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nikki152006 · 2 years

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On the Deathbed - Bakugou X Reader

Idea by - @powerhousefan

I'm not really sure whether this was what you were planning so I'm sorry for that...I tried to make it a little more elaborate but I was kind of short on time due to my exams...Still, hope you enjoy ^_^

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"So, this is true?" Jirou mumbled out, "Y-You've really got..."

"Yeah." you breathed out. There was a deep silence around the room as all your old classmates, your closest friends stood around you.

"So this is the reason, huh?" Momo sighed out, "This is the reason you didn't do anything when Bakugou broke up with you on your wedding day....because you knew you'd never be able to live with him anyway?"

You shrugged slightly, trying your best to not look back at the male in question, the guy who had been your boyfriend for four years before he suddenly broke up on your wedding day and had married Uraraka just in a few weeks.

You were hurt, terribly hurt, but relieved too, atleast Bakugou wasn't gonna break his heart having his wife die in another few months.

You had got to know about your cancer just a few days before the wedding and hadn't had the heart to tell him. You wanted the wedding to stop, to not happen because you couldn't think of how he'd feel seeing his wife dead not even an year into the wedding.

An year the, but now, it was just a few months. You had managed to keep your little secret all this time but Mina had somehow managed to get to know and had now called everyone over to your house over the same. You knew it broke them to know you'd be dying so soon but you couldn't help it. There was no cure to what was going on in your brain and you had come to accept it already.

"I-Is there no cure?" Kaminari croaked out. You nodded, confirming the statement once again.

"I know you all are sad," you said softly, "but please, let these last few months go memorable and fun. I...I just don't want to forget you when I go to hell."

"It'll be heaven." Uraraka breathed out, wiping a tear in her eye. You chuckled bitterly. Uraraka was that one hope of yours, that one person who could handle Bakugou once you were dead but you couldn't help but feel slightly jealous of her.

Everyone in the room knew that Bakugou's breaking up with you was a forced decision under some circumstances, Uraraka had made that clear after their wedding but you couldn't ignore the fact that Bakugou had himself chosen to marry her. He had liked her and it made you feel almost jealous alongside the hurt.

"You're being admitted to the hospital next week then?" Jirou mumbled out. You nodded at her.

"I just gotta send all this stuff over to the hospital room I have booked." you told them, hurriedly wiping you tears and getting up, "And the rest of the stuff...I..I think I'll just sell my house and let the people who shift over have it."

"Can we keep it?" Todoroki asked in a small voice. You nodded at him and saw him walk over and pick your favorite pen before carefully wrapping it in a handkerchief and place it in his pocket as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"Alright!" you called out in a faked cheery but still shaky voice, "How about you all just help me shift over my stuff? Then maybe we can go over to watch a movie this week? And the amusement park next weekend when you all are free!?"

"W-Will you be allowed to got out during your hospital stay?"

It was Iida this time but his voice was feather-light and you couldn't help but tear up, but no. You had to stay strong. They all were probably feeling way worse than you were at the moment, they were the ones who were gonna feel the emptiness of losing a loved one, you had to stay strong for them.

"Yeah." you almost croaked, "They'll just be keeping me under observation there so that I don't...pass out when I'm alone.."

There was deep sad silence as everyone visibly tried to hold back their tears, trying to not make the other feel to hurt, trying to be strong for each other. Oh, you just loved your friends.

"Aw. You guys won't help me?" you whined childishly. There were some sniffs before everyone pulled you into a big group hug. Everyone except the one person who hadn't talked to you since he had got married, since he broke up with you in fact. You couldn't help but be hurt due to the fact that it was Uraraka who had explained the break up in the marriage day and not him. It hurt that he never even tried to contact you after that.

"I-I'll take this all," you said, pointing to some light stuff, "Um..Kirishima, Satou, could you get the light stuff?" The boys agreed quietly and loaded the stuff in the car outside. There was not much of any stuff anyways and so in another hour, you all were already in the hospital.

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"Dumbass eat it." Bakugou said, whacking your head. You whined childishly but agreed to eat the fruits he was feeding you.

Two months had passed already and you hardly had anytime left but you had to accept, you had had some memorable days to remember.

Just a few days after you had got admitted into the hospital, Bakugou had visited you and finally spoken to you. He didn't talk about the marriage though, he just said he wanted to take care of you and it was enough to make your heart melt.

"That's it." you said, rolling over on your bed and continuing the drawing of all of you friends you were making.

"Do you want to go to icy hot's marriage or not?" Bakugou sighed. You looked at him with a childish pout. "I do and you can't stop me."

"You're not going if you're not gonna eat this." he ordered. As much as you wanted to not listen to him and eat (fruit you dislike), you had to got to Todoroki's wedding no matter what, after all, he was marrying Momo early only so that you could be there and enjoy it.

It wasn't just him, Izuku, Iida, and few other of your friends had done the same and you loved it. You loved all of them.

"Hey Katsuki." you said softly, deciding to listen to him and eat the fruit, "Why did't you invite me to your wedding?"

Bakugou didn't reply. How could he? How could he tell he he wouldn't have been able to marry pink cheeks if you were there sitting right in front of him with your beautiful (eye color eyes) and soft (hair color) hair and that pretty smile on your face. How could he tell you it was all just a stupid mistake he had done. Bakugou wanted to fix it all but it was too late and moreover, you were going to go away soon and he knew he wouldn't have been able to bear it.

"Hey, Katsuki." your voice snapped him out, "Where were you lost."

"Eat, dumbass." Bakugou blurted out. Your eyes narrowed at him. "The bowl is empty, Bakugou." you told him. Bakugou's ruby eyes flickered over to the empty bowl he was carrying. Had he already fed you everything?

"Are you okay, Katsuki?" you asked, raising a hand to touch him but he quickly avoided it and turned away to get some more fruits. You sighed sadly. Bakugou had not once let you touch him since he had come back and it hurt, but again, he was a married man now. Little did you know that Bakugou was only trying to not let his emotions fall out by letting you touch him.

"Katsuki, what am I wearing for Shouto's wedding?" you asked him loftily. Bakugou's eyes crinkled hearing his name roll out of your tongue so casually. It almost made him feel jealous.

"The fucking dress I bought you." he gruffed out.

"The crimson one?"

"Yeah." Bakugou huffed out, "That and some jewelry."

"I can't wear that, Bakugou." your voice said, with sadness hidden underneath which was just too easy for him to identify.

"The hell can you not?"

"Bakugou, you do know you're married to Uraraka, right?" you said. Bakugou's lips tightened as what you were trying to say settled into his mind. He had a wife yet he had bought you a dress that matched both, his tux and his eyes. A weird feeling rose into the already sinking heart of his. Why could he not just come to face it, you weren't his wife. Caring for you was okay but how could he act like a husband for you?

He...He could, right? Uraraka had noticed his behavior on several occasions but she didn't question him because she knew it was only until you died that he acted that way around you, the girl he was originally supposed to marry, so it had to be okay, right?

"You're wearing it." Bakugou said bluntly, "Now go off to sleep."

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"Katsuki, are you sure I look okay?" you mumbled out hurriedly as Bakugou got off the car. Bakugou sighed and quietly walked over to where the marriage was supposed to take place.

"You really look wonderful, (Name). Relax." Uraraka chirped from the backseat. You smiled at her softly, the things she did for her friends.

"Just focus on enjoying the wedding." she said, hopping off the car as you got out and then walked over to Bakugou, who was angrily huffing as Todoroki told him to not be angry when he acted as one of the groomsmen. You chuckled and walked over to the rest of the bridesmaids.

Bakugou had just played it smart and asked all of you bridesmaid's dresses to be red so that you could wears yours without any hesitation.

The wedding went well, really well indeed, much more fun than the rest of the two months you had spent. Bakugou even asked you to a dance and you did have a small one, even though you blushed the whole time. You and Bakugou had been together for four years before this but somehow, even though he was married, everything he did just flustered you up.

"Did you have fun?" Bakugou asked once you reached back to the hospital room. You nodded and pulled him into a wide bear-hug. Bakugou's muscles stiffened under you but he hugged you back, he hugged you so tight your teared up.

Bakugou cradled you softly and placed you onto the bed as he climbed onto it beside you. It had been ages since you had slept with him and you'd craved for it, for his warm body against yours. Looks like you were having your wish fulfilled today.

_____________________________________________________________

Everyone stood quietly in the room as you lied on bed, pulling for breath. They had been notified by the doctors that the time to say goodbye had come and you could feel it. Your eyes blurring every few seconds, your lungs aching every time you'd breathe, the weakness across your body, it made you realize soon enough that you had to say goodbye.

You didn't want to die...

But who does.

You wanted to stay with Bakugou...

But Uraraka had let her husband love another woman enough now and you didn't want to hurt her anymore.

You wanted to live longer, live with your friends and enjoy life...

But that could only be a wish. Things had turned out pretty well for the last few months. You had enjoyed yourself and had had enough fun, and now it was time to go.

"Anything you'd like to say before you go, miss (Name)?" the doctor asked you quietly. You let out a small bitter chuckle.

"Go make mama proud, kids." you said with a small grin.

Soon, you'd have to say your last words. What should they be? You wanted to say something that everyone could treasure forever, something heartwarming, something they could remember when they felt lonely.

"I love you." you breathed out, your head turning over to Katsuki, who was sitting next to you, clearly trying his best to hold back his tears. You didn't want to see him die and you could feel the emptiness approaching.

You slowly put your hand on his head, ruffling his hair softly as you pushed it down to lie against the bed.

"I love all of you. Just remember, if you ever need me, I'll be there."

You let out a small sigh and smile at everyone, and then at Katsuki who had turned his head up to look at you.

"Be happy. And remember, I'm not leaving you all alone. I'll be there when you need me, I'll be there in your hearts.."

And there it was. The monotonous long beep, telling that it was over.

Deep silence fell over the room as several tears hit the ground. Bakugou remained in the position you had put him in, his eyes wide as tears flowed out like rain, a deep ache in his heart. He already missed you.

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1kook · 3 years

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ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates.

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens.

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class.

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him.

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all.

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly.

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months.

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got.

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career.

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course.

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.”

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you.

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.)

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side.

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly.

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil.

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester.

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness.

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you.

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face.

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!”

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things.

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone.

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought.

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you.

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news.

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward.

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason.

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away.

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom.

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same.

Apparently not.

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed.

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile.

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.”

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck.

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot.

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi.

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.”

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face.

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments.

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.”

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.”

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character.

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester.

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right.

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile. He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.”

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?”

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh.

This man was dangerous for your heart.

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.”

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you.

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well.

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook.

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#mine

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

"She can't hurt us anymore," Yakko?

Yakko held Dot’s hand as they walked away from where the star had been, his mind still spinning trying to process what had happened in the last ten minutes.

Running, the gunshot, Dot dying, his parents, Dot died, Mom ran away with Dad’s sword, came back empty-handed, and then Wakko made a wish, and Dot was... alive again. Not even in pain. It was... like it didn’t happen.

Except it did. His gloves and pants still had her blood on them, as did her clothes. As did Dad’s. As did the snow.

Dot died.

But through the power of the Wishing Star, she was alive.

He squeezed her hand.

His parents were alive too, even after all this time... they were... alive. He had so many questions for them, but despite how hard he tried, he was simply speechless.

He could hardly get himself to look at them. They looked like how he remembered, though a bit weaker and a bit skinnier, and a bit more sadness behind their eyes, though they were plenty happy in the moment.

Still. It was like looking at a ghost and he just... he just couldn’t do it. Instead, he held Dot’s hand. He would’ve held Wakko’s too, but Wakko was being carried by their mother at his assistance. Meanwhile, Dot’s other hand was being held by their father, who Yakko was pretty sure was trying to talk to him, but again, he couldn’t speak. William didn’t mind though, as Dot was plenty happy to chat away, despite having literally died minutes before.

Dot died on his watch.

He was supposed to protect his siblings while his parents were gone. It was his job as older brother to keep them safe and he couldn’t even do that-

Wakko was neglected, and Yakko did nothing to prevent him from being locked in the tower again. Dot was yelled at, verbally abused, and died and Yakko just let it happen...

He squeezed her hand again.

Dot was alive.

“Daddy, how are we getting home?” Dot asked. William looked at Lena.

“Well... I suppose we’re taking your grandmother’s carriage,” He shrugged. Yakko blinked.

“W-what about Grandmummy?” Wakko asked nervously. Lena stroked his back in a comforting motion.

“She can’t hurt you anymore, darling. She’s long gone now,” Lena kissed his cheek.

Gone? Gone how?

Is that what-...

Oh.

So that’s where she went...

Yakko thought he noticed blood, but he assumed it was... well... Dot’s.

Good.

Yakko was glad she was dead, though she deserved far, far worse.

He glanced at his mother.

He couldn’t begin to imagine what she was feeling.

He looked away.

“Okay,” Wakko nodded his head, resting it back on her shoulder. Slowly they made their way toward the vehicle where a royal guard and coachman were waiting.

“Y-your... majesties..? Y-you’re alive?!” The coachman was losing his mind.

“Hello Henry,” William nodded at the guard.

“Oh my god- William? What on earth- Is the princess okay?” He asked. Dot squeezed Yakko’s hand.

“Thanks to the Wishing Star, yes... though I have reason to believe you had something to do with it,” William glared.

“I wasn’t aiming for any of them, I swear. I was just... biding my time... The queen practically ripped the gun from my hands and it fired- and... I’m sorry, your highness. I know what I’ve done and am willing to accept punishment,” He kneeled on the ground in front of Lena.

“There’ll be none of that... not now anyway,” Lena sighed. “But you will make up for what you’ve done. However... seeing as Dot was able to be brought back, we’ll be merciful. All we ask is that you say my mother, Queen Angelina the First, died in the avalanche, understood?” She looked at the two of them.

“Wait- what happened to the queen?” The coachman asked.

“Nothing she didn’t have coming,” Lena stated firmly. “But it was the avalanche, understood?”

“Of course, your highness,” The guard nodded, and the coachman wisely agreed to it as well.

“Good,” She nodded at them, going to the door, which the coachman quickly opened, allowing the family of five in. For once, their grandmother’s frivolity paid off, as there was more than enough room for all of them.

Once in, his parents sat together on one side, with Wakko still in his mother’s arms, and Dot and Yakko sat on the other, with Dot snuggling up on his lap.

Dot was alive.

“Where to, your highness?” The coachman asked.

“Acme Falls. We have some business to take care of,” Lena and William exchanged a glance.

“What kind of business?” Wakko asked as the coachman closed the door.

William chuckled tiredly. “We accidentally destroyed a dear friend's elixir cart,” He stretched the back of his neck.

Friends?

They didn’t have any friends... not that Yakko knew of anyway. Or remembered. Where even was Acme Falls? Is that where they’ve been this whole time?

A headache flared in his brain as more and more questions began to swarm. Yakko grumbled a little and tried to shut it off. This, however, only got his parent’s attention.

“Are you okay, Yakko?” Lena asked softly. Yakko forced a nod, preferring to look out the window instead as the carriage began to move. He could feel the glances his parents were exchanging.

“How’d you do that?” Wakko asked.

“Avalanche destroyed it. We’ll pay them back though... we’ve burdened them enough already,” Lena sighed.

“Lena...” Willam placed his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

“Don’t pretend it isn’t true,” She said. William didn’t fight further.

“We’ll be stopping by to get Dot a check-up, make sure everything is okay, thank them for everything and then we’ll be on our way,” Lena told Wakko, stroking his head as he slowly closed his eyes.

There was a long moment of silence after that, mostly due to exhaustion. Once the carriage really got moving, Wakko and Dot fell asleep practically instantly. Yakko couldn’t say he blamed them, in all honesty, he was exhausted too, but his headache and questions kept him up. Plus, his parent’s worried glances were driving him insane too, and he did his best to avoid them. Instead, he tried to focus on other things.

Like how weird it was that they were riding in their now-dead grandmother’s carriage. It still smelled like her perfume. Something about sitting where she sat didn’t feel right. If Yakko would have his way, he would burn it when they got home. Hell- he’d burn all traces of their grandmother. She deserved far worse than what she got... though it was probably cathartic on some level for Lena.

He glanced at his mom.

She was holding William’s hand tightly. He could tell she was almost trembling.

Yeah... that must’ve been quite the thing to go through...

“Yakko..? Are you okay?” William asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Yakko blatantly lied, shoving down the hurricane of emotions buried in his chest.

“Try that again,” Lena looked at him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Yakko crossed his arms. He was beginning to feel nauseous from the swirl.

“...Not here, anyway,” He added, stroking Dot’s ears softly. Lena sighed, understanding.

“You must have a million questions, of which I don’t blame you for in the slightest. So much has happened...” Lena looked out the window and squeezed her husband’s hand again.

“Yeah...” was all Yakko could muster.

The carriage ride the rest of the way was silent, as they all made their best attempts to sleep, but they simply weren’t as lucky as Dot or Wakko. Nobody made any attempts to conversate though, as they all seemed okay with the silence, which Yakko was grateful for. The last thing he wanted was to start shouting and getting upset and waking his sibs.

Eventually, they reached the little town of Acme Falls, and when they rolled into the town square there was a notable tension in the townsfolk, and Yakko was reminded yet again, they were in his grandmother’s carriage. He had no idea what the townspeople thought of her, but if it was even a sliver of the hatred Yakko felt for her, he could understand.

The coachman opened the door, waking up Dot and Wakko instantly with the winter air, and slowly the family all got out, the townspeople relaxing when they didn’t see the dead queen, some even congratulating their parents (mostly William though, for some reason).

The family then walked their way to a building with the sign “Dr. Scratchnsniff and Nurse Nerz’s”. Right, the doctors. Their father knocked on the door.

“Willaim! You’re back, thank goodness,” A blonde shapely woman opened the door and gave their father a tight hug.

“Yes, yes, all in one piece,” William laughed and returned the hug. The woman stepped back and examined all of them.

“You say that... but who’s blood is that?” She pointed at him.

“There was... an incident at the star. We’re just here to apologize about the cart, and to give Dot a quick check-up just to make sure she’s okay,” Lena said.

“The cart? What happened to the cart?” A man’s voice with a distinct German accent spoke from beyond the door.

“Avalanche,” Lena sighed, as the nurse allowed the family in.

“Oh... right, yes. We heard about that,” The doctor scratched his bald head from behind his desk.

“How on earth did you get here without the cart?” The nurse asked.

“We took my mother’s carriage,” Lena said.

“Oh dear- she’s not... is she?” The woman and doctor exchanged a glance.

“She is, and I don’t regret a thing,” Lena stated sharply, ending that conversation.

“So... a check-up, ya?” said the doctor, standing up. Quickly, he examined Dot up and down. “Nothing seems off or broken from a glance... what happened, exactly?”

“W-well we dug our way out of the snow from the avalanche and then we were running towards the star and then there was a gunshot and she got shot in the back and then...” Yakko couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Ah... I see... so the Wishing Star..?” he asked William and Lena. They nodded.

“I’ll give her a quick exam. However, the rooms are fairly small, so only one parent please,” He said, picking up a clipboard from his desk.

“I’ll go,” William said. “C’mon Dot,” he smiled softly at her. Dot glanced at Yakko once before going to her dad, and they went down the hall and disappeared with the doctor.

So... great.

“You can just wait here if you’d like, it surely won’t take long,” The nurse smiled softly at Yakko.

“My name is Helloise, by the way,” She said.

“Oh right! I’m so sorry- these are my sons, Yakko and Wakko,” Lena gestured to both, though Wakko was still in her arms.

“Pleasure to meet you,” She nodded at both of them. Wakko smiled back. Yakko said nothing.

They sat there a moment in silence, with Helloise going back to her desk and doing some work, and leaving the boys and their mother alone to talk.

“So... Wakko, what’s the first thing you want to do when we get home?” Lena asked.

“I wanna have a big fancy picnic in the garden,” Wakko grinned up at his mom.

“That sounds lovely dear,” Lena smiled and nuzzled his nose. “What about you, Yakko?”

“I uh... I don’t know,” he shrugged. Sure, he had come up with an idea of just sitting and being in a room with his parents this morning, but now the idea felt ridiculous, but at the same time, he couldn’t really think of a replacement activity that could make up for the time lost. The headache flared again, and Yakko slumped a little in his seat.

Good god, he wanted to go home.

Another moment of silence passed. Yakko wished he knew what to say, he usually never shut up, but now...

Today was a lot, to say the least.

He was probably just tired and needed to go home.

Eventually, William and Dot returned with a thumbs up, though the doctor stopped Lena momentarily and whispered something to her. She nodded her head once, thanked him, promised they’d reimburse all the supplies they’ve used over the year tenfold, and they were off again.

On the way home, the sun began to set, and this time Yakko found it much easier to close his eyes, figuring he probably wore himself out. The soothing rhythm of the carriage moving along the path lulled his mind to a stop for once, and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

He was woken by his mother when the carriage came to a stop. Slowly all of them got out and went in.

Maids and guards alike gasped and gawked at the sight of William and Lena, reminding Yakko yet again that they were gone a year, not dead. People asked for information on the queen, and Lena told them what had happened.

So Yakko had been right, Angelina had hired assassins to kill his parents... they were just unsuccessful.

Huh.

After a while, Lena ordered them to let them rest for the night and that they could finish early today and the maids and servants and guards dissipated as quickly as they had gathered.

“Well... now that they’re gone... I believe it’s bedtime now, isn’t it?” William looked at Wakko and Dot.

“Aww, do we have to?” Wakko pouted. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Alone? Don’t you share a room with..?” Lena looked at Yakko, who shook his head.

“Well... here, I have an idea. How about we all sleep together in our room tonight, hm? The bed is plenty big enough and it’ll be just like old times,” Lena smiled.

“Really?!” Dot and Wakko beamed. Lena laughed.

“Of course,” She said. “Just go get your pajamas on and wait for a few, I’ll come to get you when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, mommy!” Dot said, giving her mother a powerful hug, which Lena returned. Wakko did the same before they both ran off to their rooms. Yakko started to go, but Lena stopped him.

“Yakko, what’s wrong?” Lena asked.

“I dunno,” Yakko kicked the rug beneath his feet. “I just- I guess I have a lot of questions.”

“As do we,” William sighed. “Here- let’s talk in the study. It’ll feel more private,” he said. Nobody argued with that so they went into the familiar family study, and they sat down in the comfortable chairs.

“So... what’s on your mind?” Lena asked. Yakko bit his lip.

More like what wasn’t on his mind.

“Just... how, and why and why and how,” Yakko rubbed his arms. “I-i mean... a year with her. I-i just... I knew you’d never leave on purpose, and I knew about the assassins, but... yeah...”

“Hey,” Lena softly placed her hand under his chin and made him look at her. “Don’t feel bad for feeling this way- you have a right to be upset and confused. It’s... a lot, I know,” She sighed. Yakko nodded.

“Well... what happened was that mother hired attackers to kill us, though for some odd reason she didn’t want it to be in the castle,” William explained.

“Probably didn’t want to stain the tapestries,” Lena snorted. “But yes... we were taken away, though not without severe injuries... a few of which you saw...” She looked at Yakko, and his eyes went to the scar on her shoulder.

“Right,” he said.

Lena took a deep breath. “It had been snowing so ice covered the roads. The only way we were freed was because the carriage slid and crashed against a tree and we ran for it. Eventually, we reached the town of Acme Falls, the town your father grew up in,” she looked at William.

“I was friends with the nurse throughout my childhood, so when we came half-dead, she was quick to help, though it took roughly a year to recover from everything,” William said.

“Well, for me anyway,” Lena muttered to herself. “Still... we missed you three every day and wished we could come home with all of our might. I can’t count the number of times I wept thinking about what that awful woman was doing to the three of you...” Lena looked off, her eyes becoming foggy at the memory. William held her hand and gave it a squeeze, stroking it with his thumb. She didn’t phase.

“S-so you really were alive? Huh...” Yakko tried to process it all. “A-and it’s not like you could’ve come back because grandma would’ve just said you were imposters and that’s treason, right? It just would’ve gotten you killed again.”

“That’s exactly right, Yakko,” William nodded. Yakko flopped back in his seat, still thinking about it.

“Yakko, I’m so sorry... I never meant to leave you with her- any of you. I should’ve killed her years ago...” Lena said that last part mostly to herself, but they still heard.

“Mom, it’s okay... really...” Yakko reassured.

“No, it’s not. None of this should have happened. You three deserve so much better... You deserve to be safe and happy and loved...” Lena rubbed her arms.

“Lena, my love...” William said, but she still didn’t look at him.

“Grandma can’t hurt us anymore, it’s okay Mom,” Yakko said. “We’re gonna be okay now because we’re together, remember? We’re all here.”

Lena blinked.

“You’re right- of course, you’re right,” Lena laughed a little, more sad than happy. “We’re together again. You’re here, I’m here, we’re here,” her grip on her arms tightened.

She was shaking.

Yakko didn’t even hesitate to get up and wrap her in a tight hug.

“It’s okay mom. You dealt with her, she can’t hurt us anymore. You’re back... you’re alive,” Yakko said, tears coming to his eyes.

His parents were alive.

His grandmother was dead.

They were safe.

“Yakko, I love you so much,” Lena hugged him tightly, crying tears of her own.

“I love you too, mom,” He sniffled. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too,” She kissed his forehead, and a wave of comfort and nostalgia washed over him.

He missed her so much...

“Would you like to join your siblings in our little sleepover tonight?” Lena asked him. Yakko nodded, still hugging her.

“Good, now go get into your pajamas, and meet us in a few,” Lena kissed his head again, and let him go. Yakko got up and gave his dad a big hug too.

“I missed you too Dad,” He smiled a little.

“I missed you too, Yakko,” William hugged back.

Yakko then ran off to go change, feeling relieved and happy.

His parents were alive and his grandmother was dead.

This was the cause for a giant celebration.

He ran to his room and was about to change when he looked down at his gloves and saw the blood once more.

The feeling of joy was sucked out as he remembered Dot’s weak pleas to go home... how much she shook and cried... how cold she felt when she... when she...

They were home.

They were together.

A big happy family.

Dot was alive too.

Yakko took off the gloves and put them deep into his laundry. He never wanted to see that much of his sister’s blood ever again. Especially not on his watch...

They were home.

They were together.

They were safe.

Yakko repeated that in his mind until he felt calm again, changing into his pajamas, burying his bloodstained pants also in his laundry.

A big happy family.

God, Yakko hoped so.

Quickly, he finished getting ready and ran to join his sibs in their parent’s room, which to his surprised looked like it hadn’t been touched in a year, outside of fixing any damage the attack could’ve done. Still- it was just as he remembered, which felt nice.

“Haha, you’re slow,” Dot stuck her tongue out at Yakko.

“Am I now?” Yakko raised an eyebrow as he climbed onto the bed.

“Oh settle down you three, it’s late enough already” Lena rolled her eyes and chuckled tiredly.

“Lullaby! Lullaby!” Wakko and Dot chanted in unison, which only made Lena laugh more.

“Alright, alright. I know it’s been a while... I’ll have to choose one that makes it worth it...” She thought to herself, tapping her finger on her chin. Yakko made his way in between his two sibs, who were sitting completely upright in anticipation.

“You know the rules you two, you have to lay down, or else it doesn’t work,” Lena pointed out. Quickly and giggly, the two younger siblings laid down, kicking and practically bouncing with energy.

“Let's go in the garden, you’ll find something waiting. Right there where you left it, laying upside down,” She started, and Yakko felt an ocean of relaxation and comfort enter him. He missed her singing more than he could’ve ever said, and hearing it again- well... it was indescribable.

“When you finally find it, you’ll see how it’s faded. The underside is lighter when you turn it around,” Yakko didn’t remember her ever singing this one, but he didn’t care.

“Everything stays, right where you left it. Everything stays... but it still changes. Ever so slightly, daily and nightly, in little ways, when everything stays,” She continued, her voice visibly relaxing and tiring out Yakko and his sibs. She really was the best.

“Go down to the ocean... the crystal tide is rising. Water’s gotten higher, as the shore washes out,” She continued, the kids slowly closing their eyes.

“Keep your eyes wide open, Even when the sun is blazing. The moon controls the tide, it could cause you to drown.”

“Everything stays, right where you’ve left it. Everything stays, but it still changes. Ever so slightly, Daily and nightly, In little ways... when everything stays...” she finished, kissing each of them on their foreheads.

“Goodnight my loves,” She whispered.

“G’night mommy,” Dot smiled sleepily, as she cuddled against William, who himself was also practically asleep. Lena chuckled tiredly as she laid back down, humming another verse to herself, and Yakko felt his eyelids go heavy and he slowly drifted to sleep.

.o0o.

“Y-yakko, you’ll go home too, right?” she sniffled, but regretted that.

The pain was sharp. Her whole body was on fire and being consumed by it. She could feel herself growing weaker as the pain only got stronger.

“O-of course. All of us- we’ll all be there, okay? We’re gonna get our wish and we’re gonna go home, okay?”

Some of his tears fell onto her face.

“O-okay... We-we’re gonna go home, a-and be together- a big happy family,” she smiled at the thought of it.

“Y-yeah Dot. A big happy f-family,” he stroked her face with his thumb.

Another wave, this one hurt more. She all but collapsed back into the snow. Oh god- please make it stop- please make it stop-

“Yakko, I don’t wanna die- I’m not ready to die.”

She wanted to reach out- to cling to him- her arms couldn’t move.

“Dot- no. Y-you can’t die-”

He looked so sad...

“Yakko I wanna go home,”

She squeezed his hand with all she had. She wanted to hug him, to have this agony taken away. Good god, it hurt.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dot. Y-you aren’t gonna die.”

Her father lied. She was dying- she knew it- good god, it was consuming her-

She was so tired...

No... No, she couldn’t- She had to stay- they were getting so sad-

Say something!!! They need you, Dot-

“I-i l-love y-you...”

No- that’s not enough-

No-

“No!!!” Dot shot up in her parent’s bed, tears streaming down her face, and her breathing heavy. She put a hand on her chest and flinched.

She could still feel how it felt when she was dying.

“Dot..? Sweetie, what’s the matter?” William rubbed his eyes and to Dot’s horror, she realized she woke everyone up.

“I-i’m so sorry-” She apologized, wiping her face. “I-i didn’t mean- please don’t get mad,” she pleaded.

Wiliam and Lena exchanged a look.

“Dot? What’s the matter?” Wakko frowned and sat up, placing a hand on her shoulder, which she shook off, which she immediately felt guilty over.

Good god, what was happening?

“I-it hurts,” She cried.

“What hurts? Dot, are you alright?” William sat upright and got in front of her.

“I-i can still feel it i-in here,” she pointed to her chest, right where the pain was.

“Oh no... Dot, honey, I’m so sorry,” William gasped, quickly wrapping her in a tight hug. Dot wanted to push away at first, but it turns out the hug did help to make her feel better.

“Mummy? What’s wrong with Dot?” Dot heard Wakko ask. Lena squeezed Wakko’s shoulder.

“It has many names... but let’s just say a nightmare for now...” Lena sighed.

“Oh...” Wakko said, turning back to his little sister.

“It’s okay, Dot. We’re all here, you’re safe. It’s okay,” Wakko patted her head lightly, as it was all he could think to do while she was wrapped in her dad’s arms. Dot sniffled.

“I-i’m sorry for waking you- you should go back to sleep,” She said. Wakko frowned.

“I-is it about the..?” Wakko didn’t need to finish his sentence. Dot nodded. Wakko’s head lowered.

“Oh...” He looked away. Yakko put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I-I’m sorry Dot. I-it was meant for me- I-i should’ve-”

“No, Wakko. This is not your fault,” Yakko stopped him.

“B-but she was-”

“’But she was’ nothing. This is nobody except your grandmother’s fault, and she’s already paying the price,” Lena said.

“Y-yeah Wakko, it’s n-not your fault,” Dot sniffled, feeling better as the pain was going away slightly, though it was still there.

“O-okay...” Wakko sniffled and wiped his face. “A-are you okay, Dot?”

“I-i’m okay...” she stretched the truth. She knew she wasn’t dying but it still frightened her.

William and Lena shared a look with each other, holding a silent conversation. Eventually, Lena nodded and got up, giving Dot a quick kiss on the cheek.

“It’ll be okay Dot... we’ll find someone really good to help you so this doesn’t happen, okay?” She smiled softly. Dot nodded, not really knowing what she meant, before Lena went to her desk and started writing a letter.

“It’s okay pumpkin. After all, we’re right here, just like you wanted,” William kissed the top of her head.

“Y-yeah Dot, just like you wanted,” Yakko said happily.

That did bring a smile to her face.

They were together, at home, safe and sound.

The pain faded, and Dot broke the embrace with her dad to open her arms to her brothers, who then turned and hugged her. William and eventually Lena joined this hug too, and Dot smiled.

They were home, they were together.

Their grandma was dead. She couldn’t hurt them anymore- nobody could. Not anymore.

They were together now,

That’s all that mattered.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 The End

#angelina 1 lives au #my fics #yakko wakko and dot #angelina warner #william warner #queen angelina ii #sir william the good #long post #angst #feels #hurt/comfort #tw blood #tw death #tw ptsd #trauma #im sobbing-#lets get them some therapy lol #alsjchnwjxkwjrjr #animaniacs

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smoll-tangerine · 3 years

Text

[a/n]: wrote this on a whim because my feet get cold at night and it’s unfortunately, cuffing season. here i am, still single, and jaehyun is still not my boyfriend. tragic.

[23:39] You glanced over at your boyfriend who looked so comfortable and warm in your shared bed. Jaehyun was already dead asleep, having already finished studying for tomorrow’s finals. You, on the other hand, decided to give yourself a break from studying. You thought that watching a drama was a good way to relax.

You told yourself you were only going to watch one episode.

You ended up watching five.

Hence, why you were still stuck at your desk, trying to memorize all the dates and facts for your History’s exam tomorrow, even though all you wanted to do was to get in bed and cuddle with Jaehyun.

It was only an hour later that you’ve deemed you had done enough. You quickly brushed your teeth and done your skincare before closing off the lights. You then made your way to your bed and snuggled up to Jaehyun, who let out a small groan in response. He turned around, facing you, and naturally put his arms around you, turning you into the small spoon.

You tried not to giggle at his action. Jaehyun have always had a habit of holding a pillow or a blanket in order to fall asleep. But ever since you two decided to sleep over at each other’s places, and eventually living together, he gave up on the pillow and decided that he much preferred holding you.

“You’re done?” he mumbled sleepily and tucked your head under his chin.

You nodded with a small hum and breathed in your boyfriend’s scent. He smelled like a mix of fresh laundry, cotton, windy, soft. You unconsciously smiled.

He smelled like home.

Judging by his soft breathing, Jaehyun must have fallen back asleep. Yet, your eyes were still wide open, your last brain cell still somehow keeping you awake due to your study session.

You couldn’t help but wanting to tease your boyfriend, just a little. After all, he was just too adorable.

You slowly bring up your legs, grateful that Jaehyun decided to wear his boxers today instead of his usual sweatpants because the man was like a furnace, and pressed your cold feet against his legs, stifling the small giggle threatening to come out from your mouth.

He let out a yelp and immediately shuddered at the contact. His blurry eyes opened in a subdued glare, and he raised a brow as he looked down at you.

“I’m cold,” you whined to him and immediately buried yourself in his chest. Yes, you were cold and wanted to tease him a little, but really, you also just wanted cuddles and attention from him.

Jaehyun immediately flipped you onto your back, his previous sleepiness completely gone as his eyes glazed over. You blinked up at him, wondering what kind of situation was this.

His lips lifted up into a provoking smirk. “Is that so?”

You nodded shyly and a bit unsurely.

Jaehyun decided to warm you up in a different way.

#neowritingsnet #jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun blurbs #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun fic #jaehyun timestamps #jaehyun romance

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willow-salix · 3 years

Text

TAG MiniBang 2021

Because the combined bad influences of Flyboy and Sonata were at work here we also decided to bend the rules a little and post early...

I was privileged to work with one of my best friends on this project, @misssquidtracy . We went a little rogue (seems to be a theme for us) and shared both parts of the challenge with both of us contributing to the art and the writing. Squiddy provided a beautifully done pallet knife piece as the background for my foreground art and we plotted the story together to ensure that it worked for both of us. We had been looking forward to sharing the writing but unfortunately, due to life constraints on her part she was only able to write a little of the fic but what she did add perfectly compliments the tone and style of my writing.

Big thanks to @tagminibang ) @godsliltippy ) for organising this event.

So, here it is, our offering to the TAG Mini Bang. We hope you enjoy it.

Ting ting ting

“Not again,” Virgil groaned, hauling himself up the stairs from the kitchen to the lounge. He regretted ever giving Gordon that bell, he really did. Yes his brother had gone through a tough time, yes he had scared the hell out of them when the Chaos Crew had left him at the bottom of the ocean in his mangled craft, yes they were incredibly grateful that he was alive and mostly whole, but if they had to hear that dinging one more time they might possibly murder him themselves.

“Yes, Gordy, what do you need?”

“I’m lonely, and I’m hungry, come and sit with me for a bit?”

“Sure-”

“But maybe make me a sandwich first?”

“A sandwich?”

“Yeah, with extra cheese and a pickle on the side, not too large a pickle but not too small that it’s gone in one bite. I want to taste it, you know, but not be overwhelmed.”

“Sure-”

“And can you get me a drink too? One of my special milkyshakes, you know, with the ice cream and frozen banana in it?”

“Coming right up,” Virgil sighed, heading back down to the kitchen again.

“Gordon still demanding everything and anything?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the poolside. His T-shirt was sticking to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat but he still looked like he could do it all again. Not that they would have time, they were lucky if they got to do any planned exercise at all, usually they were forced to skip it and work out on the job when a call came in.

“Of course he is,” Virgil growled, slapping a slice of cheese on a piece of bread with far more force than necessary.

“What did the cheese do to you?”

“It’s guilty by association.”

“Ah,” Scott said, like that explained things perfectly.

A few slices of chicken received the same treatment and Scott wondered if the meat had actually been dead when it arrived on the island or if Virgil had simply smacked it into submission so well that the chicken had flown clear into next week and arrived as sandwich filling.

“Can you fix his drink?” Virgil asked.

“Can’t gotta shower this off before Grandma accuses me of stinking up the place again.”

“Any excuse,” Virgil scowled. “It would only take you a second.”

“A second too long, bro, I’m escaping while I can and you’d be wise to do the same,” Scott said, heading for the stairs and freedom.

“How can I escape when Gordon needs help?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Scott told him wisely.

“I am? And that would be…”

“John’s home.”

Virgil snorted out a laugh. “He’s less likely to do it than you are.”

“No, you're misunderstanding me. If John’s home that means…” Scott let his sentence trail off into silence heavily filled with insinuation.

“Sel’s here,” Virgil finished triumphantly, catching on perfectly.

“Give that Tracy a prize,” Scott grinned, shooting triumphant finger guns his brother’s way as he headed up the stairs.

And they said that John was the genius in the family, they hadn’t seen Scott at his most devious. Virgil wasted no time in yanking out his phone and texting the witch to come and take over.

“Here’s your sammich, Squidward,” Selene cooed, plonking the plate down on Gordon’s lap while smacking a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil started it but I finished it for you, Brains called him down to his lab with some kind of air filter emergency so I took over. I brought you some of those crisps you like from my private stash too.”

“The cheesy curl ones?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Yep,” she grinned, waggling a family sized bag of Quavers in his general direction.

“Did you bring my drink?” Gordon asked around a mouthful of chickeny goodness. Say what you wanted about Virgil but he made a damn good sandwich, even if Gordon could taste that this was made with a little less love and a little more impatience than usual.

“No, sorry, did you want one? Virgil didn’t say that. I’ll go get you something, just wait right there.”

"Not like I can leave if the mood takes me," Gordon grumbled as he opened the chip bag.

She was already gone, only to race back in a few moments later with a can of coke.

“What? What’s wrong, boo?” Selene asked when she saw the pouting look of disappointment on Gordon’s face.

“It was supposed to be one of my special milkyshakes,” he whined.

“Right, got it, my bad!”

She was gone again, taking off to the kitchen where, upon closer inspections, she did indeed find the beginnings of a milkshake. There were two scoops of ice cream already in the blender, melting in the warmth of the room. A half peeled banana sat abandoned on the counter next to a carton of milk.

“Typical,” she groused as she set about breaking up the banana, pouring the milk and setting it to blend as she tidied the mess away. Once done she poured it into a tall glass, added a straw and a few slices of fresh banana to decorate the edges, just as he liked it, and delivered it to the waiting aquanaut.

“Great, thanks, Sel,” he grinned, handing her his now empty plate and swapping it for the glass. She put the plate on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“Sit with me and keep me company?” he begged, looking so miserable and pathetic that she couldn’t say no.

“Of course I will.”

Gordon swung his injured leg up and she moved to sit next to him on the couch, placing a cushion on her lap for him to rest his cast covered foot on.

Gordon settled down with a contented sigh, sucking happily on his straw, the milkshake level in the glass steadily dropping.

“I’m bored,” Gordon bitched five minutes later.

“That peace lasted a long time,” Selene laughed, putting her phone down on the side table to give him her full attention. “What can I do to help? Do you want to watch something or play a game?”

Gordon made a face. “You’re crap at games, Sel.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly say crap…”

“You tried to play with Alan and died three times in two minutes, lost all your lives and were forced to float along behind him as a ghost for the rest of his turn.”

“Anything is crap when you say it like that,” Selene huffed.

“Only when it’s true.”

“Tell me then, oh great games master, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t moan you’re bored,” she pointed out.

“I mean there’s nothing to do. No one is around.”

Selene gestured to her chest. “Am I suddenly invisible?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed. “That would be far too cool, why don’t you have witch powers like that?”

“Because I live in the real world, not a movie?”

“Lame,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Back to the original point that I am, in fact, right here. Therefore your comment that no one is around is redundant.”

“I meant no one I can do anything with.”

“Thin ice, bub, thin ice.”

“I meant like my brothers or someone. Alan is busy revising for his final exams, Virgil’s with Brains and I’ve no idea where Scott is but I think he’s avoiding me, which is just mean if you ask me. I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” she drawled, not sounding too convinced. “You’re also forgetting a brother.”

“Who?”

“John? You know, gorgeous ginger love of my life that’s chilling in his room right this minute? That brother?”

“John? No way.”

“What’s wrong with John?” she squawked indignantly. Her man was the most perfect of people, amazing and fabulous, just all round awesome. Although she might be a tad biased.

Gordon shrugged, scrunching his nose up in a ‘meh’ kinda way that said everything and nothing.

“No, come on, tell me what you meant,” she demanded.

“No offence, Sel, but John’s a bit…”

“A bit what?” she asked, her tone warning him that he was in very dangerous territory.

Gordon, with the grace of an elephant and confidence of a man that knew he was injured and therefore wouldn’t get slapped, plowed on.

“A bit boring.”

“Boring?!” she hollered, her voice travelling to the four corners of the island so effectively that Alan lifted his head, wondering if some distant God was echoing his thoughts as he slogged through his history homework.

“How very dare you!” Selene continued, working up a good glare that Gordon was completely immune to. He simply sipped the last of his milkshake, smacked his lips and raised an eyebrow, daring her to do something about it.

“He is not boring.”

“Matter of opinion,” Gordon shrugged, handing her the glass to put down on the table.

“Right, that’s it, you can besmirch my fun factor but I will not allow you to do so to my man. That’s a step too far.” She gently, for which he was thankful, shoved his leg off her lap and dragged his hover chair over from its spot beside Virgil’s piano.

“Get the hell in, hoppy, we’re going for a ride.”

-x-

"You deal with him, he's driving me nuts and pissing me off at the same time."

"Me? I'm the very picture of perfection, I could never drive anyone nuts."

John declined to comment on that one for fear of never stopping, he had twenty-four years worth of stories after all.

“The pissing you off is subjective too,” Gordon finished triumphantly.

"He's your problem now," Selene announced, shoving Gordon's hover chair further into the room before making her escape, slamming the door shut behind her.

John closed his eyes, praying for patience. His fiancée was well known for her legendary patience when it came to pampering and mothering his family whenever any of them were sick or injured. She'd spent almost every day with Gordon since his run in with the Chaos Crew and had done so with relentless cheer, for her to have given up now was not a good sign.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Gordon protested hotly.

"Are you sure?"

Gordon averted his gaze, suddenly taking great interest in a dust particle dancing across the shaft of sunlight filtering in through the window, "Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't doing anything. That was part of the problem."

"Ah," there it was. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm so bored," Gordon wailed. "And your girlfriend is being mean to me."

"Fiancée," John corrected him, not looking up from his work.

"It's not my fault I hate sitting around doing nothing all day. I’ve gone from a physically and mentally intensive, fifty plus hour a week job, to sitting on my ass from dawn until dusk. Can you blame a guy for getting twitchy?"

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice at the moment," John reminded him, quite needlessly he thought.

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Gordon huffed, trying to cross his arms although the cast and sling he was sporting prevented it. That just seemed to annoy him even more.

"I can't do anything right now! How do you do it?"

"Do what?" John asked, squinting through his magnifier at the small window frame he was carving from a piece of polymer clay.

"Just sit around all day."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't sit around all day."

"OK, float around then. It's not like you're actively running around like the rest of us are."

"I'll pretend I never heard you say that," John scowled, wishing Selene had dumped his brother into the sea instead of into his quiet, peaceful room.

"You're sitting around right now," Gordon pointed out, gesturing to the desk John was sitting at, which was currently doing double duty as a work table for his latest project.

"One day you'll learn to appreciate the benefits of a quiet, occupied mind and a still body," John told him.

Gordon sighed, propping his good elbow on the desktop, his chin resting in his upturned palm as he watched his brother fiddling with tiny things that seemed utterly useless to him.

"What are you even doing?"

"Working on a series of book nooks for Sel's side of the bookcase," John answered, sounding slightly distracted as he measured the finished window against its place in an intricately carved brick wall.

"Why?"

"Because she likes them."

"I mean why are you making it? Can't you just buy her one? It's not like you can't afford it."

"Where's the challenge in that? Besides, things are always more special when you make them yourself."

Gordon yawned and leant forward to rest his head on the tabletop.

"Do you want to help?" John offered, although honestly Gordon's version of helping was always patchy at best.

Gordon scooted closer to look over John's shoulder, eyes darting over the rectangular box that he was building the nook inside. About the size of two thick books sandwiched together, the nook already had a little cobbled street and two shop fronts in place. The tabletop was scattered with a selection of impossibly tiny screwdrivers, picks, scalpels and other instruments of possible torture that he couldn't hope to name.

"Pass," he announced decisively, flicking the control of his hoverchair so he spun in a wide circle, pointing to the door. "I'm out."

"Peace at last," John sighed, flicking his magnifier back into place over his right eye as he set aside the window to be baked later and reached for a fresh blob of clay.

-x-

"What ya dooooooing?" Gordon yodelled, slamming the bedroom door open so hard that it smacked into the wall and shook several picture frames. He scooted his way into the room without even waiting for an invite.

"Gordon!" John huffed, clutching his heart where it was trying to leap out of his chest from the shock of his brother’s sudden, and very noisy, entrance.

"Hi, I got bored, thought I'd drop in on my favourite big brother," Gordon grinned as he glided his hoverchair closer.

"Are Scott and Virgil busy?" John asked, that would be the only reason Gordon would have promoted him to his favourite.

"Yes," Gordon admitted, "but that's not the reason why I'm here."

John turned his head to shoot him a raised eyebrow of doom, clearly communicating without words that he didn't believe him in the slightest.

"So, what are you doing?"

"Working on this book nook," John replied patiently, holding up the small cauldron he was crafting.

"The same one?"

"Yes."

Gordon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Still? It’s been four days!"

"Yes," John hissed out, starting to get frustrated by the constant questions.

"Why?"

"Because it takes a long time. If you're going to do a project you should do it right."

"At the speed you're going it's gonna take forever," Gordon snorted, casting an assessing eye over the work John had already done.

"That doesn't matter," John assured him. "It's not really about the time it takes or the end result, it's about the process, the journey to get there."

"Sounds lame to me," Gordon yawned.

"Obviously," John drawled, rolling his eyes.

"What do you mean by that?" Gordon demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Because it's you."

"Hey! Rude."

"Accurate," John said, placing the little cauldron down and selecting another piece of clay which he placed on a ceramic tile.

"Why?"

"Because it requires a calm mind. It's good to slow down sometimes and just be still."

"Says the console jockey."

Console Jockey? He did not just say that!

"So you don't think my job is stressful? Or as tiring and important as yours?" John snapped, wondering if it was bad form to smack your injured brother around the head with a partially constructed book nook. He glanced at the nook, he had put a lot of work into it… It would be a shame to waste it. That thought alone saved Gordon.

“Well, yeah I get that it might be a bit stressful, but it’s not like you have to do much that puts you in danger, not like us,” Gordon continued, digging his hole even deeper, a hole that John was looking forward to shoving him into.

“We all have our specialities, you couldn’t do your job without me doing mine,” John retorted, trying very hard not to let Gordon’s comments get to him. Gordon would never understand what it was like for him to be stuck so far away from the action, away from his brothers when things were going wrong.

Gordon, thankfully for him, had been unconscious from the moment he had activated his emergency code. He hadn’t heard the frantic calls going out over the comms as the family mobilized to help him. He hadn’t heard the desperate scramble as Thunderbirds took off, racing to the scene. But John had heard it all.

John had been the one to stay on the line with Gordon, talking to him the entire time, knowing that he probably wouldn’t hear it but feeling that he needed to say it all the same. He wanted to know that if his little brother regained consciousness for even a second he would hear a familiar voice, that he would know that they were coming, that they would rescue him. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

He knew what it was like for people that were in danger, knew the comfort they got from someone talking to them, listening to their stories, being there for them verbally if not physically. John was often the one that spent the most amount of time with those they rescued, keeping their spirits up as much as possible until his brothers got there.

His brothers were seen by their rescuees as the real heroes, the ones that leapt in and plucked them out of danger, but John was the one that got them that help, the one that made sure the rescue played out as best it could, liaising and coordinating until the job was done. But Virgil, Scott, Gordon and Alan were the ones that got the thanks , the ones that got the hugs after they dropped their charges off, not John.

Not that he minded too much, he knew that his job was just as important as theirs, maybe even more so because, when someone put out that call for help, when they sent their desperate plea out into the world, they deserved to know that someone would always be listening out for it, that someone would hear and that help would come.

He knew all of this, and he knew that Gordon did too, it was just the frustration of inactivity that was making him say the things that he was. John just wished that that knowledge made it easier to listen to.

“I might not be doing the physical rescuing,” John continued, feeling the need to push his point home. “But I work just as hard, when you’re home you’re off duty until a call comes in, you can relax, swim, watch movies and laze around until you’re needed. When I’m up there I’m on duty 24/7 and even when I do manage to catch some sleep it’s not deep or particularly restful. Any little noise, any call that triggers the system's keyword algorithm gets transferred automatically, I have to go from asleep to awake in seconds to take it.”

Gordon was quiet for once, watching him closely. John didn’t like it, it made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo. And here we have the little seen Tracy, see how he stays inside his hide and hardly ever ventures out… he knew how they saw him, why they likely thought he had the easy job.

“These help, they give me something else to focus on. I need to keep my mind active and challenged while still trying to relax.” John paused, trying to think of a way to explain his thinking that Gordon might understand.

“These are almost like a meditation,” he started. Gordon understood meditation and finding your zone. “Creating something out of almost nothing. It keeps my mind focused, helps with finger dexterity and hand eye coordination with the added bonus of it relaxing me. It’s good to slow down and take some time to do something creative, you should try it some time.”

Gordon listened to his brother and he tried to take in all his words, he tried to understand the meaning behind them, he really did, but it just didn’t make any sense to him. He understood about wanting to be lazy, to sit around and do nothing sometimes. He loved to laze on the couch with his snackies and an Into the Unknown marathon playing out on the holoscreen, but that was watching something exciting, interesting, to him that was relaxing. This...whatever it was that John was actually doing, made no sense whatsoever to him. The idea of trying to relax by actually thinking...that was the most alien concept of all.

Gordon knew, probably better than his family gave him credit for, what it was like to be mislabelled. Within every sibling pool, there were the mandatory roles: the serious one, the caring one, the smart one, the funny one, the calm one, the angry one, the one who sang in the shower, et cetera. He’d proudly embraced the role of ‘the funny one’, and had diligently flown the flag for the humour camp for as long as he could remember. If a brother came home from a rescue in a slump and needed a cheery pick-me-up, it was Gordon who stepped up to the task, irrespective of his own mood. His smile and laugh were infectious, and he had yet to encounter a frown he couldn’t (eventually) turn upside down.

But with every ‘role’ came misconceptions. Scott was serious, therefore people were quick to automatically assume that he was a killjoy. Similarly, John’s intellect and preference for solitude often went hand in hand with him being branded antisocial, since there was apparently no possible way someone could enjoy their own company so much, yet still pursue and maintain meaningful relationships with actual people.

Gordon was no stranger to this treatment. He liked to laugh and be spontaneous, and consequently, was often regarded as the Tracy who didn’t take his work seriously, the Tracy who had the attention span of a gnat (albeit a very handsome one), and the Tracy who couldn’t be trusted with anything that required delicacy, be it physical or emotional. His affinity for making people laugh, though an exceptional quality, frequently acted as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his relentless optimism made him the most effective of the bunch when it came to emergencies involving children and young adults. On the other hand, it sentenced him to a fate where the bad jokes he cracked would always be two steps ahead of the secret deep thinker that lay within.

“Let me see it again,” Gordon sighed, trying his best to be a supportive and understanding brother, since he did feel a little bad about the things he had just said. He hadn’t meant to say them, they had just come out. That was the trouble with being laid up from an injury, not only were you out of action but you were in pain, and pain made you grumpy and less likely to monitor the things that came out of your mouth the way you should.

He knew that John worked hard, hell he knew that what his brother had said was right, John was never truly off duty. They were all aware that he didn’t get enough sleep, enough down time, enough time to relax and just be. They knew that if John was on Five he would consider himself on duty, at work, and therefore he’d never allow himself to take time out. Things had changed since Selene had blundered her way into his life, now he spent a lot more time on the Island, which meant that he was finally taking some time out for himself. If one of the ways he chose to do that was by crafting ridiculously tiny things out of clay to stick in a hollowed out box that was his business. Gordon wasn’t there to judge, he was there to spend time with his brother.

John moved aside a little so Gordon could get a closer look, trying to resist the urge to smack his hand away every time Gordon reached for a tiny piece that had taken him hours to perfect.

“These are really small,” Gordon mused, poking at a window that John had just finished painting, leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. “Woops, sorry, Bro.”

“Maybe you should try making something of your own,“ John suggested, carefully removing the window from his brother's possession and picking up a brush in order to attempt a fix.

Gordon nodded and John passed him a ceramic tile and a miniature rolling pin.

“How about you try cutting me out a few shop sign bases?” John suggested.

“Do I get one of those scalpel things?” Gordon asked, a little too eagerly for John’s liking.

“Maybe we can work up to that,” John hedged, subtly moving the scalpel out of his brother’s reach and passing him a square cookie cutter. “Use this cutter for now.”

Gordon shrugged and spent a few minutes rolling and squishing the clay trying to get the thickness to the exact measurement that John insisted on. It wasn’t easy or fun.

“Nope!” Gordon announced, giving up and pushing the tile away. “It’s still boring. Pass.”

He swung his hoverchair around and headed in the direction of the door. “Later, Bro.”

“Oh...OK...later, I guess,” John stuttered, wondering just what he had done to deserve such a chaotic family as his.

“Oh, hey, boo, where are you go- WAHH!”

John’s head shot up as Selene’s yelp rang out from the hallway.

“Sorry!”

“So you should be, you little shit,” she grumbled to his retreating back as she thumped into the room.

“What happened, love?”

“Let’s just say that if his chair had wheels I’d have lost a few toes,” she said, wincing in imagined pain.

John scooted his desk chair back and patted his lap in offer, one that she happily accepted.

“So, why was Gordy doing his boy racer bit? What did you say to him?”

“Me? What makes you think I said anything to him?”

“Because I know you two?”

“Fair,” he sighed, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

Selene turned her head to look at him, not liking the helpless look on his face.

“Babe, you are helping him, you’re there to keep him company or talk to him if he needs it, that’s more important than anything. What happened to make you think that you weren’t helping?”

“He was asking me about these again,” John nodded towards his work area on the desktop. “But he didn’t seem to understand, that or he just didn’t want to.”

“He’s Gordon,” she sighed. “You know what he’s like, he’s full on, he’s in your face and he’s not at all subtle. Taking his time with things just doesn’t compute with him.”

“It would do him good though, if he doesn’t learn to embrace it he’ll be exactly the same as he was last time.”

“Was he really that bad?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

John nodded. “He doesn’t do inactivity well. When he had his hydrofoil accident his therapist talked him into signing up for a virtual college degree in Environmental Management of Rivers and Wetlands. It was supposed to take him at least a year as a part time course with ANU in Canberra, but he blew through it in the first semester and earned himself a distinction for his insights on the impact of Anthropogenic Noise on Wetland Habitats. His professor was so impressed he offered him a fully funded PhD, citing his time with WASP and the time he spent in the bathyscaphe as practical experience that would make up for his lack of degree. Obviously he turned it down, but he still likes to rub our faces in it now and then.”

“Wow,” Selene breathed. “Forget his professor being impressed, I’m impressed.”

“He has a phenomenal brain,” John said, a small but very proud smile on his face. “When he actually decides to use it to its full potential, that is. There is nothing he can't do when he chooses to focus on something, he’s all in. It really helped him to feel like he was gaining something and moving forward even though he was sitting still.”

Selene nodded, understanding completely. She knew that all of her boys were wicked smart, but Gordon always presented himself as the least academic. He was more of a doer, wanting to be out in the field, learning as he went, diving in head first to every situation.

But as Selene and John both knew, appearances could be deceiving.

“If that’s what helped him last time, then we need to find a way to convince him to try something new,” Selene insisted.

“I tried, he’s not interested.”

“That was with your things, babe. We need to find something that’s a little more him, and I think I know just the thing.”

-x-

“I have arrived!” Gordon yodelled, announcing his entrance in his own unique way. He slid his hover chair in through the open door like the boss that he was, bringing his shining presence in to brighten up his middle brother's obviously dull existence. “Didja miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head,” John grumbled, turning to look at the grinning face of his brother. His eyes immediately began to water as they were assaulted by the far too bright colours of the shirt Gordon was wearing, a tie dyed monstrosity that Selene had made for him for his birthday.

“A little more gratitude, if you please," Gordon huffed.

“Grandma finally released you?”

“Yep,” Gordon stretched out his injured leg and patted the air cast on his now slingless arm. “Got time off for good behaviour.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John teased, then nodded to Gordon’s arm. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not too bad, my grip still isn't great but Grandma promised me that once the bone has finished knitting I’ll just need to exercise it and build the muscle strength up, then it’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great, it won't be long before you're able to go back out with Virgil and stop, how did Sel put it, 'haunting the house like the ghost of Christmas future'?"

"Can't come soon enough," Gordon sighed, butting his chair right up close to John's, knocking his arm in the process. "What you do- you're still doing that? Still? It's been a week!"

"It's not like I get a huge amount of down time," John pointed out. "I'm only here now because Sel said she'd dump me if I didn't make an effort to come down earlier in the evenings so I could actually eat a meal with you all."

"You actually believed that threat?" Gordon laughed.

"Of course not, she'd never dump me, but I thought I had better humour her and let her feel like she at least had a little sway," John shrugged, pushing aside the little piece of doorstep he had been painting. "Honestly, it's nice to come down for a meal and family time, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until it was happening again."

"I guess we all got a bit too caught up in International Rescue after we lost Dad," Gordon admitted.

"Like we had nothing else in our lives," John nodded, completely understanding.

"Yep."

Gordon fell silent and John let him, concentrating on mixing the perfect colour acrylic to add a few highlights to his stones.

"Can I have a go at making something? I bet I could do it quicker than you," Gordon asked, reaching towards what Selene called the sharps tub. John smacked the lid down on it just in time.

"Actually, we got you a present."

"You did?" Instantly distracted, Gordon sat up straighter, excited by the prospect of a gift. "What did you get me?"

This," John answered, opening his desk drawer and extracting an interestingly shaped bottle, upright with a thicker, rounded bottom and a thinner neck, ending a cork stopper.

"Wow, is that an original?" Gordon asked, taking the bottle carefully and turning it to study it from all angles. He knew exactly what this shaped bottle was, there had been a collection of them in Commander Shore’s office that he would stare at every time he got called in for some reprimand or another.

"19th century," John nodded. "Sel found it in a little shop in Mayfair. They assured her it was a genuine, used on a ship, captain's decanter from around the time of the civil war. They hadn’t fully traced it when Sel bought it but they think it came from one of the ships that fought in one of the smaller skirmishes around 1861.”

“This is really cool, thanks,” Gordon smiled, still turning the bottle over and over.

“It’s to hold this,” John continued, drawing Gordon’s attention back to him.

Grinning, John delved back into his desk drawer and pulled out a rather faded and quite dusty box. He brushed the dirt off the top and slid it over to Gordon.

"A ship?" Gordon frowned.

"Yep, Selene and I thought that you needed a little project of your own, so she had the idea to get you a ship in a bottle. You don’t see them a lot these days, but apparently her Grandfather had a couple and they always fascinated her.”

“So you put the ship in the bottle?”

“Yep, instructions are inside, go nuts.”

“Pfft, instructions,” Gordon snorted. “No one needs instructions, they’re a waste of time.”

-x-

“Ouch,” John hissed, hopping in place on one foot as he bent down to pick up what looked to be a tiny piece of mast that had attacked the sole of his foot. “Gordon, why are there bits of ship all over my floor?”

“Because I dropped them,” Gordon replied, his voice muffled due to the tongue of concentration that was peeking out from between his teeth.

Huffing, John gathered all the pieces off the floor, both pieces of ship and bits that they had been cut out of, and deposited them on the desk next to Gordon.

“How’s it coming along?” John asked, settling in his own chair. He’d only been gone a day but Gordon had managed to take over the entire bedroom, spreading his belongings, bottles, snack wrappers, his phone and a discarded hoodie, all over the place, as well as half the contents of the vintage ship box.

“It’s ridiculous. I think it’s missing pieces or something, it’s broken.”

“Well it was an old kit, but we were assured that it was complete,” John frowned, sliding the tray over that Gordon was supposed to be storing all the pieces in. “Have you checked the contents list and matched each piece to make sure they’re all there?”

Gordon looked at him blankly, like he was talking a foreign language.

“Did you check that everything was there before you started?" John elaborated.

“Of course I did,” Gordon promised, crossing his fingers and hoping his brother didn’t see.

“Against the list?” John clarified.

“I eyeballed it, OK?”

“Not good enough,” John insisted. “That’s not how you go about doing things like this, you can’t just slap them together and hope for the best.”

“Why not?” Gordon whined. It worked for him in almost everything else he did in life.

“Because this happens," John gestured to the mess surrounding them.

“Fine, I’ll read the damn instructions.”

Leaving Gordon to it John slid his almost completed book nook over and picked up his paintbrush to start adding some finishing touches before he started on the wiring for the lights. He’d barely done more than five minutes when Gordon started huffing.

John waited a little longer, trying his hardest to ignore the ever increasing sounds of frustration and impatience from his brother. In the end he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he had to ask the most loaded question ever.

“What’s the problem?” John asked, pushing his own work aside.

“These instructions don’t make sense,” Gordon bitched, flapping the paper in John’s face. “Look at the little picture here, you have to stick this little pole into that hole in the deck but the deck doesn’t want to stay together and that piece there keeps sliding and the pictures make no sense.”

“That’s because you missed around eight steps in between,” John told him, praying for patience.

“No I didn't, I followed the pictures exactly,” Gordon insisted.

“The steps aren’t in the pictures,” John explained. “See right there?” he pointed to the words above the pictures. “The pictures are a diagram of each finished stage, not how to get there. They are for reference only, not instructions.”

“Urghhh, this is going to take forever,” Gordon pouted, crossing his arms. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that by the end of it you’ll have something unique that no one else does, something you can be proud of and know that you built with your own two hands.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort,” Gordon muttered.

“It is,” John promised. “I’ll help. How about I read out the instructions and you follow along? We’ll get through it quicker that way.”

Gordon wasn’t convinced, but John looked so hopeful that he didn’t have the heart to refuse him, especially since he and Selene had gone to so much trouble to get the things for him in the first place. He might be a miserable little sod, but he wasn’t that ungrateful. He knew that they had gone out of their way to get something they thought he’d like, the least he could do was make the thing, even if he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe John was right, working together they could get through it quicker, and that could only be a good thing.

“Alright,” Gordon agreed, “let’s give it a go.”

Slowly, methodically, John read out each piece that was needed and Gordon located them, storing them neatly in a wooden box that Selene provided when she popped in to bring them drinks an hour or so later. She stayed just long enough to steal a kiss from John and drop one on the top of Gordon’s head before she beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get roped into helping. She wasn’t the best at following instructions and didn’t want to get grumped at.

By the time they had all the pieces checked and catalogued they had discovered there were indeed two pieces missing, but thankfully they were easy fixes, just a small , round piece of wood to represent a porthole, which they could easily make a replacement for and a piece of mast. One snipped toothpick later and that was sorted too.

John started with the first set of instructions, reading them out patiently as Gordon found and fitted them together.

“So, how’s work been?” Gordon asked, like a chatty hairstylist, as he carefully dipped the end of a thin dowel into a small pot of wood glue.

“Same as ever,” John deadpanned, “a bunch of idiots that got themselves into trouble and needed help, and only half of them related to us.”

Gordon sniggered, glancing at John, seeing the sly smile on his brother’s face. He’d forgotten just how amusing John could be when he delivered something sarcastically witty with such a serious tone. Gordon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, wondering just what his more serious brother would come out with next. John was always like that, he seemed so quiet and reserved but, when he was relaxed and in company he was comfortable with he’d take you by surprise by letting loose a zinger that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Let’s not talk about work,” Gordon suggested, “we haven’t hung out properly in ages, you’re either up in Five or there are other people around.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” John teased.

“Maybe,” Gordon allowed, “but if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it and tell Grandma you want her to make your birthday cake this year.”

John held his hands up in surrender, although he couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for the instructions again.

“OK, let’s get this done before we stop enjoying each other’s company.”

They worked slowly but steadily over the next few hours, putting together the structure for the first mast. Once it was done they called it quits and abandoned it for another day, the smell of something tasty coming from the kitchen proving to be too much to ignore.

-x-

“Gordon, that’s my finger.”

“Oh, sorry, can you just like… I don’t know, yank it off?”

“If I wish to leave half my identifying fingerprints behind, yes.”

“Do you really need them?”

John didn’t dignify that with an answer, the look he threw at his brother communicated his thoughts perfectly.

“OK, OK, I’ll get some dissolver from Virgil’s studio, wait right there,” Gordon instructed him, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way out of the room.

John sighed, keeping his hand perfectly still, the hull of the boat dangling from his fingertip. He was still there five minutes later when Gordon clumped his way back in, Selene hot on his heels. She had the glue dissolver under one arm, a large bag of chips under the other and a plate of sandwiches in each hand.

She dumped the plates on the desk, then the chips, before turning to see the state her fiancé was in.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” Gordon winced, dropping down into his abandoned desk chair and reaching for a plate.

“Can you at least help me before you start stuffing your face?” John asked, waggling his hand, which made the boat sway violently from side to side.

“Can’t, eating,” Gordon mumbled around the massive mouthful he had just taken.

“What did I say?” she demanded to know. “No hurting the hands, you know how I feel about that.”

John wiggled his fingers again, drawing her attention to his plight. He looked so pathetic with the half built little ship swinging from his hand that Selene took pity on him, intervening when he looked like he was about to grab the thing and yank it off himself, fingerprints be damned.

“Oh for the love of the Gods, let me do it!” Taking his hand she used a paintbrush to smear glue dissolver around the area of skin it was stuck to. She took her time, rewetting and using the brush bristles to push the dissolver under the boat, trying to ease it free from his skin with minimal pulling.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sitting patiently while she worked. Thankfully it didn’t take her too long, although it took a lot of cursing under her breath and the odd ouch from him to get there.

“One boat,” she announced, placing it triumphantly on the desk.

“Fanks,” Gordon said, spraying chip crumbs as he did so.

“Welcome,” she said, brushing at her leg which had unfortunately been in splatter range. Still holding John’s hand she bestowed a kiss to each of his abused digits before releasing him.

“Right, I’m out of here. Play nicely, you two, I don’t want to have to send Grandma in to babysit you both.”

“It won’t come to that,” John assured her, reaching for his own sandwich. “We’ve not got much left to do now. We just have to attach the rigging to the masts, check that they fold properly then insert th-”

“I’m out, I don’t need to hear anything about insertion, not after you just glued a boat to your hand,” Selene declared, her exit swift and to the point, the door shutting firmly behind her.

“She has a point,” Gordon admitted, swallowing his last bite. He pushed the chip bag in John’s direction, although there was barely more than a handful and a few crumbs left in it.

“But we’ll never admit it to her face,” John insisted, steadily munching through the large sub she had brought for him.

“Never,” Gordon agreed.

-x-

Gordon sighed dramatically as he crutched his way down the hall from his bedroom. John’s bedroom door was open but his brother wasn’t inside. The ship, now fully rigged, sat beside the bottle on the desk, just waiting to be placed inside once some sand had been poured in as a base. Gordon had chosen all different shades of blue to represent the sea and had even watched a few videos on how to do sand pouring art, something he’d never expected to find even remotely interesting, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go in and make a start on it.

John had barely been home the past week and when he had it had only been for food and enforced sleep. Even then he had been known to sneak out of bed the second Selene was asleep, being discovered on numerous occasions sitting at their father’s desk until the small hours working on this, that or the other.

Emergencies, and therefore the need for their services, had seemed to increase three fold, something Selene was blaming on the moon phase and mercury going retrograde and, for want of a better explanation, they were all inclined to agree. There was no rhyme or reason for the surge in idiots that were calling in at all hours of the day and night with trucks caught under a too low bridge causing a pile up, hands stuck down toilets, drunks climbing to the top of electricity pylons and repair men getting trapped inside ATM machines they had been fixing.

His brothers had been on the go near constantly, whether it was from rescue call outs or working on their plan to find their father, but none more so than John. While Selene had always been good at what she liked to call Tracy Wrangling, none more so that when she was dealing with a stressed out Scott, even she had admitted defeat and left them to their own devices. Self preservation was key after all.

John had been dealing with not only rescue calls and Chaos Crew sightings, but signal tracking, GDF liaising and general hoop jumping, all of which had kept him far too busy.

It had been over a week since they had done anything to their project and Gordon was feeling the loss. Not so much of the project, although that really had helped with his frustrations at his lack of physical ability, not that he would ever admit that to John, but in spending time with his brother.

Much to his surprise he’d found that he was reluctant to work on it alone, it had become their thing to do together. It was a time where they would hang out, shoot the shit, reminisce about childhood memories, times that they had spent together talking about their hope for the future where they would find their father alive and bring him home.

Both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that if they did manage to find him there would be no telling what physical or mental state he would be in. Gordon knew from experience just how tough physical injury, limitations, and recovery could be on the mind and the body, especially in someone who had been as active and viril as Jeff Tracy.

They all knew, although no one seemed to want to talk about it, that as hard as it was going to be to actually locate him and hopefully bring him home, that would only be the beginning of what could potentially be an incredibly long and difficult journey of rehabilitation and reintegration into the family and the world as a whole.

John had been right, taking some time to be quiet, to slow down and think while keeping your mind and hands busy really was a productive way to spend your rest hours and, stupid as it sounded, Gordon didn’t really want that to end.

He was only a week or two away from potential cast removal and a return to physical activities like his beloved swimming and strength training in their home gym and, while he couldn’t wait to get back to it, he knew he’d feel the loss of his enforced quiet time.

He glanced again at the abandoned ship on the desk and turned away, clumping down the hall towards the stairs. So it would take them a little longer to get it finished, Gordon was fine with that because for once he wasn’t feeling the need to rush.

-x-

“Remember to pour it slowly,” Gordon instructed as he held the funnel in place, its long pipe reaching right down into the bottom of the jar. “Start with the darkest one, that’s going to be our base colour.”

“I’ve got it,” John assured him, selecting the tub of midnight blue sand and scooping some out into a smaller pot to make things easier. At Gordon’s nod he began to slowly and steadily pour the sand into the open neck of the funnel. As he watched Gordon expertly directed the tube, allowing the sand to pour out to pool in the bottom of the bottle.

At Gordon’s signal John stopped pouring and waited while Gordon carefully removed the tube and used a long metal skewer to poke and prod the sand into something that looked vaguely like waves.

“The next colour up,” Gordon requested and John did as he was asked. They repeated the process four more times with different shades of blue, John pouring in a little at a time, Gordon directing the tube to deposit more in one place than others, mimicking the movement of sea waves as best they could. In between each layer Gordon used the skewer to poke and mix the colours here and there, blending the layers into a smoother transition.

“That’ll do,” Gordon said confidently, twisting the bottle so John could see the full effect.

John had to admit that he had been pleasantly surprised when Gordon had announced that he had ordered some coloured sand and looked up how to do sand art on the internet. He hadn’t really known what to expect, although he would admit, if only to himself, that he had thought that Gordon would be a little heavy handed and impatient, but once again he had proved him wrong. He really had done his research and the result was a beautiful mix of colours that really did give a perfect impression of a gently moving sea.

“That’s looking great.”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, modest as always. “Where’s that resin gone?”

“Here,” John answered, pushing it across the desk towards his brother. “Make sure you read the instructions and measure the amounts accurately or it won’t set and you’ll ruin the sand and the bottle.”

“Yeah, yeah I got this,” Gordon assured him as he did indeed read the instructions through properly. Once he had familiarised himself with the ratio of resin to hardener, he measured carefully and poured them into a mixing jug. Once it was fully mixed he slowly, gently, poured the mixture a little at a time into the bottle on top of the sand. With each little pour he waited for the resin to trickle down between the grains, slowly adding to it until all the sand was covered.

“And now we wait,” John said, carefully placing the bottle in the patch of bright sunlight coming in through the window.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gordon offered casually, not really expecting his brother to agree. John hardly ever watched anything with just him, they had vastly different tastes in movies and John usually made some polite excuse to escape.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Really?” Gordon goggled, his eyes almost falling out of his head. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

“More important than watching a movie with my little brother? I don’t think so,” John grinned, retrieving Gordon’s crutches from where they were leaning against his bookshelf and tossing them to him one by one. “Come on, last one to the lounge picks the movie.”

“Hey, no fair!” Gordon yelled, scrambling to his feet as he fumbled with his crutches. “You’ve got legs like a giraffe and neither of them are broken!”

“Sucks to be you,” John tossed over his shoulder as he took off down the hall to victory.

-x-

“Careful,” John warned.

“I am being careful,” Gordon snapped. “I got this.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” He steadied his, only slightly shaky, hand by propping his elbow on the desk for stability. “OK, let’s do this.”

They both held their breath as Gordon maneuvered the body of the boat through the opening in the bottle, making sure each sail stayed carefully folded down and the strings remained untangled before he fed it down the neck and into the bottle.

“Phase one, complete,” John intoned in such a serious voice that Gordon couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted out.

“Pass me those long nosed tweezers?” Gordon asked, holding out a hand.

John slapped the requested instrument into his brother's hand like a nurse in an operating theater, provoking another burst of laughter.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

Making sure the strings of the sails were still dangling outside of the bottle, Gordon carefully moved the body of the boat further down into the bottle with the metal skewer until the stern touched the top of the resin and sand layer.

“Now the sails,” Gordon whispered, hardly daring to breathe as John moved in to help, taking over the holding of the strings while Gordon reached in with the tweezers.

Gently, working together, they started the delicate process of tugging gently on each string, unfolding the paper sails and locking them in place.

“String one.”

“Got it. Watch number four sail.”

“Yep, thanks...OK… can you just give string five a little pull? Perfect.”

“Sail three is flopping!”

“Gah, hang on, just got to tighten that...yep that’s got it.”

“Maybe if I gather…”

“Yep, that’s good, do that again.”

“This next bit is going to require a delicate touch, maybe I should-”

“Hey! I can be delicate!”

“It’s not coming up...back sail two is stuck, release it...careful!”

“There, saved it.”

John gently pulled the strings a little more and there it was, their ship, sails proudly upright and everything. He kept hold of the strings, while Gordon held on to the boat with the tweezers as they carefully lifted the bottle from its side to its proper upright position.

Using the skewer John maneuvered around Gordon’s hand and nudged the boat into a better position before he carefully released the strings. They both held their breath, hoping and praying that the sails wouldn't collapse the second the strings fell.

The boat, with its sails, stayed strong.

“Yes!” Gordon cheered, holding up his free hand for a high five, grinning when his brother’s palm smacked against his own.

“Scalpel,” Gordon joked as John handed it to him so they could lop off a little of the trailing strings. Then, using the skewer, they arranged the strings around the edges of the boat.

With the boat finally upright and in place, they added another layer of light blue coloured sand with a sprinkling of white to mimic the tips of the waves. They finished it off by pouring in a little more resin, both to set the sand and hold the boat in place, using the tweezers to make sure it was correctly positioned.

“Phew,” Gordon breathed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his cast covered leg. “We did it. Go team.”

“We did,” John smiled. “And it looks damn good.”

“It really does,” Gordon agreed, shifting his head to look at the bottle from all angles.

“Nothing left to do but let it dry and put the stopper in,” John said. “How do you feel now it’s done? Was it worth the time?”

“I still think we could have done it a lot faster if you’d just let me skip a few steps in the instructions and do it my way, but it wasn’t that bad,” Gordon admitted. “I’m oddly proud of it.”

“You should be, you did good,” John leant back in his chair, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “Are you going to stop teasing me about my book nooks now?”

“Pssh, no,” Gordon snorted. “Ships are cool, yours will always be boring.”

He didn’t see the bottle of water coming until it was too late.

-x-

Gordon walked straight to John’s room from the infirmary, feeling oddly free without his crutches and casts. Six weeks was a long time, after all.

The bottle with its little ship sat exactly where they had left it in the center of John’s desk next to the abandoned book nook that was still not finished. It took him very little time to insert the cork stopper and pour a little of Selene’s spell bottle sealing wax around the top, a bright, cheery yellow wax that matched his beloved Thunderbird Four.

He smiled as he thought of his little craft, waiting down in her dock for him, ready to be taken out when the next call came in. It had been a long and frustrating time but finally, blessedly, that time was over.

He poked an experimental finger into the wax seal, checking that it had set properly. It had, and he couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. It had been a project that at first he’d had very little interest in, but slowly it had turned into so much more. Not just something to wile away a few hours but a chance for him to reconnect with the brother he spent the least amount of time with.

Years ago, back when he had been small, John had been his everything. When Alan had been too tiny to be of any use and Scott and Virgil had been too old to be bothered with him hanging around, it had been John that had been there for him. It was John that had patiently listened as he read aloud from his sealife books, who had watched movies with him, played with him, and spent the most amount of time with him. Back then, their three year age difference had seemed like so little but so much at the same time, an older brother that made him feel wanted and included when the other two saw him as an annoyance.

Gordon couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed, when they had slowly drifted apart. John had seemed to grow up so much faster than he had, Alan had welded himself to his side, looking up to Gordon as he had to John and things had never been the same again.

It had been too long since they had been able to just hang out, to laugh, to tease each other without things going too far and one of them getting annoyed. It had been nice and Gordon had realised that he didn’t want to go back to nothing but hollocalls to Five when an emergency came in or the odd family dinner and movie night where he had to share with the rest of the family. John was the only brother that Gordon didn’t spend one on one time with as standard and he realised that, no matter how much he might blame it on John being so far away, in reality it was as much his fault as John’s.

Gordon picked up the bottle, leaving a box in its place. The model kit of the Mercury Project space capsule and its launch pad had been hard to find even with his junker contacts. In fact, he had almost given up and admitted defeat before he'd thought to look at the label on his ship box and sent the shop owner an email.

Smiling to himself, knowing that there was no way John would be able to resist that challenge, he took the finished bottle, with its little ship, to his room where it would take pride of place on his bookshelf, a constant reminder that even in the worst of times, positivity could still be found.

“Thanks, Bro.”

#tag mini bang 2021 #tagminibang2021 #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanart #TAG Mini Bang 2021 #TAGMiniBang2021

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themoomoorn · 3 years

Text

Random Thot #46,853

I had a health exam for my upcoming new job and put my two weeks in for my current one, so I’m rewarding my neurodivergent ass-brain with this. Sit tight and enjoy.

46,853: I’m half-convinced that Edelgard is like the Soul Series’ Alexandra sisters and daughter when it comes to her combat ability - or rather, lack thereof. Unlike Claude, Dimitri, and Byleth, who all explicitly received combat training as children, Edelgard likely did not. The tools given to her are what likely allow for her to fight at all - heck, they may even do a bit of the fighting for her. How else can a noodle-armed womanlet like her wear all that armor and heft that axe?

(Also, how the eff does this dress make clanking armor sounds when she walks in the game despite this dress having like no armor whatsoever)

To begin with, we have in-game factoids of her stat caps being the second highest in the game (390 when combined, with Cyril only beating her by 5 points due to his Aptitude skill), and she even has a magic cap that’s not only on-par with other magically-inclined units (72), but it’s actually better than some of them (Dorothea and Linhardt, who are both dedicated mage types, have caps of 61 and 66, respectively, while Manuela, who tends to get placed in Faith Magic-aligned classes despite being a hybrid unit, has a piddling cap 48). She even has a quirky but feasible spell list for both magic types (Fire/Bolganone/Luna Lambda/Hades Omega for Reason, and Heal/Nosferatu/Recover/Seraphim for Faith, which is one of her banes, mind you). I imagine this is the work of the experiments that gave her her version of the Crest of Flames - after all, the 2020 DREAM interview noted that the Hresvelg children were given a more “refined” version of the experiments the Ordelias had. The refinement isn’t just reflected in-game with caps and magic too; Edelgard is also more robust in terms of health, whereas Lysithea is prone to bouts of weakness and illness. In-game, she has poor Luck and Strength, and the single lowest HP cap of all the playable units at 48. And while this one is admittedly conjecture, Edelgard doesn’t hint that her lifespan was drastically cut, as she gets to live a long life in all of her endings. Even in her Crest-heavy ending with Hanneman or her healthcare-related ending with Manuela don’t mention that she had one or both of her Crests taken out. Lysithea, on the other hand, is extensively motivated by the fact that she doesn’t have many years left, and it’s only in two endings (Lorenz, Balthus) where she’s able to live fairly long without removing her Crests; The rest either have her dying young or being able to live long only after her Crests are taken out.

Now what of her combat abilities? Let’s turn to the source of where this silly thot came from.

For the uninitiated, Sophitia Alexandra, a fighter who’s been in the Soul Franchise since its very first game, did not grow up as a dedicated combatant like the other fighters - she was an ordinary baker living in Athens during the late 16th Century when Greece was part of the Ottoman Empire. When she was bathing in a lake one day, she received a message from Hephaestus himself in that she has a divine destiny to destroy the cursed blade Soul Edge, and he gifts her with a divinely crafted short sword and shield in order to fulfill her mission. While she does gain training in Athenian combat styles, a lot of her power and capabilities are tied to her weapon set, which are named the Omega Sword and Elk Shield. Her younger sister Cassandra would follow suit in SoulCalibur II, actually going out of her way to steal the same holy armaments Sophitia used in Soul Edge and SoulCalibur I before getting her own specially empowered set.

(Sophitia Alexandra)

And Pyrrha, Sophitia’s daughter in SoulCalibur V, takes it to new heights. Per a data book, the timid, mistreated Pyrrha has absolutely no combat experience, not even in self-defense. While Sophitia and Cassandra were able to train themselves into formidable soldiers outside of their divine weapons’ influences, this is not true for Pyrrha. If it were not for the sword and shield Pyrrha wielded (which is the same exact set Sophitia wielded before her passing), her clumsy attacks and timid guard stances would amount to ineffectual, useless flailing.

(Info about Pyrrha’s fighting style from the SCV data book)

Back to the Egg. Now it’s made abundantly clear that while Dimitri’s Jean Valjean-levels of raw strength heavily stem from his Crest, he’s also from the land where, in lieu of milk and honey, there’s extreme sports jock training in heavy armor in the dead of night with boulders for weights and weapon mastery. Dimitri loves to train, and it’s a big aspect of his character. The tritagonist of his route is also one of his combat trainers, and he’s done that job for three generations’ worth of Faerghus royalty, with his ending hinting that he keeps doing it for one more. I imagine that even without the Crest of Blaiddyd, Dimitri would still be extremely strong and formidable, he’d just have to actually exert himself a little when saving some poor soul from a runaway cart.

(Just in case the savior imagery wasn’t clear enough with Dimitri, he even did lift a cart the way eventual saint Jean Valjean did in the book/musical)

Claude is far more in favor of covert combat, and his own Crest is more defensive than offensive, but he’s no slouch either, having had a renowned war general serve as his combat instructor since childhood. He’s from a kingdom that, much like Faerghus, values the way of the warrior and prides itself on the strength of its people. His hidden talent, tying to wyvern mastery, is in friggin axes, and he’s also shown to be adept enough with a sword at various points. Plus there’s the fact that he was abused and mistreated by his Almyran family, complete with his father plopping him on a horse and making the horse ride off with him backwards with no safety net as a form of punishment - Claude tells Hilda that there was a “trick” in how he survived that. As any horse jockey can attest to, you need raw muscle in every part of your body in order to really ride one, and I imagine that’s doubly true for your local albino wyvern that’s decked out in Ottoman visual puns. Plus learning how to be crafty and protecting oneself more covertly undoubtedly contributed to his combat abilities too.

(I mean you’d have to be shredded if you can pull off the Parthian shot on a fucking flying dragon. 61 Strength cap my ass.)

Byleth, as we know, grew up as a mercenary to the point of detriment. There’s no need to go into extensive detail as to how Jeralt sacrificed almost everything else in exchange for contributing to Byleth’s combat abilities without being abusive and cruel, but even if you took away Byleth’s self-insert aspects, they’d likely bear a passing resemblance to Rei Ayanami in terms of behavior and attitude - An intended vessel/Avatar for a divine being from one end; Conditioned for little more than combat from another end. Kind of a gloomy picture before she starts to express herself better and actually bond with other people meaningfully.

(At least she’s cute as a button. Kinda like Rei.)

But where does that leave Edelgard? It’s a big question mark. There’s no mention of her growing up with any kind of combat training, unlike the other three. Heck, if tea time, Crimson Flower, and Heroes quotes are anything to go by, Edelgard grew up living a carefree lifestyle prior to the Insurrection. She got to stuff her face with sweets and play with teddy bears and both dote and be doted on by her siblings. Being child number 9 in her current generation, combat training and political studies likely weren’t major priorities for her, and since it’s speculated that Ionius favored her mother, she was likely lavished and spoiled by him. After all, he expresses grief for her specifically when she inherits the throne from him, not the rest of her siblings.

(Even the official merchandise notes how childish Edelgard is)

(This is all after she literally kickstarts her war, by the way).

While there’s varying degrees of elaborate flair that the Lords all wield their weapons with, Edelgard’s regular strikes with an axe feel far less rigid and more informal, and she’ll spin around her axe like it’s some kind of prop. Her default battle stance isn’t even remotely protective and quite impractical; Dimitri’s stance with a lance is both of these things, while Claude’s arrow-twirling is a real-life exercise that’s done to keep the wrist flexible. While she does refine her axe skills come Part II, she’ll still do things like throw her massive shield ten feet in the air for a critical hit.

(Seriously what even is this why is your hand out like that)

There’s even some proof of this: In her study request for axes and heavy armor, Edelgard will even acknowledge that the only reason she can likely keep up and wear heavy armor at all is because of her Crests. And unlike Dimitri and Claude, who can get lesson plans for their respective Hidden Talents once they’re mastered (Horse riding for Dimitri, axes for Claude), Edelgard doesn’t get a lesson plan for Reason Magic, which is her Hidden Talent, so she likely didn’t get any kind of formal education surrounding magic either.

(She has a similar quote in Heroes that’s even more explicit about this.)

The closest hint we get in Edelgard maybe having a hint of training as a child is in her Supports with Ferdinand, and even then, there’s no clear cut hint noting that his failures in beating her were combat-based. She’s able to one-hit KO him in their B Support, but it’s locked to Part II and at this point she’s been both riding on the power highs of her Crests along with actually taking combat seriously. She even says that their difference in skill level isn’t that great.

(Should’ve used Swift Strikes, Ferdie)

What’s more, in addition to all of those enhancements, she not only spends a lot of Part I in a custom set of armor that only archaic technology from the Agarthans can make, but they also made her a custom Relic that’s tailor-made to her specifications. The other Relics as well as the Sacred Weapons, being over a thousand years old, still require their wielders to train in order to wield them properly, and in the case of the Relics, their potential cannot be fully tapped into unless the wielder’s Crest matches the Relic they’re wielding. There’s also that particular safety issue, per what happens with Sylvain’s brother Miklan. But this is not the case with Aymr, which is brand new, has a mismatched Crest that doesn’t negatively affect Edelgard, and requires the Agarthan tech-compatible Agarthium to fix, not the Umbral Steel that’s used to fix both the Heroes’ Relics and other Crest Stone weapons like the Vajra-Mushti. The Aymr’s specific Combat Art even emulates the oft-broken Galeforce skill from Awakening and Fates. It feels like that Aymr in particular is the Edelgard what Hephaestus’ swords and shields are to the Alexandra family.

Now I don’t really think that an Edelgard who’d be stripped of her Crest of Flames, the Amyr, or her special Flame Emperor armor, would be as hapless as Pyrrha would be without her mother’s sword and shield. I imagine she likely started to do some kind of formal combat training once the experiments were done with, not just to kickstart her dreams of imperial conquest, but also to protect herself anyway after everything that happened; She’s also the only Hresvelg heiress of her generation left. There’s also her natural Minor Crest of Seiros to consider. But if you stripped all that away from her, then her ability to fight probably would come off as useless flailing to the other three more experienced combatants.

All those cakes and that lack of muscle would at least catch up to her, anyway.

#fe3h #fe3h meta #fire emblem three houses #edelgard von hresvelg #edelgard critical #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #claude von riegan #byleth eisner #headcanons #ramblings #soulcalibur #this literally popped into my head one day #seriously #edelgard isnt buff you cant change my mind

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bastardtetsu · 3 years

Text

critical thinking | ch③

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, tsundere!reader, slow burn

wc: 2.3k

warnings: swearing, being a theatre major

※ mlist | ① ② ● ④

there is no greater hell than finals week as a college theatre major.

and this year, on top of juries to prep for, studio scenes & dance combos to rehearse, essays to write, exams to study for, and rehearsals to attend for the show you’re in, your chemistry teacher decided to assign a final project in addition to the final exam. rejoice.

it was enough trying to study for the written final while staying on top of all your other assignments and obligations - you’d busted your ass so hard leading up to the exam that you hardly had time to think about the project until a week before its due date. and even when you do start thinking about it, you barely understand what you’re supposed to be doing, much less have the time or energy to try and figure it out.

you end up texting kuroo in desperation and make him agree to meet up with you for an extra tutoring session, however, due to your extra-chaotic schedule this week, the only time you’re both able to meet up is after your all-day rehearsal the sunday night before the project is due.

it’s better than nothing, you suppose.

still, you don’t fully realize the consequences of your choices until you’re exhausted on your way back from your second consecutive day of 12-hour tech rehearsals - a pretty standard tech week schedule in the professional theatre world, but not very convenient for a college student during finals.

needless to say, you’re dead tired. the last thing you want is to fry your brain even further with chemistry & kuroo’s smart mouth, but at this point you have no choice.

as you approach him in the library, you notice he’s dressed way more casually than usual. this shouldn’t come as a shock, seeing that it’s 11pm on a sunday, but the way his t-shirt and sweatpants accentuate his figure is actually insulting. somehow the way the fabric stretches around his pecs makes his chest look even broader, and christ you were not expecting his arms to be THAT toned.

NOPE. now is not the time, you remind yourself. you have a project due in ten hours. you can feel a headache coming on as your stress levels rise again.

“evening,” he greets you with a smile.

“hey,” you respond shortly as you set your stuff down, “thanks for meeting with me this late.”

“of course,” he replies, “anything for my favorite student.”

“…are you being sarcastic?”

“no.”

“i’m your favorite?” you question skeptically. “jesus, who else are you tutoring…”

“well I didn’t say you were my best student—“

“cool, i’m gonna stop you there.”

he just giggles. asshole.

you let out a fatigued sigh as you plop down in your chair. this feels like your first moment of rest all day, but in reality it’s just the start of the most difficult battle of them all. you attempt to gather up the remnants of your brainpower, silently praying that kuroo will decide to behave himself.

“you don’t seem like you’re in the mood for chemistry tonight.”

some prayers must go unanswered.

“yeah, i’ve had a long day,” you reply unenthusiastically, “so i’d really like to get this done as quickly as possible.”

“really? that’s gonna be difficult in your condition,” he jeers.

“well i don’t have much choice, do i?” you snap back a bit too aggressively.

“guess not,” he shrugs nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair with his hands resting behind his head. what is with this attitude? is he really just being a dick right now? and WHY do his arms look so god damn tasty??

you can already feel your sanity slipping away as you try to will yourself to focus on anything that’s not kuroo’s juicy biceps flexing through the fabric of his t-shirt. or his chest. or the little strip of exposed skin that’s appeared just below the hem of his shirt - fuck.

focus, you instruct yourself. your brain, however, is already giving out, the stress of not just the day, but the whole week finally catching up to you. the possibility of having something passable to turn in by tomorrow morning seems further and further away.

“look,” you sigh, leveling with him, “we both know i’m awful at chem—“

“really??”

“shut up,” you cut him off quickly, “and i’ve had a long ass week dealing with all this other shit on my plate and i’m really fucking tired and i just want to get a good grade on this so i can graduate, so can you please, PLEASE just—“

“if you’re gonna ask me to do the assignment for you, I already did it.”

a pause.

“wait. what do you mean-“

“i did the assignment for you. project’s done.”

“um,” you stutter, dumbfounded. “excuse me?”

“what, you thought i was gonna let you do it yourself? after you procrastinated it til the literal night before?” he says with an especially wide grin, “it would be irresponsible for me as a tutor if I let my student do so poorly! granted, she’s really bad at this—“

“ok shut up,” you cut him off. your mind is swirling with a mixture of shock, gratitude, and rage as you process his words. “when did you—“

“this week. after you texted me.”

“what?” you cry, “why are we even meeting up then?”

“i dunno,” he responds with a coy smirk, “it would’ve been rude to cancel.”

the swell of gratitude in your chest is overtaken by the growing wave of rage.

“so you decided to waste *more* of my time,” you state pointedly, “when you literally have enough to do an entire final project just for funsies. cool.”

“hey, show a little more gratitude,” he whines, quirking an eyebrow in annoyance, “you’re the one who left it til the last minute.”

“i’m the one?” you shoot back, “you still think i’m just procrastinating because i’m lazy??”

“look, i know finals are demanding—“

“no, I don’t think you do know,” you cut him off, now fuming. “you want a rundown of my week? i can give it to you.” you list off all the assignments you had to turn in, all the finals you had to prep for - both written and performance, all the meetings with scene partners and voice teachers and rehearsal pianists you had to arrange, all the hours you had to spend in rehearsal, including the 12-hour tech day you just came from. kuroo just sits there, taking in your words. when you finish, you let out an exhausted sigh, “so if you’d like to tell me when the fuck i was supposed to work on this stupid project, be my guest. i’d love to hear it.”

this might be the first time you’ve seen kuroo look shocked. for once he doesn’t seem to know what to say. is that a trace of guilt in his eyes too?

“i—“ just as he’s about to speak, he is cut off by an unholy sound coming from your stomach. you both sit there frozen for a second.

“um… when was the last time you ate?” he asks, cautiously breaking the silence.

“uhh,” you think back, “like 3pm.”

“okay, well it’s past 11 now,” he says, “and you need to eat. get your stuff, let’s go.”

“huh? go where?”

“to get food,” he states simply, “i’m driving, come on.”

“kuroo,” you protest, “i’m not gonna make you drive me—“

“you’re not making me,” he interrupts, “i’m making you. let’s go.”

you let out a sigh of defeat and grab your bag. with the rage beginning to melt away, that swell of gratitude begins to stir in your chest again. it’s still weird when he’s kind to you, but you’re starting to mind less.

—

you hadn’t realized how hungry you truly were until the smell of oil and salt hits you.

after grabbing your food from the drive thru, kuroo pulls around and finds a spot in the near-empty parking lot. you waste no time scarfing down your food, which he even insisted on paying for. whatever, it’s just mcdonald’s, you think. but still, the gesture is nice.

“you didn’t have to do this you know.”

“i think i did,” he says, jokingly referring to how hard you were just stuffing your face.

“funny,” you respond sarcastically, “but seriously.”

“it’s no big deal,” he says, looking away slightly. is he blushing? you can’t tell in the dark. “anyway, i figured i owed you one for making you stress about the project.”

you can’t believe your ears - is he actually apologizing?

“yeah, you really let me suffer all week, asshole,” you respond teasingly.

“i didn’t know it was that bad, alright,” he says, slightly defensive. a brief pause, and then, “sorry.”

you can hear the remorse in his voice - he means it. the corners of your mouth twitch upward.

“thank you,” you say gently, “that means a lot.”

his gaze darts back over to you. you’ve never seen his eyes look nervous before, yet somehow his stare still feels piercing.

“you’re gonna have to buy me a lot more nuggets before i fully forgive you though,” you joke, breaking out your own devilish smirk. he chuckles too, relieved.

“how many are we talking?”

“as many as i want.”

“fine,” he relents, “guess you’ll have to hang out with me more then, if i’m gonna be buying you all these nuggets.”

“whatever, i’m immune to your bullshit by now.”

“oya~? you’re starting to like me, y/n??”

“is that what the fuck i said?”

“no, but it’s what you meant,” he responds with a smirk.

“and how would you know?”

“‘cause i’m a genius,” he says, reaching over to swipe a fry from your lap. you halfheartedly swat at him.

“sure, keep telling yourself that.”

your banter feels natural now, strangely comfortable. for some reason it actually feels good talking to him. he did do something really nice for you tonight after all, despite your continued bickering. no matter how much you insult him he always has something to say back. but as much as it pisses you off, you’re not sure what you’d do if he ever stopped.

—

as kuroo drives you back to your place for the night, your mind begins turning over the events of this evening. in the time since you’d met up with him (which somehow feels longer than the literal 12 hours of rehearsal you were in earlier), you’d not only found out that the final project you’d been so stressed about had been taken care of, but you also hung out with him for the first time outside of tutoring. and he was nice to you. it’s a lot to process.

it’s not like you aren’t used to spending time alone with kuroo - like you told him, you’re immune to his bullshit by now - but this feels different somehow. it’s more peaceful, maybe even comforting. you figure it’s probably because of the rollercoaster of a day you just had, not to mention how unusual it is for him to treat you like this.

“why are you being so nice to me?” you finally ask him, turning to steal a glance at his side profile in the dim glow of the streetlamps.

“huh?? i needed to make sure my student got their nutrients!” he replies, as if it was obvious.

“what nutrients? you took me to mcdonald’s.”

“okay fair,” he says, “but nothing else was open!”

“sure, but you didn’t need to take me anywhere,” you protest, “much less spend money on me.”

“maybe i’ll just cook for you next time then,” he smiles.

“next time!?” you squawk, “what, are you trying to get into my pants??” the words leave your mouth before you fully have time to process them, but either way, you aren’t expecting the sudden silence that falls over him.

a flash of anxiety darts through your mind, but it only lasts for a second before he laughs quitely, almost to himself.

“not if you don’t want me to,” he mutters.

your breath catches. is he joking?? your heart feels like it’s in your throat. he’s definitely joking.

“what are you cooking?” is the only thought you can manage to put to words.

another pause.

“um. probably fish.”

“EW, WHAT THE FUCK?”

“what???” he gripes, “you could use more docosahexaenoic acid!!!”

“you are such a freak.” you’re relieved that the subject has changed, even though his earlier response is still circling your mind.

“okay but can you tell me the chemical formula for docosahex—“

“no, you are not bringing chemistry into this car, absolutely not. i already took my final.”

“what about the molar mass—“

“NO.”

—

you arrive back at your place not long after. kuroo’s comment is still eating away at the back your mind, but you don’t say anything as you gather your belongings. it was a cop-out response, and he was probably joking anyway.

“thanks for everything,” you say gingerly, “the project, and the food, and the ride, and the help with the semester, all that.”

“anytime, princess,” he replies with his signature smirk. usually that kind of response would trigger a jolt of annoyance in you, but this time it feels different. maybe because now you’re actually grateful to him.

in fact, you’re very grateful, and you feel like you should be expressing it more, but you’re not sure how. plus you’re too embarrassed, and have way too much pride. so instead you wish him goodnight and head towards your front door.

he waits to drive off until you’re all the way inside.

you think about him a little differently after that.

a/n: why is he so obsessed with docosahexdhfafdjh acid.... making me have to google how to spell that shit smh. anyways thank you for all the love on this fic so far!! if u actually enjoy this self-indulgent fantasy of mine know that i love & appreciate u to the ends of the earth ;-;

#haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #.txt #e writes

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bright-eyes-strawberry-lies · 3 years

Text

I translated Rick’s fan fiction for everyone who speaks English. I hope you find it as hilarious and cringe as I did.

For those who have not been able to read La Repubblica in print last Friday, here is a surprise for you: my first (very short) story about Percy Jackson originally written in Italian. Have fun and Merry Christmas everyone!

A Half-Blood Christmas

"Where we are?" Percy said.

"Florence," Nico said.

Percy frowned. "And why?"

The son of Hades snorted. “You never need a reason to come to Florence. But you told me you'd like to find a perfect gift for Annabeth, right? "

"True." Percy pressed his hands to his stomach. He never liked traveling in the shadows. “But I thought we were going to the Christmas market in Times Square. There are many stalls - "

"Times Square!" Nico shivered. “You are a romantic. If you want a gift worthy of your girlfriend, you need an Italian gift, as everyone knows. Here we go."

The streets of Florence were empty. The winter clouds lay heavy and gray. Directly in front of Nico and Percy, the massive dome of the cathedral rose like a huge medieval spaceship, ready to take off.

"The shop is close," Nico said, crossing the square. His face was difficult to read due to the mask covering his mouth.

"Which shop?" Percy asked.

Nico didn't answer.

Percy looked at the shutters of the shops, at the few people in the square running here and there. Even the tall Christmas tree seemed to glimmer sadly in front of the cathedral. In Italy, as in the United States and everywhere, it was obvious that this year had been very tough. Demigods, like Percy and Nico, couldn't get sick from the pandemic, but they could spread it, so they wore masks to protect the mortals in their lives, because that's what heroes did.

However, the son of Poseidon was tired and ready for a new year. Recently, monsters were also practicing "social distance," and it was very difficult to fight monsters with a sword from six feet away.

'Here we are, ”Nico said.

The shop front was not very different from the others. It was at the entrance of an alley, with an iron grate through the closed door and advertisements painted on the dark windows: Jewels! The best offers!

"Seriously?" Percy asked.

"When we come in," Nico said, "be kind and respectful."

"As always," Percy said.

Nico coughed. “Anyway, the shopkeeper can sell you the perfect gift for Annabeth, I promise you. But. . "

"But?"

"It's a bit strange."

"As always," Percy repeated. He checked his pockets. “And how can I pay? I only have dollars and an expired sandwich voucher. "

"Don't worry," Nico said. “The shopkeeper does not accept money. He has other ways to get you paid. "

"Now I'm worried."

Nico opened the grate, pushed the door and went inside. Percy followed him.

Inside the shop, the walls were lined with cabinets with jewels and trinkets of all kinds. Behind the counter, with his back turned, there was a man with a huge red cloak, his hair like a wild white avalanche. He was working on a workbench, fixing a diamond necklace.

"Impossible," Percy murmured. "Santa Claus?"

"Where is it?" the man exclaimed, turning around in alarm.

He was not Santa Claus.

His cloak unfolded, becoming red wings. From his white hair popped ears like these of a lynx. From his beard, also white, wild boar tusks rose. His nose was a beak like a vulture's.

Percy swallowed. "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else. "

"Percy," said Nico, "this is Charu, the Etruscan god, guardian and guide of the dead."

"Nice to meet you," Charu said, her eyes burning with flames. "How can i help you?"

"Excuse me," Percy said, "but are you an Etruscan god?"

"Yes, yes," Charu said. “Before the intruding Romans, these lands were the home of the Etruscans. For that reason, this region is called Tuscany, do you understand? "

"But why -?"

"Percy," Nico interrupted, "Charu is the last Etruscan god. He remained after the passing of the others, to keep the passage of the dead. "

“Alas,” Charu said. "It's true. I'm still waiting, hoping some of them will come back, but it never happens. " He pointed to his shop windows. “Over the centuries, many have passed through my shop, headed for death. Nobody comes back. Well, there was that one guy, Dante, but apart from him, nobody. People, and gods, leave me their most priceless items for safekeeping, as you can see. What are you looking for?"

Percy wasn't sure he wanted to get Annabeth a gift that had belonged to a dead god, but he didn't want to offend Charu. He explained the different things Annabeth liked.

"Does your girlfriend like strategy?" Charu smiled, showing her fangs. "I have the perfect thing."

The ancient god took something from his locker. It was a gold bracelet, made of tiny keys. “This”, she said, “was done by Sethlans, the Etruscan god of craftsmen. The keys around. . . well, I'm just saying they can open up a lot and solve a lot of problems. "

Percy was flabbergasted. "It's perfect," he admitted. "But the price must be high."

“Only this,” Charu said. "Tell me the right answer: why would ancient gods like me celebrate Christmas?"

Nico looked nervous. Maybe he didn't think Percy would do well in an oral exam. But Percy thought carefully about the past year and his friends, like Nico, who had helped him get through it.

“Because”, said the son of Poseidon, “Christmas is for everyone. Represents hope. Especially in dangerous times, all of us - gods, demigods, mortals - have to help each other. We remain vigilant and optimistic, like you, watching over the ways back. "

The god smiled. "Well said. Here's your gift. Maybe we'll meet again, huh? Merry Christmas!"

Back outside the shop, Nico said, "Impressive, Percy."

"Thanks," Percy said, holding the bracelet. “But I guess the perfect gift isn't a piece of jewelry. It is a good friendship. Merry Christmas, my friend. "

"You too, Algae Brain."

Percy laughed and, together, they went back into the shadows.

#rick riordan #Percy Jackson #nico di angelo #a half-blood Christmas #pjo #Riordanverse

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ohpretty-baby · 4 years

Text

hesitation

⇥ pairing: jungkook x reader ; established relationship

⇥ genre: angst, fluff, jungkook’s kind of a lost puppy in this one lmao

⇥ synopsis: “can i kiss you?” ; you storm out of the house in the middle of an argument and jungkook doesn’t know what to do when you finally come back to him.

⇥ warnings: cursing

⇥ word count: 3.2k

a/n: for the anon who asked for an angsty fluff with kook! thanks so much for requesting <3 hope you enjoy! (if you don’t enjoy, feel free to request again!)

i’m slowly but surely getting through my requests :) thank you for being patient. things have been kind of stressful as exams for me are coming up soon.

hope everyone is being safe! i love you <3

It’s 4 AM, and Jungkook can’t be bothered to even try to get some rest. His eyes are bloodshot, vision blurry due to his swollen eyelids. The cold night air from the open window hits his bare skin, making him shiver. Jungkook covers himself in the covers, gaze stuck on your side of the bed.

It’s empty, the wrinkles on the mattress insufficient to make Jungkook satisfied. Instead he’s restless, tears staining his cheeks and pooling onto his pillow without him even knowing. He sniffles, the sound reverberating around the room, proving how quiet it had been without you. Jungkook’s lip quivers before he’s breaking down again, body trembling.

He wishes nothing more than for you to return. For you to come back into his arms and never leave.

It had been two weeks since your argument, when you and Jungkook had been yelling to each other so much to the point that you grabbed your bags and left. He couldn’t even remember what the two of you were fighting about. With plates and glasses shattered all around that day, Jungkook found himself sitting on the tile floor, crawled up in a ball and dazed as he couldn’t exactly process what happened. There were no texts, no calls, nothing at all from you. It was almost as if you had just disappeared from his life.

Jungkook knows that he deserved it. He’s absolutely heartbroken at the fact that he had been so uncooperative and stubborn that he made you feel like you couldn’t even talk to him. He knows that this is all his fault, that if he had just listened to your concerns and talked it through with you, none of this would have happened. He knows that if he had been understanding and patient, you would be lying next to him tonight, your soft body pressed up against him. He would be able to hear your soft breaths as you slept, would be able to see how peaceful you were next to him.

In the deafening silence of the room, Jungkook yearns to apologize to you. He imagines what it would be like to have you in his arms again, to drown in your sweet scent and feel your lips on his once more. The ache in his body has slowly dulled each passing day but was still a constant reminder of his need for your presence. Jungkook finds himself always reaching out for something, but never getting anything in return. He grasps at air and empty space unintentionally, the new action becoming a habit.

He knows that it’s you he’s looking for, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Jungkook’s deep in a trance and he figures that if he thinks about it hard enough, he can at least pretend to feel your presence around him. He imagines you giving him soothing, butterfly kisses, the thought of your lips on his skin making him feel light with joy yet heavy with heartbreak at the same time. As much as he’d like to cry, his eyes feel strained and the image of you soothing him enough to make him sleepy.

That’s when he hears the faintest sound of a door creak open.

The first thought that registers in his tired, slow brain is that someone broke in and they were going to steal something from him.

So Jungkook ever so quietly grabs his cell phone in and is about to call the police when he shakes his head instead and shoves it in his pocket. It was so late at night, his sleep-deprived brain tells him that if he called the police and the burglar was right downstairs, it would be useless. He reasons that by the time the police come, he would either be dead or the thief would have already gotten away.

In conclusion, self defense is the best option at 4 AM.

The male slowly stands up from the bed, taking a few stretches before going into action. He examines the bedroom hastily in an attempt to find a weapon. However, his attempts are futile until his vision lands on a hardcover book resting on your nightstand. Jungkook grabs it, knocking lightly to see how solid the book was. He nods in satisfaction, clutching it tightly in his hands.

He’s not quite sure how he can use the book, but he hopes that from its wooden cover and hefty weight, it could possibly be enough to knock someone out.

Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, Jungkook stealthily makes his way down to the living room, where he presumes the thief is. He makes sure to take the lightest steps, as he knows how loud the stairs could be, even with just the tiniest bit of pressure.

In fact, you had a terrible habit of always waking Jungkook up whenever you went downstairs to make yourself a cup of tea in the middle of the night. It made him laugh when you would try to be as quiet as possible but both him and you knew that you would just end up making the stairs creak and groan under your slippers.

After all, you had never really been that much of a light walker.

Pain shoots through his chest as he remembers the sound of you walking downstairs. He shakes it off, lightly slapping himself and feeling stupid for being sad over something as simple as a staircase. Returning his attention to the grave situation at hand, Jungkook reaches the bottom of the stairs, quickly moving to hide behind a thick plant. He’s aware that the criminal can probably see him, but he determines that he’d knock the person out before anyone could spot his hiding place.

Brown eyes scanning the living room, Jungkook sees that no one else was there except for him. Jungkook frowns, the furrow in his brows delving deeper and deeper in his skin.

Then, he hears a soft click from the stove and a sharp, high-pitched sound of water hissing from the kitchen. His ears perk up, more alert now than ever.

He thinks it’s weird for someone to break in just to boil water, but nevertheless, he treads on. He crouches low as he walks, raising the book above his head in order to hit the culprit from behind. His steps are slow, soundless, his heart beating rapidly as adrenaline pulses violently through his veins. He can hear his heart drumming in his ears, blocking out any noise in the house.

But Jungkook keeps his calm, clenching his jaw in anticipation. as he gets ready to attack.

He makes a mental note to praise himself for being so cool at moment like this. Those action movies you loved so much had taught him well. Time slows down for a bit as Jungkook gets distracted by the thought of you. He wonders what you would think of him if you were here, what you’d say when he finally catches the culprit. He thinks you’d probably tease him for using your book as a weapon and you’d scold him for not calling the police right away.

You’d probably say something on the lines of:

“Oh my goodness, Kook, are you stupid?”

He wishes you could be here to say that. His eyelids shut as he hears your voice in his ears.

Realizing once again that his head is in the clouds, Jungkook takes a few moments to steady himself and his thoughts. He inhales deeply, trying to be as levelheaded as possible before carrying out his somewhat improvised plan of a sneak attack.

When he finally enters the kitchen, Jungkook expects himself to rush up behind the intruder and knock him out cold. Maybe throw a few punches here and there if he really wanted to feel like a total badass.

Instead, he feels the book slip from out of his hands and he hears it thud loudly on the ground. The sound doesn’t seem to register with him.

“Ah!”

Jungkook hears you yelp, your body jolting up in response to the sound.

His mouth is agape, jaw fixed and permanently locked in that position as he feels like his eyes are about to fall out of his skull. His throat feels as dry as a desert and his heart beats rapidly against his chest, another greater adrenaline rush quickly coming. His body is stuck frozen in his place, not acknowledging the book that had just fallen on the ground.

He cannot believe the sight before him. He cannot believe the fact that you’re standing in front of the stove, arms crossed as you wait for your water to reach your favorite temperature.

For some reason, he could not fathom the idea of you coming back to him and being this close to him.

While your presence is all he can think about, right now, at this moment, you feel foreign to him. It was almost as if you were a hologram, an illusion that he could see but couldn’t actually touch.

“Jungkook?” Although quiet, your voice rings loudly in his ears, bringing him back to earth, “Are you okay?”

You watch him nervously, waiting for him to finally make a response.

But Jungkook can’t muster the strength or the courage to say anything. Instead he just continues to stare at you, eyes tracing the familiar pattern of your facial features that he had missed so much. He takes in the soft puff of your cheeks, wanting nothing more than to hold your face in his hands. The soft moonlight shines on you, displaying the puff of your eyes and the small shiny streaks from dried tears on your skin.

The two of you soak in each other’s presence, taking in how rough the other looked.

He notices how drained you look, how the bags under your eyes had sagged significantly deeper and gotten a few shades darker. He guesses that you can see the red blotches scattered all over his face. The kitchen is noiseless, save for the shallow breaths from both of your lips. Jungkook’s hair is tousled and pulled in every direction, resembling a disheveled bird’s nest. You’re clad in some leggings and his hoodie, while Jungkook has a loose t-shirt on and sweatpants, both of your figures unkempt.

It takes a while before one of you speaks.

“I’m making tea,” Your voice is scratchy, hesitant, “You want some?”

Jungkook nods, finally registering that you were truly in front of him. He then realizes that he had dropped your book, and he promptly bends down to pick it up. Your back is turned to him as you turn of the stove, carefully taking the teapot off the stove. While the water cools down, Jungkook is quick on his feet to grab two mugs and two bags of green tea.

“Oh, thank you,” Your words are painted with genuine surprise when you turn around to see what Jungkook had prepared. You watch, with a small smile on your face, the water turn from clear to green as you pour it in. Jungkook’s gaze is still pinpointed on you and he’s speechless.

He’s sure that you feel extremely awkward, maybe even uncomfortable, because he does as well.

But that really doesn’t matter to him at the moment when he gets to stare at you like this again.

Your eyes meet his, and nothing but pure love and admiration looks back at you, Jungkook’s eyes twinkling when your cheeks turn red. He’s leaning against the counter, head resting on his hand as he continues to say silent, gaze shifting to your mouth as he sees you bite your bottom lip out of habit.

“What’s up with the book?” You attempt to crack a joke in order to lighten the thick air, “Never took you for an Aristotle kind of guy.”

“Aris... what?” Jungkook looks at the book resting in front of him on the counter. He glares at the title, lips absently forming in obscure shapes as he attempts to pronounce the words. His bottom lip juts out as he couldn’t even comprehend how the title is said.

“Nicomachaen Ethics,” You step in, chuckling.

Jungkook’s mouth forms an “o” shape, him now focused on the cover of the book. He can’t seem to decipher what the cover is, wondering who the man drawn on the hardwood was.

“Oh, right,” He mumbles, more to himself rather than to you, realizing that he still hadn’t answered your question, “I thought you were a thief and I was gonna knock you out with this.”

His words are slurred and his voice is thick with fatigue. You giggle as you see his eyelids drooping down slightly as he speaks languidly, and you can’t help but inwardly gush, remembering exactly how cute he was when he was sleepy. He still hasn’t taken a sip of the tea, deciding to just let the steam hit his face.

You focus on the mug in your hands, taking a deep sigh once you finally drink the tea. The hot beverage slides down your throat, warming your body. You hum lightly, lips still pressed against the mug. It’s peaceful in the kitchen, and Jungkook can’t help but feel overjoyed for things to feel somewhat normal.

That’s when dread seeps into his brain.

“Are you leaving me?” His voice trembles, “You’re not leaving me... Are you?”

His doe eyes interlock with yours once more, and instead of admiration, there’s nothing but fear present in him. You can see his eyes shine more and more as the seconds pass by, indicating that they’re welling up with tears. Your expression softens, giving him a sad look.

“Of course not, Kook,” You respond, placing the mug on the counter and fidgeting with it in your hands. Jungkook visibly lets out a sigh of relief and some of the tension knotted in his shoulders releases.

The two of you are both reminded of the fight, your expressions darkening slightly.

“Listen,” Your hand travels to your sleeves, picking at pieces of lint while you speak, “That night... I don’t know why I left you, and I’m-“

Your words are cut off when you feel Jungkook grab your hand. They’re coarse against yours, and he massages your skin with his thumb. You look up to see tears streaming down his face.

“Y/N...” He starts, hiccuping as he sobs, “I’m so sorry for everything.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Jungkook beats you to it.

“This was all my fucking fault,” His head hangs low, and he places his lips on your knuckles, planting soft kisses, “I’m so sorry.”

“Jungkook...” You let out a shaky breath, “I forgive you. I’m sorry too.”

He shakes his head profusely.

“No, no, this was all because of me,” He faces you, voice breaking with every word, “I really fucked up, didn’t I? I made you leave.”

“Kook, no,” You forget your cup of tea and make your way on over to him, wrapping your arms around him.

Jungkook shakes against your chest, holding your waist ever so gently. He’s careful as not to squeeze you, acting as if you’re a porcelain doll. The scent of vanilla brings Jungkook back to life, and he buries himself in your embrace.

Your hand runs through his messy hair, combing through the knots in an attempt to sooth him. You rest your chin on his head, and when the familiar scent of pinewood wafts in your nose, you realize that tears had been falling down from your eyes as well. You place a kiss on his head, gasping as the tears fall onto his hair.

He notices this and immediately pulls away from your embrace to wipe the tear from your eyes, completely ignoring the ones on his own face.

“Can I...” He rubs his nose nervously, “Can I hug you?”

You nod in response, laughing at his strange question. It seems as if he didn’t notice that he had been holding you this whole time.

Jungkook stands up to pull you close to his chest, and you ball the fabric of his t-shirt in your fists. Incoherent apologies pour out of his mouth, his low voice vibrating against your body. He subtly rocks you back and forth in his arms, his strong arms making you feel secure and safe. The scent of pine is stronger now, calming down every muscle in your body and making your legs feel like jelly.

“I missed this,” You whisper, earning you a chuckle from Jungkook.

“Doll, you have no idea,” He responds but then there’s uncertainty in his words, “Can I call you that still?”

“Yes, you can.”

Usually you would have teased him by now, but it’s obvious that neither of you had enough energy to throw jabs at each other.

“I love you, so much,” He breathes out, desperate to get the words out.

“I love you too.”

The air around you is freezing, but Jungkook’s arms feel warm and welcoming. As your head is pressed against his chest, you feel his heart beating loudly, the rhythm lulling you into a state of peace. Jungkook feels the same serenity, overjoyed to have you here with him again.

Both of your tears are dried, now replaced with an abundance of love and gratitude shared between you and him.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Jungkook?”

His cheeks are dusted a slight pink and he gives you a shy smile.

“Can I kiss you?”

Instead of responding, you stand on the tips of your toes and connect your lips with his. Electricity shoots down your spine, and your nerves are on fire. You wrap your arms around his neck, running your hands through his hair as you kiss him passionately. Jungkook quickly responds, kissing you with as much, if not, more, fervor.

His hands travel underneath your hoodie, roaming around and massaging your skin. You sigh into the kiss, feeling the familiar, soothing touch of his hands. Jungkook takes this opportunity to gently prod his tongue in your mouth. You welcome him, mingling your tongue with his. After a few seconds, he smiles into the kiss, making your chest feel light and fluttery.

Jungkook pulls away, buried under your hoodie. Your lips are puffy and tingly as you get lost in Jungkook’s eyes. Your chests raise up and down simultaneously, and he rests his forehead against yours, a bright smile plastered on his face.

He places a gentle kiss on your nose, making you giggle in delight. Some hair falls down on your face, and Jungkook raises a hand to tuck the loose strands behind your ear. His gestures are exuding in love and endearment, showing you already all the words he wants to tell you.

“You’re beautiful,” He says out of nowhere, making your face heat up on the sport. You hide in his chest in response, making him coo at you.

“My pretty little doll,” He clicks his tongue, his praise making you melt. Jungkook grabs your chin, gently asking you to look up at him. You comply, and he whistles as he takes another good look at your face. His smile spreads from ear to ear and you find yourself mirroring him, a smile forming on your face as well.

Jungkook doesn’t waste another chance to feel your lips on his again, leaning in to get rid of the space between the two of you.

“What’d I do to ever deserve you?”

#jungkook #bts jungkook #bts jungkook oneshot #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook fic #jungkook oneshot #kookie #bts jungkook fic #bts jungkook angst #bts jungkook fluff

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ransomedrogue · 3 years

Text

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

oh yeah, the flashbang scene! (ha that sounds dirty)... Poor Kurt with ringing ears and Jane all worried about him... it definitely needed some filling in :D

1.8

It all happened so goddamned fast.

Weller pushed her outside before Jane even fully realized what was happening; the door slamming behind her as her brain only just finished deciphering what he'd yelled.

Flashbang.

It took everything ounce of discipline in her to do her duty at the moment instead of running back in to help Weller. But Jane forced herself to focus on tying Costello up and making sure Mrs. Schultz was okay, all while desperately wondering what was happening inside.

It was the smallest of mercies that she had finished securing the scene when the shots were fired. Two in rapid succession; the sound of them hitting her hard in the chest and momentarily stopping her breath.

Not Weller. No.

Please.

Jane's mind traitorously leapt to an image of him lying there, bleeding out. And even the thought of it was beyond devastating - making panic course through her veins as she approached the closed door with her weapon ready.

She threw the door open and looked around for the suspect before shouting for Weller. But he didn't respond and upon her first glance she could only see one person, prone on the ground.

Jane's heart seized completely as she ran up to the body and realized it wasn't Kurt. She was shaking in relief as she checked to see if the officer had a pulse and found that the man was already dead.

Turning, Jane scanned the area for Weller, calling his name again and getting no answer. Even though Johnson's injuries seemed to account for the shots fired, she was still worried that Kurt wasn't answering. Finally, she spotted him in the corner of the next room, sitting on the ground and holding his head.

His eyes were clenched tight as she ran up to him and put her hand on his shoulder protectively, before running her fingers all over his head and his neck, checking for injuries. Weller made a feeble attempt at pushing her off but he was clearly still having trouble with the effects of the flashbang; shaking his head as if the added motion would help his disoriented senses. So Jane took advantage of the situation by snaking her arms around him and pulling him close, then resting her head on his chest for just a moment as her own body remembered how to breathe.

He was so warm. So alive.

She let her temple rest on his breastbone for just a beat too long before pulling away just far enough to check the rest of him for injuries. But though he remained silent and a bit shaky, Weller didn't appear to be hurt.

"Are you okay?" she asked, as he fixed her with a disoriented gaze.

She repeated the question, louder this time. Weller's eyes gained a little more focus as he said he was fine, then frowned and repeated himself, this time much louder.

Jane felt a pang of anxiety shoot through her, even though it was entirely normal for the flashbang to still be affecting his hearing. Just to be safe, she was careful to keep her arms on him as Weller put a serious look on his face and pushed up to his feet.

For a moment he had it, as if through sheer determination. But then he stumbled a bit, despite his best efforts to stay steady.

Of course she was still right there, her hands now gripping his waist extra tightly.

"Whoa, Kurt," she said. "Sit down."

He looked at her with swimming blue eyes that his furrowed brow couldn't hide.

"I'm fine," he repeated stubbornly.

"Kurt," she said, her expression allowing no argument as she led him over to the couch.

"Sit down!"

Weller grumbled but gave her a sheepish look as he stumbled the last few steps to the couch, still reaching for his head. She felt the worry spike in her again even though serious injury from a stun grenade was unlikely.

"Thank you," she said, despite knowing that he couldn't hear her.

Kurt still looked annoyed to be sitting there and being told what to do but even the grouchy look on his face made her heart flicker with affection. She knew he would like to be up and taking control of the scene but there was no need; the suspects were secure and backup was already on its way.

Weller didn't have to do anything else, especially considering he was still reaching for his ears when he thought she wasn't looking. So he was going to sit there until a professional checked him out and cleared him. Even if she had to threaten him to make him stay.

After almost losing him just minutes ago, Jane wasn't taking any chances.

###

Weller's ears were still ringing painfully, even after the other effects of the flashbang had mostly dissipated. So he couldn't hear what Jane was saying as he pushed to his feet to get on with the order of business.

Unfortunately, the transition to a standing position didn't go as smoothly as he would have liked. Instead, a wave of dizziness hit him halfway and Jane had to steady him with an arm around his waist. Weller growled internally, annoyed that his ears and head were bothering him more than usual from a flashbang; probably due to how close he'd been to the device when it went off.

Jane said something else, while frowning at him in concern.

Weller didn't need to hear in order to understand she didn't support his decision to try and stand up. So he decided to stick with the same line he'd been stubbornly repeating since Jane found him clutching his ears on the floor.

"I'm fine," he stated, sure that it would eventually be true if he just kept saying it.

Jane was pulling him over to the couch though, talking at him silently, with her brow still knitted in concern. Weller even knew there was no winning the battle but had some absurd need to prove both his fitness and his authority by acting like everything was normal. Despite the fact that he still couldn't hear Jane's pleas and he was dizzier than he should have been.

"Sit down!"

He was startled to hear her voice, then winced at the effect that extra stimuli had on his head. She must have been really shouting at him if it had gotten through; which also accounted for the frustrated look she was currently wearing.

Weller noted that, in the span of a few minutes, Jane's expression had shifted from complete joy to somewhat pissed off, with a brief stopover in adorable concern. Which probably meant he was acting like an ass and needed to just listen to what she was telling him to do.

Even after convincing himself of that fact, Weller was still a bit annoyed at giving in until he suddenly realized his world was spinning again. His ears and head were combining to throw him off balance and his last few steps towards the couch were fumbly at best.

He felt pathetic still being disorientated from the stun grenade but Weller couldn't help but grab at his head as soon as he was seated. The incessant ringing in his ears and the recurring vertigo had really ramped up from moving around.

Jane sat down beside him on the couch and planted her hand between his shoulder blades, her touch instantly making him feel calmer, more grounded. She encouraged him to breathe and he realized that he had somehow forgotten about that basic task until she'd reminded him.

It wasn't long before Reade came rushing in with his weapon drawn and gave the two of them a slightly opinionated look. Weller saw the accusation in his agent's eyes, especially knowing that there was an unattended perp outside, as well as the intended victim. He should be out there dealing with all of that, despite how shitty he felt; not sitting on the couch letting Jane rub his back because he was dizzy and his ears hurt.

"Reade," he said, still unsure how loud he needed to be speaking.

Both Reade and Jane's expressions told him he'd overshot the necessary volume by quite a bit, which was a bit concerning since he'd only heard it faintly. Weller then tried to get up off the sofa but Jane's hand insisted that he stay seated as she stood to talk to Reade.

Weller sat there, frustrated at being told what to do and at his continuing deafness. He still couldn't make out what they were saying, no matter how much he rubbed at his ears. But at least Reade's expression became increasingly more sympathetic as Jane explained the situation to him.

After talking to Jane, Reade went back outside and Jane came back towards the couch, standing in front of him and asking him silent questions. She frowned at his non-reaction to her words, then turned to listen to Reade saying something from the doorway.

Jane stood and turned towards the door, then looked back at Weller as he was getting up to follow her. She shook her head at him, her expression mostly amused, with just a hint of exasperation.

"Stay here," she said, loud enough that he could hear her.

Her command was accompanied with a stern look and Weller decided it wasn't worth it to fight her on it, despite not liking the fact that he was being given orders. So he sat back down on the couch and rubbed at his ears until Jane came back with a paramedic in tow.

Weller groaned internally but knew that he'd also be making her get checked out if she had the same symptoms he was experiencing. Still, that didn't stop him from scowling at Jane as she brought the EMT over to him.

Jane returned his irritated look with an affectionate eye roll and a little pat on his shoulder before leaving to let the paramedic to examine him. And even though he was still annoyed at the entire situation, Weller had to admit he kind of liked Jane being concerned about him.

The EMT gave him a thorough exam and thankfully his hearing began to improve as she checked all his other senses. Familiar crime scene sounds started filtering through and then Kurt noticed he wasn't struggling to hear the EMT's questions anymore.

By the end of the exam, Weller's ears had nearly returned to normal. There was still some tinnitus but he knew from experience that would fade away soon. The paramedic agreed and cleared him, telling him that he only needed to get checked out by a doctor if his symptoms didn't go away by the next day.

Weller thanked the EMT and was about to get up off the couch when he heard Jane's voice and latched onto the sound. From what he could hear, she seemed to be coming back into the room to check on him; probably because she'd just seen the paramedic leave. So Kurt sat back down, awaiting her arrival.

"How are you feeling?" she asked while approaching, testing him with a normal volume.

Weller saw his opportunity and went for it, despite knowing that he shouldn't really be joking about the situation.

"The paramedic said…" he shouted.

Concern immediately flooded over Jane's face and her hands flew to his head, holding his jaw and temple as her eyes studied him anxiously. She was obviously still quite worried about him; so when he finished his prank by using a normal volume to tell her that he'd be fine, Weller was ready for her annoyance at his joke.

What he didn't expect was the feeling that flooded through him as her hands dropped away and she gave him an adorable pissed off look. And that feeling only intensified when she showed how scared she'd been, thinking that he'd been shot; then somehow followed that up by guilting him into resolving things with Mayfair.

Filled with warmth from Jane's concern, Weller couldn't help but shake his head and grin at her persistence. She was trying so hard to look out for him and be a good friend. It made him feel suspiciously gooey inside knowing how much she cared.

Normally Kurt hated being worried about. But, as always, things were different with Jane.

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #blindspot rewatch #s1fic #i wrote this

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atsukashii · 4 years

Text

❝r.i.p to the youth❞ // e. kirishima

SYNOPSIS: ➛ The world has gone to shit and you have lost almost everyone close to you, including Kirishima

» CHARACTER PAIRING: eijiro kirishima x reader

» WORD COUNT: 5.6K cause i have no chill again

» GENRE: apocalyptic au, aged up characters

» WARNINGS: major character death, ANGST with fluff ending, blood, swearing

« masterlist || ao3 »

You were only seventeen when the world had gone to shit. You had been studying with your friends at U.A when you watched the news roll in, villains had popped up everywhere in a large scale attack. After that day, the world had never been the same. Led by Tomura Shigaraki, the league of villains now held hostage the world, ruling it in the very way they knew how. Now labelled The Purge, many of the top heroes were wiped out in the first few months, and more as it followed.

Now today, five years later, you are still trying to survive through an apocalyptic world, where ones who were only students when it started, are now leaders of rebellion… the only force to attempt to rise up against the villain dictatorship. The Rebellion Army was created by pro heroes once the fighting began, however as the years passed, there were newly inducted commanders in charge more frequently than there ever should be. You are one of them. Along with your previous schoolmates and close friends, Izuku, Shouto, Bakugou, Iida, and Momo, somehow you had all become the leaders of the rebellion army. All the previous pro heroes either having been killed or forced into solitude for their safety and the safety of the rebellion. Together, your spread out force had managed to locate some of the existing pro’s, however, they opted to be the voice of reason and advice, and decided to leave the leadership to a bunch of twenty-year-olds. You were inducted as a commander just over two years ago due to the strength of your quirk, your incredible strategic skills, and your ability to be stealthy was far greater than anyone else. You had earned that rank in a time where you didn’t want it. All you wanted was for this all to end.

Looking down at the picture in your hands, you wish you could turn back time and transport back to it. It had been a few months before The Purge began, where the only concern you had was if you were going to pass your final exams, your work-study, and your boyfriend. Not the fate of the world, or at least not until you were a pro.

In the faded image, you were shielding your eyes from the sun but had a bright grin on your face. Your thighs were draped over a shirtless male torso that had your heart hurting inside your chest. He had a carefree, teeth-bared grin on his face, his eyes squinted shut in the sunlight, as he held onto your legs to support you. He looked so happy that day, in fact, you all were. You and your class had gone to a water-park, as a time to relax and just have chaotic levels of fun. It was one of your last good memories before it all fell apart. And now, this picture with your boyfriend was your greatest treasure.

Because two years ago, villains had discovered your previous location and attacked out of the blue. It had been pure chaos and a mad scramble to evacuate and get away with as few casualties as possible. It was one of the worst days of your life. Because that day, you had been separated from your boyfriend and once the dust had settled, he was gone. You had searched for days, not eating or sleeping. The only thing on your mind was finding Eijiro Kirishima, if it was the last thing you did. You were only forced to stop when Bakugou pulled you away, kicking and screaming. Everyone had said he was dead, and that you needed to accept it, but Bakugou just reiterated the same line over and over.

‘Shitty hair wouldn’t fucking die like that. We’ll find him y/n.” yet here you were, two years down the line, with still no sign of him. So like everyone else, you had accepted the fact that he was no longer going to be around, and when you found yourself deep within a pit of depression, it was your friends who pulled you from it, helping you take a step every day. You weren’t over it, and you knew you wouldn’t ever be. For that red-head who was sunshine personified was the love of your life, and he always would be.

A knock comes from your closed door, and hesitantly, you shift your gaze from the photo in your hands to the figure now poking their head through the partially cracked doorway. Momo’s kind smile meets you, and when she sees the tattered picture in your hands, it morphs into something soft but laced with pain. You aren’t the only one who is hurting from his passing, it has affected your friends and comrades too. There was too much death these days, too much for people to bear.

“It was a very fun day.” She says, walking over to where you sit on your bed, before sitting next to you. It had been one of your best memories with Kirishima, yes, but also with your other friends. Some who weren’t around now…

“And so different to life now.” You reply, pushing the picture back under your pillow before you turn to your friend and fellow leading commander. “What’s going on?” There had to be something for her to come and get you during your break.

“Shouto wants to move the stealth operation to today. He says he’s got a bad feeling about tomorrow.” You’re not surprised by the idea, so you just nod, not questioning your friends’ instincts for a second. Being in charge of such a large operation, all six of your close friends have learnt the inner workings of each other's minds. And when someone has a gut feeling, a hunch, you follow it, because nine times out of ten, it’s right. And in a world ruled by villains, being wrong means death, and that’s something you don’t want to see happen ever again. “We want you to lead it.” Of course.

The argument sits heavy on your tongue, but something inside you like always can’t seem to let it out. Maybe it was the guilt, or the fear of not being there to stop something bad from happening again. Because not long after you had lost Kirishima, you had lost your mentor, your work-study agency leader, your friend, in a stealth mission gone wrong. You had almost died that day, unable to save your mentor. Instead, Keigo Takami had saved you, and you weren’t going to let his sacrifice go to waste. You were going to protect every single one of your friends, even if it meant you died in the process.

“Alright.” Together, you both stand and begin the walk to the meeting room. The second you walk in, your eyes meet your four commanding friends, as well as three others. You smile at Jiro, Sero and Shoji before sitting down at a vacant seat. “What’s the plan?” You ask the quiet room, listening as Momo points towards a map of the city in the centre of the table, explaining the plan.

“Jiro’s ear jacks are going to eavesdrop on anything audible inside the warehouse. Shoji and Sero, you are on lookout, and Y/n, you are on escape routes.” Everyone in the stealth team had quirks that allowed them to do their job quickly and efficiently… but you were just there as back up, as a walking bomb ready to go off if something detrimental should occur.

You’d lost half of your quirk the day you had almost died, and witnessed your mentor sacrifice himself for you. Those flames, ones you can manipulate yourself- but failed to, burnt your wings until the weight that had rested between your shoulder blades your whole life, was gone. Now, you could manipulate fire, but hadn’t used it in almost a year, instead, focusing on hand to hand combat. After that day, you could barely glance at flames without either making yourself sick, or having flashbacks powerful enough that they seemed as if you were actually trapped back in the past. The sensation… the scent… the burning… the screaming.

“Live, little firebird. Save us all.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a sigh before standing to your feet. Everyone in the room looks in your direction, and you look at Bakugou, one of your closest friends and look into his eyes, trying to ignore the nagging thought that they look similar to Kirishima’s.

“We leave at 22:00.” Momo nods to you across the table and you look to your friends who are risking their lives alongside you. “Let’s get some dirt on these assholes.”

҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉

“We don’t get closer than ten metres to any entrance or exits of the building.” You whisper, using your very very little air manipulation to help your words travel to your friend’s ears. You see all three of them nod in response as you creep down the abandoned alleyway. The world is so quiet, the only noise was the slight breeze and trash being moved across the street from it. Everything about this area was abandoned and for good reason. You had discovered through one of the rebellion’s many spaced out informants, that they had seen S class league members frequently visiting this warehouse. This mission wasn’t to take more than two hours, that’s what Bakugou had drilled into your brain.

“Don’t be fucking late because I’m not coming to look for your dumb ass.” You weren’t a moron, which is what you had responded with and you could have sworn the blonde wanted to punch you in the face. It was the usual really, the urge and not the actual physical blow - that never happened. However, you knew that if your team didn’t show up, the blonde would come looking for you and not stopping until he dragged you all back and then tried to kill you himself for being stupid.

Normally, other than villain activity, it is quiet in this part of town. The previous residents having abandoned their homes the second the league of villains moved in. So you are surprised when Shoji gestured to you only thirty minutes in.

‘Figure. 2 blocks.’ He gestured with his hands, not risking to speak so close to the building. Sure you are on the second floor of the building next door, but with Jiro’s quirk in use, you aren’t going to distract her either.

‘Villain?’ You question, using both your hands to communicate the thought back. Shoji shakes his head and instead waves you over to his position. Silently, you manoeuvring until you are next to him, looking out the broken out window at where he is pointing - straight towards a figure staring at the building you’re currently listening on. The person is completely decked out in all black, and you definitely different recognise them, not that you could make out much of their figure other than the fact they were tall and bulk, probably male. If he were a villain, surely he could have just walked towards the building instead of peering at it like a predator watching its prey.

In silence, Shoji and you watch as the figure moves towards the building, carefully using the shadows to hide their body as they slip between alleyways and across the street. Okay, so not a villain… Suddenly the figure disappears behind an alleyway and you look at Shoji with a frown. What the hell was someone that wasn’t a part of the rebellion doing here?

From what you were aware, you were the only current branch within this area, the rebellion spreading wide across both Japan and the world, all under different titles and names, however, you were the leading force in this city, and possibly Japan. You would know if there was another organisation within the city limits. So who the hell was that?

Jiro taps the floor twice and your eyes look to Sero, holding his binoculars, directed straight at the warehouse. They were wrapping up. You tap your wrist to signify that you were to head out in one minute, when a gasp suddenly breaks the silence. Oxygen leaves your lungs as Shoiji tackles you to the floor. Wheezing, you don’t question in when heat engulfs the world outside the window. Your ribs scream in pain from the impact, but over your friend’s shoulder, you see the bright blue flames lick across the ceiling through the open window. Blue flames.

Your screams bounce across the concrete walls of what once had been an office building but was now nothing but rubble. Blue flames lick over your shoulder blades and neck. Your spine, engulfed in a pain you never thought possible, but what has you screaming is the image in front of you. You look up into Dabi’s smirking face, his blue flames swirling around his scarred fist. “This is the end of the line for you gorgeous.” He raises his hands in front of your face and for a second you close your eyes, praying for it all to be over. But then there’s a thump, and you watch in horror as Hawk’s - beaten to a pulp, lands in front of you, his scarlet red wings spread out behind him shielding you from the blue flames.

“Live, little firebird. Save us all.”

The last of his feathers grip your clothes, and you slam out of the rubble, dragging you across town as fast as they can. You cry out and beg to stop as one by one, they fall to the ground, losing their power, until you lay on the sidewalk outside the warehouse on your stomach, trying not to scream. You knew your wings were gone, the heavyweight you had held up your entire life wasn’t there. Only pain, god so much pain, you wanted to die. You had only passed out after you’d heard people mumbling above you, and at that point, you hadn’t cared if it were villains… you just wanted it to end.

Those blue flames… They had brought down your old compound that day, and you had been flying people out of the burning building when you had bumped into Kirishima, about to sprint into battle to join Bakugou and Shouto. You had wanted to beg him to stop, to just get out of the building, but that’s not who you were, and it definitely wasn’t who he was.

“Don’t worry angel, I’ll be back. Get everyone out and I’ll meet you at the safe-point soon.” Kirishima says, kissing you on the forehead before racing out. You hadn’t even had time to tell him you loved him like usual, before moving to pull more people from the wreckage and transporting them. And that was something you would never forgive yourself for. You let Kirishima run into that burning building.

Once you had gotten the last people out, there was a loud crunch, followed by a boom. You and Sero turn around, only to see the roof of the warehouse begin to collapse. Figures flee from the fire, and one is heading towards you at an alarmingly fast rate. The second they reach your position, you do a headcount, tracing peoples faces until you realise there are only four of them. There should be five. Whipping your head back and forth, you quickly spin around, scanning everyone here for that head of red hair...but he’s not there. Where is Kirishima? Where the hell is your boyfriend?

You then look to the very singed and exhausted as-blonde before you. “Where is Eijiro?” Bakugou frowns at you, before looking around, his movements getting more frantic with every passing second.

“He was right there…” You hear hum mutter, only for another loud bang to come from the old warehouse.

No, god please no...The situation finally hits you, and you jump to action, your wings propelling you forward towards the burning building. You hold out your hands and try to smother the flames with your quirk, but theres too much, and its burning through the building to quickly.

Your only a few feet from the inferno when you’re tackled to the ground. You try desperately and wildly to shake the weight off, but soot covered hands have pinned your wings so you can’t move.

“Get off me! HE’S STILL IN THERE! I NEED TO GET HIM OUT! KIRISHIMA!”

“And die yourself in the process? There’s nothing you can do Y/n.” Bakugou’s voice is in your ear, and you scream out in frustration. The noise is so loud, coming from a place deep inside you that it hurts your vocal chords when it comes out. There's another crunch, and you watch helplessly as the roof completely collapses, finally succumbing to the flames, and the second it falls, part of you dies with it.

“EIJIRO!” You scream again, trying to shake the blonde off you.

“I’m so sorry Y/n.”

“No, please no.” Your voice is barely there, unable to be any louder. The flames leaving nothing in their wake, devouring everything it comes into contact with. “Not him, not him.” You repeat the words over and over, as you rest your head on the ground. He’s not dead, he can’t be. I can’t- I can’t do this without him. Your heart is pounding inside your ears, unable to hear anything else, and your lungs can't seem to hold any air at all. Before you know it, black dots line your vision, and then everything is dark. Before you pass out, the last thing you remember was the flickering of blue flames.

Those blue flames took your mentor from you, they took your wings, your freedom, they took the love of your life from you. You had nothing left. And now, those blue flames are going to pay.

For a year and a half, you haven’t touched your flames. You haven't activated the power that prowls under your skin like a beast. You had smothered it, tried to calm it, bottled it up for months, waiting for a moment to release it. The second you lock eyes with Sero, you nod before rising up off the ground.

“Get them to the checkpoint now.” You hiss, just as a chuckle echoes from down on the floor below.

“Running away so easily?”

“He’s right below us,” Jiro whispers, her ear-jacks still pressed into the concrete. She looks up at you, fear her eyes. How the hell do we get out of here alive? Luckily enough, you already have an escape route.

“Sero, now!” You yell out, aiming your hands at the floor and releasing a breath. All that unrelenting anger, frustration, grief, fury bubbles to the surface, and the second you see Sero swinging out the window with Jiro and Shoji in tow, you unleash yourself upon the world. Your pent up emotions spread to life in the form of a white flame, immediately melting the floor beneath you, and unfortunately missing the scarred man that it now reveals.

“We’ve been looking for you, little firebird,” Dabi smirks, even whilst standing in the middle of a world of flames. “The name’s kind of ironic isn’t it, considering how you lost your wings.” You know he’s goading you, so instead, you raise a hand, your own flames swirling around your fingers almost resemble lightning in their color.

“Ironic, considering you’re about to be burnt alive.” You hiss out before releasing your flames upon him. Dabi quickly unleashes a flash of power, only for those cursed blue flames to become overwhelmed by a wave of white melting hot fire. The smug look disappears in his eyes as he takes you in. You can feel the fire bubbling inside your veins, spilling out across your body like a shield, only not burning you. “You took everything from me,” Your throat aches from breathing in the smoke of the building. “and now, I will take your life.” You shout, letting your quirk redirect itself partially to your feet, sending you flying through the air where you fire white-hot fireball after fireball in the raven-haired man’s direction.

He would not survive this. You would make sure of it.

Your blasts were tearing up the building around you, and the warehouse you had been spying on, yet you did not care. You would set the whole world on fire before you gave him the chance to get away. The second you boost yourself out of the building and into the open courtyard between the buildings, is when you finally notice the fact that they’re barely standing, one slight movement from completely crumbling around you. Focusing back on Dabi, he looks at the buildings before relaxing his stance and glaring back at you.

“Don’t fool yourself, you can’t kill me. You’re nothing but a pathetic waste of a quirk.” He spits back, releasing a volley of blue flames towards you. Placing both your hands above your head, palms facing the sky, you swiftly release a blaze of power as you bring down your hands towards the floor, effectively slicing the incoming blue flames in half like a hot knife slicing through butter. You weren’t going to talk anymore, instead, you would fight him until he felt as much pain as you once had. Until Dabi knew how you had felt every day for the past two years since he had taken everything from you. Since he had ripped the love of your life from your grasp and permanently forced your feet to the ground.

Pieces of debris began to fall to the floor around you from collapsing buildings. Raising your arms either side of your body, you grin a feral smile at Dabi and aim at the two buildings, knowing fully well that when they collapse, they will bury you both. Quickly catching on to your idea, the man in front of you hesitates, only for a second, as if shocked by your actions.

“I’ll see you in hell, Dabi.” You release your flames and watch as the world crumbles around you.

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At first, there is nothing but silence, your body weightless and mind empty of all thought. Is this death? Everything is dark until there’s a shout that echoes so loudly in your brain it hurts, and you feel something grip you tightly but you can’t tell where... and then… Nothing…

When you come to again your eyes blink open instinctively, and you find yourself staring at a concrete ceiling that you’ve seen many times before. The infirmary?

You blink a few times, vanishing the blur from your eyes. You can hear the scraping of furniture coming from outside the room, but surprisingly, as you glance around, you’re the only one in here.

Trying to sit up, suddenly your ribs screech in protest, forcing a hissing breath from your lungs. Jesus christ! You pause once you force your aching body upright, and glance around the room again, giving yourself a chance to let the pain settle before moving again. An IV machine stands empty next to your bed, and a bandage wrapped around… well your everything. The white compression cloth fits your ribs like a second skin as well as your arm. You don’t even remember getting injured… All you remember was unleashing hell on Dabi and bringing down a building around you. You were ready to sacrifice yourself to take out one of the main league members like any of your friends would have done.

The only questions that matter right now though are did you succeed? And how weren’t you dead? You can’t seem to come to an answer for either though.

A loud muffled noise comes from outside, interrupting your thoughts. Curiosity gets the better of you, as you manage to pull yourself off the bed, ignoring your aching body’s outcry. The second your bare feet meet the cold concrete flooring, you can’t hold in the wince as the temperature makes your bones groan. You push on, slipping through the closed doorway, and glancing around, trying to track the source of the noise. You can’t make out the conversations, not until you’re passing through the halls, hunched over and holding your ribs that ache with every slight movement. It’s only once you’ve been walking around for too long do you deduce that the sounds are coming from the main common room of the warehouse. As you head in that direction, you pass a mirror and actually cringe at the image that stares back.

Yikes.

Any dust and grime that had covered you from the rubble you had most likely been pulled from had been cleared, but you still look as if you have been dragged backward through hell. Small scratches pepper your face, and a massive black eye is forming on the right side of your face. If you thought you could move your arms high enough without wanting to cry, you might have prodded it to make sure it was real. Thank god for small mercies, you suppose.

As you draw closer to the large open doorway of the common room, you see a few people gathered around the entrance, with smiles on their faces. The look confuses you enough to force your feet to scuff along the floor as you stop. The second the noise meets their ears, their heads snap in your direction, and those smiles become grins that are slightly terrifying. How long has it been since you’ve seen faces like that?

“Y/n, you’re awake! I should get someone from the medical team, stay there a second.” An older woman says before quickly jogging back down the hall from which you came. More sound spills out of the room and this time, you can finally catch parts of the conversation.

“I’m going to kill you myself.” Bakugou growls, which doesn’t surprise you. But the fact that his words don’t meet his tone is what surprises you enough to force your legs to move, and to step into the room. Right away, your eyes are drawn towards the cluster of people in the middle of the room. First, you see Sero and Jiro, both looking a bit dishevelled, but mostly okay which has you sighing in relief. The next is the fact that everyone was here… but why? Between the heads of your other friends and comrades, you catch a glimpse of the fiery blonde that has pure murder in his eyes. However, he doesn’t act upon and instead reaches forward and brings someone into a tight embrace.

Oxygen abandons your lungs and for a second, you’re positive that you are hallucinating. Your body is no longer responsive and your mind is an empty void as you try to take in the person before you. He’s still across the room, but you’re asphyxiating under his very presence. His red hair is now black, most likely due to the fact hair dye wasn’t on the list of top priorities of anyone these days, and has also grown out enough to be pulled off his face. It’s so different… but those crimson eyes, ones that gleam like light peaking through rubies is the same… You are dreaming, or dead… you have to be… You had watched your boyfriend die, you had watched Eijiro Kirishima run into a burning building. You had seen the structure fold like paper cards, and you had searched the rubble for days after. You had grieved for two years for the man you had loved since you had first met him in the U.A entrance exams.

There is no logical reason as to how he is now grinning at Bakugou, slapping him on the back with tears filling his eyes. It’s not possible.

It’s not, you searched for so long…

The second he pulls the blonde back into another embrace which earns a string of curses and some laughs, his eyes finally meet yours over Bakugou’s shoulder, and you find yourself transporting back to the day you had lost him.

“Don’t worry angel, I’ll be back”. He never came back,

“Get everyone out” You had.

“I’ll meet you at the safe-point soon.” He never did.

You’re gasping for air as your heartbeat thunders inside your head. It blocks out all other noise, and black dots dance within your vision. All of a sudden people are looking at you, and you can see Izuku’s lips moving in your direction, his eyes full of panic as he takes you in but you can’t hear him. You can’t seem to look from the ghost in front of you. No… he’s dead… Kirishima was dead. You have grieved him, you have cried over him, you have mourned the love of your life and still were…

Stepping out of Bakugou’s embrace, the man slowly walks towards you with caution, as if not to spook you. Well, that’s too late because I’m not seeing ghosts so I’m definitely off my rocker. With every step he takes towards you, you find the rise and fall of your chest gaining more and more speed, trying to take in more air, but failing to do so. Within seconds, he’s feet away from you, and you can’t take it. You had wanted this, so much… but it was impossible. Shaking your head, you hold your hands up in front of you to stop him from moving closer. Tears are flooding down your cheeks uncontrollably, and when he takes another step, you physically flinch back, a broken noise emerging from your lips that causes him to freeze. No, you’re dreaming! Wake up y/n! Maybe you’re in hell, and you are going to be forced to relive this again and again, only to lose him. If that’s true… Your eyes roam over Kirishima, looking almost the same as the day you lost him, and you know then your heart can’t take much more. You can’t take it.

“I- I can’t - I can’t…” You know you’re not making sense, and you’re not even sure if your words are actually understandable. But the pain and anguish in his red eyes is so similar to your own, it makes looking at him hurt even more. Kirishima finally walks forwards once more, until he is close enough to hold you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stares down at you with so much affection and fondness in his eyes, and so much heartache you feel an echo of it inside your own chest.

“Sorry it took me so long to come back angel, I got a little lost.” oh my god. He says, trying to break the sombre mood with a joke, but you just fall to your knees, weeping and sobbing so hard you can’t breathe. In a split second he’s there holding you, crushing you to his chest so tightly, all you can hear is his heart and all you can smell is his scent. Oh my god, he’s here. He’s actually alive. The thought makes you cry even harder. Oh my god, he is alive.

Eijiro’s alive. Your brain begins to piece it all together. When you had brought the building down… someone grabbing you, a shout. It was him.

You pull back, your trembling hands cupping his wet cheeks as you search his face for any signs that it isn’t him, that it's nothing but a cruel dream. But the pure love swirling in his crimson red eyes and the tears running tracks down his cheeks are enough of an answer. “How I- you didn’t come back. Why? I needed you! And I thought you had died! I thought he had killed you like Hawks… I needed you Eiji, and god I missed you, so so much!” You manage to get out between the sobbing. Your mouth is moving on its own at this point, and you can’t keep up with what it’s saying. You have so much to say, so much to tell him and feel as if you don’t say it now, you’ll suffocate under its weight.

“It’s a long story sweetheart, but I’m here. I’m never leaving your side ever again.” You clutch his shirt beneath your palms, your weeping quieting slightly, and you rest your forehead to his chest, just relishing in the heartbeat you feel beneath your hands. He’s alive. Eijiro’s alive. Your brain repeats it on a loop as if trying to forever engrave the fact into your brain so it will finally sink in that this is reality. You will no longer have to experience a day without his smile, a night without his warmth, a second without his heart.

“I love you. I love you so much, and I missed you so much Eiji I can’t-.” You whisper breaks again as you squeeze your eyes closed, trying to stop another wave of sobs from breaking through. A warm hand gently lifts your chin, and you find yourself staring back up at your first and only love. He’s alive.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before rubbing his nose against yours, his eyes not wavering from your own, as if he blinks, you’ll be gone. “I love you so much y/n, I will always come back to you. Always.”

You couldn’t care that you were in a room full of people, you couldn’t even care if villains showed up out of nowhere. Kirishima was back, he was whole and he was home.

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