#I also messed up Green hair again goddammit >^<"

[bellysoupset]

❤️❤️ i love your characters!! i was wondering if you'd write a little ficlet where lucas gets a really bad stomach flu or something? like very sick? thanks!

Ask you shall receive, nonny! This is also for another anon, who asked for "feverish sick Lucas, so dizzy he pukes on the bed"

"Don't come over tonight." Bella's heart plummeted to her stomach as she read the text over and over again, trying to make sense of it. Lucas sounded pissed, but she couldn't figure out why he would be. His contact turned green again and she saw him typing, then deleting, then typing- She was already chewing at her lip when the second text came through, "sick, don't want u to get it."

"Goddammit Luke," She breathed out in relief, putting down the phone for a second and forcing her heart to calm down. So dumb. She raised the phone up again and typed quickly, "yeah, not gonna happen. do you need anything from the pharmacy?"

"Bell, I'm serious, don't come over."

Ever since she had ended up in the hospital with that ear infection, Lucas had been insufferable when it came to her health. She knew it was due to a lot of unresolved trauma, but it didn't make it any less annoying.

"Suddenly, I can't read. Love you" She typed back, shoving the phone back in her purse as she made her way to the parking lot. Lucas was a little bit of a hypochondriac so she wasn't too worried about him having medication, but food that was actually healthy and fulfilling? Yeah. Besides, he chugged Gatorade on good days, so she dumped a couple more bottles in her basket at the grocery store.

The apartment was quiet and dark when she let herself in, much different from its usual state of disarray with the curtains pulled back. She stripped down her boots at the door and made her way to the kitchen first to put away the items, figuring Lucas was asleep by how quiet the place was.

He was in bed alright, curled up under the blankets, just the top of his hair poking out. She smiled at the scene and looked around the room. It wasn't any different from how she had last seen it, wasn't it for his water bottle being right next to him on the bed, instead of on the bedside table.

She walked over to the Lucas-shaped lump of blankets and slowly pulled them back, "Luke?" Bella whispered, grimacing as she took in his face. He was pale and sweaty, big bright red splotches on his cheeks, "oh honey," she cupped his cheek, noticing the searing heat rolling off of him.

He stirred slightly and opened his eyes, frowning immediately as he took her in, "told you not to come, Bell."

"You worry too much," she rolled her eyes, combing his hair back, "when did this hit?"

"Morning," he groaned, letting his eyes slip closed again under her soothing touch, "woke up feeling super gross."

"Gross?" she leaned in to press her lips to his forehead, an habit her mom had passed down to her, of measuring the fever. Even to her warm lips his forehead felt way too warm, "how gross?"

"Head hurts," he sniffled, "my eyes hurt too. My stomach. My joints-"

"Is there anything that doesn't hurt?" Bella huffed and he let out a weak laugh.

"My hair."

"Great," she rolled her eyes in an affectionate way, "did you take anything for that fever?"

"Uhm..." Luke yawned, nodding quietly, "I took Tylenol, earlier."

"Earlier when?"

"When I wo-" he yawned once more, "woke up."

So, judging by how sleepy he was, anything ranging from six hours before to thirty minutes. Bella sighed, "Well, I don't think it's working at all, babe," she grabbed his water bottle and opened the bedside table, going through the mess of analgesics he always had for when training was rough, "one more, okay?"

Lucas grimaced and opened his eyes again, they were bright because of the fever, "no," he shook his head, forcing himself to sit up, "they're just gonna come back up."

This made her frown, "have you been puking?"

"No," Luke groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, "but I feel so gross, Bell."

She would never cease finding his mannerisms adorable, Bella thought, before putting the medication back down, "alright. We can try it later, just drink some water, please?"

He took the water bottle reluctantly and forced down a couple gulps, before turning his head with a grimace and burping wetly, "that was disgusting."

"Good enough for now," she admitted defeat, getting up from the bed and walking into the bathroom. She wet a washcloth and then came back to the bed, brushing it over Luke's brow and causing him to let out a moan.

"I love you," he sighed, sinking down on the pillows again, "have I told you I love you?"

"Doesn't hurt to say it again," Bella smiled, moving the washcloth to his neck, "get some rest, I'm going to wake you up in a couple hours to eat."

"No food," Lucas groaned and she tugged at his oversized shirt, to have some access to his chest.

"Can't take tylenol on an empty stomach, honey," Bella leaned in, kissing his temple again, "sleep."

He didn't need much prodding to fall back into a fitful sleep, snoring softly. Bella sat there for the longest minute, just watching the careful rise and fall of his chest, before shaking her head out of the daze and coaching herself into sorting things around.

Lucas met her in the kitchen, two hours and a half later. He had moved out of the the room with one of the blankets thrown around his shoulders, attracted by the smell of food. His hair was sticking out everywhere and he definitely needed to shave by now.

"Changed your mind on not being hungry?"

He wrinkled his nose, "not sure. I was lonely though."

She snorted, turning off the heat of the soup, "you were asleep, boy."

"Was lonely in my sleep," Lucas pouted, collapsing sitting down by the kitchen table and cradling his head, "I hate being sick."

"Not sure there's a single person who enjoys it, Luke," Bella gave the soup a final stir and checked for salt, "you need to eat, babe."

"Really?"

"Really," she sighed, filling up a small plate, "I know your stomach feels gross, but you'll feel worse if you take meds without eating and-" she moved closer to the table, planting the plate in front of him and a hand on his forehead, "and you really need the fever meds."

"Uhm," he groaned grumpily and she stretched across the room to grab him a spoon. It was almost comical to see Lucas, a man who was always excited about food, grimace and drink his soup daintily.

She didn't bother sitting back down, instead Bell stood behind him, hands on his shoulders, occasionally playing with his hair when he put the spoon down and groaned loudly, "I'm sure it tastes good-" Lucas pressed a fist to his mouth and badly muffled another sick sounding burp, "but I can't eat anymore."

He had eaten only half the plate, but it was enough for the medicine, or at least she hoped so, "it's okay," Bella leaned in, kissing his temple and Luke immediately leaned onto the touch, "meds and bed now, alright?"

"Uhm, sounds perfect."

He swallowed the two pills she handed him with a grimace. Then stood up and promptly swayed on the spot, causing her to rush to wrap her arms around his torso, "Luke?"

"Dizzy," he groaned, eyes shut tight, "Bell, can't we just go lie down?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course-" she rambled, worried over the insane heat radiating from him. She prayed the medication worked fast.

Not ten minutes later they were back in his bed. Bella stripped down her daily clothes, putting on one of his shirts that looked like a dress on her, and lied back on the pillows, opening her arms as an unspoken invitation. He didn't need more as he promptly collapsed on top of her, face mushed on her chest.

"You're so comfy."

She squirmed under his weight and then closed her eyes too, "do you wann-" a hiccup jostled him, interrupting her and Lucas let out a moan.

"God, no."

She frowned, glancing at the top of his head right under her chin, "Lucas?"

"'mfine," he mumbled, sounding the very opposite of fine, "I just-" he pulled back from their position, sitting up on the bed, his head hitting the cushioned headboard, "fuck that soup."

A chill went down her spine, "babe, I think we should move this party to the bathroom-"

"Can't-" another sick sounding hiccup, this one making her cringe and kick off the blankets, because it sounded awfully like all the liquid had rocketed to his throat, "Bell-"

"Okay, I'm gonna get you a bowl," she decided, figuring he meant he was too weak and dizzy to get up, "be right ba-"

He leaned forward, completely out of it, mouth open and Bella got up in a jump. She bolted to the kitchen and grabbed the first big thing she could get her hands on, leaping back to the bedroom-

Lucas was still staring at his lap, a little line of drool hanging from his bottom lip, as his chest jostled with a gag, "B..."

"I'm here, I'm here-" she crawled on the bed and planted the bowl - it was actually an old ice cream tub, she realized now - on his lap. He gagged again, more violently.

"I don't-" he burped, a stronger stream of colored drool hit the tub and Bella grimaced, turning her head to avoid looking at it, while holding his bicep to keep him from swaying.

"You're alright, baby..."

Then he heaved, hard and she heard, instead of seeing, as vomit shot up. She felt his whole body struggling once the liquid stop, trying to bring up more-

"Bell..." Lucas whimpered and she turned to face him, only to realize he had completely missed the ice cream tub and vomited down on the comforter, pooling on his lap.

"Oh fuck, Luke..." she groaned, before correcting herself quickly when he let out another pathetic whimper, "it's okay, it's just a blanket, baby," she combed his hair back, now grabbing the ice cream tub because clearly he had no possibility of aiming, "are you done?"

He answered by lurching forward with another heave, bringing up all the water and bits and pieces of the veggies she had put in the soup. Most of it got in the tub, some of it splashed on her hand and Bella fought a gag of her own.

Lucas let out a drawn out moan, "I'm not done," he mumbled in a thick voice and she nodded in understanding, squeezing the plastic of the tub.

"It's okay, don't fight it," Bell rambled, though she was pretty sure he wasn't. He leaned forward even more and she moved the tub to try and catch it - Lucas burped, twice, then brought up another stream of nothing but water and some bile.

"Fuck," he sighed, then coughed, "I... I think I'm done."

She could've cried with relief, the death grip of worry on her chest easing just a little, "alright..." Bella bit down her lip, glancing at the mess, "let's get you cleaned up, hold on."

It was a bit of a hassle, first she rushed to dispose of the tub - washing it on the sink after pouring the puke on the toilet, bringing it back to the room just in case - and then folded the blankets in, trying hard not to gag to avoid hurting Lucas' feelings, because he already looked damn close to tears.

"I'm sorry."

"It's just vomit, baby," Bella grimaced, holding the blanket away from her body, "I'm gonna put this in the washing machine, you're good?"

He nodded, though his face looked milky white and she felt no reassurance at all.

When she came back to the room, he was sitting down with his legs out of the bed, like he was ready to get up, the ice cream tub once more planted on his lap.

"God, Luke, you're still nauseous?" Bella whispered, crawling on the bed to hold him by the shoulders. He didn't answer her, only nodded and she cursed softly as she felt the heat rolling off of him. This couldn't be good, not when he had just vomited up all the medicine.

He buried his face in the tub and heaved, but as she expected, there was nothing left to bring up. Still, Bell rubbed his back and whispered sweet nothings, hoping it would at least make him feel better.

He put the carton back down, turned his head and mushed his face on her neck crook, "hurts Bell..."

"Wanna try the water again?" she whispered, struggling to keep straight as he leaned more of his weight on her. Lucas groaned and she sighed, "at least then you'll have something to bring up, Luke."

He gagged, didn't bother to pull back from the embrace, "fine..."

It was a struggle to get him to drink, as he kept gagging around the bottle's finish. He let out a "no more-" and then folded in half, squeezing the tub in his big hands to the point Bella wondered if this was just nausea or something else- And then Lucas vomited all the water up again, so quickly after drinking that it still looked pretty much the same.

It brought up some more chunks from the soup, made him whine and then tip to the side -

"Lucas!" Bella exclaimed, grabbing the ice cream container before he dropped it, and catching him before he fell off the bed too. He slumped on her.

"'mdizzy, B."

"I know, I know," she put the ruined container on his bedside table, "c'mon, lie down," he obeyed quietly, collapsing against the pillows again and Bella let out a sigh of relief when it seemed the worst was over, for now at least.

She had to do something about the fever.

Bella got up to go grab the previous washcloth she had wet, only for him to grab her (his) shirt and whine, "Bell?"

"Shh... I'm gonna be right back," she unhooked his big fingers from her shirt, "just one second, Luke."

"Please," he said pitifully and she rushed to the bathroom. In the twenty seconds it took her to come back, he rolled onto his side and curled up.

"Aw, honey," Bella whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed and planting the washcloth on his overheated forehead, using it to wipe down his face, "you'll feel better in a couple hours, it's probably just a 24 hours bug..." she reassured him, prayed she was right.

He nodded, leaned against the washcloth, "You'll stay?"

Bella wondered where the hell he thought she was leaving to, at midnight, and how he had come to the conclusion she could possibly leave him alone. Instead of voicing these frustrations, though, she leaned in to kiss his temple again, "not going anywhere."

He relaxed with a little sigh, eyes closing, "okay..."

#sickfic #lucas atwood #emeto #stomach flu #stomach bug #mywriting #fever

[trainer-kiki]

Just Red kissing Green’s hand, since I’ve been thinking about this for weeks and couldn’t really focus on drawing anything else. :’D

I have always thought (and by always I mean last six months lmao) that since Red doesn’t talk that much, he shows his affection to Green by kissing and hugging him (and touching =u=).~  And Green just loves to use his voice to tell Red how much he loves him and how happy he’s to be with him. 

Sometimes Green even sings for Red. And then Red showers him with kisses and hugs

I need a boyfriend lmao

#I'm trying to draw again #I guess I'm getting better at drawing boys #But I still got a long way to go =_= #oh well that's just how life is when you have no real talent lmao #but I still got my willpower so...💪💪 #I also messed up Green hair again goddammit >^<" #oh well whatever #Namelessshipping #Trainer Red #Trainer Green #Trainer Blue #Reguri #Tiina tries to draw Pokemonstuff #Artists of Tumblr #Tiina's art

[jawritter]

Miracle On 37th Street

Summary: Time doesn’t heal all wounds, sometimes it just drives them into our bones and festers there, until forgiveness is a four letter word, and it’s to late for second chances. 

Part two of: Merry Christmas Sweetheart

Warnings: Language, fluff, mentions of past heartbreak, multiple viewpoints, I think that’s about everything for this one. It’s pretty much flooff lol. 

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo and also for @deanwanddamons 2k celebration! Congrats again hun!

Square Field: Coming Home For Christmas

Prompte: You had me at hello

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2802

A/N: This fic was beta’d by the lovely @miss-nerd95! Thanks again love!! Also fun fact. There really is a 37th street they deck out in Austin, Texas every year for Christmas. It’s pretty awesome, look it up. Please don’t copy my work! I hope you all enjoy this one! 

**MASTERLIST**   **BECOME A PATREON**

Jensen’s POV: 

To say that sleep had evaded Jensen was an understatement. All he could think about was you and the hurt in your eyes when you turned away from him for the very last time, and stepped out into the cold. It haunted him. Seeping into his subconscious, and turning into nightmares of blinding snow, and him calling your name, but never being able to find you, you were always just out of reach. 

At around three in the morning he’d given up on sleeping all together and decided it was time to revisit the bottle of perfectly aged Royal Salute he kept for nights just like this. He did note that he’d been seeing this particular friend a lot more since him and Danneel decided it was time to stop fooling themselves and move on to at least try and be happy; but he was way too stressed and heartbroken to worry about his drinking habits right now. 

A quick glance outside his bedroom window told him that there was no way in hell you were flying out to New York before Christmas. It had to be the biggest snow storm Austin had seen in years, and he knew for sure all flights were probably gonna be grounded well after next year began. 

He didn’t know what the hell he expected of you. Why did he think that you'd just fall at his feet after over 10 years of him being a dick and rubbing his marriage directly on your wounds? Fat chance. You were stronger than that, always were stronger than he was. He was a coward when he ran from his feelings all those years ago, and he was still a coward now, hiding three glasses deep in his whiskey and alone. 

He couldn’t let you go back to New York without telling how he really felt for what felt like the millionth time in a row, it would kill him. He had hoped placing the little box on Steve’s door step would be enough. That you’d find it, and maybe you’d see how serious he was. Sitting here without anyone around, now he knew that was just a shot in the dark, so he picked up his phone and tried to call Steve to retrieve it for him, but his phone just went to voicemail. 

That started a whole new set of worries for Jensen. What if you were with Steve? What if you had gone to bed with him? Seeking comfort from a long standing friend that you were never able to get from him?

“Goddammit!” Jensen yelled to the echoing and empty room around him, throwing his phone across the room before running his fingers through his hair harshly, trying to literally pull the cruel images his mind had placed there of you and his best friend together out by the roots. 

He had to go get that ring. If you saw it, it would only make things worse either with you and him or for you and Steve. It was a heartbroken and desperate move that he shouldn’t have made, he should've known better than that. He wasn’t drunk, and it wasn't like anyone would be on the streets in this weather. It was very unlikely for whatever the reason that the two of you were awake still, and it wasn’t like Steve lived that far from him. 

Grabbing his coat and boats Jensen raced to the car through the cold, still steadily falling snow, scrapping the window as quickly as he could, and sliding inside to start the heater so that he could defrost the window enough to back out onto the ice and snow covered road. 

Once he was inside the safety of the car with the heater and defrost going full blast he saw something as he backed out onto the street that made him halt his movements. The small star christmas lights that were hanging on the pole that the town workers placed every year twinkled at him like a small little beacon of hope against the falling snow. It hit him then, the perfect plan to get you talk to him. The time he couldn't mess this up. This was his last chance. Step one was to go get those rings before either Steve or your found them. Then he’d set the rest up in the morning. 

Readers POV: 

“Steve, it’s cold out here. Why the sudden interest in Christmas lights?” you whined at your friend as he pulled you from the warmth of the car, and started to walk down the crowded street through the mass of people heading towards Austin’s main Christmas attraction. The lights on 34th street. 

You couldn’t deny it was beautiful, and something you hadn’t seen in person in a decade or so, but right now you just weren’t in the mood. You’d spent most of last night pissed at Steve for letting Jensen pick you up from the airport when he damn well knew why you left for New York in the first place, and two-seeing hurt you caused in the green eyes you loved as you slammed the car door in his face before going into Steve’s house had not given you the feelings of acceptance, revenge and that you could finally move on that you had hoped for. 

After you had ripped Steve a new one and drank enough alcohol between the two of you to numb you broken and bleeding heart a little, you had decided to just fly home and cancel your interview with the client that had yet to return your calls since you landed in Austin; only to find out that there would be no flights out of any of the local airports until after the New Year. Texas just wasn’t used to this kind of weather, and it had effectively put you home for Christmas for the first time in years, whether you wanted to be here or not.

“Come on, it’s the first year you’ve been actually home for Christmas in over a decade Y/N, it will be fun, you used to love going to look at the Christmas lights on 37th Street.”

You grumbled under your breath as Steve lead you to the little street booth that was set up to sell hot chocolate and cookies, letting him buy you a warm drink to help fight against the bitter cold before leading you to sit down at one of the little tables a little further away from everyone else on the street. 

“Wait here, I’ve got to go to the restroom. I’ll be right back,” he said once you were settled, disappearing before you could argue about being left here alone amongst the bustling crowd of strangers. You glare at his retreating back and curse his bladder before looking down into your steaming cup of hot chocolate, taking a sip of the warm liquid and humming at the hot, sweetness as it hits your taste buds.  

The street was beautiful. There were twinkling lights and decorations everywhere, it looked a little bit like a little piece of the North Pole had dropped itself right down in the middle of Texas. You had forgotten how nice it was this time of year around here. The little shops on full decorated display, and everyone seemed to just about know everyone by name, almost like in the movies that play on those crappy hallmark channels. It was sweet, and even if you were hell bent on avoiding it due to a certain someone, it was still home. This was the first time you’d missed the simpler, slower pace in a long time. You didn’t know if it was the nostalgia in the air or if it was the season itself, but this was the closest you had felt to at home in years. 

“This seat taken?” A deep, smooth baritone voice asked from across the table, and your eyes met the green gaze that had been haunting you like an old ghost of your past all night long, that  wounded look which tugged at your heart strings buried not so deep under the surface of his soft gaze. 

“No,” you answer shortly, afraid to see those pathetic eyes that he’d given you when you left him last night.

Jensen gave you a stiff smile and slid into the seat across the small table. Looking around at the passing people who seemed to all but ignore their local celebrity like seeing him was just another Tuesday for them. 

“It’s beautiful down here this time of year isn’t it?” he asked, eyes shifting over the glittering sparkling decorations that were still hung with a small bit of snow that lingered on them, only making them shine brighter against the night sky. 

“What do you want Jensen,” you asked him, cutting right to the point. “I was pretty sure we said all we had to say to each other yesterday.”

Jensen sat up a little straighter in his seat, and looked down at his hands that were folded on the table in front of him before meeting your gaze again. 

“That’s just it, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but scared all the same, letting all his emotions be out on full display for you to see. Not hiding anything at all. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it open and honest for the first time in his life, no matter how much that scared him. “You said a lot, and what you said was valid, but sweetheart I still have a lot I need you to hear.”

You swallowed around the lump of nothing in your throat, but didn’t trust your voice to work, so you just stared at him and waited. Not getting a response out of you, Jensen sat up a little straighter and dug around in his pocket, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped box and sliding it across the table at you. 

You stared at it suspiciously before meeting his gaze wearily. 

“You wanted to give me a present?” you ask him a little dumbfounded and he chuckled darkly before sitting back and shoving his hands into his pockets, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Yeah, you can say that,” he said, guestering for you to open it with a nod of his head. 

Slowly, hesitatingly you picked up the box with shaking hands and began to unwrap it by pulling the little ribbon on top carefully before removing the lid. Inside lay two wedding rings, a broader and bigger one which was definitely for a man and another a gorgeous feminine wedding ring. 

You looked up at him in confusion before taking the small, golden band in your hand and turning it, reflections of the twinkling lights above you making it shine. 

“Jensen, I don’t understand,” you tell him honestly, and this time when you met his gaze there were tears there, burning his eyes a little redder just below the surface that he wouldn’t allow to fall. You swore your heart broke all over again. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N,” he said, his voice deeper and rougher than you were used to. You just sat there in silence sensing there was a lot more to this story.

“I hurt you. I did you as wrong as I could go, and I’m really sorry. I used you as a safety net, knowing damn good and well what you felt for me, but I was to afraid of the way you made me feel to ever act on what I should have and instead listen to people that didn’t know shit; people that said she’d be a better fit than you for me.”

Realization hit you, along with a flood of tears that seemed to fall of their own free will as you dropped Jensen’s wedding band into the box and sat it down in the middle of the table as if it were on fire. “Jensen I…”

“Baby please let me finish. Then you can tell me to go to hell, or fuck off for good, but let me do this,” he cut you and you bit down hard on your lip as his own tears started to fall down his perfect face. “Before you even say it, no, you were not the reason I left Danneel. She and I were not good for each other, we were both unhappy, and we both deserved to have something better. She didn’t do anything wrong, and neither did I.” 

You nod to show him that you understood, even if your head was reeling like you were drunk . You could just sense he needed the encouragement to keep going, and you saw him breath a small sigh of relief before he continued. 

“I tried to love her, I swear I did, but no matter what I did or how hard I tried it always came back to you. You may not realize it, maybe I hid it too well, but sweetheart you had me at hello. You asked me last night if I missed you at the altar, and through all these years of milestones I shared with someone else, or even when I was with her. Baby girl, you were always my first thought in the morning and the last one I had before I went to sleep at night.” 

Jensen moved his chair a bit closer to you, taking your hand in his and holding your gaze. 

“The night you left I damn near drank myself to death, and I couldn’t even tell Danneel why. She deserves someone who could give her their whole heart. Mine always belonged to you sweetheart. I know I'm asking for a lot, but if you’d let me, I want to try and make up for all these years I’ve wasted. Years I should have given to you. I loved you then, Y/N, and I still do. Now if you can look at me and tell me you feel nothing for me anymore and walk away I wont try and contact you again, but baby please, please let me do now what I should have done all those years ago. I wanna be yours, if you'll have me.”

You stared at him in complete disbelief for a moment as your mind tried to wrap around his confession. You were numb, but this time not from heartbreak, but shock. You never knew. He’d hidden it all so well. You never knew he had feelings for you at all, and now here he was, asking for a chance. Something you had never even let yourself dream that would happen, and all you could do was cry and he made his way to his knees in the cold snow in front of you, tears of his own falling freely down his wretchedly beautiful face. 

“Please sweetheart, I know this is overwhelming. I know it’s a lot to process, but baby, I’m not above begging, not when it comes to you. Say something. I was the client you were supposed to meet. I was trying to get you down here to me so I could ask for another chance with you. I’m putting everything I have on the line for you here, and it’s all for you. Please”

His eyes showed years of hurt that you were all so familiar with, and all you could do was shake your head and say, “okay.” 

It was all he seemed to need, standing to his feet in front of you, he pulled you up to him, lips meeting yours for the very first time in all the years you had known each other. It was deep, and held so much feeling that it knocked you breathless for a moment. When he pulled away from you, Steve was standing next to you two with a smirk on his face and his arms folded across his chest.

“About goddamn time,” he said, smiling at the two of you, you still nestled in Jensen’s strong embrace as snow started to flurry around you again. This time though it didn’t feel quite as cold. 

“He’s got a lot of making up to do,” you tell Steve, looking up to meet Jensen's soft stare. He looked as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders, and you could have sworn he looked years younger standing there in front of you. 

“Baby, I look forward to it, won't let you down now” he told you, brushing his lips against your own once more, sealing a promise of forever, and renewing your faith that miracles did happen, even in the most unexpected place, and even when we think that they never will. 

You just have to keep your eyes, ears and heart open.

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#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles one shot #jensen x reader #jensen x you #spnchristmasbingo #x reader inserts #spn fanficiton #spn fanfic #spn one shot #jawritter #deanwanddemons2kcelebration

[supernaturalfreewill]

Sam x Reader Warnings: none! A/N: Short update. This is part of a series! Find the other parts (and more!) on the Master List.

Your name: submit What is this?

Finally, you couldn’t stand to stay in bed a moment longer. You threw the covers off, having hardly slept at all, and limped into the bathroom, quickly washing your face and brushing your teeth. You couldn’t help but smile as you looked at your reflection in the mirror and smoothed the flyaways in your hair. You wandered down the long hallway, one hand sliding on the cool wall as you leaned on it to take some weight off your stitched-up leg, and turned into the kitchen. It was empty but for once didn’t feel lonely. You set about brewing some coffee and hummed happily while you measured the grounds. Everything felt new. There was (for once) a feeling of happy expectation in the air and you breathed it in with deep, relaxed breaths. You felt as if you had arrived at the top of a hill you’d been climbing for years and were looking out over a road stretched before your feet, smooth and unbroken as it meandered over verdant pastures and through cheerful woods.

You settled in to a fresh cup of coffee, cupping the warm ceramic in your hands and taking a deep breath in of the roasty steam, your eyes closed in a blissful smile.

The sound of soft footsteps caught your attention and you looked over to see Sam leaning on the doorframe, smiling at you. The grin that spread on your face was reflexive. Sam loved how your eyes crinkled at the corners. “Hey,” you said.

You felt your cheeks color with a blush and grinned at him again, tilting your head a little. “I was thinking about you doing that all night, too,” you said. Sam grinned again.

“That’s good to hear.” He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee before sinking down onto the stool beside you at the kitchen island. Neither of you could keep a smile off your lips. “How’s your leg feeling?”

“You know, it’s weird, but I hardly notice it today. It’s like my mind is… completely elsewhere,” you replied, raising your eyebrows at him and biting your bottom lip. “How’s your hand doing?”

Sam looked down at his cast. “Hardly remember it’s even in a cast.” You smirked at him again. “So,” he sighed, giving you a conspiratorial look, “apparently we both had the same idea this morning,” he said.

You cocked your head in a question.

“I went in to tell Dean that uhh… well, that I finally kissed you and he said you had already been in there.” Sam pressed his lips into a thin, amused smile. His eyebrows lifted toward the ceiling.

You let out a bashful laugh. “Oh, no. On a scale of 1 to 10 how pissed was he to be woken up again?”

Sam waved it off. “I’d say a begrudged four… He didn’t even pull a weapon on me, so that’s something. It was fine. He was just—he’s happy for us.”

“So… wait… you went in to tell Dean… Does that mean that he knew that you—?”

Sam ran a hand back through his hair again, a little anxiously. “Yeah… well… it kind of burst out of me a while ago that I was—” Sam had almost spilled the “L” word but he quickly rerouted, not sure you were ready to hear that yet, despite it being the truth, “—that I had feelings for you.”

You stared at him. “How long is ‘a while ago’?”

Sam blew an exhale out through his lips and tried to hide behind his mug. “I mean… maybe like, uhh, a month. Err, maybe more…”

“A month?” you repeated, your jaw hanging slightly open. Sam looked suddenly anxious. “While you were still with my sister,” you thought aloud.

Sam gulped. “Yeah, I… Yeah.” He tried to read your expression. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Can I ask… how long you—?”

Sam gulped again. He looked down at his coffee and sighed. “To be honest, I don’t even think I really know… it’s almost like I always have had feelings for you and I was just too stupid to realize it.” His eyes lifted to meet yours again. His expression was sincere. “I wasted so much time…”

“But Dean knew for over a month,” you repeated again, shaking your head.

Sam was running a finger around the lip of his mug. “Yeah, I just was scared—I—”

But you suddenly laughed and rested your hand on his arm, soothing his fears and sending a jolt of electricity through him. “No, Sam. It’s not that… I’m just amazed that Dean didn’t spill it. And maybe also a little annoyed.”

Sam’s hand came to rest over the top of yours and his thumb smoothed over the back of your hand, sparking with electricity and sending both of your hearts leaping. “Wait… so Dean knew that you--about me?” Sam asked.

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed.

“Huh…” Sam said thoughtfully. So, Dean knew that you both had feelings for the other through basically the entire, torturous process. “I really can’t believe he didn’t yell it out in frustration. That must have been driving him—”

“Completely insane?” came Dean’s deep voice from the doorway. He was leaning against one side of the frame, just the way Sam had been, with a crooked smile on his face. “It was. It was driving me insane. Do you know how hard it is to listen to someone pine and wring their hands over something for months and months all while you have a piece of information that would probably solve everything, make everything better, and you can’t share that? It sucks. It’s terrible. I hated it. It worse than sucks. I never want anyone to tell me anything ever again!” he finished dramatically.

You and Sam exchanged tight smiles before shooting him an apologetic look. “But you kept your promises. Both of them,” you said, giving him an impressed look.

“You’re goddamn right I did,” he said, straightening up. His green eyes drifted down to your hand on Sam’s arm, and Sam’s hand on top of it and his smile widened. “And now look at you. A couple of gimpy cripples in love,” he said.

You and Sam’s eyes both shot open wide and you looked over at Sam briefly before staring back at Dean, your mouth now hanging open. “…What did you just say?” you asked him.

“Oh—” Dean seemed to realize what he had just let slip. “Uhh… Dammit. I—umm…” he shrugged and gestured vaguely, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Dean—what did you just say?” you asked again. You really thought maybe you had imagined it. Had Dean really just said “in love”?

You now looked at Sam and though his eyes were wide like yours you didn’t see any turmoil in them. He cleared his throat and looked down again at your hand in his before meeting your eyes steadily. “He said ‘in love’,” Sam said. “And I’m not going to try and correct him because that’s the truth. I’m insanely in love with you. And I don’t even know how long I have been.” He nervously licked his lips but his eyes didn’t stray from yours. “And if you’re not ready to say that—if that’s just too fast, or too much right now then, that’s fine but—"

Sam was interrupted by three loud, echoing bangs coming from the direction of the front of the bunker.

“Was that just someone knocking?” Dean asked. His answer was another series of bangs.

“Someone is knocking,” you said. “Who the hell would be knocking here?” Your heart started to race, your mind immediately jumping to worse case scenarios.

Sam looked at Dean and the two of them were immediately a blur of action. Dean suddenly produced his pistol, which he apparently always had on him, and pointed vehemently at you. “Y/N, you stay here! You’ve got a messed-up leg!”

“Dean, I can—”

“No!” Dean roared. You looked at Sam for help and he only gave you a sympathetic look, shaking his head, and gently grabbed your shoulders.

“He’s right. Just wait here. We’ll check it out,” he said.

“You’ve got a fucked-up hand!” you called after Sam, sliding down off your stool and landing hard on your feet which sent a jolt of pain through your injured leg. “Goddammit…” you swore under your breath. The Winchester brothers had already disappeared into the front room, and you hobbled toward the doorway.

The brothers clattered up the stairs to the heavy metal door which served as the front entrance to the bunker. Dean got ready with his pistol aimed at the entrance and Sam was waiting to heave it open.

Dean nodded and Sam quickly unlatched the lock and yanked the heavy door open as hard as he could.

“Oh.” Dean immediately lowered his gun when he saw who had been knocking. “Uhh…” his eyes found Sam who stepped around the door to look outside.

Sam’s mouth dropped open when he saw the figure. It was your sister. She was standing there, looking out of place and wringing her hands.

“Hi,” she said, quietly. “Umm… Sam, can we—could we talk?”

Dean awkwardly cleared his throat and glanced at his little brother’s face, which was still just frozen in that same stunned expression. “Well, I definitely don’t need to be here.” He thumped Sam on the back and rushed down the stairs as fast as he could, but not before shooting a seriously unhappy glare at your sister.

Sam still hadn’t said anything and was just staring, wide-eyed at her.

She stepped over the threshold through the open door toward him. “I really need to talk to you. I’m sorry to just show up here but it’s—it’s important.”

You were waiting anxiously in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and chewing on your thumb nail. You straightened up when Dean burst back into the room. He was scruffing a hand through his hair and his face was muddled with confusion.

“Who the hell was it? Where’s Sam?” you asked urgently.

Dean’s eyes snapped up to your face. How should he say this? “Uhhh… it’s your sister…” Probably best to just get it out.

You stared at Dean blankly.

Dean stared back.

You forced in a deep breath and let it out, doing your best to stay calm. “Sam just kissed me last night. You just spilled that Sam is in love with me and I didn’t even get a chance to tell him that I’m in love with him too and now you’re telling me that my sister, the one who CHEATED on him, just showed up at the front door of the bunker?”

“…Yeah, I think that about covers it,” Dean said wincing.

“And did she say anything?” you urged.

“She just said she needed to talk to Sam…”

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared daggers at Dean. “And you didn’t tell her to go to hell?”

Dean mouthed wordlessly for a moment. “I don’t think—That’s not—I’m not getting in the middle of this again!” He pointed emphatically at you again. “No! I will not be in the middle!”

You pressed a hand to your forehead. “Shit…” you muttered under your breath.

#sam winchester #sammy fanfics #sam x reader #sammy the moose #sam fanfiction #reader insert fics #supernatural #spn

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] Also on AO3

Chapter 15: Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding his travels back in time through the domain of the Spiral.

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

(drained and weak) Let me…go grab a recorder.

MARTIN

Do you really need one?

ARCHIVIST

It would make me feel better about the whole thing. Makes it feel…

MARTIN

Real?

ARCHIVIST

…Important. It is important. To me. Even if…it doesn’t think so.

SASHA

Wait, do you hear something?

PAST ARCHIVIST

…Yes. Like a-a whirring sound?

TIM

Oh, goddammit.

[SOUND OF A TAPE RECORDER BEING SET DOWN ON A LEVEL SURFACE]

MARTIN

(heh) Guess it thinks it’s important, too.

ARCHIVIST

I guess so.

…

MARTIN

Are you gonna say it?

ARCHIVIST

Do you want me to?

MARTIN

I-I mean, I think you have to? If it’s recording…you have to do it the right way or it doesn’t…count. Right?

ARCHIVIST

…Right. You’re right.

Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding…his travels back in time through the domain of the Spiral. Recorded direct from subject, fourth May, 2016. Statement begins.

MARTIN (STATEMENT)

I think the first thing that struck me was the décor.

Silly, isn’t it? To think that the domain of something that literally thrives on disorientation and chaos would be remotely like I expected it to be? But I did, somehow. There were all the descriptions in all the statements we’ve heard, and then the time Tim and I were trapped in those halls, and I...I really thought they would still look like that.

But they didn’t. There was no patterned wallpaper, no carpet runner, no mirrors or photographs or anything like that. The walls were painted, and they were painted in—in jellybean colors. It’s the best way I can describe it. Really, really bright colors, gloss paint. The floors were...tiled, maybe? Linoleum? I wasn’t quite sure, but they were brightly-colored and kind of shiny, too. Even the ceiling. But none of them matched. When I first stepped through the door, I was standing in the hallway and the wall in front of me was a yellow so bright it almost hurt my eyes, but the floor was red, the same color as Melanie’s nail polish, and the ceiling was a really vibrant green. It was like standing in the middle of a traffic light.

I heard the door close behind me and sort of figured I was alone, but when I turned around, there was the Keeper, and he was taking something out of the door. I think it might have been a key? He put…whatever it was in his pocket and turned to me. I asked him which way to go.

“It doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid,” he told me. “These halls don’t look the same to us. Just start walking. I’ll meet you when you get to the way out.”

And then he was just...gone. It wasn’t like he walked away, or went through a door or whatever. He was just…gone. Like, well, like he faded into fog.

So I started walking. I thought, well, trying to make any sense of this place was sort of going against the point of it, or leaning into the point of it, or something like that. I-I mean, it’s what the Spiral wants, is that increasing sense of panic and desperation as something that ought to be straightforward and logical, something that ought to take you in a straight line or to a particular place or whatever, keeps befuddling you and turning you around and whatnot. So I thought that if I just accepted that I wasn’t going to find any sense of direction, and that I couldn’t actually know where I was, let alone where I would end up, and just sort of wandered for a bit, I’d eventually get where I was going.

Only it didn’t work that way. The walls kept...changing. So did the floor and the ceiling. I’d know I was passing through another part of the corridors when I’d suddenly go from yellow walls to purple to orange, or the ceiling would go from green to pink to blue, or the floor would go from red to white to teal. I didn’t really pay attention to it, but then I realized I was back in the first part of the corridor. I’d have thought it was just a coincidence—I mean, there are only so many colors in the world and so many different combinations of them you can have—but there was the door, looking totally out of place in the bright, sterile lines of the corridor.

So then I started trying other options. I walked along with my eyes closed for a bit, wondering if maybe the colors were leading me astray, but when I opened them again, it was like I hadn’t moved. I tried heading in the other direction but still not thinking about my route. Same effect.

I was getting frustrated, and I was about to yell for the Keeper to just give it up already, to stop messing about with the hallways and lead me through. I was upset, actually. I mean, I knew it wasn’t really his domain, he probably wasn’t the one controlling it, but when you’re that worked up, you just want someone to blame, and he was handy, really. And I—I don’t like not knowing where I am, or where I’m going.

You know, I never really thought about it before, but...Mum used to...when I was younger, we’d be out somewhere, and she’d suddenly tell me there was something we had to do, and to keep up with her, and then she’d start walking really fast and threading through the crowds, and I’d be stumbling along trying to follow her. She wouldn’t hold my hand or anything, she’d just expect me to stay with her. And she’d never tell me where this “something” was, so any time I fell behind or lost sight of her for a second, I’d start panicking, because if I lost her, I wouldn’t know where to meet up with her. I did lose her a couple of times, and I’d just...start crying, and I never knew where to look for help. I felt like that again. Small. Weak. Helpless. Like I couldn’t do anything right, like I couldn’t do this one little thing she’d asked me to do, which was just...keep...up. And there wasn’t anyone there to help me figure out where the person who’d left me behind was, since I didn’t know where to meet up.

That’s when I thought...wait, I don’t know what route I’m supposed to take, but I do know where I’m going. I know what the end result is, just not how to get there. So I stopped thinking about wandering aimlessly and started thinking about wandering with a purpose. I focused on where—and when—we were trying to get. I even closed my eyes for a minute to make sure I was picturing it exactly right. And then I opened my eyes, and I started walking again.

After a while, the hallway started changing, which was how I guessed I was going the right way. The jellybean colors started fading, getting more...muted. Not really pastels, but just less vibrant. They started blending together, too, so they weren’t so weirdly different, like they were hues in a palette. And then they were all grey, featureless stone, like the—well, like the tunnels, only more regular. The grey got darker and darker until suddenly it was almost black. Then there was a carpet up the middle of the stone floor, blood red, and instead of electric lights the walls were lined with torches. I mean actual, fire-burning sticks jammed into wall sconces. I figured I was getting close.

And then...the hallway turned.

Look. I know how those...I know how the Spiral usually works, or at least the Distortion. You can’t see the turns, it looks like it just goes on and on in a straight line forever, because that’s what disorientates you. But this was an actual, L-shaped jog in the corridor. Part of me figured that the Spiral had decided, well, I knew enough to expect certain things, so it would have to throw me off by putting in things I wasn’t expecting—like actual, visible bends in the road. I didn’t doubt that if I tried to go around that corner I’d smack face-first into a wall. But I didn’t doubt for a minute that if I tried to go straight I’d hit a wall, too. You can’t try be logical with the Spiral. You’ll go mad. So I figured the only thing to do was try the corner.

I went around, and...it wasn’t just a hallway. It was more like a...gallery. There were pictures, or paintings, on every wall, in these big, ornate frames, and there was a neat little plaque next to each one with some writing on it. Seemed like it went on forever. I figured...well, it had to be the way through, didn’t it? There wasn’t any other way to go. I assumed there’d be an end eventually, or one of the paintings would be of the door out, or would be the door, or whatever, so I started in.

I looked at the first one, partly because I wondered if I’d recognize the door if I saw it and partly because...well, I was curious. It was very professional-looking. I couldn’t tell if it was a painting or a photograph, actually. It was of a woman, kind of a pretty one really, with her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, and a round face and glasses. She was standing in kind of a dark-ish room, but there was something behind her—a table, maybe? And there was a shadow over her, and she—she was screaming. I wondered who would paint something like that, what they would call it, so I looked at the plaque. It was formatted just like a sign at a museum, with the name of the piece, the name of the artist, and the date of the painting, you know?

But this one...it said, “I See You”, Sasha James, July 29, 2016.

I hadn’t realized what I was looking at, not at first, but when I looked again...it was the shirt that got me. Dupplin checks in shades of pink and purple. You remember—with the ruffled sleeves and the pearl-and-silver buttons. It was Sasha’s favorite, she wore it all the time. And the woman in the picture was wearing it. That’s when it hit me, all of a sudden, that this wasn’t a painting by Sasha, it was a painting of Sasha. I just hadn’t recognized her, and that was...upsetting.

I turned away from it and looked at the next painting, and I got a real shock when I realized it was a picture of Tim. He was smirking. I—I knew that look of his—it’s the one he always used to get when he was teasing someone, you know? That smile of his that seemed to say “I know you want to hit me but you won’t because I’m so funny”? Except...there was something odd about it. An edge, maybe. His eyes were narrowed and it was obvious that he knew whoever he was talking to didn’t find his joke funny, like it was only funny to him. And he—he had the scars. He didn’t tease anyone like that after the attack on the Institute, or if he did, it was...bitter, so I couldn’t figure out who or what he might have been teasing. So I looked at the plaque for that one.

“I Know”, Timothy Stoker, August 7, 2017.

The date. The date’s what hit me. That’s a date I won’t ever forget. I looked back at the picture, and I realized he was holding something in his hand, and the background was...well. There was smoke, and debris, and fire, and it was all starting to—to boil up around him.

I looked back at that first painting, and I saw...things I hadn’t noticed before. I saw that whatever was making the shadow was...reaching for the Sasha in the painting, and I saw...bits, flying around. I realized I was looking at the moment that Sasha saw what was in Artifact Storage with her, and the other picture was the moment between Tim pressing the detonator and—and what came after. I was looking at their deaths.

It was the next one that made me realize what was wrong about it. I mean...I mean, seeing these at all was wrong enough, right? We’re talking instants, split-seconds, something no one should have had time to paint or a good enough camera to photograph. They were almost like someone had flash-frozen the actual, physical moment and put it in a frame. That’s wrong enough, right? But...but it wasn’t until I got to Daisy’s that I actually realized it.

At first blush, it was exactly like the others. That...moment. The plaque. “Basira”, Detective Alice “Daisy” Tonner, date unknown. But...but this one I was there for. I remembered that instant. I might have been...a little distracted at the time, but I was looking when Basira emptied her gun into...into whatever Daisy had become. And I know it—she—was looking at Basira, and that she didn’t recognize anyone else.

But in the picture...she wasn’t looking at Basira. I mean, Basira wasn’t exactly in the picture, any more than the not-Sasha was actually in Sasha’s picture or Nikola was in Tim’s. But you could see where she was, where the bullets were coming from. And Daisy wasn’t looking in that direction. She was looking out, through the painting.

She was—she was looking at me. Directly at me. It was like I was back in that junkyard and she was right in front of me, and she saw me, and she knew me. And she was—she was scared, Jon. I could see it in her eyes. She was scared and she was pleading with me to help her, to save her. Maybe she was accusing me a little. Like she was saying I am dying and you are doing nothing to stop it.

And that’s when it hit me. I hadn’t thought about it before, because I w-wasn’t there for the others when they actually happened, but—but when I looked back at Tim and Sasha, they were looking at me, too. Sasha was scared and Tim was angry and it was clear that they both knew, whenever or—wherever they were, that I was looking at them and that they were dying and I wasn’t doing a damn thing about it.

I—I kept looking. I couldn’t stop. There were dozens—hundreds of them, all of them somebody I cared about, or knew, or—or knew of, at least. A lot of the people from the statements. My mother. My grandfather. Gertrude Robinson. Jurgen Leitner. All of them in the exact moments of their deaths, all of them looking at me with either pleading or accusation or both, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

The corridor went on forever, or that’s what it seemed like. It stretched in both directions and I couldn’t escape it. But there was a doorway, and I—I went through it. I don’t know if I thought it was the way I was supposed to go, or if I just wanted to get away from all the damn pictures, but I went through it. And as soon as I did, the door behind me disappeared, so I figured, okay, I’m going the right way. And it calmed me down, but only for a second.

It was a long, narrow room, maybe big enough for a single person to walk. And there were more framed pictures, evenly spaced, lining one side of the wall. The other side was completely bare. When I came in, I was facing the first picture, so I didn’t even have the option of not looking. So I looked.

At first, it didn’t seem too bad, you know? Nothing...deadly. Just a house, and two people. One of them was standing on the threshold of the house, the other on the path leading up to it. The door was open. The person on the path was a little boy, ten at the most, and he looked—terrified. Upset. It was like he wanted to cry or scream but didn’t know if he was allowed, and he was reaching a hand out desperately. The person on the porch was a young man, and he looked like something had caught him off-guard...and there were threads, thin silver strands, seeming to wrap around him, and something dark leaning out of the open door, like it was going to grab him.

For a moment, I was just relieved that neither of them was looking at me. Whatever was going on in the picture, whatever that poor man was involved in or that poor boy was witnessing, neither one of them blamed me for it. And then I realized I recognized something. The little boy’s face—his eyes. I knew those eyes, better than I knew my own.

My breath caught in my throat. I looked at the plaque. All it had was a title and a year. It Is Polite to Knock, 1996. That’s all it said...but I knew what it was. What I was looking at. And then, when I looked back at the painting, I could see it, very faintly. On the little boy’s outstretched hand was the lightest outline of a spider’s web.

I moved on to the next painting. I don’t think I could have stopped myself. And it was a man, sitting at his desk, a sheaf of papers in front of him and a tape recorder next to it. He had this...vacant look in his eyes, like he was only partly aware of what was in front of him, and he was wearing a cardigan. He had one hand on the papers, holding them up a little so he could read them, and the fingers on his other hand were tangled up in the cuff of the cardigan, like he was stretching it over his fingers and playing with it. The eyes were behind glasses now, but it was very obviously the same man as the little boy in the first picture. The plaque said Statement Begins, 2015. Just over the man’s shoulder was the faintest outline of an eye.

The third one was of the same man. Only this time, he was—he was in pain. His head was thrown back a-and he was screaming, I could almost hear it through the painting. There was another person behind him, another man, and he was screaming too, and standing over them was a woman, o-or what might have been a woman, once, but was honeycombed with white, grotesque worms. There were more of them, and they were—they were attacking the two men, but the one in the foreground, the one who’d been in the other paintings, he was already hurt, and I—I felt so guilty, like it was my fault, even without the man having to look at me and accuse me. He didn’t need to. I was already blaming myself. The plaque said—and it would have made me laugh if I hadn’t been so upset by the picture—it just said Ah, Shit, 2016. There wasn’t an outline of anything in that picture, just what was actually there, or at least actually visible.

I—I was having a bit of trouble breathing at this point. I knew what I was looking at, of course I did, but I couldn’t stop, I had to see all of them, so I looked at the fourth one. It was the same man, in the same office as the second picture, even wearing the same damned cardigan. Scars dotting his face and arms now, hair a little longer and with a bit more grey in it, but still the same man. He wasn’t alone, though. There was another...person there. He didn’t look right, like he’d been put together by someone who only had a partial idea of what a human being looked like. His hands—his fingers—looked like they had knives on the end of them instead of fingernails. He was...grinning, but it looked too big for his face. I think he might have been giggling. It looked like he was giggling. And he—he had one finger buried in the man’s side. The man was crying out in pain, but he also looked upset and scared. The plaque read There Has Never Been a Door There, 2016. There wasn’t a symbol in that one, either.

The fifth one. The same man again.  He was shaking hands with a woman. She was smirking, a really nasty smile, malicious delight. He was screaming, like seriously in agony. Where their hands were clasped, there was a faint wisp of smoke coming up, and I swear I could almost smell burning flesh from where I stood. The plaque read Just Shake My Hand, 2017. Still no symbol.

The sixth one. Same man, and another man. The other man had scars, too—Lichtenberg figures, you know? He looked bored. The first man was panicking. It looked like he was trying to scream, but you could sort of tell he wasn’t actually making any sound. And he was free-falling, they both were, but the other man looked...controlled, somehow? It was obvious only one of them was in any real danger, and it wasn’t the one who’d been struck by lightning. The plaque said You Need to Learn Some Respect, 2017. In the sky behind them was the impression of more lightning, but not actual lightning. Just another symbol.

Y—

[SOUNDS OF DISTRESS AND INTERNAL STRUGGLE AS MARTIN AUDIBLY TRIES TO KEEP HIMSELF FROM CONTINUING]

(in a shaking voice) The—the seventh one...oh, God, I almost lost it then and there. It was the same man as in all the other pictures. He was...standing in a clearing. It was dark, and there was—a woman with him. She looked—angry, but also triumphant somehow? She—oh, God, she had him by the throat, and she had a knife pressed against it. There was so much terror in his eyes, and I d-don’t blame him. I was terrified. I wanted to—but I couldn’t do anything. I forced myself to look away from it and look at the plaque. Stop...Asking...Questions, 2017. There was no symbol in that picture, but there didn’t need to be, did there?

The eighth one. The man was bound to a chair, in a dark...warehouse? I guess? It was...actually, if I hadn’t known what it was, and, you know, I hadn’t already been on the verge of a complete breakdown, I might’ve appreciated the painting as being kind of artistic. There were these shadowy figures all around him, but they weren’t people. They were...pretty obviously waxwork mannequins. In front of him was a woman, pretty, but...I don’t know how to explain it. I’m fairly certain she was another mannequin, but she seemed alive, too. She was giving him this...almost impish grin, holding a tape recorder up in front of him. He was gagged, pretty thoroughly, and you could see he was straining against his bindings, and his eyes were panicky. The plaque said I Thought You’d Make a Lovely Frock, 2017. The shadows overhead made up an outline that kind of looked like a mask, one of those blank, featureless ones.

The n-ninth...I think that’s when I started crying. Didn’t look like all that much really, not compared to the others, but it was the man, lying in a grey hospital bed. Perfectly still. All the monitors perfectly flat but one. The plaque read Make Your Choice, 2018. Over the man’s face was a shadow that was...kind of shaped like a scythe.

The tenth. Actually a bit of a relief after that one, although it shouldn’t have been. It was the man and two women. They were in...what looked like a makeshift bunker of sorts. There was a bloody sheet, and the leg on one woman was bleeding. Honestly, it was all kind of chaotic, but the—the focal point was the woman with the bleeding leg, holding something sharp in her hand, jamming it into the man’s shoulder. The plaque said Don’t Touch Me, 2018. It was back to there not being a symbol in the picture.

The eleventh...was bad. There was the man who’d been in all the other pictures, and there was...calling it a man would be charitable. It was a mountain of flesh with a face. Enormous and bulging and...gross. It had its hand in the man’s torso and seemed to be pulling out one of his ribs, which was not a pleasant sight at all, and something about the man’s expression...I don’t think the actual extraction was a surprise, but it was obvious he hadn’t expected it to hurt quite as much as it did. The plaque read Mine Now, 2018. No symbol in this one, either.

The twelfth. It was mostly dark. There was the man, and—and the woman from the seventh painting, the one who...but she was scared in this one. So was he. They were both...pressed under dirt and rocks, and they both looked like they might be struggling to breathe. They were gripping one another’s wrists, not really holding hands, just like they were trying to maintain that contact and not...lose one another. The man had a tape recorder in his other hand. The plaque said There Isn’t Even an Up, 2018. Just barely visible in the dirt above them was the faint outline of a coffin.

The thirteenth. Unlucky number thirteen, but actually, it was the most peaceful one out of all of them. The man was standing in front of an open door. Inside was...black, but it was the purest, richest black you’ve ever seen in your life. He had a look on his face, both awestruck and terrified. The plaque said It’s Beautiful, 2018. There was a symbol overhead—a curved line with four lines coming off of it, like a drawing of a closed eye.

The—the fourteenth. There was the man, standing in the middle of this thick, grey fog. It was swirling all around him. He was...the expression on his face…h-he was panicked and terrified and upset and...all of it. It looked like he might have been about to cry. His teeth were clenched and he was—he was looking around him. Like he was trying to—to find something. The plaque said I Did This to Him, 2018.

I don’t know if there was a symbol in that one. Maybe not. I couldn’t look hard enough, because that was when I broke.

I fell on my knees. I was sobbing and gasping for breath. I was...definitely having a full-on panic attack. There was another painting on the hall, I could feel it, but I was fighting the urge to get up and look at it. I wanted to, something was compelling me to, but I c-couldn’t, because I knew what it would be of. I knew I’d look at it and see the cabin, and the statement, and the look on the man’s face, and the world ending outside the window. I could hear that moment, the rushing of wind, the gathering storm. I swear I could hear the other paintings, too—the gasping and the screaming, worms squirming and crickets chirping, the crash of the ocean and the rush of the wind, beeps and creaks and static, so much static—and it was just...it was just so much.

I was just about to turn around and look, because I couldn’t not, when I heard a voice say, “Enough.”

The noises stopped. I hadn’t realized they were anywhere but in my own head until that moment, but all I could hear then was me. I looked up and...the room had changed. It was plain grey stone, just a small antechamber really. The wall in front of me was blank.

I was still struggling to catch my breath, and I know I was still crying, but I turned and saw the Keeper standing next to me. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was…he was furious.

“If I ever found out who did that, we’re going to have a little...chat,” he growled. “And they won’t like it.” He looked at me for a minute, and then his face kind of softened and he added, “On the other hand, they’ll like having a chat with me more than they’d like having a chat with the Archivist. If he finds them first, I want to be there to watch.”

He helped me up. I was still struggling to get myself back together. The Keeper hugged me for a minute, then turned me around and pointed to a picture on the wall behind me.

“Here,” he said. “Look at this one instead, until you feel better. There’s time.”

This picture...i-it was the same man as in the other pictures, but he looked...he was still tired, but calmer. He wasn’t afraid. Quite the opposite, actually. He was sitting on one end of a ratty old sofa, wearing a sweater that was way too big for him, hair pulled back out of his eyes. He was looking up at—he was looking directly at me, and he was smiling. He was reaching out his hands, one sort of turned under like he was going to be taking something.

I remembered that moment. I could feel it. That first night in the cabin, we’d just had dinner. You’d cooked, so I’d told you to go sit down in the other room while I cleaned up, and then I made tea and brought it out. You were lost in thought at first, but when I came in, you looked up at me and smiled, just like that, and I—I felt safe, for the first time in months.

(heh) That was the first time, wasn’t it? The first time you said the words? I tried to play it off, you looked so startled, but then you recovered and doubled down on it and...

It was a good memory.

I stood there for I don’t know how long, staring at that picture, that moment, letting it push all the other ones I’d seen out of my head. Letting myself remember how it felt. Taking that comfort. I could feel myself relaxing, feel myself starting to smile.

From behind me, I only just heard the Keeper say, “Keep looking, Wickie. Keep the picture in your mind. I’m sorry for this.”

A—and then there came the pain. I don’t know how to describe it. A sudden explosion of—pain, like a migraine on steroids. I felt like something—popped, inside my head, just behind my eyes. No...no, not behind them. Not behind.

I don’t think I screamed. I think I wanted to, but it hurt so bad I couldn’t. The world went white, and I could feel something—not tears, something thicker, more gelatinous—trickling, pouring down my cheeks. It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life—the worst physical pain, anyway.

And then everything went black. I guess I passed out. Next thing I knew, I heard a voice calling my name, teasing me about long nights and confusing my hours. I opened my eyes and asked what time it was, and Tim told me it was nine in the morning.

I’m just glad I realized what had happened before I said something stupid about the power being out.

ARCHIVIST

…

Statement ends.

I…

[TEN SECONDS OF UTTER SILENCE, SAVE THE WHIRRING OF THE RECORDER]

TIM

Fuck.

MARTIN

Jon, I’m sorry, I forgot it wouldn’t let me not—

ARCHIVIST

(overlapping) It wasn’t—

MARTIN

—let me skim on the details—

ARCHIVIST

No, it’s not—my God, Martin, I-I had no idea…

MARTIN

…Yeah, well, I told you it would keep you going for a bit.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I—

[RUSTLING, CREAKING NOISE OF SOMEONE GETTING OFF A SOFA WAY TOO FAST]

I—I need—I’ll be—

[RETREATING FOOTSTEPS]

PAST MARTIN

Jon, wait—

[SLIGHTLY DISTANT SOUND OF DOOR OPENING AND SHUTTING]

ARCHIVIST

I’ll go talk to him. Will you—?

MARTIN

We’ll be fine. Just be careful, okay?

ARCHIVIST

I promise.

[CLICK]

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) #tma #the magnus archives #statements #mild eye horror (not graphic) #this was originally All the Million Hours if you're interested in the original version #this one works better imho #the formatting's better on AO3

[queenofpurgatoryx]

PART TWO (Sinan x Osman) 

part one

things escaletes a little.

.

For awhile nothing happened, nothing that indicated that night where Osman tended Sinan's wounds on the bench was real.

There had been a few occurances where his gaze lingered a little too long Sinan's recovering hands and maybe Sinan seemed less like a jerk who only opposed his ideas. He still talked back and called Osman's pragmatic plans out but his tone was gentler, maybe. Maybe Osman imagined a faint smile when he helped Sinan get up from the ground, holding on to his hands and feeling the scar tissue for a moment. It might all be in his head or it might mean nothing but the sense of belonging to somewhere kept increasing as the gang got closer and Osman paid no attention to him.He tried not to pay attention to him but his mind was spirilling, really.

More and more lately he had started to wake up earlier. He would peel some carrots, prepare some cucumbers with salt, dried fruits as snacks. Because he noticed everything, and he noticed the way Eda was not eating much, especially anything that was unhealthy. Well, besides alcohol of course. It was less complicated then Sinan because Eda only insisted on not eating a couple of times before caving and grabbing a few pieces of carrots.These kind of small things pushed Osman through. He loved being in control and he loved being able to make himself useful.Sinan on the other hand, was obsessed with not accepting any help from others. When Osman played the nurse and patched Kerem and Sinan up for the first time, it had taken the rest of the gang to beg him to let Osman do it. He had only caved after Osman had helped Kerem, maybe he had felt like it was normal for their group of friends.

Until the night where Sinan had called him and everything had went out of control, Osman was always tentative when it came helping Sinan. He made the spare sandwiches but never gave them directly to Sinan. Sometimes he had to put ingridients that he knew Sinan wouldn't like, just to give the impression that it was not meant for him.That night did change somethings after all. Osman got bold and made the sandwich just as the way Sinan liked it. Offered to take of his bandages the next day and cleaned them out gently.

He even went as far out to grab Sinan's bottle to take a swing while they were chatting after school. Sinan was not a person that would deny a request to share his drink but Osman hadn't asked, just taking the bottle and starting drinking in mid conversation. He held on to it for couple of minutes and when he gave it back, it was almost empty.Sinan glared at him and pulled the bottle back into his pocket. From the way he had tensed, Osman could guess his next move so he slided his hand over the bench and placed it on his knee, pushing down a little.

"Don't go," he said simply, his voice was overshawdowed by Işık'a and Kerem's heated voices.

Sinan was holding the edge of the bench, his fingers curling around the hard wood until his knuckles were white. For a moment, Osman waited for Sinan to get up and leave and tell him to fuck off, ran towards the nearest shop to refresh his bottle. Yet, Sinan stayed and Osman's hand lingered on his knee for a bit longer than intented. 

He was playing a dangerous game and but it was too much fun. For someone who was mixed with gambling and the joys of betting, he had never truly understood the appeal until now. He had no interest in thing that were uncertain, yet, he kind of saw the appeal of the danger, the nervousness that came with a good game.

.

After that it was small gestures.

Brushing Sinan’s hair back in the school garden or sitting a bit too close on the couch, helping each other to get up from the ground with a hand. Simple things that nobody would pay attention to but Osman did. First, because it was Osman and he noticed every little detail. Second, it was Sinan and every detail meant something when it came to him. Osman did not understand the nature of this game and he couldn’t estimate the outcome- it was very stressfull. However he was playing a little less attention to his businesses. He was feeling a little more motivated to go to school. He helped his parents with house work a little more often.It was because of the gang. And maybe, because of the game too.

.

Yet the game did not escalated for a while. That was until one day, he was chased by a group of highschoolers.

It was an ordinary friday where he skipped the 5th class that was before the lunch break because he simply hated chemistry and took a walk to the grocery store near by. Picking some fresh fruits according to everyone's favorites (Eda had called him a freak for remembering this small detail but she was smiling bright as she munched on her cherries the first time he had done it.)

He got a little from everything and ignored the shop keepers’ curious glance, smiling to himself as he moved on to green apples. He hated them, too sour for his taste, he had a sweet tooth but he grabbed a few for Sinan. How fitting, his favorite fruits were all the ones that made you grimace at the first bite but a lot of people couldn't stop eating.There was a faint smile on his lips and he was whistling a familiar melody as he was walking back to school with his hands full with bags. It was nearly the end of season for strawberries and it was a shame. Osman loved the summer and loved strawberries- they were Kerem’s favorite too.

The last days of tshirt wheatwer was kind to his skin and he was happy without a reason. Thus, he was careless and it was too late when he spotted them in the distance, recognizing them from right away though.

“We want our money back.” There were four of them and the tallest one of the group was speaking.

Osman stopped immidietly and placed a fake yet polite smile on his face. “As it was established, the game was not rigged. However, I do believe that we can come to-“

“Are we gonna let this one talk our ears off again?” One of them spat and he looked angry. Well, this was an unpleasant situation.

“We want our money back, now,” the first boy muttered with more confidence now.

Osman trusted his ability talk his way out of things but he was not too prideful to accept defeat and flee the scene. His pride came from the way he trusted the ability to act rationally and his instincts told him start running. It also told him to drop the bags as they were slowing him down but momentarily, he wanted to trust his luck, maybe he could get away with the fruits.

Osman had never been a lucky person though, that's why he was logical. He tripped and almost hit his head on the ground. The last minute he was able to protect his face with his hands and he quickly got up, fruits were scattered all around the street and he had smashed the cherries with his torso. He got up quickly and sprinted, thank God he had freakishly long legs and didn't spare a glance to the people that were chasing him.

He saw the school's entrance and almost smiled, he was so tired but with the last ounce of strenght in his muscles he held on to the bars, pulled himself up, prying that those idiots were not idiots enough to follow him into the school ground and he jumped.

His balance was off and he yelped in pain as he landed the ground with a thud and fell forward. It was almost the end of 5th period and he tried to pull himself together without a teacher catching him but as he got up, he grimicad with the sharp pain coming from his left anckle and he grimiced as he pushed himself forward.He almost hopped, rather slowly towards their usual hide out at the backyard away from prying eyes but students were starting to come out the second the bell had rang. He bit his lip and ignored curious glances, it was until he heard his name being called.

"Osman, oh my God! What happened?" Işık was running towards him with full force with wide eyes, always so dramatic.

Osman understood the severity of the situation when even Kerem almost sprinted towards him with worry on his face. He glanced down and saw the red stain on his usually perfectly white shirt and sighed. Before he could clearify, the whole gang was by his side, Sinan was the last on to arrive but he was the first one to push them aside and hold on to him by the arms.

 "Where is the wound? Can you walk? Do you-"

"Hey, hey! Slow down. I'm okay, its just a stain from the cheeries," he shrugged off.

Eda inhaled sharply. "Goddammit, he is delusional."

Osman let out a chuckle and tried to reassure them standing tall, putting his weight on his right and showed his torso by untucking his partly messed up shirt. "See? I'm fine. I just ran for five minutes straight let me sit down first to tell the story before any teachers come around and asks questions."

Everyone seemed relieved after that but Işık was still eying him suspiciously. He took a step forward with confidence but his limping was clear as the day even if the way his face twisted was not.Sinan was by his side in no time, wrapping an arm around his waist and encouraging him to loop an arm around his shoulder to help him up. Osman tilted his head to catch his eye but Sinan was not looking at him, he was able to smell the booze coming out of him though.

They started to walk away and people stopped giving them stares since Kerem was there to stare right back at them. Osman gasped with pain several times and everytime he did, Sinan's fingers dug into his skin as if he wanted to hold him tighter. "Aren't you going to carry me? Bridal style? I deserve a piggy back ride at least," he muttered once the others decided get food, water and some medical supplies to patch him up.They were almost there and Sinan huffed, tilting his head to spare a glance. 

"You are bit too heavy for that, princess."Osman chuckled, he was a bit too tired for banter and he couldn't help but hiss as he sat down, leaning back against the cold concreate. His mind was racing with several different thoughts all at once, chasing each other and tangling into a bigger mess than his life was with questions to be answered and plans to be made.

He came to his senses when Sinan brushed the back of his hand against his. He turned his head towards him and almost liked the worry in his stare. He always liked when Sinan's face held some type of emotion other than disinterest. He looked calmer now though, his hair was a bit messier than usual perhaps.Sinan grabbed his hands and rotated it to examine, turned his palm upwards at the end and stared at the cuts. Osman hadn't even realized them, he must've had them when he fell down.

"You're not gonna play the nurse, are you? Because I don't want to burst your buble but I kind of do not trust you to attend to my wounds."

"Shut up," was the only response he got.He didn't say anything while Sinan poured a bottle of water on his hands to clean them, the cuts were not deep anyway. "I can pour some alcohol on them. They could get infected."

Osman didn't say anything, while Sinan opened the bottle and poured a little, pain jolted in his body and he gasped. Sinan held on to his hand and didn't yield even though Osman had yanked them back instinctively. "Its okay, its over now," he said softly and did the other hand.

The pain went as fast as it came, it stunk a little but he felt fresher. His hand throbbed with the aftermath and his ankle ached a bit but he was okay. His shoulders relaxed and he slid a bit down on the bench, closing his eyes as he rested. "I could get used to not being the nurse for once."

"Well, I liked the previous arrangement better," Sinan stated and Osman opened his eyes. Before he could remark Sinan was continiuning to speak. "A lot of people become doctors because they have a God complex. They want to be the saviour, to have that kind of power. But seeing people in pain even when you're helping is agonizing."

Osman was waiting for a punchline, for Sinan'a little pep talks to circle back to something cynical. It didn't and Sinan avoided his gaze.

"I'm sorry," Sinan said. Osman was too confused to react, he almost shivered when Sinan touched his hand, turning it upwards to take a closer look. "Maybe I should use your methodology and-"

"What are you sorry-"

They both had to stop talking as the others came back. The warmth he was feeling on his left side was gone and that's when he realized they were sitting close in the first place. The warmth in his face remained.

"Here, my spare shirt," Kerem pushed a wrinkled shirt into his hands.

"Why do you have a spare shirt? I thought only goody goods had spare uniforms in their lockers."

"Hey, there is nothing wrong being prepared," Işık stated and Eda rolled her eyes.

“My case stands.”

"I mess a shirt up every week or so," Kerem clerified.

Osman had always been the caregiver. He was the one that remembered little details and paied attention and took care of others. Yet, he did like the recieving end of stuff as he ate the sandwich that Eda had brought. Işık had bandaged his ankle and he was laughing as he wore Kerem's shirt, complaining about the wrinkles as he straightened his tie back.

"Remember that bet I had a week ago and the guys were insistent that the game was rigged-"He told the story and he felt okay, he couldn't help but feel a little warmer everytime Sinan touched him casually though, stroking his knee, touching his arm, brushing past his hand... Two could play this game.

.

i think there will be one more part where we finally get whats going on with sinan and his actions will make sense. or i am delusional and there will be two more, i’m not sure yet. funfact for the 3 people that are reading: my grandfather was hit by a car and it was very harmless but he had been carrying cheeries. his shirt was tainted and it looked like blood, causing everyone around to panic lol , the idea came to out of nowehre to be written into a random fic. let me know what you think!

#love 101 #aşk 101 #sinan x osman #sinman #lmao at the ship name #thank you to anyone who is reading #my writing

[angelofthequeers]

Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 49

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

Thank you SO much to everyone that’s stuck with this fic and read it to the very end!

@smolplantmum tagged as requested :)

Chapter 48 | AO3 link

“Selfish! Selfish!”

“Don’t you love me anymore, Adrien? Don’t you love your mother? All it takes is a wish –”

Cold, numb, frozen, not Adrien, not Chat Noir, no one, he’s no one, can’t feel, can’t see, can’t breathe, help, help, someone help –

Adrien gasps and jolts when the underground garden vanishes before his eyes and is instead replaced with a dark room, with unsynced breathing and warm weight all around him. Oh. Oh. Right. He’s not trapped underground with Hawkmoth and his dying zompire mother, her skin grey and black and wizened in the nightmare that haunts him every night. He’s in Marinette’s room, in the middle of a gigantic blanket pile on the floor, with Marinette snoring into his hair, Luka clinging to his left arm for dear life, and Kagami appearing to have an arm slung around Marinette’s waist, from what he can make out in the darkness.

He’s safe. He’s safe. But every time he closes his eyes, he can’t escape: from the comatose mother who couldn’t be revived due to the degree of Miraculous damage from the Peacock, whose funeral had apparently been earlier that week, though he remembers absolutely none of it; from the father who’d been sentenced to life in prison only yesterday in possibly the quickest trial ever held, the universe stripping him of both parents in the span of two weeks, and even Nathalie, who’s taken up damage control for the company but who’s never at the mansion anymore; from the chill, the freezing cold emptiness that plagues him when he least expects it, remnants of the akumatisation that he can’t remember. Have the last two weeks even happened? Or has he just been stuck in one, long, disjointed dream, to wake up before he becomes Phantom and to realise that he has to go through this all over again?

“Are you okay, Mr Adrien?” whispers a small voice. Something small snuggles into the crook of his neck, and Adrien’s breath catches in his chest until he reaches up to feel the softness of fairy wings and realises that it’s Nooroo.

“Sorry I woke you,” Adrien murmurs. Thank god none of the others had awoken, because they’ve been jerked awake enough times lately from his nightmares and there’s no sense in them being as miserably bone-tired as he’s been since Hawkmoth’s defeat.

“You didn’t wake me,” Nooroo says. “I can feel your emotional pain, so I’ve been staying awake to keep watch over you.”

“You don’t have to –”

“I do, Mr Adrien. I’m…I’m the reason why…”

Adrien shakes his head. Careful not to wake his partners, he untangles himself from Marinette and Luka’s grips and then tiptoes over to Marinette’s bed to climb out onto the balcony through the hatch. The Parisian night air is cool but not freezing, thank god, because staying in the cold for too long now makes Adrien’s heart race for reasons he can only assume are akuma-related.

“It wasn’t your fault, Nooroo,” Adrien finally says once Nooroo’s snuggling in under his shirt. There’s a flash of black and green out of the corner of his eye and then Plagg’s joining them, wriggling in on Adrien’s other side and purring against Adrien’s collar. Adrien slumps in his seat and hugs his knees to his chest, shivering when the cool breeze brushes over his bare feet.

“But it was my akuma, Mr Adrien. If it wasn’t for me –”

“Could you help it? Could you stop Father from transforming and akumatising people?”

“N-No…I tried to sway him, to push him away from evil, but he wouldn’t listen. And we kwamis are bound to obey our masters.”

“Then how is it your fault?” Adrien reaches up to cup Nooroo with one hand, then hugs Plagg with his other hand so that his own kwami isn’t left out. “You did all you could. He’s the one who chose to do that. He’s the one who went that far to get Mother back instead of moving on like a normal person. He’s…I feel like the worst son ever for even thinking this, but I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad I don’t ever have to see him again. And then I remind myself that he was doing the best he could –”

“Nah,” Plagg says. “He really wasn’t. If he was, he wouldn’t’ve grabbed Nooroo in the first place. And you’re not a bad person for feeling that way, kid. He akumatised you. You can play pretend all you want, but you know how violating it is to be akumatised like that. The Butterfly’s meant to empower you, not do…that. And every other friend of yours can back you up, except for Pigtails and Guitar Boy, and Hawkdick didn’t go tormenting everyone else like he did with you.”

“Plagg –”

“Adrien. Kid.” Plagg wriggles free of Adrien’s hand so that he can float up in front of Adrien’s face, his bright green eyes holding Adrien’s gaze captive. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting you need help. You tried to deal with Lila’s touchy crap by yourself and look where that got you till you listened to your friends. I get your dad’s a massive pile of dicks and taught you that you can’t speak up when you don’t like something or when you need help, but he was wrong. You got those amazing partners down there and you got friends that’ll have your back through thick and thin. Lean on ‘em, kid. They’re there to take some of the weight.”

“But…” Adrien blinks rapidly to try and quell the stinging in his eyes, but it just causes the tears to well up faster. “If I admit I need help…Plagg, I won’t ever stop asking. What if it gets too much? What if they can’t handle me? I don’t think I could bear to lose them.”

“They won’t, Mr Adrien,” Nooroo says, still snuggling against Adrien. “I’ve felt their emotions since I bonded with Master Luka. They all care so much for you and all they want to do is help. And you’ll be there to help them in return when they need help. That’s what makes you partners and best friends.”

“Okay, but even if I said you were right – which you’re not – it’s, like, one in the morning,” Adrien says. “I can’t wake them up just for my angst.”

“Why not? You’d insist they wake you if the roles were reversed,” Plagg drawls. “And the fact that you’re calling trauma angst really says a lot about your daddy dearest.” Then he phases through the floor before Adrien can even begin to process that.

“Plagg!” Adrien hisses. “No – don’t you dare – I swear –” He groans and crosses his arms. “Stupid cat. Sometimes, I wish he’d just do what I tell him to do.”

“Trust me, you don’t want that at all,” Nooroo whispers. It only takes a moment of frowning down at the kwami for Adrien to realise the implications of what he’d just said.

“Oh, no, no!” Adrien reaches up to cup Nooroo again. “No, Nooroo, I don’t mean – it’s just something I say when I’m frustrated. God, I’d never…I could never treat him like that.”

“I know, Mr Adrien. I suppose I was just…reminded of unpleasant memories.”

“Adrien?” The hatch door creaks open and a mess of black hair pokes out, accompanied by bleary grey eyes, and holy crap, how can Marinette be so beautiful even when she’s half-asleep? “Plagg said you needed us?”

“I don’t need you,” Adrien snaps. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean – goddammit, Plagg!”

Marinette’s face softens and she holds out a hand. “Come back to bed, kitty,” she says. “Even if you don’t need us, it’s okay to want us.”

“But –”

“Adrien Agreste, if you’re trying to be a martyr, I give Marinette full permission to throw you off the balcony,” calls Kagami’s voice from inside the room. Adrien can’t hold back his snort at that, and that’s the opening that Marinette needs to climb half-out of her room and latch onto his ankle.

“I’ll stay here all night if I have to,” she says. A pair of arms rise out of the hatch to slip around her waist.

“Tell us when to start pulling,” Luka’s voice says. “We’ll get this cat on a leash one way or another.”

A burst of laughter splutters out of Adrien. He fails to hold back another one, then he’s devolving into such a hysterical fit of laughter that he slides out of his seat and ends up on his back on the cool concrete. Somewhere in the middle of his breakdown, his laughter turns to choked sobs, then the dam bursts and tears start streaming down his cheeks for the first time since before his mother had disappeared.

“Shh,” murmurs a voice, enveloping him in warmth, along with arms and skin and rustling clothes all around him. “It’s okay, Adrien. Let it out.”

He’s not sure which one of his partners had said that. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Not when they’re all there for him, each one supporting him all the same but bringing different warmth, different light waves, to him. Luka’s a vivid indigo, somehow both freezing and scorching at the same time, but not the kind of freezing that threatens to pitch him into unwanted flashbacks. Kagami’s a warm gold, fiery and brilliant but also subdued enough to dim herself when needed, to avoid overload. And Marinette’s a deep scarlet, hot and full of passion, throwing herself into life with everything she has no matter her guise, much more a crackling wildfire than a hurricane now that he knows her so much better. And maybe that’s why he loves them so much.

.

“We can’t thank you enough, Chloé,” Luka says once they’ve left Le Grand Paris to head back to Marinette’s place, with the Gorilla driving closely behind them. “I’m sure Adrien’s aunt is a wonderful person –”

“No need for pleasantries,” Chloé scoffs. “Wonderful person or not, no way is Adrichat going to live with that aunt and cousin of his. As if anyone’s going to let Chat Noir move to England, especially when I’m the daughter of the mayor of Paris…”

Honestly, most of what Chloé’s saying is going in one ear and out the other for Marinette. All she can focus on is the disturbing mix of both overwhelming emotion and suffocating numbness radiating off Adrien, easily detectable even without the empathetic abilities that Luka has or the little purple brooch that’s fastened to his jacket, disguised among other pins. But Marinette doesn’t have a clue what to do. How are you supposed to help someone who’s mourning their mother for a second time and whose father tortured them and now won’t ever see them again?

“The Gorilla’s cool,” Adrien says with a weak smile. “He knows I’ll be at Marinette’s or Luka’s or Kagami’s a lot of the time.”

“Or at my hotel,” Chloé supplies.

“Yeah, that. He doesn’t really care where I am so long as, well…he knows I’m okay, I guess. Physically,” Adrien adds just as Luka opens his mouth. “Thanks for helping him get custody, Chlo.”

“Hmph. Of course.” Chloé flips her ponytail. “I’ve known him for as long as I’ve known you. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to take care of you, Adrichat.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if Gorilla and Nathalie are the only two adults who ever cared about me.” Adrien’s shoulders slump. “Mother can’t have cared that much if – if she kept using the Peacock –”

“Hey.” Marinette stops and grabs Adrien’s hand. Kagami grabs his other hand and Luka, being the tallest, just wraps all three of them in a hug on the spot. There’s a little huff from Chloé, but she doesn’t complain about being left out like she might have just a few months ago.

“You don’t have to forgive her,” Luka says. “You don’t ever have to be okay with what happened.”

“Just so long as you don’t try to be a martyr and push us away,” Kagami says. “You’re so annoyingly self-sacrificing.”

“Yep, that’s Adrikins to a tee,” Chloé drawls. “Okay, like, can I have my best friend back?”

After a few moments, Marinette, Luka, and Kagami release Adrien to let him gulp in shuddering breaths. Chloé jumps onto his back, just like when she used to tackle and cling to him, except that this time, Adrien’s arms fly back to grab Chloé and hold her securely as she wraps her legs around his waist and clings to him like a monkey.

“Are you…giving her a piggyback?” Marinette splutters. Chloé flips her off.

“Buzz off, Dupain-Cheng. Adrien and I used to do this all the time as kids.”

“I just don’t think any of us imagined that Chloé Bourgeois would enjoy piggyback rides,” Kagami drawls. Chloé pokes her tongue out in response.

“If I never see my mother again and cop her “ridiculously childish” lectures, it’ll be too soon,” Chloé says. “Thank god she fucked off back to New York. I’ve never felt this light in years, and I didn’t even realise till now.”

“Last time I gave Chlo a piggyback was when we were nine,” Adrien says, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. Chloé shrieks and tightens her arms and legs so much that he chokes until she loosens her grip. “Then she sniffed at me and said that only babies did that, but she was a young lady.”

“Are you sure that you’re –” Marinette begins.

“The only reason I won’t deck you if you finish that sentence is because you’re Ladybug,” Chloé says without even looking at Marinette. Marinette’s pretty sure that it’s more to do with not wanting to upset Adrien by attempting to murder one of his girlfriends, but she manages to hold her tongue. Just.

“Please don’t kill my lady,” Adrien jokes, but the twitch of his lips is weak. Marinette and Chloé exchange looks, then come to an unspoken truce.

“Look, Adrikins, you’re not gonna be alone, alright?” Chloé says with an uncharacteristically soft look. “It’s not just me and your fucked-up father anymore.”

“You were nowhere near as bad as him,” Adrien says. Chloé just shrugs.

“Well, you’ve also got those three. And you’ve also got the Ladyblogger and DJ Tupac. I’m not gonna pretend I know how you’re feeling, but I do know what it’s like to have a parent put you through hell. As if I’d let you be alone.”

Adrien’s lips twitch and he stops outside the bakery and sets Chloé down so that he can hug her. “Thanks, Chlo,” he murmurs into her hair.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, enough with the mush!” Chloé protests, though she contradicts herself by moving her hands to his back to hug him. “I so don’t have time for this. Unlike you, I have places to be.”

“Really? Like where?” Kagami says. Chloé raises a perfect eyebrow.

“I…may be hanging out with Kubdel,” she mutters. Kagami tilts her head with an innocent smile.

“I didn’t hear you. Could you speak up?”

“I’m hanging out with Alix Kubdel because I’ve been thinking about her since the Sanguisuga thing, okay?” Chloé shrieks. With a huff, she crosses her arms and stalks off.

“Did I do something wrong?” Kagami says as Marinette holds the bakery doors open so that they can slip inside and head on upstairs. “I was only trying to tease her as a friend.”

“I guess it just wasn’t the right time?” Marinette says. Kagami sighs and looks down.

“I wish I could “read the room” better, as most people say. Now I have to go and apologise to her.”

“You can’t exactly help not being able to read the atmosphere sometimes.” Marinette waits until they’re in her bedroom to grab one of Kagami’s hands and squeeze, and Adrien takes her other arm and pulls her close. “What matters is that you realised you messed up and you need to apologise.”

“What Mari said.” Adrien leans down to kiss the top of Kagami’s head. Her cheeks pinken and she leans into his touch with a soft smile. “It did make me want to laugh, if that makes you feel better.”

“…A little, yes. We should –”

Whatever Kagami’s going to say is cut off by a colossal roar from outside that shakes the building and nearly sends them crashing to the floor. What the heck? An akuma? But that’s not possible! Luka and Nooroo are right here!

“It’s…a lava monster?” Luka says once all four of them have scrambled up onto Marinette’s balcony and are leaning over the railing to find the source of the sound a few streets away. “But how? I haven’t even tried to create any champions!”

“Oh.” Nooroo’s wings droop as he’s joined by Tikki, Plagg, and Longg. “It’s not an akuma. It’s a sentimonster.”

Marinette’s mouth dries until it’s more arid than a desert. “A sentimonster?” she croaks. “But that’s – the Peacock creates sentimonsters, and it’s not broken anymore since Master Fu got back from Tibet –”

“Indeed,” Longg sighs. “It seems that whoever has stolen Duusu and Roaar is Hawkmoth’s ally after all. It’s possible that we will also encounter a Tiger wielder, if this Peacock has an ally of their own.”

“Just when I thought it was all over,” Adrien groans.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Marinette takes his hand and runs her thumb over the back of it.

“I mean, I was kind of expecting it. I guess I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the Peacock and Tiger were stolen. But we’ve got something that the Peacock and Tiger wielders don’t have.” Adrien takes Marinette and Kagami’s hands, and Luka grabs Marinette’s free hand. “We’ve got each other.”

“That,” Marinette says, “was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m so exposing you in the group chat tonight.”

“But milady!” Adrien pouts. Marinette absolutely refuses to acknowledge the way her stomach flips and shivers at those kitty eyes, because there’s no way in hell she’s handing Adrien that victory. “I thought you loved me!”

“Oh my god, can you guys hurry the hell up?” Honeybee’s standing on the roof behind them with crossed arms, tapping her foot, as the four of them whirl around. “That thing’s not gonna ice itself! Shut up!” she splutters when Adrien grins at her for her joke.

“Ladybug! Chat Noir!” A slim figure with magenta-tipped brown hair and a tight magenta suit lands on the building next to the lava sentimonster. From this distance, the only details Marinette can make out are that her long hair is bunched near the end and her angular face is framed by two thick locks of brown hair. “Come out and give your Miraculouses up, or Mayura’s sentimonster and I, Felina, will destroy Paris! Where are you, Adrien?”

Adrien immediately throws himself to the ground in case the magenta girl – Felina, obviously the wielder of the Tiger Miraculous – happens to look his way.

“Looks like it’s time to introduce Morpho to the world, then,” Luka sighs. “Not that anyone will trust me. I’m pretty sure the sight of an akuma’s going to make them run the other way.”

“We did mention in our press conference that the Butterfly was in good hands now instead of evil,” Marinette says. “But yeah, I think Hawkmoth’s wounds are too deep to heal overnight. It can’t hurt to try, though.”

“We should transform before Honeybee Venoms us and throws us at the sentimonster,” Kagami says. Honeybee’s eye twitches.

“Don’t give me ideas. I’ll meet you losers there.”

Marinette grins at her partners as Honeybee leaps away. “Ready, guys?”

“But of course, bugaboo,” Adrien says from the balcony ground. “Plagg, claws out!”

“Always. Longg, bring the storm!”

“I’ll always have your backs. Nooroo, wings rise!”

Marinette’s grin widens at the sight of Chat Noir, Ryuuko, and Morpho before her. Morpho’s outfit is less formal and stuffy than Hawkmoth’s had been; his rich purple blazer is open over a button-down shirt that’s silver with black butterflies and artfully undone a few buttons down from his throat. The sleeves of both his blazer and shirt are rolled to his elbows and the lapels flare out like butterfly wings, and he also has a pair of black fingerless gloves and silver boots that rise halfway up his calves, over his tight indigo pants. His teal tips have turned the same rich purple as his blazer and, in contrast to his distressed formal outfit, his mask looks airy and delicate, with silver butterfly wings arching from the sides of his face, a silver butterfly body and antennae over his nose and forehead, and pale purple detailing that blends with the silver. The Butterfly Miraculous, now with four thin lilac spikes like wings, rests on his left breast.

“Not bad, Morpho,” Chat Noir says with his usual roguish wink. “I don’t know why you didn’t let us see this until now.”

“I was trying to get used to the fact that I had the same magic jewel as the major supervillain,” Morpho says dryly. “And it’s only the second time I’ve transformed.”

“Well, it suits you. A lot,” Marinette says. “It’s perfect for kicking sentimonster butt. Speaking of which…Tikki, spots on!”

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #aotq fic #aotq: hold me #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #kagami tsurugi #luka couffaine #butterfly!luka #plagg #nooroo #lila rossi #anti-lila #ugh #tiger!lila #mayura #poor adrien #good job traumatising your son gabriel #gabriel agreste's a+ parenting #chloe bourgeois #gorilla is adrien's true dad #lukadrigaminette #ml polyamory

[lucarioisinthevoid]

I’ve always imagineer that it is one of Mike’s biggest fears to not have The Gang (TM) not be real and it all was one big hallucination. 🥺🥺🥺🥺 poor boi

Hah, you don’t even know how many universes I have about this. It certainly terrifies him beyond everything, but he’s desperate to believe, because not only would him waking up mean that his delusions have reached a whole different level, but also that he’s absolutely incapable of connecting with real people. It’s scary to like people. It’s scary if people like him. There’s the constant threat that it will all be taken from him. Even worse if it might happen by his own hands. That he breaks something so important, so valuable, that not even his co-workers can forgive him. Sometimes he just feels like an untrustworthy animal. A feral monster. Though in an odd way he felt more connected to the animatronics- perhaps there was a place for monsters, where they weren’t- … well, where they at least weren’t unwanted. But yes, he never will be free of the worry. Of the fear. Because how do you prove what you see is real? How do you test if all your perceptions can be faked? Do you know if you’re a brain in a jar? Are you here right now? With me? Can you hear me?

When Mike woke up, he sucked in his breath panicked. Where was he?! What happened?! His mind was a fuzzy mess of static-y noises and missing memories. Quickly he shook his head, then looked from the left to the right, trying to figure out what exactly was going on- Doors, the screens, the cupcake, the fan- Oh. The fan was off. Quietly he flicked it on and felt a little bit better instantly as the cold air hit his face. Right. The nightshift. Everything was fine. NO WAIT IT WASN’T- Checking the doors, the awful grinning Chica stood in front of it, pressing herself against the glass. Waiting. Without even having to think, he pushed the button, causing the door to slam. Good god, how lucky he was that he hasn’t been gone too long- He couldn’t imagine what would have happened if the animatronics would have caught him sleeping- Did he ever fall asleep on the job before? … something was wrong. The temptation was there to go out and check on this feeling- But no, he wouldn’t let himself being baited into getting murdered. Hah, that would be FUNNY. No way. His brain was working as good as it always did, he was above this. He KNEW truth from his feverdreams. Finally, six AM. He was out. Or rather, he could relax while the animatronics retreated onto their respective stages. Mike stayed in the main area, playing around with the hats, waiting for the doors to open and his co-workers to enter. But they never came. He waited an hour, he waited the day, as the sun slowly sank down he got more and more worried. He attempted to call them- but nothing. Then finally he decided to go out- But where should he even seek? Did he KNOW where they lived? Seemingly not as he constantly ended up at the false places- he must remember something wrong- something was WRONG! But what was the guard to do? When the night approached, he returned back into the office, for another shift. There was no way he could just abandon the machines, they would hurt themselves- or others, then getting torn apart. Simon would come back right? Simon was his friend. He would return. He would come to look for him, right? If he couldn’t look for them, they would eventually return- Jeremy- Dave- Old Sport- ONE of them had to return eventually, right? Someone would come to tell him what happened! Time passed by. Mike wasn’t even sure how fast- every day pretty much the same. By now he had befriended the machines a little bit more, at least for during the day. The restaurant was breaking down, but thankfully the generator needed little to charge it up, the cameras and lights were all still fine. Hell, even the music did work still out. He felt a bit bad for the animatronics, as they slowly became more and more broken down- they still seemed to be in high spirits though. And still hunting him down heartlessly at night. Mike had stopped questioning that part. They knew he was their friend, at least during the day… he assumed there was some trauma related terror coming with the darkness, causing them to act out viciously. Fine. He could handle it. He was like them after all. Trying his best he attempted to maintain what could and keep the place at least SOMEWHAT clean, though he slowly lost the fight against the creeping plants and mold. But that was fine. Nobody ever came, even if he was sure that the doors were open. What could have caused the sudden shut-down? And were the other taken along? Maybe they had been sent to another location? But then- why not him? His thoughts were constant circles that were slowly driving him insane. He hoped for SOMEONE. SOMETHING. Hell, he was looking for secret doors, hoping for ANY HINT- Until one night, finally someone came. Mike was flicking through the cameras, rather bored as he heard something and quickly flicked until he found the one where there was unusual movement. The doors had opened and a group of teenagers had answered. He could hear their laughter and words, but those turned into distorted echoes, as they were send through the empty hallways. Glancing at the clock he realized it was shortly before midnight. Fucking hell- what for fucking IDIOTS! Rashly he grabbed his flashlight and made his way down the hallway. The poster changed as he passed them. Fuck, fuck, fuck, they were awake- When he arrived in the main place, where the teens had set up some alcohol and party lights, one even having put on a hat, he called out loudly- and admittedly, maybe a bit too harshly. “HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING HERE!?” The kids jumped, one falling straight from the chair. Frozen they stared at him and he frustratedly stared back. Seriously, what where they DOING here?! Suddenly, next to him was a noise of something dropping on the ground loudly. Snapping around he saw a girl standing there, a few broken cups to her feet. Suddenly one of them screamed out. “RUN!” And she didn’t hesitate anymore. “DON’T FUCKING DO IT- goddammit.” Mortified he looked at the stage- The head had turned. With a last glare at the teens he proceeded to follow her up. “IF YOU GO THERE YOU WON’T GET FUCKING OUT, YOU’RE AWARE OF THAT RIGHT? THOSE ARE A FUCKING DEAD END. EMPHASIS ON DEAD.” As fast as he could he rushed after her, but he was distracted as he heard multiple voices scream in the backroom, then scattering. “Goddamn kids- why aren’t they running OUT!?” The next generation seemed to seriously lack self-preservation instincts. Torn he stood on the spot, swaying- Then he rushed back. The animatronics were there- the danger was THERE. Rushing as fast as he could without crashing into any walls while taking corners, just to spot one of the teens being chased down by the laughing Chica. He wanted to go along, distract the animatronic, but quickly saw a silhouette in the darkness ahead- “HEY!” It ran off, moving into the office, making Mike realize what was going on. “YOU BETTER NOT CLOSE THAT DOOR, YOUNG MAN-“ The door was closed and locked and Mike could only stare in through the window, at the mortified person cowering inside, looking back at him. “OPEN THE DOOR! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING-“ The other side was still open and to Mike’s horror, a golden eye lit up behind the guy. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK- Desperately he pounded against the reinforced glass. “GET OUT! TURN AROUND! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?” The brown-haired teen kept his eyes locked on him, causing Mike to make a distressed noise and try to run the other way around- Not three steps and he heard an animatronic scream. Too late. There were other screams throughout the place, there was no time to dwell. Again Mike made his way around, attempting desperately to spot any humans- This was terrible, terrible, fucking awful! How would he tell the police about this?! How would the animatronics deal with hurting people who were almost children themselves!? WHY WASN’T HE DOING HIS JOB!? Hurry, hurry, hurry up. Make you can save SOMETHING. For ONCE. Hearing something he pressed himself against the wall, letting an animatronic pass that seemingly didn’t notice him. Out of breath he moved past the bathrooms and- Sobbing. Instantly he moved inside, hearing a muffled cry. The last of the teenagers cowered against the wall, the green eyes wide and terrified. “STAY- STAY AWAY FROM ME!” “Calm the fuck down!” Mike tried to reassure him. “I… I’ll get you out of here. But you NEED to calm down. You HAVE to-“ The boy threw something that Mike promptly deflected. “You’re a little bitch, you fucking know that? Maybe I SHOULD let you brats handle yourself” He turned to check on what it was that had fallen- His eyes met the ones in the mirror. Silver. Shining silver. An endoskeleton, with tiny white dots in their big black eyes stared back. A torch in its hand. A hat on his head. A little glowing badge on his chest. “What… what the fuck…” He stumbled back and the endo almost crashed into one of the stalls behind him- he could feel the door open against his back. Terrified his eyes wandered back to the kid. “That’s- that’s not real. That’s not me. THAT’S NOT ME-“ IT’S ME IT’S ME IT’S ME IT’S ME Before he could do anything more, the teen bolted past him and he lost his focus more and more. S Y S T E M R E B O O T Mike woke up at his desk, tired, with a headache. Fuck… what happened?! Something happened. Did he fall asleep?! Dizzy he stood up, looking outside of the black doors. There was noise of slow animatronic movement. Something was… off. Slowly he stepped outside, looking around. Chica was with the back to him, carrying something. A liquid of indistinguishable color dripped from whatever she was carrying- “… Chica?” She turned, then smiled, turning further to reveal her pizza. “Mike! So you finally came out! Took you long enough! Lazy butt!” Happily she laughed. “… you’re in a good mood… what is that…?” His head was HURTING. “Pizza, obviously.” “How did you make that?” For a second it was silent, then she tilted her head. “The ingredients you brought in…?” “Ah.” Suddenly he remembered. He went out today, buying groceries for this. Because Chica was whining so much. God, how could he have forgotten that? Friendly she signed him to come along. “Come!” “Can’t. Someone needs to clean up the damn sauce. You got it all over the fucking place.” She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry Mike… come, I’ll clean it up later, I promise.” “WILL you?” “Yessir!” She smiled. “Well…” “Eat with us, Mike.” The guard sighed and followed the machine into the darkness.

#mike schmidt #au

[meganshinsou-tm]

Shared Walls. (m)

↳ chapter twelve: want

❧ genre: pro-hero shouto, coworkers to lovers, happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: slight mature content, groping, frottage, stalking, panic attack, unsolicited contact/assault

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

"Roki! Anyone can burst right in here at any second. St – ah fuck don't do that," you whined as Shouto's ice cold tongue ran up your neck and his warm breath melted away the goosebumps lining your skin instantly. 

His hands hooked under your knees, jerking you closer to him as he stood between them and you sat on the massive desk. You growled and bit on the heroes chubby cheek, making him stop his torture on your flesh and glare at you, his fingers digging into your thighs that rest in his hands.

"You're not listening to me Shouto!"

"Yes I am, it's called multi-tasking sweetheart."

"Don't you try to butter me up! Your father could walk in here any second. You can't wait until we get off?"

Shouto growled and pushed your back down onto the desk, leaning over he trapped your head between his arms and looked down at you. "Getting off is exactly what I'm trying to do but you keep interrupting me!"

You giggled and bit your lip at the dominance he was displaying and captured his lips again continuing the heated makeout session. It had been a couple weeks since you and Shouto first kissed and since then the two of you started dating and took things slow - well you tried to. 

The sexual tension that built more and more with each day was overwhelming and even your coworkers noticed. You grew closer than ever with him and it almost felt like you had been together for years. He loved you dearly, he didn't say it yet but his actions showed it.

The two of you would steal moments together in the stairwells, on the roof and on days when Shouto was in charge, in Enji's office. Living right next door to each other didn't even quench the thirst you had for each other, especially for Shouto. When the man wanted something he went for it and was relentless, he was the one always stealing you from whatever task you were doing, hiding in a closet and waiting for you to walk by so he could pull you in with him or trapping you between his arms against the lockers of the locker room when it was empty.

So here you were, pinned on the desk that belonged to the #1 hero, by his own son. His heterochromatic eyes drinking in the bliss on your face as your lips feverishly tasted each other. His fingers intertwined with yours as he held them down against the wood and papers. Shouto growled, breaking the kiss and leaned down, running the tip of his nose up your throat, his right hand releasing yours and traveling down your side. You sighed as his icy breath frosted your skin and his warm tongue melted it. His name dripped from your lips in a breathless plea as his hand wrapped your leg around him and he rutted his growing bulge against you.

"You see what you do to me?"

Chuckling, your free hand flew to his icy white locks and tousled them. He looked at you, his smirk turning into a soft smile. Playing with his hair seemed to have such a calming effect on him, even in the midst of his own desires.

"You did this to yourself Roki! I was trying to do my work but you had other ideas. Now let me up, I have a feeling someone is about to walk in."

Shouto groaned and let his face fall into your chest, resting his head on it, pouting like a child. You laughed and ran both hands through his bi-colored locks. You figured this man was a freak in the sheets, but his appetite seemed to be insatiable.

"When we fuck for the first time, I rather it not be on your fathers desk! While it may be a total power move, I prefer to be in your bed!"

"Then stay with me tonight, it's been a couple days," he pleaded letting you hold him as he remained on your chest.

"I'd love to, but before we go home can you take me grocery shopping?"

"If I don't have a mission to go on then yes, we'll go straight from here. If you get off before me though, I want you to wait at home till I get there and then we'll go and stock up for the weekend, sound good?"

You smiled and still played with Shouto's hair, agreeing. He was extremely protective of you since your accident and you let him be. Even agreeing to being escorted to and from work each day to ease his mind and never going out unless him or someone else could assist you. The heroes head lifted from your chest and he smiled. Standing straight he took your hands and helped sit you back up and also helped to re-situate your disheveled clothes. His hand cupped your cheek and he placed a kiss to your forehead. Before he could kiss your lips a knock came at the door making him look at it and back to you with a quirked brow.

"How do you always do that," he asked while helping you off the desk.

"I just have a sixth sense RokiRoki!"

"Goddammit (Y/N), you were supposed to wait until I got home!"

You winced as Shouto sounded clearly angry on the other end of the line as you sat on a train going into town to do the grocery shopping you told him about earlier, going against your word to him. Your stomach growled and your arm cradled it. "Stupid organ, you're the reason I'm in this mess," you thought.

"I'm starving Shouto, I couldn't wait. I –"

"You should've just called for takeout then! I can't protect you when you do this (Y/N), its dangerous out there on your own, you know that! How stu –" his voice stopped before the full word that was on his tongue could escape and he took a breath. "Why didn't you call me before getting on the train, I could've had someone take you."

Your lips pouted from the scolding the hero dealt you, you knew what he wanted to say. At the moment you were hungry and cranky, and now hurt. You knew where his intentions were and that he only wished to keep you out of harm, but you weren't the type of person to just give up living and let others fight your battles. It actually pissed you off how Shouto seemed to think that maybe you couldn't take care of yourself and that keeping you locked up and under his and his fathers watchful eyes until Lucas was dealt with was the only solution.

"Because, I - I shouldn't have to ask your permission to go fucking grocery shopping Shouto. I don't want to fight with you about this, I don't want to fight you period. After today I promise to stay locked away in my tower forever and do as you say."

Before Shouto could retaliate you hung up the phone and shoved it in your bag, crossing your arms and holding back angry tears. You knew your life was in danger and that going out alone wasn't smart at all but you just wanted one day to do something alone and as mundane as grocery shopping. You even donned a surgical mask to try and hide your face from passing strangers, hoping it would be enough. Looking out the window, you pulled the mask down to let some of the cool air fan your face. The glass fogged from the chilly air outside and your warm breath, making you think of Shouto as you drew a snowflake. Guilt started to overtake you and made your heart hurt to think of what must be going through his own head at the moment, you didn't have to be such a brat right? 

Sighing you took out your phone and sent him a text apologizing and letting him know exactly where you'd be at and that you'd only go there and straight back home.

➥ RokiRoki: You have no reason to apologize sweetheart I'm sorry. I keep thinking that if I shield you away from the world then that will solve everything but you're still human and you're not the type to be contained. You ran away in the first place because of being treated like a prisoner in your own home, I won't do that to you. Go ahead and get what you need, but please do just that and head straight back home. Keep me updated with your location and call me if you feel like anything is off. Tell me when you're heading home and I'll meet you at the station. We'll talk more over dinner."

Entering the store you grabbed a buggy and quickly made your rounds, searching out all the items on your list so you could get in and get out. Your eyes wondered around as well, making sure no one was paying any attention to you besides just a passing glance. The mask on your face was snug and you wore a beanie with a sweater and jeans, trying to look as normal and somewhat hidden as possible. After a few minutes you were able to purchase your groceries and leave making your way to the station again.

You sat on the backside of a bench waiting, you're feet planted firmly on the seat. Luckily you seemed to be the only one at the station though so no one could judge, you pulled your mask down letting the cool air hit your flushed and pink cheeks with a sigh. Laughing as you watched one of your favorite BTS videos.

"I put sticker on my carrier! Chop, chop, chop," you squealed and wiped away tears.

A phone call soon cut off the video, a picture of you and Shouto popped up on the screen. You smiled looking at it. It was meant to be a selfie of you both but Shouto was more interested in looking at you instead of the camera. His face nuzzling your cheek with a smile as you smiled the biggest and cheesiest smile ever. Your finger slid the green phone over answering the call and you held the mouthpiece of your earbuds up and spoke.

"Hey RokiRoki!"

"Hey sweetheart, how much longer till your train arrives?"

"Uhm, I think 15 minutes. I'm waiting at the station right now."

"Okay, I'm on my way to the other station now. To be honest I've been a wreck the past hour. Please, don't do this to me again."

"I promise Shouto, I'll make it up to you when we get home! I got stuff to make soba!"

"It's going to take more than Soba, but that'll be a start!"

"Well maybe having me as your desert will fix things?"

You clearly heard Shouto's breathing stop for a second, swearing you could hear his heartbeat in his ears as well. The sound of footsteps could also be heard making you quirk a brow at how clear the speaker was. Shrugging your shoulders you called out Shouto's name into the microphone.

A sigh came from his end, "Don't start something you can't finish (Y/N). I'll see you in a little bit. Be careful! I lo- I'll be waiting for you."

Giggling you gave the hero a 'goodbye' and ended the call. You looked around still being the only soul at the station and took your earbuds out to check the station monitor and see how much longer your wait would be. The air was chilly and quiet, almost eerie. Taking in a deep breath you grunted as your nostrils picked up a scent, it smelled like minty smoke. 

Out of nowhere, from behind you a cigarette was flicked and landed in front of you. Your body stiffened as you went to turn around but were stopped as someone quickly came up behind you. One hand on your throat as their other arm wrapped around your waist flushing your back to their chest keeping you from falling off the bench. You went to scream but the hand glided from your throat to cover you mouth, forcing your head to turn to the side. You're eyes were met with a pair of glistening sea blue ones, making your blood run cold and the scream in your throat to choke back down.

"Don't scream. Despite what you think, I'm not going to hurt you angel. Understand," his raspy and nonchalant voice cooed as his warm and minty breath fanned your cheek.

You nodded and he released your mouth, moving his hand back down to your neck to cup the opposite side of it. Chuckling he dragged the tip of his nose up your skin, inhaling you scent deeply and groaning. Your skin started to crawl and burn at the same time, unsure of how to react.

"I didn't exactly get to introduce myself the first time we met, the name is Dabi," more intoxicating breathes covered the juncture of your neck and collarbone.

"W-Why are you here," you breathed out, thoughts getting hazy as he worked your neck with soft kisses and dragged his teeth. Paralyzed by shock, you couldn't move even if you wanted to.

"I was hired by your lover. You know he's highly pissed off that you escaped from him."

"Lucas sent you? How did you know where I - ngh," you grit your teeth as his arm around your waist loosened and his hand traveled down your thigh and squeezed.

"I work for a very big group, we have eyes and ears everywhere, connections. Plus, I made it my own personal mission to make finding you priority beautiful."

"You, you sent those people to follow me a few weeks ago, that maniac that tried to fucking kill me?"

Dabi chuckled and his hand on the side of your neck moved into your hair, tugging and forcing your head to tilt more to the side giving him more ground to cover with his lips. You whimpered and your eyes screwed shut, a sick heat engulfing your entire body.

"Ah, I want to apologize for that actually. I instructed that they didn't leave a scratch on you but the idiot couldn't control himself I guess. Don't worry though angel, he's been dealt with. No one will be following you anymore now that I've confirmed you're really here; well except for me."

His hand on your thigh rubbed and inched closer between them, he could feel you trembling and smiled against your skin before pulling his hand away. Dabi actually completely released you at the moment, making you fall forward. His hand caught yours before you could fall face first into the concrete. You looked at him bewildered, touching your neck with your free hand and jerking the other from his grasp. Dabi grinned and walked from behind you to move to the bench and sit between your knees. He acted as if the two of you were best friends or something, just hanging out at the station as he placed his elbows on your thighs, leaning his head back and looking up at you. Your hands flew up, not sure where to place them.

"I'll make you a deal. I have this killer headache, how about you rub my head and I'll give you answers."

All you could muster was an okay as your hands instantly moved to his dark and spiky locks. The were shockingly very soft and smooth, his hair was thick and your fingers rubbing kicked up the scent of his plain and clean shampoo. He hummed and relaxed at your touch, his stunning hues smiling at you.

"Are you going to take me back to him?" You questioned silently not looking at the villain between your legs.

"Well it would do no good returning you to a dead man."

Your fingers stopped massaging and your eyes widened, finally looking down at Dabi. He flashed you a wide and satisfied smile.

"He's dead?"

"Last time I checked. You see, when I want something I like to obtain that one thing without any hassle. Your Lucas was a 'hassle', and he needed to be dealt with, it's not like he'd be missed anyway. I mean, did you want to go back to him?" He groaned and leaned forward, rubbing the back of his neck before standing.

You shook your head no, still processing the news of your ex's death. Obviously his death was at the hands of the person standing before you and it should've terrified you, making you run for the hills. Instead though, it felt like a wave of relief crashed down. No more running and hiding, right?

"If he's dead and you have no further obligations with him, then why are you here? What, do you want a thank you, money? What is it you're after exactly?"

Dabi turned around, taking a step closer and trapping your hips between his hands as they brace the rail you sat on. His lips were back at your neck, his nose rubbing under your chin.

"You. There's something about you that I just have to have and I will have it. I'll make you mine, even if it's just for one night."

The villains words hit you like a smack to the face, he wanted you, and bad. 

Your fingers clutched the cool metal beneath you as a gasp left your parting lips. Dabi's hand was gripping your chin, his thumb now between your teeth, prying open your mouth. Unconsciously your tongue fell out on top of his digit making his eyes darken as he smirked. All you could focus on were how hot his lips felt against your skin, just like in your dream. They left a lingering trail of fire along your jaw and chin until he finally reached your open mouth. Dabi chuckled and stuck out his tongue slowly licking and massaging yours, doing however he pleased with your mouth. You were livid, growling as he had you under a spell, you're body paralyzed again. He growled back and pulled away, nipping the tip of your tongue and licking his lips with a smile, leaving you breathless as you heard a train pulling into the station.

"Until next time angel," he cooed and kissed your cheek. 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Dabi started to walk off. You wiped your mouth and skin violently, trying to make any trace and feeling from his lips disappear until you heard fingers snapping. You looked up, to see him looking back at you over his shoulder with a smirk.

"If you want your precious Shouto to live, you'll keep that delicious mouth shut!"

#todoroki shouto #shouto todoroki x reader #shared walls #bnha #mha #boku #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 5: Radiation - Septicemia

Ectoplasm isn’t exactly known for being safe to handle. But Danny handles that problem like he does everything else, with a dose of humour and ignoring it.

"Goddammit”, Danny looks down at his vertically sliced open arm, bone slightly visible. Speaking thick with annoyance, "why, out of all ghosts, did it have to be the Box Ghost to give me my first serious injury?". Coming to float just slightly above the ground in an alleyway, pinching closed the wound, as Sam and Tucker come running towards him. Tucker sidestepping and gagging at the little splashes and one large puddle of Danny's ectoplasm. While Sam just steps over it, not really giving a shit.

Danny looks up at the two as they plop down on the ground next to him, giving the two of them a loose smile, "took long enough huh?". While both of them frown at him, clearly unimpressed.

Sam digs in her backpack, pulling out the mini-medi kit they had all decided all three of them should carry around. Handing Tucker a cloth and little water bottle to clean off the wound while she sets up a needle with ectoline.  

Danny gives his arm to Tucker while Tucker responds, “would have preferred it never happening, dude”, smirking slightly as he wipes off the wound, “but with your terrible dodging of course it did”.

Danny flips him off with his other hand, “hey fuck you Tuck. It was going to happen eventually because I am constantly getting into fights. It would be weird if I constantly came out of getting thrown around, sliced, bitten and whatnot, with nothing more than bruising, small cuts and scrapes”.

Tucker rolls his eyes as he goes to ball up the cloth only to yelp and drop it. Green steam coming off his hand slightly, making everyone look at him worriedly.

Danny squints at him, “what’d you get on you? Obviously ghostly, but don’t think we’ve seen that before”.

Sam just grabs Tucker’s hand, grumbling all the while, “gimme that”, before inspecting his hand. Nodding mostly to herself, “it’s an ecto-burn”.

Danny looks around for a source, “but from what?”.

Tucker just frowns and looks back to the cloth and scrunches it up in the same hand, only to drop it; having been burned by the contact again.

All three mutter, “weird”.

Danny clears his throat, hoping his guess is right, “well it is one of my parents specially made cloths, so maybe it has some weird reaction with ectoplasm”.

Sam snorts, “well here’s what we get for thinking your parents crap would be better to use than regular shit”. While both Danny and Tucker laugh, before Tucker goes about treating his ecto-burns.

Sam motions for Danny’s arm, and grabs his wrist. Resting her forearm on his elbow to begin. Only to jerk away from him after getting some of his ectoplasm on her forearm, the ecto-burn visible. All three stare at it, before Tucker mutters, “dude, it’s you. it’s your ectoplasm”.

Danny clears his throat, pushing down the mild horror and grasping for another reason, “well, I mean, it could be from wiping my arm with the cloth?”. Sam grabs his other hand and pricks his finger crudely enough to get him to bleed. Touching the bubbling droplet only to hiss and cringe. Wiping her finger off on the ground and inspecting the ecto-burn. Looking at Danny and shaking her head.

Danny groans, ruffles his hair with the same hand, “great, that’s just great. So my folks are right on ectoplasm not being safe to have skin contact with. Wonderful. I’m fucking corrosive or some shit”. Meanwhile, Danny is really really damn glad that he’s not hurt by his own ectoplasm.

Sam digs in her bag, looking for gloves, but frowns. Looking back up to Danny, “no gloves. No way I can fix you up then”. All three groan and Danny motions for her to give him the needle with a sigh, which she does.

Danny grunts, “has to be done though”, as he clenches his teeth and gets to work. Sam and Tucker patting his shoulders in comfort and support. Though Tucker occasionally cringes and can’t watch. Tucker talks while looking at a wall, “guess spandex gloves are something we need to carry from here on out”, poking Danny, “too bad we can’t just borrow yours. Being attached to your suit and all”.

Sam rolls her eyes, “pretty sure ghost clothing is made of ectoplasm, Danny’s suit included”. All three pauses and Danny looks from his arm to where his friends are touching his suit. They exchange confused glances before collectively shrugging.

Danny grumbles as he gets back to work, “the stuff inside me must be more concentrated”.

Danny hands back the needle after wiping it off on his leg and Sam wraps his arm, maintaining a safe distance to avoid getting any ectoplasm on her. Tucker gets up and starts mopping up the spilled ectoplasm on the ground with his foot, none of them wanting anyone to get burnt by it or for his parents to find and collect it. Frequently having to change what part of the cloth he’s touching with his shoe, as it steams from the ectoplasm contact. But after a while he starts feeling rather nauseous, the acidic lemon-lime scent starting to feel overpowering. Coughing and gagging before having to walk to the other side of the alleyway. Putting his hands on the wall and dry heaving. Pointing towards Sam and Danny, who are staring at him with concern from their spot on the ground, “dude, ugh, I think it might be more than-”, heaving again, “-just unsafe to touch”.

Sam pauses in her wrapping and leans over Danny’s arm to sniff at it. Getting hit by a wave of nausea after a bit. Sitting back and giving Danny an apologetic frown. Clearing her throat and shoving down the desire to gag, “he’s right. It’s probably because ghost ectoplasm sheds off free-floating ectoplasm”.

Danny nods with a frown, it made sense, “so inhaling that is bad”, speaking with sarcasm, “gReAt. I JuSt LoVe ThIs. PeRfEcT”. Both of them send him sympathetic smiles while Sam goes back to wrapping and Tucker continues cleaning up, just with his arm sleeve over his mouth and nose. Which just serves to make Danny feel guilty. His ectoplasm was basically toxic and corrosive for everyone in town. There was no way he wasn’t going to wind up getting his ectoplasm spilled on things, or get hurt badly again. He was actually going to have to make sure to clean his bed sheets more often now. He knew for a fact there was ectoplasm smeared on them.

Sam clips the end of the bandaging before the two get up, bags repacked, and Danny wraps his arms around his friends. Looking at Tucker, who has Danny’s injured arm around him, “you good? Not burning you?”.

Tucker smirks, “you’re good dude”. Making Danny smile as he floats up and takes the three invisibly to his house.

Flopping down on his bed after transforming back. Tucker lays across his legs and pokes him, “bleed again”.

“Um, what?”.

Tucker snorts, “dude, don’t you always have a little ectoplasm running through your veins? That shit’s in your blood too”.

Danny blinks into a blanket, “oh fuck”, before sticking his hand out towards where he can smell Sam, sitting in his desk chair. Who pokes him with a pin he had lying on his desk, smearing his blood on her wrist. Nothing happens for a bit but then she cringes and wipes it off with a Kleenex. Glance at Tucker while Danny grunts, “you’re being awfully quiet”.

Sam glances down at the mild ecto-burn, it took longer and was much more minor but it was an ecto-burn all the same, “sorry Danny”.

Danny can tell by her tone that she’s not apologising but instead feeling slightly bad for him. Which obviously means she was ecto-burned. Lovely. Danny groans into the blanket, before turning his head to actually look at her, “goddammit. So my blood’s an issue too”, Danny snorts, “Ancients fuck, it’s like everyone’s allergic to me”.

Sam and Tucker exchange a glance, Tucker poking him again, “you probably should pass it off as that actually. If anyone notices that Danny Fenton’s blood burns people”.

Danny squints at Tucker, give him his best ‘are you fucking shitting me?’ look, “and how would that even make sense Tuck? No one's allergic to just one cat or just one bee...or just one human. That’s not logical”.

Sam sighs as she sits down next to him, “blame ecto-contamination, it’s covered all the other general ghostliness. Wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say it poisoned your blood”.

Tuck smirks and gives him a pat, “or made it a poison”, shrugging, “just make a habit of not bleeding”.

Both Sam and Danny stare at him incredulously before all three start laughing. Because as if that would ever happen!

Tucker pats Danny again, “but for real, just don’t bleed on people. It’s not like people make a habit of touching other people's blood, in-fact people emphatically avoid doing that. And it’s only the ghosts who are actively out for Fenton’s blood”.

Danny pushes himself up slightly, going a bit wide-eyed, “guys, Dash”.

“Oh shit”.

Tucker shrugs awkwardly after a while, “well, at least he doesn’t make folks bleed. When he does it’s usually on locks and shit, not on himself”.

Danny sits up fully and slices his wrist, smearing the blood on the wooden side table. Sam grunting, “that’s one way to do gothic home decorating”.

Danny points at her, “also would have scared the crap out of anyone if they had happened to walk in”, pausing and turning his head back to the table as it starts faintly smoking. Danny groans and tilts his head back, “goddamnit”.

Tucker pats his shoulder, “well, that’s a check on you having to clean up any bloody messes with the level of haste that’ll make you seem like you’re some kind of clean freak”.

All three look around Danny’s horribly messy room and start laughing. Danny parting Tucker as they laugh, letting the guy know Danny’s thankful for the little cheer up.

Sam hops over to the bed, “though really, it’s more like you’re radioactive than just corrosive or toxic. Cause you seem to affect everything, with or without direct contact”.

Danny hits her with a pillow while Tucker doddles a little radioactive symbol on Danny’s neck, earning him a hit from the pillow as well. Even if it’s more humoured than genuinely bothered.

——Cut to tomorrow at Casperhigh——

Danny closes his locker with a slight smile before turning to his friends, “guess what son of a corpse actually got to sleep the night away?”. Both of them give him high fives with Tucker near shouting, “fuck yeah dude!”.

“What the Hell do the losers three have to be happy about?!?”. All three groan at the sound of Dash’s voice. As they turn to look at him slowly.

“What do you want Dash?”.

Dash shrugs before smirking, “my brother’s visiting the school today, gotta impress”, digging in his pocket, “and since you’re so cheery”, Dash menacingly flicks out a switchblade knife, “you get to be my target”.

Danny just looks at Tucker, highly unamused, “I hate you, I really really hate you”, before booking it. Sam and Tucker quickly following after him. Tucker grumbling, “I fucking jinxed it”.

However, in a rare show of intellect, Dash had planned for the fleeing and really was going to target Danny anyway. But it wasn’t any fun if he just jumped, didn’t instigate the chase. Scaring the crap out of people was half the fun, which is why Danny pisses him off. Dash damn well knew what fake fear looked like, and faked fear was the only kind he ever got from Danny. The ghosts didn’t even seem to scare the loser, and they absolutely did scare Dash. And that was an insult that Fentailbone wasn’t getting away with. Dash smirks devilishly as Kwan, Dale and Todd corner the three pathetic losers.

Danny makes a point of covering his friends with his arm and body, as the three jocks smirk and stare down at them. Danny turns his head slightly behind him, seeing Dash walking up slowly with a smirk and flipping around the blade. Danny grumbles, “asshole”, before trio back up against the lockers, Danny in front.

And really, that just annoys Dash more. The weak loser acting all protective, like he’s really capable of anything. HA. It doesn’t take much for Kwan and Dale to get the goth and geek pulled away, while Todd basically holds Danny against the lockers. Dash doesn’t even have to look around to know James is watching in one of the small doorways, smoking out of sight from any teachers.

Danny glares at Dash, not even bothering to pay attention to the knife. It was a small thing and Danny had accidentally stabbed himself with larger things. Hell, the thanksgiving turkey attacked him with bigger knives. Plus, stab wounds weren’t all that bad so long as the blade wasn’t jagged. It was Dash who was the actual threat, obviously looking to do some real damage for a change. Instead of just generalised aggression and trying to humiliate.

Dash waves the knife in Danny’s face, “now to skin the rabbit”.

Danny snorts and rolls his eyes, “wow, you actually made a somewhat intelligent joke for once”. Todd squeezes Danny’s shoulder, hard, for that. But again, Danny’s gotten worse from his own house. So he ignores it entirely.

Dash meanwhile frowns, this is exactly what he’s talking about. The clear ‘go ahead and hit me, I don’t give a damn’ attitude, even if the little loser covered it up with fake fear half the time. “If you want to play it so tough then maybe I need to give you a mark to show who you and this school belong to”.

Danny snorts, “kinky”. Which Dash instantly punches him in the gut for, before slice his cheek and stabbing him in the shoulder. Grabbing that shoulder and squeezing the wound, as he slams Danny back upright and into the lockers.

Danny coughs, completely ignoring the injuries but forcing them not to heal, “wow fuck, you actually did it huh? Good for you Dash”, smirking up at Dash, “you proved you’re old enough to play with knives”. Dash punches the lockers next to Danny’s head while Danny forcibly rolls the injured shoulder, “missed the bone, try harder next time”.

Tucker grumbling, “I actually forgot how much more witty he is when he’s not sleep-deprived”.

Dash side-eyes the geek, “you think he’s witty huh?”, looking back at Danny, “well maybe he should cut that out”.

“Wow, two jokes, you’re on a ro-”, Dash shoves the knife into Danny’s mouth and makes a point to cut up his tongue before pulling it out. Making Danny cough again, he was going to spit at the ground but blinks, remembering last night's bullshit.

As if on cue, Dash jerks his hand off Danny’s shoulder, steaming green and with a forming ecto-burn. Danny, spotting the green steam on the knife, uses the jocks shock to snatch the knife and book it. Though unable to resist a joke as he does so, “yoink!”.

Sam, being more of a planner and ballsy enough to do said plans, maneuvers around Kwan, whose startled enough by everything to have pretty well lost his grip, and punches Dash in the face. The guy might be a bully but he’s one of those fuckers who ‘won’t hit a girl’, but also doesn’t expect a girl to be doing the hitting. Taking Dash’s furthered shock to wipe off his hands with her jacket, “the only person you can impress by trying to beat up Danny, is Danny”, before elbow him in the back of the head and running off. Catching Danny running backwards and waving the, cleaned off, knife at the jocks, “thanks for the knife! Pleasure doing business with ya!”.

Which only pulls Dash out of his shock, “FENTON!!!”, and gets him chasing after them.

Now what Dash didn’t know was that Danny liked the chase and hunt just as much as Dash did. Expect Danny got far more fun out of the ‘getting away’ part. Danny chuckles from their hiding spot inside the stairs, ���getting out from under the wolves teeth and taking a tooth as a trophy prize”.

Sam uses a medical cloth from her bag to wipe off her jacket before it gets burnt, while Tucker elbows Danny, “maybe you should sleep less”.

“Fuck you Tuck”.

“Dude, you were treating him kind of like a ghost”.

Danny rolls his eyes and huffs, “well excuse me. Normally ghosts stab me, not humans”, shrugging, “besides, wit’s kind of my knee jerk reaction”.

Sam sighs as she starts wiping off Danny’s t-shirt, which is noticeably smoking and has a patch of the shoulder slowly burning away, “you can’t be fighting back against Dash, Danny. It’s too risky. Mocking him is practically the same thing”.

Danny waves her off as he takes the cloth and wipes off his cheek. Choosing to just swallow whatever’s in his mouth and letting those wounds heal up. Course he can’t do that with the cheek or shoulder. Y’know, in case Dash checks. Plus other people saw the cheek shit.

Tucker holds up a bandaging kit, “what ones you want? Space for your face?”.

Danny snorts but shakes his head, “it’s not deep and I’ve already cut off the bleeding. Having a bandaid on my face would just make Dash happy”.

Sam grabs one of the large square ones, “well regardless, your shoulder’s getting this”, before motioning for Danny to take off his shirt; which he does.

Sam seals the bandage around to stab wound, which normally would have been healed up in half an hour or so, while Tucker sticks a bandaid on Danny’s face; reading ‘Thy wit’s as thick as Tewksbury mustard’.

Danny glares at him and pulls out his phone to see what one Tucker put on while Tucker speaks, “we can see muscle in the wound dude, it should logically be bleeding”.

Danny rolls his eyes, “well I can’t let it, now can I”, point at the bandaid, “and really? That one?”.

Tucker smirks, “you deserved it”.

Danny snorts as he pulls back on his t-shirt, glaring at the obvious burn hole, before digging in his bag and pulling out a patterned dress shirt and throwing it on; leaving it unbuttoned though.

The three get up and Danny makes them intangible and invisible, before flying them out and into an empty hallway.

Dash, meanwhile, gave up on chasing the weird loser. Instead going to the bathroom with a huff and staring down at his burnt? hand. Seriously wondering how and when that happened. There’s no way the little loser had done that, was there? Hugging and glaring at the mirror, “maybe Fenton’s more of a freak than a loser. A freak loser, even worse than the rest of those pathetic weaklings”. Before leaving the bathroom.

Danny can’t help but give Dash a shit-eating grin as the trio spot him while leaving the school. Pausing all three’s walking and tossing up the knife a few times. Grinning even more shit-eatingly when Dash clearly notices the knife.

At first Dash smirks at seeing the noticeable bandaid, talk about embarrassing, until -due to wanting his damn knife back- he gets close enough to read it; which Fenton obviously wanted. “Why you little freak!”, chasing after the three as they all run off. Only to lose them near instantly. It was really starting to piss him off how good the little freak loser was getting at escaping him.

Danny laughs in the alleyway, patting Tucker’s shoulder, “Tuck, you do realise I was insulting his ‘wit’ earlier and you put on a bandage that insults a persons wit!”.

Tucker smirks, knowing full well he’s about to be an asshole, “well you know what I realised? You could kill or destroy everything just by bleeding everywhere”.

Danny smacks him over the head as he stops laughing, “fuck you, you’re right and that’s horrifying, but fuck you”.

Sam smirks, “maybe you should get dePhantomed again so I can add a radioactive symbol to your back as a warning”.

Danny blinks and tilts his head at her, “you know...that would actually look kind of cool”.

“...I was joking”.

Danny just gives a shit-eating grin.

“Danny no”.

Danny gives the most shit-eating smug smile he can possibly manage. Effectively making it clear he won’t actually do something like that while also being a Jack ass.

Over the next few days, Danny wore an assortment of different insulting bandages and wound up getting a mild amount of respect for getting cut and stabbed but seemingly shrugging it off. While Danny just made a point to clean up after himself more and his two friends always had industrial-strength gloves on hand.

End.

#Danny Phantom #phandom #ectober #ectober 2019 #fanfic #danny fenton #sam manson #Tucker Foley #Dash Baxter #kwan #dale #oc's #radiation #toxic #radiation side efects #light angst #blood #gore #blood and gore #stabbing #injuries #ectobiology #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #My writing

[banashee]

We can be whatever we want

The dim light of the rising sun floats through the cracks of the shutters early in the morning and Steve blinks against it. Waking up slowly is still a new sensation to him - as is waking up next to another person. It’s not uncomfortable, and he really could get used to this. He listens to the calm, even heartbeat coming from the smaller body next to him. Natasha has her back turned, cuddled up under the blankets and she’s slowly waking up.

Then, Steve nearly jumps out of his skin. There is a very sudden and ice cold touch on his bare skin, and it takes him a second to realize that Natasha is very much responsible for it. She put her freezing feet right on his lower back and hums happily as she wiggles closer, half asleep but clearly aware of what she’s doing. 

Steve still curses out loud and then half heartedly complains,

“Urgh, your feet are cold.”

 It gets met with a low chuckle from Nat. 

“Yup, and you’re warm.” She’s completely unconcerned and even shoves her feet further up the back of his shirt in an attempt to get more warmth. He’s expected it by now, and despite himself, smiles lopsidedly. 

“So you want to try and freeze me again?”

“No, then I’d have to find another human hot water bottle to keep me company. Too much effort.”

Natasha isn’t even trying to hide the smile creeping into her voice and then she turns around to wrap her arms around his middle and pushes her icy toes in between his legs instead - but he’s prepared this time. Steve happily pulls her closer, one arm firmly wrapped around her and messing up the back of her bright red hair, something she usually wouldn’t let anyone get away with. 

They start the day lazy and comfortable, rolling around in bed. Then they hit the sparring mats together. 

Neither of them shows the other any mercy, and about an hour later, they’re drenched in sweat and sporting brand new bruises. They share a shower where they get to more intimate and even more entertaining things than that and Steve can’t help but notice that apparently to them, beating the crap out of each other in the gym seems to count as foreplay these days. He also finds that he doesn’t mind that at all and doesn’t question what that says about either of them.  

It’s much easier to just live in the moment and enjoy this - whatever it is - as long as it’ll last.

*+~

Steve has made himself comfortable in his own little corner down in the main lab. 

He’s got a whole art studio upstairs in his apartment, because Tony is both over the top in anything and everything he does and very generous to the people around him. The room is large, full of light and equipped with giant windows and just about anything an artist could ever need. Just thinking about how expensive all of it must have been makes Steve's head spin, but he loves the studio and uses it frequently. The only thing it lacks is company though, so he’s often hanging out down in the lab, because both Tony and Bruce spend a lot of time there and the others come by frequently. 

Today, Steve is working on a large painting of a nightly scenery, the New York Skyline in blues, purples and small yellow lights. It’s beautiful, and he loves that he can get lost in all the little details. 

But it doesn't help that he keeps thinking about Natasha and whatever it is they have. They never put a label on it, and while there is a lot of trust and they’re comfortable around each other, he can’t help but think that it’s probably casual unless they agree to specify it otherwise. Which is a problem - he’s not sure how to bring this up to her. Just in case she doesn’t want something committed, which is entirely possible, with the lives they have. Romantic relationships don’t necessarily work out in a case like this, and it’s just easier to seek out the warmth and intimacy of another person at night just to be able to hold onto something without hoping for or expecting anything else from it. 

Then again, romantic relationships are never guaranteed to work out. Steve feels out of his depth in this.

Blindly, he reaches for his coffee mug to drink a few sips. He makes a face at the aftertaste and loads up his brush with more paint while he’s listening with half an ear as Tony pokes Clint with his screwdriver, because he’s sitting with his ass on Tony’s desk while he’s fletching arrows. They bricker and complain like an old married couple. Clint pokes Tony in the armpit with the back of the arrow he's currently holding and the inventor complains endlessly as he throws a balled up, stained paper towel at his head in response. Because they're mature adults like that. 

The two of them are a oddly perfect combination, and Steve (amongst other people) spent the longest time wondering if they would end up throwing hands or proposing marriage to each other by the end of the day - it is a pretty even tie most of the time.

There are backup protocols in place just in case they team up and go rogue together. That fact alone should be terrifying because Tony and Clint left to their own devices mean chaos and fiery destruction on a good day and it still baffles everyone how these two managed to actually start a healthy and loving relationship with each other. It’s hard to believe some days, especially when another screwdriver gets chucked through the air as they bricker on.

Steve doesn’t react to it, taking another sip of coffee - it makes him cringe again. 

"Coffee tastes odd today." he muses, concentrating on another small and detailed part of his painting. It takes his mind off of things. Things like his growing not-so-casual-anymore feelings for Natasha which is really not something he wants to think about right now, hence why he's hanging out down here. 

"Excuse you, my coffee is fucking great." Hawkeye grouches good naturedly from his spot on the desk, putting a feather on the shaft of his arrow in place without looking up. 

Steve just shrugs, keeps drinking. It just gets worse and worse as time goes on and he says as much. 

Tony turns, one eyebrow raised at him and then he bursts out laughing. 

"Steve you giant baffoon, stop drinking the paint water." 

"Wait, what?! “ he looks down into his mug. The coffee now looks suspiciously purple while the mug with the water and his paint brushes looks much, much cleaner. He sighs heavily. 

"Goddammit."

"You have a purple mustache." Clint supplies helpfully and Steve runs a hand down his face. 

"Great, that's just what I wanted to wear today." 

"Impeccable taste as always." 

Steve furiously wipes at his face with the corner of his shirt. But there is no pretense left at this point, anyway. 

“Seriously tho, what’s up with you today? You’re not usually that much of a dork.”

“Thanks very much.” He quips back and then stops for a moment. After a beat of silence, he actually starts talking about the issue on his mind - Clint listens as he starts carving wood for another arrow, and nods along to what Steve is telling him. He’s Natashas best friend after all, so it’s not like he wouldn’t know. Everyone knows, if he’s honest. But he still keeps rambling on.

“Go talk to her. It’ll be fine.” is what Clint finally answers and yeah, if only it was that easy, Steve thinks. Or says out loud, because his mouth keeps lamenting without his permission, which is great. 

“Talk to her.” Is all that Clint says, and he repeats himself three or four more times, interrupting Steve’s increasingly flustered rambling every single time.  After that, Tony chimes in.

“Hey Steve, I have an idea.”

“Yes?”

Tony looks up with a flat look. “Go talk to her.”

“Why am I even talking to you?”

“We’re charming and sparkling company.”

“Nah, that can’t be it.”

“Seriously, go talk to her. This is between her and you, we can’t solve shit.”

Steve is annoyed because they’re right. But then, Tony looks down on whatever the hell he’s working on and says,

“Oh. Oops.”

That sends Clint scrambling off of the table, because “Oh. Oops.” is the very last thing you want to hear Tony Stark say in the labs. Ever.

Clint is grabbing Tony to pull him with him as he puts as much distance as possible between them and the table and Steve launches forward to put himself in between his friends and the small-ish explosion that occurs seconds later. 

The three of them remain mostly unharmed, a bit of scorched hair and damaged pride to be pulled by the scruff like a naughty kitten aside. 

“For fuck’s sake.”

Once again, Steve sighs heavily. He does that a lot around here. 

“Steve?”

“Yes.” 

“Talk to her.”

He glares, because once again, he’s annoyed that they’re right about this. 

Goddamnit. 

*+~

“Stop thinking so hard.” Natasha complains at night. She’s wrapped around him, comfortable and content, running one hand over his shoulder. If Steve had been under the impression it’s gone unnoticed, well, he’s dead wrong about that.

He’s about to say something stupid like “I’m not” or “I have no idea what you’re talking about” but this is Natasha, and she always notices. So the words that are actually coming out of his mouth are

“What are we?” he stops for a second before he continues. “I’m sorry, it’s just, we never really discussed any specifics and, well…” Steve can feel his face heating up. Way to go, Rogers.

Natasha hums in response, pushing herself away from him a little bit. Not much, just enough so they can look each other in the eye. She also keeps her hand on his arm when she answers, rubbing small circles with her thumb.

“We can be whatever we want. If you’d prefer to keep this casual, that’s okay with me. But if you’d like this to be more… Because I’d like that.” 

She’s open with him, not hiding, not a single mask or distraction in place. Her green eyes are no longer sleepy, but they’re sparkling and beautiful and Steve could get lost in them. Her answer takes him by surprise, and so does her small smile at his facial expression that obviously gives him away. But he smiles back, and simply replies,

“Yes, I would like that very much.” Then, he asks, “Is it okay when I kiss you?” because while they’ve done much more than that before, it feels like this would still make it very much different.

Instead of answering, Natasha crosses the distance herself. 

They hold onto each other, almost melting into each other. They stop kissing to catch some breath, and Steve gently tucks a lose strand of hair behind Natashas ear, keeping his hand there to slowly stroke her red curls. Both of them are probably smiling a sappy smile that no one else can see and when they finally fall asleep that night, they do so with a silent happiness about them.

In the morning, Steve wakes up to icy feet on his back once again. This time tho, he thinks he might as well get used to that, too, although it doesn’t stop him from complaining. It doesn’t stop Natasha from laughing and snuggling closer, either, so it's all good.

*+~

Prompt No. 58 – "Urgh. Your feet are cold" – "Yup, and you're warm."

#banashee writes #marvel fanfiction #romanogers #ironhawk

[athenamoreau-blog]

𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖓𝖆 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖚, 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓, 𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖇𝖕𝖉

❝ -- But listen carefully to the sound  Of your loneliness like a heartbeat drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had And what you lost -- ❞

𝖇𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖈 𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

full name: athena ann moreau

birth date: april 20th, 1983

astrological sign: taurus

gender / pronouns: cis female / she, her, hers 

sexual / romantic orientation: bisexual / biromantic

current location: redwood bay, oregon (2000-present)

𝖕𝖍𝖞𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊

height: 5 foot 4 inches

build: slim / athletic

skin tone: pale 

hair color: red

eye color: green

notable features: cleft chin and her big bright (perfect) smile

marks / scars: barely visible scar on pelvis from a cesarean 

usual expression: pensive

clothing style: silk blouses, pant suits, and blazers galore

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 

birth place: sedona, arizona (1983-2000)

father: andrew moreau (estranged)

mother: annette moreau (deceased)

sibling(s): andrew moreau (deceased)

children: unnamed baby girl (born october 17th, 2000)

pet(s): tango (lop eared rabbit)

𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖒𝖘

accent: typical pacific north american

hobbies: barely had any bc all she does it WORK but she does enjoy reading, meditating, yoga, gardening, and outdoor excursions 

drives / motivations: justice, making her brother proud

fears: giving up one day, spending the rest of her life alone, work related casualties 

positive traits: brave, diligent, calm, altruistic, wise, reliable, stable, devoted, passionate, kind, strong-willed, intuitive

negative traits: bossy, tense, obsessive, sensitive, skeptical, uncompromising, possessive, stubborn, workaholic, sarcastic, seemingly aloof, insecure

sense of humor: sarcastic but also a secret pun fanatic 

𝖋𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘

activity: hiking / nature walks / bike trails

animal: rabbits bc they are Good and mean no harm

beverage: herbal teas

book: the price of salt by patricia highsmith 

celebrity: bob dylan

color: mint green or lavender

food: pasta

flower: sunflowers

gem: emerald

holiday: christmas (until her brother died now they all make her sad lol)

movie: tootsie

musical artist: stevie nicks

quote / saying: anything that comes out of bob dylan’s mouth

scenery: tall and thick forests, waterfalls, mountains

scent: patchouli, vanilla, sandalwood

television show: i love lucy

weather: thunderstorms and rain

𝖎𝖒𝖕𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖉𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖘

okay so athena is a Sad Bitch but also a Bad Bitch, she doesn’t sit around feeling sorry for herself but she definitely hasn’t processed literally any of the trauma she has experienced in her life. queen of distractions and overworking herself!

her older brother pretty much raised her bc their mother died when she was a toddler and their father is a no good pos. he was her real life superhero tbh. and GUESS WHAT he died in a motorcycle accident. it was a hit and run. she drives herself crazy over it.

she is very lonely in her personal life, probably doesn’t have a single friend. her brother was all she had in so many ways and the loss of him has literally left her empty.

during her leave of absence from work to deal with her debilitating grief, she realized that she had been living her life in the name of making SOMEONE proud of her. never really stopping to think about what she wants. she feels like she doesn’t know herself, she didn’t have much of a childhood or discovery phase so she is questioning literally everything right now.

when she returned to work, they threw her a welcome back party and basically told her that she was her brother’s replacement as lieutenant of the homicide department. literally right as she was thinking about starting her entire life over again.

she had a baby at 17 years old and put the baby up for adoption bc of her messed up family life. she still harbors a lot of guilt and pain from that, and because she has lost everyone she loved and she feels like she has no one, she wonders if that’s her karma bc she gave up her child. 

she just wants to help other people bc she can’t help herself goddammit

athena prob hasn’t had a truly meaningful romantic relationship in her life bc of her obsession with work and her abandonment issues tbh. i’m still getting to know her myself but i can see her dating a few woman for a couple of months, maybe some men for a couple of weeks but she struggles when things get emotionally intimate.

anyway please love and care about her she will go out of her way to be good to you if you show her literally the most basic human decency

𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

i am so open and down for most things, obv as long as it doesn’t feel super ooc for athena but like i said i’m still figuring her out!!!

anyone that works for law enforcement is an easily potential acquaintanceship

athena frequents a few of the downtown shops so if your character has ties to that, that could also call for a nice acquaintanceship turned eventual friendship or sumn.

i’d love to have a character that she is like...ALMOST comfortable with. send me your character intros/info and lets get to plotting baybee. 

also THE SCANDAL if anyone would ever wanna bring her daughter into play

FULL BIOGRAPHY HERE

so yeah please hit me up if you have any questions or you wanna talk abt our muses bc i would love to plot and write with y’all and have our characters coexist ok love u bye

#intro #tw death and despair lol #about athena

[joongie-teez]

A Crushed Crush </3 01

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, college!au 

Warnings: Jungkook is being a little dirty minded

Word count: 1,9k

Summary: Prepare yourself to be crushed because of a little innocent crush

Park Jimin.

The well known ‘angel’ of the school. Everyone knew him, everyone adored him. And most importantly of all, everyone had a crush on him, even most of the guys. You were no exception to that. He was popular, extroverted and had a huge fanbase for he could sing and dance. He always sat in the front of the class, always got A grades and everyone wanted him in their club. 

Then there was you, a shy little potato without any friends in your class. You always sat in de back of the classroom and nobody really knew you. You were a loner, an einzelgänger. So why, did you develop a crush for Park Jimin of all people? Was it because of his charming looks and his cute giggles? Or because he was always nice to everyone? You truly didn’t understand why, the only thing you knew for sure is that you wouldn’t stand a chance with him. 

So you decided to admire him from afar, never talked to him, never made eye contact. And most importantly of all, never crossed his way. Social interaction was already hard enough, but social interaction with Jimin seemed almost impossible.

After school, you would work in a cute little coffee shop with your two only friends, Yoongi and Jin. Jin was the owner of the shop and Yoongi was his old friend. The three of you immediately hit off. Jin being the loud and energetic mom-type, Yoongi the quiet but sassy type and you being the shy and awkward type. They are the only two people in the whole world who knew about your little crush on a guy from your school. You never even told your own parents about it And you were never planning on letting anyone else knew about your little secret.

<\3 <\3 <\3

Today was just a normal day. 

It started out with your English and math class with Jimin and his two friends Taehyung and Jungkook. These two are following Jimin around like little puppies. Everywhere Jimin goes, these two go, it’s cute honestly. Well, it was cute if those two didn’t look like two sex gods but instead two nerdy guys. It’s no wonder those also got their own fanbase, alongside Jimin. And let me tell you, these fans were crazy. Not the cute jealous girlfriend crazy, no, the straight-up Yandere crazy.

A year ago, there was a new girl in school who got shown around by Jimin. She got a little to close to him physically and, well, let’s just say that no one ever heard of her again.

After school you went to your work, excited to see Yoongi and Jin again. Because you weren’t good with socializing, and Jin knew this, but you were good at baking, Jin let you work at the back instead of behind the counter. 

Walking inside, you were immediately hit with the smell of fresh coffee and apple pie. The cute little coffee shop had a soft feeling, the walls being coated with a soft baby pink colour. Jin had made sure to get the most comfortable couches and chairs for his customers and honestly, you sometimes just wanted to take one home. 

“Oh (Y/N)! You’re finally here!”

Jin shouted as soon as he saw you walk in. He walked out of the back, holding a spatula in his hand. He was wearing his cute soft pink apron, which was now coated with flower and strawberry jam.

“Jinniee! I missed you!”

Lucky for you the café was pretty quiet at this time of the day and you didn’t have to feel self-conscious about anything you said. You went in for a hug but stopped at the last second, looking at the huge red spot of strawberry jam on his apron. 

“Aww why did you stop (Y/N)-ie?”

“I’m wearing my good clothes, I won’t let you ruin them.”

Jin looked at you with a faked hurt look on his face.

“You would choose your clothes above your friends? Yahhh that hurts.”

You looked at his face preparing a comeback, but bursted out laughing now you’ve gotten a better look at his face. Its seems like the flower didn’t only end up on his apron.

“HAHAHA, Jin you have a little something there.”

“What where?!”

<\3 <\3 <\3

In the back where you were planning to try out this new receipt you found online you were about to grab your own cute little apron when Jin called out once more.

“Ah Y/N! I need you to take the orders today, Yoongi is sick and I don’t have anyone else available.”

“B-but Jin, you know I don’t do well with talking!”

“I know and I’m sorry, but please (Y/N)?”

He asked you with his big puppy eyes, silently begging you to agree to his request. You were a sucker for cute puppy eyes and Jin knew it. You stared intimately at each other for a hot minute. You are not going to give, you not giving in. Goddammit it’s too cute.

“Alright, but just this once!” You said while pouting. Inside your head, a mental breakdown started forming. You used to have panic attacks in situations like this, but luckily for you, you’ve gotten help with that. That didn’t mean you were happy about this, though. 

“Thank you so much, I own you one!”

And just like that this normal day, turned into a disaster. You messed up orders, said ‘good morning’ when you should have said ‘thank you’ and sometimes forgot how to speak altogether.

But you knew you should’ve never left the house this morning the moment that Jimin and his friends walked into the store and towards the counter. 

The door of the little café opened at the little bell rang through the store, signaling that someone has come inside. You looked up from the coffee machine to look at the new customer. Walking towards the counter you were behind, was Park Jimin with his two friends, Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung. 

You almost dropped the cup you were holding.

Jimin looked like an absolute god, wearing his ripped jeans, white shirt and with his black beanie on top of his black hair. His stylish sunglasses covering his eyes he scanned the counter, noticing someone was standing there and began his stride towards you. You looked around, hoping to find one of your colleagues to take over, but sadly luck wasn’t on your side today. You slowly made your way over to the counter, wondering if your clothes looked presentable and if your hair wasn’t too messy after a long day. By the time you finally arrived there, Jimin was already waiting for you. 

“Uhm..hi...what would you…uhm….like?” You whispered in a small voice, not daring to make eye contact with anything else than your hands.

“Hi, I guess. Anyways, I would like the Americano. Kook, Tae what would you guys like?”

“I would like a taste of that girl.” Jungkook said while bursting out in laughter. 

What did he just say?

While the three guys in front of you were laughing about the little joke Jungkook made, you stood there in shock, not knowing what to reply or if you were to even reply at all.

“Ahhh, Kookie I think you broke the little girl.”

“Guys, don’t be mean. Just add a green tea and a cappuccino with my order, thank you.”

You slightly nodded, while still looking at Jimin with wide eyes open in shock. Snapping out of your trance after Jimin raised an eyebrow you wrote down the rest of the order and let them pay. They walked away to the corner of the store while talking excitedly about their day. You looked after them with longing eyes, only to be shocked out of your trance when Jin called you to help out with an order.

The rest of the day went pretty smoothly after that absolute humiliation interaction. At least you didn’t mess up any orders anymore. By the end of the day, you and Jin locked the store and began your walk home. 

“Soooo…. Jimin is the mysterious guy, huh?”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“Aw, come on (Y/N), it was pretty obvious that you’re into him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

.

.

.

.

“Was it really that obvious?”

“HAHAHA, I knew it!”

“Ugh shut up.”

“Awh, is little (Y/N) embarrassed? (Y/N) and Jimin sitting in a tree-“

“I SAID SHUT UP!”

<\3 <\3 <\3

The next day you woke up with really big bags under your eyes because you’ve been up till 2 am having fun with friends. Well, read about people who were having fun with their friends. You slowly got out of bed, so you wouldn't get dizzy, and walked towards the bathroom to start your morning routine. Looking in the mirror, you let out a big sigh. 

“Allright yesterday was horrible, but today is another day! It’s going to be a beautiful day and everything is going to be just fine. It’ll be a normal day where no one will notice me, just how I like it!”

You spoke to yourself in the mirror. After a bad day, it always helped to encourage yourself to take a step outside the house the next morning. 

It was going to get really cold today so you decided to put on one of the thickest and comfiest sweaters you got and some high waisted pants. After brushing your hair you decided to just wear it down, being too lazy to even try to get it to look good. You walked towards your closet to look at your beanie collection. Eventually, you decide to go with a beanie with cat ears and a cute little cat face on the front. 

Walking downstairs, your little kitty greeted you at the bottom, probably in need of new food and water. After taking care of your baby, you decide to just grab a cracker and head towards school, already being a little late.

<\3 <\3 <\3

Forget all that talk about today being a good day.

You’ve gotten halfway through the day, without having any trouble. But of course, the universe decided to play you. History was the last class of the day, and of course the class that’s all about the group projects. You hated group work, especially in pairs cause then you would have to say things to each other. Nobody wanted group works with you anyways, all they’ll say is ‘are you new here’ and ‘why are you so quiet’.  They never were quiet tho, you could always hear them talking badly of you afterward to their friends. But what you hated even more, was the next sentence the teacher spoke.

“The next pair will be….. (L/N) (Y/N) and Park Jimin.”

Oh fuck.

#jimin x reader #bangtan x reader #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #park jimin x reader #park jimin #jimin #taehyung #kim taehyung #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #bts member x reader #bts fluff #fluff #bts college au #college bts #story: A Crushed Crush

[banditthewriter]

Whatever It Takes - 10 - Billy Russo

Part 10! I uh, I’m still sorry?

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists! Enjoy!

*****

The clean smell of the hospital and the bright lights in the waiting room made you feel worse somehow. You and Karen had gotten there almost an hour ago but they weren't allowing you back. And since you weren't next of kin, you weren't given any information.

As if that wasn't bad enough, Frank’s phone was dead so Karen couldn't get in touch with him. He was supposedly still in the hospital, but even after numerous pages, he wasn't anywhere to be found.

You wanted you scream. You'd started to contemplate bribing a nurse but you doubted that'd get you anywhere.

“I'm going to go page him again,” she said but as soon as she stood up, the elevator doors opened and Frank stepped out.

She ran to him in a blur. He caught her around the waist, the force of her colliding with him almost slamming both of them into the elevator doors. He carried her a few feet away, his hands in her hair and whispering in her ear.

She hadn't seen him. He'd called to tell her what happened, but this was the first time she'd seen him. Both of them were so wrapped up in each other that you doubted they knew you were still sitting there.

Frank noticed you from the corner of his eye. He half carried Karen back over to you and sat down beside you.

You barely got to take a breathe before he pulled you into a hug.

“Thanks for keeping her sane,” he whispered before he pulled back. “I heard your pages but I didn't want to leave while Bill was in surgery. I told a nurse to let you guys know what was going on but I guess they didn't.”

Karen opened her mouth, probably to complain about the nurses, but you beat her to the punch.

“What surgery is he having?”

Frank nodded a bit, his hand never releasing Karen's as he leaned back into the fairly uncomfortable chair like it was a feather top mattress.

“Internal bleeding to start with. Plus he got a face full of glass and cement so they are trying to fix that too. Told me that his best bet will be a plastic surgeon and they don't keep one on hand.”

You winced at that. Not that his looks mattered to you, but you knew that he was a little vain. Maybe more than a little vain, but it wasn't like he didn't have good reason.

“How bad is it?”

Frank motioned to his own face with his free hand.

“Left side is basica–”

“Not his face, the internal bleeding.”

Frank seemed surprised. He gave a slow nod before he started to explain. The logistics weren't your forte but what you could tell was that the internal bleeding was minimal.

In hearing how Billy had gotten blown backwards by the force of the second floor collapsing, you were reminded that this all started because the two of them were mixed in with something bad.

“What the hell did you two get involved in?”

Frank looked around in a panic before he stood up and motioned for you both to follow him. You thought he'd say something in the elevator, but he was quiet until you got two floors up and into a vacant lobby.

“This shit touches everything,” he said as he leaned against the wall, his eyes moving around to check for anyone that might overhear. “Bill and I were deployed. It was a goddamn mess over there, we did things that we couldn't stomach. We were blunt instruments and we were good at it, but the things we did? There's consequences to that.”

He told you about the CIA contact and how he was using them as a hit squad. He kept the story as vague as possible for the two of you, but he painted a vivid picture. Apparently the CIA guy came back to the states with the intention of making Billy and Frank do it all over again. Since Billy had used the money he earned over there to start Anvil, Agent Orange thought it was owed.

“We weren't going to go through that again so we came up with a plan. I tailed the guy, did recon. Billy put together the other side of the plan by involving Homeland.”

Madani. You felt something sour start to spread in your stomach as you began to make the connections.

“We had this guy right where we wanted him. Fucker must have had someone in Homeland because he knew we were setting him up. He showed up at Anvil two days before we were due to bring him down.”

Two days before they would be free of it and the plan was literally blown to smithereens.

“What about Agent Orange?”

Frank shook his head and then banged his hand against the wall.

“We had ‘im! I went outside to take down the last of his crew while Billy had him incapacitated. The damn psycho set off a bomb, almost killing him and Bill.”

You took that to mean that Agent Orange got away. Karen voiced that concern.

“So he got away?”

Frank grimaced.

“I had some of the guys from Anvil check out the rubble before the emergency services got there. Nothing but his guys and the few Bill lost.”

So were they still in danger? You caught the look on Karen's face and knew she was thinking the same thing.

A nurse came through the lobby and froze when she saw the three of you.

“Mr Castle, Mr Russo has been moved to recovery. He's still sedated, but would you like to see him?”

Frank gave you a quick look before he nodded. He squeezed Karen's hand as he passed her and followed the nurse.

Karen moved to sit on one of the couches, her hands clasped together and pressed to her lips. You knew her mind had to be swirling just as fast as yours was at that moment. You sat beside her and crossed your arms over your stomach.

You were glad that Billy was okay but the knowledge that they were both still in danger?

Your stomach felt like it was filled with lead.

------

“Miss Y/L/N? Miss?”

You jerked awake at the sound of your name. A nurse was standing over where you had fallen asleep on one of the couches.

“We were told we were allowed in here,” you said as you blearily glanced over to where Frank and Karen were napping propped up against each other.

“It’s not that,” the nurse said with a kind smile. “Mr Russo has woken up.”

You sat up. Your phone said it was around noon so you’d been at the hospital for about eight hours. If Billy was already awake, that was great news.

“We should wake Frank,” you explained as you started to stand up but the nurse stopped you.

“Actually Mr Russo heard who all was in here for him and he asked that you be the first person that he saw.”

Was it possible to swallow your tongue? You felt like you had. Another glance at Frank and Karen showed them still very much asleep. You gave her a quick nod and stood up.

As she led you to his room, she explained that he had some bandages on his stomach but those would be covered by his gown. She also said that he had bandages on his face.

“Those are obviously more apparent,” she explained as the two of you stopped in front of a closed door. “He might be a bit disoriented right now from the pain meds. He should try to stay as calm as possible as well, okay?”

You nodded your assent before she opened the door to let you in. It closed behind you but you didn’t pay any attention. All of your focus was on the man in the bed in front of you.

There were scratches and bruises on his arms that were very obvious as they rested on top of the sea foam green blanket that was draped over him. Some of them had bandages on them but most of them weren’t covered. You knew there was the bandages on his stomach, but those weren’t visible. And then there was his head.

He wasn’t completely covered in bandages, but it was a near thing. The way they were wrapped, you wondered if they had to shave his hair.

Your focus on the bandages meant that you were able to catch the moment his eyes opened.

“Billy,” you breathed in relief as you moved over to his side, your hands carefully covering his hand that was closest to you. “How are you feeling?”

His free hand moved slowly towards his face, sluggish, but stopped just shy of actually making contact. Then he turned his head a bit so that he could still see you through where the bandages were.

“Surprised when the nurse said you were here.”

You nodded and looked down at where you were gripping his hand. Maybe too tightly. You released it a bit so that you wouldn’t hurt him worse.

“Karen came over an absolute mess and told me what happened. Of course I came.”

His dark brown eyes stood out stark amongst the white bandages. They looked clouded, from pain or from the drugs, but they were intent on your face. You weren’t sure how long he stared at you in silence, but you weren’t about to be the first one to speak.

His free hand curled into a loose fist at his side.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said as he pulled his hand from your grip.

It surprised you. You released his hand but didn’t move from beside the bed.

“I want to be here,” you tried to explain, voice plaintive as you met his gaze head on. “You were hurt and I want to be here for you.”

He shook his head, more vigorously than he should have.

“You wanted space; I was giving you space,” he said pointedly. He turned to look away from you, his eyes boring a hole in the wall across from the bed. “You should leave.”

“Billy, I–”

He slammed his hand down on the rolling table that was half over his bed, the tray and its contents falling to the floor in a loud crash.

“Goddammit Y/N, just leave!”

You backed away as he stared over at you, his eyes wide and clear. A nurse opened the door and looked around at the mess and then at the two of you.

“Miss, maybe you should…” She gestured at the door, obviously asking you to leave.

Your lip gave a pitiful wobble as you looked away from Billy’s intense gaze. The nurse gestured again and you gave a nod before you moved to the door. Unable to help it, you glanced over your shoulder and saw that Billy was still watching you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, not sure if you meant it for him or the nurse, but you quickly made your way out of the door and then down the hall.

At the lobby you’d been sleeping in, you quietly gathered your things. Another nurse was nearby so you stopped her to ask if she’d be on this hall for a while.

“Rest of my shift so a few more hours,” she said curiously.

You motioned over your shoulder to where Karen and Frank were still asleep.

“Can you tell them that Y/N had to leave? Work,” you offered, an obvious lie but it would have to do. “Just tell them I’ll call them soon?”

The nurse seemed curious, but she didn’t press. She gave you a nod and then reached out to grab your wrist.

“You okay?”

You gave her a tense smile.

“Thanks,” you mumbled before you pulled away and hurried to the elevator. You didn’t want to take the chance that Karen or Frank would wake up before you could get out of there.

It was obvious that Billy didn’t want you there and you weren’t about to overstay your welcome.

X

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[babybluebanshee]

Feedback - A MHA Fic

Hizashi Yamada may be loud, obnoxious, childish, goofy, and frankly have the stupidest hair on the planet...but he's still a teacher.

Aaaaaand Ashido makes five. Sorry, kid, but “tooken” is not a word.

Hizashi made a harsh red line through the incorrectly conjugated verb, then moved his pen over to a legal pad. In large capital letters, he wrote “VERB REVIEW B4 WEDS.”

After he finished writing, he tapped his pen against the paper once. Twice. Then, he underlined his note. Three times.

He moved back to Ashido’s paper, and tallied her score in the corner - a 64%. Not bad, by Ashido’s standards, but it could stand to be improved. He’d have felt slightly better about it if he hadn’t written even lower percentages on Mineta, Kaminari, and Hagakure’s papers.

He sighed and polished off his soda. As was his way, he tried to look at this from a positive angle. He’d known the unit on irregular verb conjugation was going to be rough going in, especially in a language as absolutely insane as English. He taught the damn course and he sometimes had trouble with it. At least now he had an idea of where the students needed the most work before the test on Wednesday. The extra review would be good for all of them. And hey, maybe he could do some browsing online and try to find some review games. Those seemed to help when the kids were struggling with sentence structure.

Hizashi smiled as he tossed the empty soda can in the wastebasket by his desk. Everything would be fine. Class 1-A was one of the most promising groups of kids that UA had seen in years, and what they didn’t learn right away, they always managed to get eventually. He scribbled a little happy face on Ashido’s page (to complement the one she had doodled after her name), and set the sheet amongst the other graded assignments.

He casually looked over the next, slightly crumpled sheet in the stack. After a moment, he closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. Goddammit, Bakugo...

For the past three weeks, Bakugo had been turning in assignments that were only partially done. At first, it had just been a question or two left blank. Then five or six questions. Then entire sections.

This time, aside from his lazily scrawled name in the corner of the paper, Bakugo had left this entire paper blank.

Hizashi shoved his hand up under his glasses, trying in vain to rub away the headache this would doubtlessly bring on. He was so glad he’d taken out his hearing aids while he graded. Right now, the noise would not have helped. At all.

He marked a giant zero in the corner of the page, pressing so hard he was momentarily afraid he’d rip a hole in the paper. As he set Bakugo’s paper off to the side, his stomach clenched in hunger. This was as good a stopping point as any, he supposed. Time to find something to constitute dinner.

He padded down the hall and into the kitchen. Just as he was trying to decide if he felt motivated enough to go through the trouble of cooking vegetables and meat for some ramen, or just blasting it in the microwave and eating like a poor college kid, he spotted the pink bag on the counter, the words “Shrimp Chips” emblazoned on it in cheerful bubble letters. He lunged, quietly blessing Shouta and his pathological need to have a constant supply of garbage food in the apartment at all times as he tore into the foil bag with his teeth. He pulled out a handful and stuffed them into his mouth.

Something soft and fluffy snaked its way between his legs. Looking down, he saw Mame’s two giant green eyes staring up at him from the black void of her face, gazing longingly at the chip bag. Her fluffy tail swished back and forth lazily. She opened her mouth in what Hizashi assumed was a pleading mew. He smiled down at her and shook his head, moving his legs to sidestep her. Mame bounded away from him and jumped onto the nearby table, splaying herself out quite contentedly on the table in a pile of papers, discarded mail, and Hazashi’s school bag. She immediately rolled onto her back and stretched out a paw longingly. She then brought her paw back to her mouth, once, twice, three times.

She was signing “food”. And Shouta said you couldn’t teach a cat to sign.

Hizashi chuckled, swallowed, and then signed back, “First of all, child, you’re not even supposed to be up on the table.”

Mame blinked in response.

“Second, these are my chips. None for you. Shouta doesn’t want you eating anything but cat food anyway. He already feels bad when he has to explain to the vet why you’re so fat.”

Mame rolled back over, letting out a squeak of indignation, before stretching and jumping off the table. Unfortunately, her shifting weight jostled Hizashi’s bag, and before Hizashi could set the chips aside and catch it, everything inside had spilled out onto the floor. He tried to glare angrily at Mame, but she had suddenly become very interested in thoroughly cleaning her front paw. He supposed it didn’t matter. He could never stay mad at her anyway.

He brushed the chip dust off his hands and began to sort through the mess on the floor. Honestly, he’d needed to clean out this bag for a while. Its contents were a mess of lunch receipts and old notes he’d written to himself and playlist ideas for the radio show that had never fully come to fruition. As he crumpled up the trash in his hands, he uncovered his gradebook. He groaned slightly as he began to realize that meant he hadn’t recorded any of the worksheet scores yet, and he was already more than halfway through the pile. He’d have to go back and do them all again.

At least he’d caught himself. And he also had shrimp chips. That sort of softened the blow.

He gathered up the rest of the mess from his bag and put it on the table. He’d sort through it all before bed. Then he gathered up his gradebook, tucked the chips under his arm, grabbed another soda from the fridge, and walked back towards the bedroom.

He flipped open his gradebook with one hand, so he’d at least have it open to the right date by the time he sat down. It fell open to a page near the beginning of the semester. He was just about to shake the book to turn the pages (very nearly losing his underarm grip on his chips), when something caught his eye.

“Bakugo, Katsuki: 88%”

Huh.

His eyes drifted downward, to the next assignment he’d catalogued. An 87%.

He approached his desk, and he began arranging his things to his liking, but he never once took his eyes off the grade book. He scanned the next assignment. Bakugo had scored an 84%.

Hizashi sat down slowly, his chips and the rest of the papers forgotten. He turned the page in his gradebook. Bakugo’s next grade was an 89%.

The next was an 88%. Then a 90%, followed by an 85%. Another 87% and another 89%.

This didn’t make any sense. How could Bakugo start out with such high scores and then suddenly start turning in blank assignments?

He turned the page and got his answer. A 73% was the next grade he saw. It wasn’t exactly failing, but it was a dip in quality, jarring compared to the previous pages.

Maybe the blank assignments weren’t so sudden.

He continued to scan the page. The percentages hovered around the low seventies for a while. On the next page, they dipped into the sixties. Checking the dates, Hizashi saw that these grades began three weeks ago, right around the time Bakugo had started turning in the half-finished assignments.

The decline was steady, until Hizashi finally got to the last assignment he’d recorded. A 58%. A far cry from where they’d started.

His phone was in the corner, next to his hearing aids. He snatched it up and opened up his text thread with Shouta. His husband would be out patrolling right now, but it was still early, and Hizashi hadn’t gotten any breaking news updates on his phone. Hopefully, he wouldn’t catch Shouta at a bad time.

Quickly, he typed, Yo, have you heard anything from Cementoss or Ecto about Bakugo’s grades?

Shouta’s response was quick, taking a little more than a minute. Hizashi was the only person who could brag that Shouta had never left him on read in the entire time they’d known each other.

No. Why? Short and sweet. That was Sho for you.

I’m grading 1-A’s last assignment. Noticed something super weird.

Yeah?

So I’ve complained at you about the kid turning in unfinished work, right?

Many times. They’re enjoyable rants.

Before Hizashi could reply, Shouta sent another message. Do I need to talk to him again about getting his work in? Because I’m sensing the last talk didn’t stick.

Hizashi smiled and replied, Not sure yet. I looked at his grades from the beginning of the semester and they’re good. Not perfect, but good.

Hmm…

Then I started noticing him slipping. He was still handing in complete assignments, but he was getting more stuff wrong. Then he starts handing in this half-assed stuff and his grade just drops more. It’s weird.

What do you think is going on?

Dunno yet. That’s why I was asking if anyone else has said anything. If they had, I was thinking maybe we could have him talk to Hound Dog or something?

Like I said, haven’t heard anything from either of them. They’re not shy about telling me when someone is struggling.

It was true. Hizashi had never known either of his fellow teachers to turn away students who came to them for extra tutoring. And if the students wouldn’t come to them, they had no problem approaching them privately and gently insisting they should. There weren’t many students who would say no to a guy who looked like a walking corpse and someone who could make the parking lot swallow you up.

It just made everything more confusing. He couldn’t think of why Bakugo was doing so much worse in his class than any of the others. It couldn’t be because Bakugo particularly didn’t like him. Not that the kid was particularly fond of any of his teachers, but Hizashi had seen the way Bakugo behaved around people he genuinely hated, like poor Midoriya. That explosive resentment was a far cry from the casual annoyance Hizashi usually saw on Bakugo’s face when they were having a long lecture about diagramming sentences.

Then the word caught him. Explosive.

He thought of Bakugo during training, igniting the nitroglycerin-like sweat that poured off him, and making thundering explosions, loud enough to rattle windows and be heard for miles.

Hizashi’s gaze flicked up to his hearing aids, still at the corner of his desk. English had been a challenge for him because of them. Obviously, learning another language entailed being able to listen to it and pick up the various patterns, words, and grammar rules.

He picked up his pen and tapped it against the desk. Yes, English had been difficult for him, because he’d been deaf since birth. He knew that was the reason.

He could only imagine what it must be like for someone who doesn’t even realize something is wrong yet.

He tapped out a response to Shouta’s last text. I think I know what to do. I’ll explain when you get home. Love you xoxoxo.

Hizashi picked up Bakugo’s blank worksheet. Next to the zero, he wrote, much more lightly, “See me after class.” Then he underlined it. Three times.

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

Hizashi kept his eyes trained on Bakugo as the rest of the class filed out of the room. He thought it pretty telling when the normally cocky little twerp was trying his damnedest to look everywhere but at him.

Finally, Bakugo stood up from his desk and approached the front of the room, hands deep in his pockets. As he did, Hizashu covertly touched the screen of his phone. The video he had queued up began, and a high-pitched whine filled the room. Even though his headphones cancelled out most of the feedback, it still made him wince as his hearing aids worked overtime to process the frequency. It was irritating, but he’d survive. He needed some proof.

“What do you want?” Bakugo muttered tersely.

Hizashi flicked his gaze down at his student’s pocket, where he’d stuffed the blank homework assignment Hizashi had handed back to him. As if sensing that Hizashi was looking, Bakugo crumpled the paper in his fist and shoved it further down.

“Look, I’ll do the stupid thing again if that’s what you want,” Bakugo said, a bit louder. Hizashi knew the kid was trying to intimidate him. He tried it with literally everyone who even looked at him funny.

Hizashi just sighed quietly and replied, “This isn’t about one assignment, Bakugo. It’s about the last several assignments.”

Very few of his students had ever heard Hizashi use his “authority” voice, as Shouta called it. Hizashi honestly didn’t like using it. Most of the teachers in UA were some form of intimidating, and he didn’t want to be that way. He wanted his students to feel like he was a friend, rather than an authority figure. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know when it was time to straighten up and start putting on a teacher voice.

At least the tone had gotten Bakugo to stop looking at the floor and move his eyes somewhere in Hizashi’s general direction.

“It’s not my fault your class is a waste of my time,” the kid muttered.

“Then you should have no trouble explaining to me why your average score on my homework was an 87% until recently.”

Bakugo didn’t answer at first, but Hizashi could practically see the wheels turning in the kid’s head, trying to offer up some angry response that would hopefully scare this prying teacher off.

The high-frequency playing on Hizashi’s phone droned away. It was starting to make his skin crawl. Bakugo didn’t show any signs that he even noticed it.

“Guess your teaching bored me so much it made me drop a few IQ points,” Bakugo offered up weakly. Once again, his gaze was firmly fixed on the floor.

Hizashi took a deep breath, and said, “Bakugo, how long have you been having problems with your hearing?”

That really got Bakugo’s attention. His red eyes contracted to pinpricks, and he straighten his whole body to look Hizashi square in the face. “What the hell are you talking about?” he shouted. His words echoed through the empty classroom. “I can hear just fine!”

“Uh huh,” Hizashi said, picking up his phone and showing it to Bakugo. “Then why couldn’t you hear this high frequency that’s been going for the past few minutes?”

For a split second, Bakugo looked at Hizashi like he’d slapped him. Then the familiar rage contorted his features again, and he shouted, “You’re a liar! You didn’t have anything playing on that piece of shit!”

Hizashi held the phone out to him. “Check if you don’t believe me. But blow it up, and I’ll have you expelled faster than you can blame Midoriya.”

Bakugo swiped the phone from Hizashi’s hand and looked down at the screen, studied the video of the high frequency. He tapped play on the screen, and instantly, the dreadful noise filled the room again. Hizashi actually flinched a bit at the renewed onslaught.

He watched his student stare in silent confusion at the video for a whole thirty seconds before Bakugo spoke up again. “I...it...this stupid video doesn’t even have any sound,” he grumbled, thrusting the phone back towards Hizashi.

Hizashi took the phone, mercifully muted the video, and stuffed it back into his jacket pocket. “Now, back to my original question: how long have you been having problems with your hearing?”

“I already told you, I don’t have any stupid problems!”

“Then you’re definitely gonna need a better excuse to explain away these half-assed assignments,” Hizashi retorted firmly. A brief flicker of confusion crossed Bakugo’s face, and Hizashi guessed this was the first time a teacher had actually sworn in front of him. Hizashi took advantage of the confusion to add, “I talked with Aizawa and the other teachers. My class is the only one where you pull this stunt. Incidentally, math and literature are classes that don’t revolve around being able to hear what your teacher is talking about very well. Unlike, say, English.”

Bakugo merely growled.

“Maybe you’ve noticed ringing in your ears? Or that sound is fading in and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you?!” Bakugo’s sudden shout filled the room. Those red pinpricks were back on Hizashi, full of fight and fire. He had no doubt that Bakugo’s palms were roughly two seconds from starting to pop. “If you can’t get it past your stupid, gel-encrusted hair and through your thick skull, then maybe you’re to one having problems with your hearing!”

Hizashi couldn’t help it - he started to laugh. He’d been prepared for Bakugo to insult and demean him (the crack about his hair was almost a given), but this was just too good. And the look on the poor kid’s face - torn between unbridled confusion and an animalistic urge to jump the desk separating them and claw Hizashi’s eyes out - only made him laugh harder.

Finally, Bakugo barked, “The hell is so funny?!”

Hizashi simply reached up and slid his headphones off, being sure to turn his head slightly so Bakugo could see the thin wires running from the insert to the black processor behind his ear.

“I kinda hope I’ve got a problem with my hearing,” he said. “Otherwise I paid through the nose for the world’s ugliest jewelry.”

Bakugo didn’t reply. He just kept staring - gaping really - at Hizashi’s ears.

Hizashi set his headphones down on his desk, and said, “I’ve been deaf since I was born, but I’ve only had hearing aids since I was about six. I wasn’t kidding when I said they were expensive.”

No reply.

“The doctor who fitted me with my first pair as a kid told my parents that’s probably why I cried so loud. I literally couldn’t hear myself and stop.”

Still no reply.

“The headphones serve a double purpose. They protect my hearing aids against damage, and have a backup power source for them if the batteries ever die while I’m fighting villains or helping in a rescue.”

Silence.

“Bakugo?”

“...you mean to tell me those stupid headphones you wear actually have a purpose?”

Hizashi laughed out loud. “Excuse you, but those things are the height of fashion and function. At least that’s what Hage pays me to say.”

Was that a flicker of a smile Hizashi saw on Bakugo’s face? He decided not to press his luck by asking. Instead he said, “Now, will you answer my question or not?”

Bakugo chewed his lower lip a bit. Another beat of silence passed, and then he finally grumbled, “A while.”

“I’d ask you why you didn’t say anything sooner, but I already know why.”

“Screw you.”

“So you’ve noticed some symptoms?”

“...yeah. It mostly started as ringing.”

“Started?”

“Yeah, it’s worse now. Now sometimes people will just...cut out when they’re talking to me. If I’m not looking directly at them, I miss what they say.”

“And I’m not gonna ask you to learn lip-reading just to get by in English class. It’s a pain, trust me.”

“You can read lips?”

“Yep. I sign too. Since I went through a chunk of my life not being able to hear anything, it can be a little overwhelming. I sometimes take them out when I’m at home. Or in a boring staff meeting.”

That one actually got Bakugo to laugh. Or snort, really. But at least it was something other than confusion or fury.

Hizashi smiled and said, “But you’ve been able to hear your entire life, and if it’s caught early, you might not need as elaborate a set-up as mine.” He took a business card from his back pocket and held it out to Bakugo. “This is for a woman named Nanama Sakakibara. She’s one of the best audiologists in Japan. I want you to think about seeing her. Also, I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure that your explosions are what’s damaging your hearing, so maybe think about hitting up Power Loader for some ear protection in that costume of yours.”

Bakugo gave him a stiff nod, but eyed the card like it might bite him. He flicked his glance back up to Hizashi’s. “Do I have to take it?”

Hizashi’s smile morphed into a cat-like grin, and he said, “No, of course you don’t have to. I can always keep it to give to your mom when I set up an emergency parent-teacher conference to discuss your near-failing English grade.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes at him, then silently snatched the card from Hizashi’s hand. “You’re a dick,” he grumbled.

Hizashi merely smiled wider and picked up his headphones, sliding them back into place over his ears. He slipped back into his announcer voice and said, “I’m a dick because I care, sparky.” He gave Bakugo a double finger-gun, and added, “Now amscray before Eraser gets suspicious about why you aren’t at training yet.”

Bakugo began to move toward the door. Hizashi found it pretty promising when he didn’t immediately shove the card into his pocket, with his incomplete assignment.

When Bakugo reached the door, he stopped, one hand on the door frame, his shoulders tense and his head ducked down.

A beat of silence.

Then: “Thanks or whatever.”

And suddenly Bakugo was gone.

Hizashi shook his head. The gratitude was more than he’d expected. At least it was better than holes blown in the walls.

#hizashi yamada #present mic #katsuki bakugo #deaf mic #deaf bakugo #shouta aizawa #my hero academia #mha #fanfic

[thaumaturtles]

Begin ANGELQUEST

The other day, I was doing some.......

...... studying.......

When I came across an advertisement. This isn’t at all an unusual experience; I’ve been on the internet for a decade and change and I’ve come to accept that ads are a part of the experience. This was an ad I’d seen many times before, too. I’m so accustomed to seeing it that my eyes often skip right over it. However, I’ve been reading a lot of articles about Enlightenment, lately, and I’ve been trying to put that into practice in my everyday life. I’ve been attempting, to varying degrees of success, to become more aware of myself and my environment, to probe onward into my mind’s own blind spots. In short, I’m trying to blitz my chakras. (Don’t worry, am Indian, can reclaim.)

And so, for perhaps the first time, I took a moment to truly see the ad in front of me. To stop and smell the dogshit hiding behind the roses. And, goodness, was it a sight to behold. Ladies, gentlemen, and all who fall betwixt, I present to you, THIS:

Take a moment, if necessary, to take it all in.

Have you collected yourself? Good. You’re holding up the rest of the class.

I don’t know how I’ve managed to let this pass without mental comment on more than one occasion. How did I look at this image, think “angel reading? yeah, sure, that’s a thing that exists” and then shuffle along? The only explanation I can muster is Divine intervention, which would ironically lend this product some legitimacy. I need to understand. What does Angel Reading mean? How could such a process be personalized, and, furthermore, how could it take place over the Internet? Who is this “Celeste”? What is she after? Why does she look vaguely disappointed in me? Can she see my soul? What is an “Angelic Medium”?????

Clearly, if I want answers, I’m going to have to dive in. I place my Crocodile Dundee hat on my head with no small measure of trepidation, though I must confess a moiety of excitement deep within. As I hike up my Adventurin’ Shorts and stuff a few hundred metres of rope into my backpack, I consider the long road ahead. And then, with my cosplay explorer’s outfit put on to my approval, I sit down at my computer. I’m really not sure why I felt the need to do all that when I’m just gonna be here at home.

I steel my will, and I click.

This loading screen appears, and I’d like to mention that the URL for this page is perhaps longer than any URL I’ve ever seen before in my 16 years.

Okay, let’s just take a moment to get our bearings here and-

HOLY MACKEREL, THERE’S A COUNTDOWN!

And only twenty-seven minutes left! Sakes alive, I clicked this link just in time! Imagine If I’d wasted more time farting around and dressing up like Indiana Jones!

Although, weirdly enough, whenever I refresh the page, the timer restarts, and it always restarts at 27 minutes and 50ish seconds, which is a random-enough number to seem legitimate.

Hmm. Odd.

I wonder if maybe the countdown isn’t actually real and is just there to pressure you into typing your info more quickly so you don’t notice how fishy this whole opera-

OH MY GOD ONLY 26 MINUTES!!!!!!!

OK, gotta think quickly here. Gosh, they’re asking some personal questions right off the bat, but I can’t let them know it’s me; they might recognize me from tumblr. If this sting operation’s gonna go forth I gotta lie my ass off. My name? Uh, uh.. My name is Dyl-Dy- Uhhhh, shit, okay, it’s Dylan-NO, Dylllllllll...... Delilah? Delilah. Like from the Bible. Yeah, that’s fitting, especially since I’m swindling these fools. Soon, Celeste, your hair will be mine.

They’re asking for my date of birth, which I’m hesitant to put because my 16th birthday party was kind of a big deal and Celeste might’ve heard about it, in which case she’ll know it’s me AND things will be super awkward cause I didn’t invite her to the party.

I put 4/13/1969 obviously

They’re also asking for my e-mail address, which I can’t give out because it has my full name, address, and social security number in it, so let’s just pull this ripcord real quick and parachute out of this nightmare zone, and over to a quick, free, secure e-mail client. That is, protonmail.com, which is not my usual e-mail server and will thus throw Celeste’s goons even farther off my trail

Wow, that was a surprisingly quick and painless process! I might just have to use protonmail in the future

So anyway here’s my info, sent in right under the wire, with a mere 24.3 minutes left! God that was close. Picture that classic scene in Indiana Jones where he slides under the door and then reaches back in to get his hat, only it’s an out-of-shape teen and also the door hasn’t even started closing yet.

I went with my actual country because, c’mon, there’re a lot of people in Jamaica. Statistically speaking, how likely is it they’d find me through that?

You know I didn’t. You know I fucking didn’t. Why are you asking.

Also, here’s a quick rundown of what Celeste is actually offering in case anyone was curious. It does somewhat tickle me that she claims she’ll “get to work immediately” as soon as anyone clicks the link and subscribes, as though the process isn’t completely automated. It evokes a clear image of Celeste, in full angelic garb, sitting at a computer screen and answering calls while also typing into three discrete keyboards simultaneously.

The idea that she could personally take the order of every individual who clicks this ad betrays either a complete lack of confidence in the desirability of her product, or an incredible amount of confidence in her own ability to multitask.

Who is “she”? Celeste? That doesn’t make much sense in the context here. Peter’s Guardian Angel? But earlier Celeste made it sound like all angels use he/him! Also, what does “bring her back” mean if it’s the angel? Can angels leave and later be found again? I feel like if you find your guardian angel once, that should be it forever, but apparently they can leave and you have to ensnare them again?????

Hooray! A link from an unknown source to an unknown destination! I sure can’t wait to click it all day long!

The things I do in the name of science, I swear to God Celeste.

It took a minute but here it is. Sidenote: I rather enjoy the irony of an inbox which consists of three e-mails about encryption and ways to curate a safe internet experience, and one which is an automated link from a bullshit ad for a product that doesn’t exist. There’s a subtle poetry to this image. I almost want to frame it, and then sell it for an exorbitant amount of money.

Here’s the e-mail, folx. If ever you needed proof that this was a scam, look no further.

Who on this good green earth would think beginning such a missive with, “Thank you for your trust,” would be a good way to garner MORE goodwill? When I go to my local grocer and I purchase a party-sized bag of Tostitos to eat by myself over the course of a day and a half because I’m in control of my body, goddammit, the bag doesn’t say, “Thank you for believing in us! We promise we won’t give you dysentery!

Like, what the fuck? “Thank you for your trust.” Your product should be able to stand on its own two feet and proudly proclaim, “I’m gonna give you a fucking angel reading or die trying!”

That initial line has honestly made me more scared than ever for this process. I’m confident I’m going to click that link and it’s going to auto-download a terabyte of obscure Norwegian pornography to my hard drive. I did just update my computer this morning, however, and all my data are backed up, so I feel somewhat more secure than I might otherwise.

Did I really just say “data are”? I know it’s grammatically correct and all, but it’s still jarring to hear. Messes with my mental flow. And wouldn’t the proper, descriptivist thing to do be to use “data is” to avoid confusion? Using “data are” feels clunky, is more difficult to say, and makes me look a bit snobbish. I’d delete it but that would require hitting the backspace button on my computer and I’m frankly quite lazy about that sort of thing. What was I talking about again? Oh, right. I have to click the link.

 Again with the “thank you for your trust” bullshit! Whatever, I’m going to let it pass. They’re clearly going for a friendly, approachable persona here, even if they’re doing it in the most threatening, ass-backwards way possible.

This next email took a seemingly endless eight minutes to arrive, during which time I meditated, raised a bonsai tree to adulthood, watched Marley & Me, grappled with intense feelings of loneliness, and worked on some of my homework.

Or maybe I just played games on my phone. You decide!

Okay, not quite what “hereby” means, but sure. It’s a common mistake, likely exacerbated by the presence of the word “here” within “hereby.” Sort of a “wherefore does not mean where” situation I suppose.

Anyway, I’m submitting to the mortifying ordeal of clicking the link yet again.

Christ get a load of this shit. How fitting that the Angelic stone for someone born on 4/13 would be Jade. My archangel is Megatron apparently??? His info claims he’s some sort of scribe. My major planet is Neptune, and my secondary planet is.... the sun? Is anyone going to tell Celeste what stars are or do I have to do everything myself around here? I do like that ram up in the top left though. I’m naming you Ram Elliot.

Now for the pièce de résistance. Meet Mahasiah. Mahasiah is not my guardian angel; Mahasiah is the guardian angel for anyone born between April 10th-14th. My guardian angel is Yerathel, apparently. A few things I learned while researching this: both Mahasia and Yerathel have “feminine energies” (???) and both have Fire as their associated classical element. Also, Yerathel rules over Intelligence, which is one thing I actually somewhat like about myself. This is actually kind of neat to learn about!

I mean come on. That’s pretty fuckin cool. His name means “He Who Punishes Evildoers” which is beyond epic, and his associated gem is Smoky Quartz, aka the only Steven Universe character.

You know, maybe this whole Angel Reading business isn’t a scam after all. Maybe it’s a perfectly safe process and I’ll be totally fine, what am I worrying about? At the very least, it couldn’t hurt to explore her site a bit more..... for research’s sake.

yeah baby tell me more

h-

certainly, miss celeste, anything for you

wait, aren’t I already in a relationshi-

JAZZERCISING JUNIPERS BATMAN THERE’S ONLY 28 MINUTES LEFT

holy shit! I want accurate readings!

Oh god oh no okay i’ll do whatever you want celeste please don’t leave me i need my tarots

THEY KNOW ABOUT ME ALREADY OMG

Well, okay, even in my currently addled state I can still see that “Duo-Telepathy” is complete bullshi-

OH WELL IF AMANDA GAVE THEM THREE WHOLE STARS I HAVE TO TRUST IT

Amazingly, my info was pre-filled in. Almost like this site is linked to Celeste’s in some way, or perhaps even run by the same group of scammeUPSTANDING CITIZENS IS WHAT I MEANT TO SAY

Ooh, another e-transmission from my good friend Celeste! Oh, how I’ve missed her! And apparently large and surprising discoveries have been made concerning me! She’s presenting me a Guide? I sure hope I’ll be able to open it, hassle-free, with no additional purchases/information required!

OHOHOHOHO

bro i’m shitting my drawers rn

I have no fucking clue what that means but you said FREE so i’m in!

oh my god there’s still so much left. just shut the fuck up and take my money you fools

AW TITS YEAH

....i think

Okay, I know the original thing said FREE and I should be “mad” or watever, but look at that bargain! that’s more than half off! It might as well be free! I’d be stupid NOT to buy it!

I’ve invented a lot of secondary information for Delilah. The phone number is merely (559) YOU-SUCK, as a subtle way of establishing the power dynamic at play here. I’m sure Celeste will appreciate it.

Hmmmmm.............. It would seem my method of “just input numbers randomly” won’t work here. Such a shame. Credit card fraud used to be so easy. I’ll have to put that on the backburner, though, because look what just appeared in my inbox!

You can see where this is going.

I’ll take my leave now, this post is getting long enough as is, but I do feel it’s important to note that doing a quick bit of research shows that Celeste & co. are famous for emotional manipulation, as well as getting people addicted to their products and forcing a sort of dependency upon them. It’s important to do your research, and remember basic internet safety tips like don’t click popups or check if a site is legit before downloading from them. It’s incredibly easy to get trapped down this sort of rabbit hole, where you wind up buying more and more of their products like you’re stockpiling for the Rapture. Not me, though, I’m obviously fine and can quit anytime I like. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go try a bunch of credit card numbers until one works.

#dylan talks #angelquest #long post #why do i keep making these #also yes this post was inspired by 'come with me on a magical journey through the internet' and 'an offer you cant refuse' #what about it