggled a bit, now you knew your boyfriend was definitely mostly okay again. But you hugged him again, tightly and lovingly and Izuku didn’t fight it as he put his arms around you, holding you in the biggest hug.

He might have promised to always protect you, but even heroes like him needed you to save him too.

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