#and its like a fucking stake through the heart its like youre made of glass and youre shattering

[nandermoenthusiast]

guys i have been in a state for days. i am giddy i am gasping for air i am broken inside i am blushing i am sweating i am twirling my hair i am suffering i dont know how to deal with the very real possibility that nandor has loved guillermo for years and has been restraining himself, feigning aloofness, keeping his distance, because all these years he understood that maybe guillermo would never be ready for vampirism - and maybe hes been so depressed in the latest years because hes finally found someone he wants to spend eternity with, and he strongly suspects he will spend eternity missing them instead

#i truly truly truly dont know how to deal #this season recontextualised the whole show for me #if i shipped nandermo before now i am absolutely batshit crazy about them and its all i think about #wwdits #wwdits spoilers #what we do in the shadows #nandermo #this is just speculation but i just - i feel it in my bones #like fuck imagine having been alone for 800 years. fuck. imagine losing lover after lover and being kind of a disaster at romance actually #imagine finding someone you so easily connect with and theyre so amazing you love them so much they can even hold their own against you #and fuck they like you back. and then you understand that they are too fundamentally kind to be a monster. #and its like a fucking stake through the heart its like youre made of glass and youre shattering #i hate this and i swear to god. they need to end up together. not just to end up together #they need to spend the rest of their lives together and ideally eternity tbh #i dont care gizmo you get over the killing hangup and have nandor turn you and spend eternity in #bliss and shenanigans. like man. man. man. i love how this season turned out i really do #but i hope its more of a ‘he had not thought it through and wasn’t ready and also we need to have nandor do it fr’ #anyway nandor becoming human is also ok but i really hope that they find a way to navigate guillermos inability to kill #like. nandor killing for him or him robbing blood banks or him only hunting predators etc #or him feeding without killing people #just bc i still really like the concept of them having so much time together and their time together not be limited #i feel like after all those years pining for one another. they deserve that

[david-powers-simp]

I apologize for being a inactive I an a student now so I have no time for anything but this has been siting in my drafts for months so here you go ■ NOT PROOF READ■ I am here with a lil imagine that the lovely @ria-coolgirl requested. I'm sorry but I can't find the original ask. To sum it up max invite the boys out for a drink as a way to "bond" but the boys just get wasted and max has to drag them home. Enjoy besties 💓

"Come oh boys, whataya say?" Max asked with a hopefully grin.

" am I understanding this correctly? You want to take us to a bar to have bonding time?" Marko replied visibility confused.

" im in free drinks!" Paul announced excitedly as he hopped down from his favorite spot in the cave,the water fountain.

David couldn't help but laugh a little. " you wouldn't be caught dead with us but now you want to have drinks with us?"

Max sighed " I know I haven't been to kind to you in the past years,but now I want to change that."

Dwayne rolled his eyes. " That's what they all say."

" ok, boys, let's get this over with." david exhales as he walks out of the cave, his vampire companions following close behind.

Max practically has to run out of the cave to stop the boys before they get on their bikes and leave. " wait, why don't we take my car so you all can fit."

" tha fuck?" Marko curse.

" Absolutely not hell no, I'd rather be staked through the heart." David dramatically replies.

Paul's jaw just drops to the floor, and dwayne gets on his bike and starts the engine. Before Max can protest anymore, the boys have all gotten on their bikes and left, max huffs in defeat, and gets in his car and drives to the closest bar on the boardwalk.

The boys beat max to the bar. However, they wait outside for max to arrive. The terror twins picking on one another and ruffling up each other hair. While dwayne sits back on his bike and observes david puffs on the cigarette he's had behind his ear. Max gets out of his car and approaches the boys.

" So, are we all ready?" He asks. And just as quick, all the boys got off their bikes silently and went inside.

The bar looked like most. It had a few tables nestled in the room, a cascade of pictures and sighs decorating the walls,and a middle-aged man behind the bar counter. He seemed to have sensed something as soon as the group walked in together. Once they all made their entrance, the bartender left the counter and went into the back room. This made david uneasy. Max, however, seemed pleasantly calm.

Paul, marko, dwayne, and david begin to take a seat at the bar in that order. Lastly, max sits in front of where the bartender was previously standing. After a few short moments, the man returns with an old looking bottle that's covered in dust and cobwebs. The man grabs a cloth and starts wiping the bottle off.

" ah Goodwin, its nice to see you old friend." Max says in a delightful tone.

" I can say the same max, it's been a long time." Goodwin responses

The boys sit in confusion.

" boys this is an old friend of mine Goodwin, Goodwin, these are my boys, the ones I told you about."

Paul breaks the silence " im Paul." He says in a awkward fashion.

" anyway to get to the point, max has told me about you boys and that's why I brought out this fine liquor, it's not like most. It's especially make for creatures like us." Goodwin tells them as he pops the cork to the bottle.

It finally clicks in davids head. " your a vampire?" He asks blatantly.

" Well, of course, how else do you think I've stayed in santa carla for so long?"

Paul chimes in " sweet."

Goodwin starts to pour the liquor. " This isn't normal liquor. It's made especially for people like us. Strong enough to get us drunk." He says

Dwayne immediately upon hearing that grab a glass and hold it over for it to get filled.

Goodwin sees and fills the glass for him

The other boy follow.

"See boys I knew you'd like this" Max says feeling accomplished.

" im just say don't you think the wind talks sometimes I know I can hear it." Marko thinks out loud while laying on the ceiling.

" I just want you to stop saying odd shit." David replies leaned back on a bar stool.

Paul is giggling on the floor " I think marko is right davie"

Dwyane on sat behind him braiding his hair. " Paul you really should let me do your hair more."

Max sighed unsure of what to do. " ok let's go." He says sternly.

David now smoking a cigarette and making smoke rings "id like to see you try, I like it here."

" yeah it's nice to have a chance of scenery." Dwayne says while he munches on the bowl of bar pretzels that sit beside him. Paul gets up from his spot on the floor and goes over and takes some of dwayne's pretzels.

"Woah man those are mine." Dwayne tells Paul.

" You gotta share bro." Paul tells him

"Fine here." Dwayne says as he throws the bowl of pretzels. Paul has a shocked

[warmau]

☆: bounty hunter! you x thief! minghao au tw: ment of violence/weapons | this was in my drafts so i decided to finish it

“there’s no way in the world any of you are going to catch him, but if you do -”

the head of the police, hong joshua, stands tall and straight behind the podium

the gold of his medals shines harshly under the white light of the town courthouse 

and your mind wanders off as you think about the pretty penny you could get if you were to just happen upon stealing one of those medals....not that a bounty hunter should ever steal 

“but if you do, the police will wipe your own felonious records clean and even offer a good amount of monetary compensation.”

that perks your interest, since you’re currently looking for some extra cash

plus being a bounty hunter isn’t a so called ‘clean’ job - you have stains on your record you’d like to see get erased.

and you know mr. hong doesn’t like you all that much so having him be the one clean up for you is sickly satisfying to some part of your psyche 

you’ve been working in this shitty underground world for too long 

someone’s voice comes from the back of the interrogation room and you don’t even have to look to know that it’s that newbie seokmin 

all excited and bouncy and not-yet-dead-and-cold-inside like the rest of the people around you

“who is the criminal we’re chasing?”

the monitor on the rolled up caddy beside the policeman flickers on 

“xu minghao. he’s a notorious thief in the city, responsible for the last string of high art robberies from the homes and personal collections of the elite.”

you snort, the ‘elite’, being rich makes you some kind of level above human now doesn’t it?

“his latest victims are the choi family, he stole not only paintings but some jewelry as well - possibly high end watches and the sort.”

“choi family?”

god this new kid knows nothing

“choi seungcheol’s family” you say with a yawn “you know, the choi seungcheol - the mayor.”

seokmin gasps and you finally look at him. 

he’s got a build to him that probably helps with physical altercations but he gives off the vibe that he’d faint at the sight of blood

“exactly.” 

joshua shoots a pointed look at you and you kind of dance around in the disgust 

“which is why we are going out on a limb and asking for the bounty hunters to help. the choi family desperately wants these pieces returned to them.”

you look at minghao’s face on the screen, it’s obviously not a mugshot so you note that the police force has actually never caught him

it’s a kind of photo that looks like it has been pulled off a social media account

minghao is standing in some sort of white room, he’s tilting his head and looking at the camera - or maybe the person holding it - and one of his eyes has a piercing blue colored contact in it

his features are angular, sharp, and long - but they fit together to make an unusually handsome kind of face

you slide forward in your chair and take your own phone out to snap a picture of the monitor

“how much for him?”

another voice echoes somewhere from the corner

joshua’s straight-faced expression twitches like he’s trying to believe the number that comes out of his mouth.

“ten million”

you keep counting the zeros in your head as you push your keys into your motorcycle and adjust yourself on the seat

you could retire with that kind of money. you live a frugal existence as it is.

you know that minghao is probably also somewhere in the city, still plotting for his next job. 

he’s been hitting rich people’s houses for two months straight and the choi’s are a victory, for sure, but they’re still not the biggest shark in the ocean.

the people who sponsor them, the people who made seungcheol mayor, minghao has to be going for them next

you make a list of the three family names that come to mind, luckily enough you also know someone who works in the business of ‘technology’ or so who can help you track down the lead forming in your head

you look one last time at the picture of minghao on your phone before you slip it into your jacket pocket and pull out of the parking lot

“how much?”

“stick-up-his-ass hong said ten million, the choi’s really want there watches and monet’s back.”

jihoon turns to you with a deadpan expression

“you know monet’s can go up to ten times that amount right?”

you shrug and shove a half eaten bar of candy in your mouth that you stole from a bowl by his computer

“i don’t know, i didn’t go to college for art history. anyway, can you help?”

“how much of your cut will i get.”

you lick your lips and think for a second

“if i get him alive i’ll cut you in thirty percent. if he’s dead, ten.”

jihoon taps his foot and adjusts the glasses on his nose, he told you once they’re for the blue light or whatever that come out of his six computers.

“deal.”

you come over and see him open up the page of one of the most expensive and professional art dealers in this city, jihoon mentions that this person is in charge of the buying accounts for all of the three families you mentioned

he also happens to manage the choi’s, so looking into him could lead to possible other leads for the three targets you have in mind

“if minghao is planning to rob them - he needs to know what pieces to take. he’s probably also tracking down what they’re currently thinking about buying.”

“yeah, and im gonna assume - you know, bounty hunters intuition or whatever, that he’s going to hit whichever family recently bought the most expensive piece.”

jihoon’s fingers type faster than your eyes can follow. he doesn’t even seem to move his face, just his pupils and then a bunch of screens are popping up everywhere

you had befriended him on an assignment to catch a hacker - not jihoon, although he’s actually got a price on his head too - but another hacker who was clambering up jihoon’s business

you watch as jihoon does his magic, and then in about ten or so minutes you have an answer

“one of the family’s just bought and received a vase from this guy, it won its auction at around twenty five million. it’s from the ming dyn-”

“which family?”

you don’t care if they got a vase, a sofa, a painting, or a gold and diamond encased piece of potato - something in your stomach told you that whoever just spent the most was on minghao’s radar and minghao was on yours

jihoon adjusts his glasses

“that would be ... oh, that would be the yoon family.”

you taste something iron on the tip of your tongue, yoon jeonghan was on the cover of last month’s vogue if you remember correctly

“got it. thanks.”

you shrug your jacket back on and jihoon spins around in his chair when you get to the door of his dark apartment 

“remember, thirty if he’s alive!”

“and ten if he’s not!”

you don’t like the fact that this new kid, seokmin, is standing outside the giant gates of the yoon family mansion 

he’s wearing a cut off white t-shirt and new balances for christs sake

“hey!” he looks like he’s seen the sun when he spots you sort of loitering nearby, you try to ignore him but he’s coming over

“hi.”

“staking out the yoon’s? my first impression was they’d be minghao’s next targets because they’re rich and like art too.”

you wonder how he knows that so you ask, half expecting he might actually tell you - which would be a stupid thing to do.

he does.

“oh! i mean their son is a designer, they must be the best people to steal from.”

that’s so fucking ridiculous but he’s actually right. going to tell jihoon im cutting his share in half since apparently his intel could have been free.

“uhuh. well good luck.”

the words are stale when you say them, but sparkling eyes seokmin takes them to heart with a gracious “you too!”

you actually didn’t come to stake them out - you came to see if minghao might be staking them out

no good thief actually just bursts into someone's home, they need to know every nook and cranny of a place if they want to get out clean

judging by minghao’s track record, you can tell he’s cautious and detailed

you circle the house at a safe distance and then head back home, you read a bunch of articles on minghao’s past crimes and eat the only thing you have in your fridge which is mint ice cream - it was left there by a late night hook up who’d doordashed 7/11 even when you told them not to

you do some other minor research on smaller bounties you could chase after minghao is caught, none are interesting or any where near the price of minghao’s

you lay down and the stray you recently started letting crawl through the fire escape makes a little fuzzy circle at the base of your feet

you look at your phone, look at the photo of minghao

wonder if he’s as detailed orientated in other things aside from stealing. looks like he’d know what to do with his hands.

you fall asleep with the phone on your chest.

the next day, you’re texting jihoon about the seokmin thing - he tells you to piss off and not even think about downing his cut or he’ll leak your social security on the internet

that’s so fucked up dude

you’re a shit bounty hunter and im a hermit hacker we aren’t good people anyway

fine, are the yoon’s buying any other vases or whatever

actually, they won an auction a month ago for some ceramics. heard they’re coming tomorrow.

oh, might be a good time to steal that vase and some extra trinkets too for our thief 

look how ugly these things are tho

jihoon sends you a photo pulled from the auctioning website, they are ugly, but they’re expensive

you rub your temple and decide that’s enough for today, you don’t see seokmin around either

seungcheol’s generic smiling im-a-good-mayor-and-i-kiss-babies face is grainy on your tv

you eat the takeout you picked up on the way back and are only mildly surprised when you notice someone familiar in the crowd

this is old footage, from a rally he did before the crime

your eyes pan to the corner and pull out one person from the sea of faces, everyone looks so excited to see seungcheol, minghao stands staunch and unwavering in the moving bodies

he’s not grinning - he’s kind of half smirking from what you can tell

he really does his research, i kind of like him

you put the chopsticks into your mouth, yeah. i think he’s going to be a fun one to catch.

goddamn seokmin is here again - on the night the drop shipment of the ceramics is scheduled - you tell yourself you were a clown for believing all that ‘i just thought they’d be the right family!’ bullshit he was telling you about

he probably has an informant of his own, definitely not jihoon though. seokmin is the type jihoon would rather drive a usb through his head than ever cooperate with

you avoid him the second you see his strong shilloute and make your way to the otherside of the house, right on the outskirts of the back garden

there’s one person in it - none of the immediate yoon family you can recognize, probably just a worker

you know there’s three entrances from here - the garden doors, the side opening that leads to an underground washing room, and there’s also a way to get into the back of the kitchen

you are betting that either one of them might be a good choice for minghao, but you put your bet on the washing room - it has stairs that lead up into a spare bedroom which is adjacent to a gallery type room inside of the huge mansion

it’s where the family will probably put the items, rich people love to be all like “look at my room of expensive things you don’t get to touch”

you stick your tongue out to yourself, morally you don’t care about thievery. especially when it’s stolen art stolen from people who just want it to feel superior to others

but minghao is worth ten million, that’s why im taking the higher ground on this ‘crime’

bounty hunters are allowed to carry guns, but you’ve never liked them - you like to use mace instead

that being said, you’ve brought your gun along - unloaded - just to use a scare tactic if push comes to shove. it’s heavy and it reminds you constantly of the job you came to do.

no getting distracted by newbie muscle heads or how hot you’re coming to think minghao is 

you hear something - eyes darting to behind one of the columns of a large gazebo in the garden

you swear you see something slink across as the only person in the garden gets up to head back inside

keeping your movements and noise to a minimum, you position your body for a better view and after what seems like two heartbeats you see him dart from the enclosure and toward the mansion

you don’t follow immediately, the only way you’re going to catch someone who is so elusive is if you one up him

you have the element of surprise, but not really, he might be expecting personal guards of the yoon household or the police

not a rogue bounty hunter with a can of mace

but he’s still expecting - and someone whose entire job is to be like a shadow - you’ve got to be careful

you wait the amount of time you deem appropriate and then do the same, you realize when you slip through the backdoor of the washroom that now you’re also committing a crime of breaking and entering

you’re sure the yoon’s won’t mind though - you are about to make sure their ceramics and vases don’t get stolen

plus, you checked up on all of them, the main family shouldn’t be home. the only people on premises are some cleaners and the gardener. you’re sure minghao knows that too.

you map out the house in your mind from what you’ve learned in the past couple of days and find the gallery with ease

you can see the large double doors are open just enough for a person to slip through

so he’s already in ther-

“HEY YOU! YOU BETTER STOP!”

your eyes widen and you push inside to see what’s going on 

seokmin, flashing something in his right hand and holding a light in the other is pointing at the long, lean figure of minghao

he’s standing there in the circle of light holding the vase you and jihoon had been looking at before

his eyes are unimpressed when they settle on seokmin

“ok, ive stopped - now what are you going to do?”

“im going to arrest you and bring you to the poli-”

the vase that’s held professionally between both his arms then gets dropped and crashes to the floor

the crescendo of noise startles seokmin because it’s the one thing all these new kids who want to try this kind of work get wrong

the thief is never going to drop the valuable goods - except they are, getting caught is worse then anything else. 

there will always be shit to steal - except you know if you’re in jail.

minghao beelines for the doors and you’re there, big grin and mace in hands

“hi!”

his eyes widden and you tackle him with ease, one hand bent behind his back as you make sure to keep your weight off him

“ugh, that big idiot had a partner?”

“he’s not my partner, by the way that vase is worth more than what im getting for your head.”

minghao shifts his cheek against the hard floor of the gallery and he’s smiling back up at you

“how much for me?”

“choi’s but ten million.”

he makes a pfft sound as he releases air from between his lips

“cheap as fuck.”

seokmin tries to bound over to help once he comes to, but you bite at him to back off. this is your win.

he says he can drive you and minghao to the station, but you tell him again that you’ve got this on your own

you kind of feel bad about how flustered he is and you tell him he can still brag about how you two were the only people with sense to look at the yoon’s 

for some reason, that actually brightens him up. he leaves to go downstairs and you don’t know if he sticks around or goes off on another job.

you get the handcuffs on minghao’s wrists before the workers, who hear the noise come running up in terror

you flash your bounty id and they scramble to get a hold of the local police office

minghao sits up against the wall and you sit directly in front of him - you can see him better with the lights on

his dark hair is long in the back and messy, his eyes are brown and long and twinkle when you look into them

the bottom corners are highlighted by what you can’t tell if is sweat or glitter

“you’re different”

he starts and you put up a finger

“im not different, im just experienced.”

“you like money more than you like your morals.”

you put the finger down and gleam at him

“bingo”

“so why are you sitting here waiting to hand me over for some chump change like ten million dollars when you and i are inches away from a collection that’s worth close to a hundred million?”

you touch the holster on your hip and tilt your head

“we - even the two of us - wouldn’t be able to steal everything in there. we’d need a whole team and-”

you start as minghao open’s his mouth to counter. all his teeth are white and straight.

“and if we could, you’d backstab me and take it all and run because you just said it yourself. money over morals.”

“ive got morals when im dealing with the right people.”

the snort you let out is louder than you expect and it makes minghao cock an eyebrow

“don’t care, you’re a professional liar. plus hong said he’d clear our records and get us that money.”

“joshua hong works for choi seungcheol who is a bigger liar than i am and you know it.”

there’s real spite in the way he says it - you assume he’s probably had interactions with both. or he’s just grown up in this city like you have, all the trouble politics can cause - all the stupid, underhanded shit that goes on

he leans a little forward

“plus, you’re hot. usually anyone who manages to catch me is very gruff and very mean.”

“i am gruff and mean, don’t test me.”

you banter but then look around and the gardener who was supposed to stay up here with you and minghao has turned his attention elsewhere - normal people don’t like facing criminals and well...whatever category bounty hunters are in.

“what’s the most expensive thing in that room.”

you ask under your breath suddenly, the police won’t be here for another five minutes at least. 

you text jihoon to tap into their comms and let you know the exact moment they’re at the door.

minghao shines that grin, slender fingers lift up and toward the door

“i broke it, but that place is jammed of other million dollar treasures. i saw an original signac that could score us close to 17 million.”

“a signac? who is that?”

minghao laughs with his hands still behind him

“so you’re hot but not into art, i can still work with that. he’s an artist, paul signac. the yoon’s own ‘la corne d'or.’” 

you shrug your shoulders again and pretend you don’t hear the first part but mutter that art doesn’t make sense to you and minghao lets out another quieter laugh

“it’s a painting of boats but it looks psychedelic almost, super colorful. thirty six or so inches across.”

you think to yourself - one painting and it’s 17 million, what if you get another painting with it

“ok...anything else in there catch your eye?”

minghao wiggles a little 

“lots, i know art like people know starbucks orders. very well.”

your phone pings and it’s jihoon’s warning. the police are going to be coming upstairs to take minghao off your hands in the next sixty to ninety seconds.

“i can’t trust you.”

he thins his lips and then taps your foot with his own, does a weird jostle of his body and then to your shock breaks out of his handcuffs with ease

he rubs his wrists as you think you hear some noise downstairs and the gardener jumps out of his seat to go greet the police without noticing the thing that just happened only a feet away from him

“i’ve had a bobby pin this whole time, i could have run away five whole minutes ago instead of giving you a history lesson on boat paintings worth more money than you’ve ever dreamt of.”

you don’t miss a beat 

“let’s get the fucking boats then.”

you get up and minghao takes a hold of your hand in a way you haven’t experienced since maybe middle school

like when a beloved childhood friend would take you and lead you toward the playground, giggle about school or your parents, pull you in to a fun moment under the basking sun

you and him stand, hand in hand, in front of the painting he mentioned

it’s pretty, it almost looks like it was drawn by crayons, you wonder why it’s so expensive 

“let’s take it and the two sketches over there, one’s a lady with a piano the other is a couple under an umbrella

“are they-”

“at least two million each. plus - we can comeback for the ceramics later.”

you don’t know why it makes you feel warm - but it does and you take the two framed sketches off the wall

the painting is large, but minghao has done this enough times before that he knows how to handle it - you two are out the hall and down the stairs by the time you hear the police shuffling up them

took their time thinking he’d just be sitting up there wrapped up like a present huh?

you think to yourself, minghao is quick on his feet and leads you in the direction of a inconspicuous looking tiny car that could seat you, him and maybe that stray that hangs around your apartment 

he opens the back and it is a perfect size for the painting

“did you come here on your bike?”

you realize the whole look of you must give away the fact that you ride one

“never, i dont bring it on jobs because people know what it looks like.”

he tips his fingers toward you in acknowledgement

“good because this car isn’t mine either, so add auto theft to the list of crimes you’re committing with me on this first date.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, can’t tell if he’s joking or not

he hits the gas before there’s any movement on the street where it’s parked - the yoon mansion fades into the distance as he rushes into the evening traffic

“is this the part where you kick me to the curb?”

you ask

minghao takes one hand off the wheel and puts it on your thigh

“this is the part where you tell me where you live so we can go get your things and ride off into the sunset, bonnie.”

you laugh

“so you’re clyde?”

he looks at you at a red light - looks at your lips and then your eyes

“do you want me to be?”

you can decide the answer to that yourself

*if you’re interested here is la corne d’or on the sothebys website. 

#listen idk what this is really but im worldbuilding a lot arent i #seventeen scenarios #seventeen au #seventeen imagines #minghao au #minghao scenarios #minghao imagines #the8 au #the8 scenarios #the8 imagines #the8 #minghao #seventeen #minghao x reader #the8 x reader #violence/ weapons/

[astromaki]

part 3 of second choice ; ceo!shoto todoroki x gn!reader (x ceo!katsuki bakugo) (1617 words)

part 1. part 2. (previous) part 4.

tw ; angst, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, degradation, divorce, mention of alcohol, bad language, slightly suggestive ?

EXTRA INFOS ;; all the characters are aged up obviously (they are 30 here), the point of view of this third part is from shoto todoroki !

confrontation. [7 : 16 pm]

a week has passed since he came home that night drunk. that he had begged momo to stay with him. that he had accidentally seen those divorce papers crumpled by your hands.

momo had seen them too that night, and yet she and shoto had not commented on them. good, he wasn't in the mood anyway.

it had become almost official, even the media had it on their front pages. "one of japan's richest couples on the verge of divorce?", "billionaire todoroki single again?" "y/n, will the heir.ess of their father's company return to being a lawyer?"

he would have liked to say that he cared what you thought about it. if you cried, screamed, were you hurt ? but that would be lying, you were the least of his worries.

and then, wasn't it what he wanted from the beginning ?

that you would end up hating him so much that you would leave him. that he could finally be free of the weight that you represented every day.

and yet his signature was still missing.

"you can't even love your partner properly, and now i hear through the media that a divorce is on the way ? you're pathetic son. i knew i should have married them to touya. " enji's heart-attack voice echoed terribly through the phone, which made shoto sigh. he was even pretty sure he could hear it from across town.

"calm down." shoto said in an annoyed tone. "your marriage isn't a success either, so keep your remarks to yourself. bye. "

"you idiot, don't you dare hanging up on me. i don't care if you can't satisfy your s/o, i don't care if they feel bad about this arranged marriage either. but y/n y/l/n comes from a very famous lawyer's family, so get a divorce and the amount of money you have to give will be huge. "

"i manage them, it will not be a problem. i have to go now. "

the young man finally returned to your room, looking exhausted, his tie loosened and ready to down a few glasses of whiskey.

however, he was surprised to see you. dressed in a beautiful versace dress/suit, you were glowing. well no, he meant that you looked... good.

though, it was the first time he took the time to look at you. to admire you.

the young man finally met your indifferent gaze through the mirror you were standing in front of. that gaze that was so joyful and sparkling at the beginning of your marriage, full of hope to transform this purely financial union into a love marriage.

but that look, devoid of emotion, almost made shoto, Japan's most ambitious ceo, doubt himself. almost.

"i'm surprised you're still using my card to splurge. how much is this one? $1000 ? $2000 ?"

he was tired, exhausted. nut the truth is he was in the mood to be a pain in the ass tonight.

"$ 8,330. plus the $800 pair. " you replied coldly.

your answer was like a slap in the face to your husband. not because of the price, he didn't give a fuck about this.

but this tone right there. it wasn't like you. you were normally so gentle, patient even with the worst of the crap he put you through. that naive kindness that made him want to vomit was completely gone. he didn't expect such a turn of events.

"so you decide to divorce me, but first you want to empty my bank account? you're exactly as I imagined." his look that used to reflect nothing but fatigue was now full of contempt for you.

you finally faced him. shit, he couldn't help but find you beautiful.

"here todoroki, let's talk about the divorce. " you began, quietly walking over to the cabinet and pulling out a stack of documents. "i've signed it, sign it, and i'll take it to my lawyers first thing in the morning.

he snatched them out of your hand and threw them across the room. you didn't even flinch, you even held his gaze. poker face.

a loud silence fell between you. a long silence, uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. heavy and light. sensible and meaningless.

"what's all this about ? who put you up to this ?"

a wry laugh escaped your lips. your new behavior puzzled shoto. he loved and hated what he had in front of him. a challenge.

"you think i need someone to make me realize that i deserve better than an asshole like you ? fuck, let me laugh. "

your hand went to retrieve a piece of paper from your purse. and it was slammed hard against his chest. bakugou’s business card.

he found your face inches from his, your warm breath gently caressing his cheeks. a scent of whiskey filled his nostrils. you were not sober.

"how many drinks are you on? " he asked quietly.

"so now do you care if i downed a whole bottle or not ? oh please shut up. because now that you mention it, your friend bakugou katsuki may have hired me. to be his company's business lawyer. isn't that funny? "

you turned your back on him, unaware of the state you'd put him in. but damn, it was like he'd just been slapped in the face. nausea took over his whole body, his legs became heavy and weak in few seconds only. and he knew damn well it wasn't fatigue.

so you were leaving him, but on top of that you were going to work for his number one competitor ?

he didn't know what hurt more, the knowledge that bakugo had won one of the most competent lawyers in the field or that you were leaving him for him ? was he jealous ? surely not, it was another feeling that repulsed him. he didn't even know.

"have you lost your tongue todoroki ?"

todoroki ? since when did you call him by his last name ? where are the darlings or my heart that used to annoy him so much ?

you finish getting ready, now wearing your long jacket. he had lost his tongue indeed, he didn't know what to say to you. what to do.

y/n y/l/n, you had succeeded in putting your husband to the wall.

but it was only for a moment. he quickly, too quickly, pulled himself together. his usual irritated expression returned.

"you don't see that he's using you to get ahead of me ? i thought you were smarter than that. "

he took a step forward, slowly but surely. like a predator approaching its prey.

"he doesn't care about you. just like no one has ever cared about you, not me, not him and not your bourgeois family. that's why they put you in a loveless marriage so easily. "

a mirthless laugh escaped from his lips.

"y/n, this bastard doesn't give a damn about you. "

you tried to move towards him, ready to slap him, but the alcohol made you capsize and stumble on your carpet. he arrived just in time to support you with his muscular arms. an annoyed sigh resounded in the large room when your sob reached his ears.

nevertheless, a petty smile stretched his lips. there you were again, the fragile and unassertive y/n finally in his arms.

that bakugo had managed to turn your brain inside out. yet shoto knew you better than anyone else. he knew you. better than you knew yourself. you were that puzzle he had managed to decipher long ago.

"that's not true. kacchan wouldn't do that...", you whisper.

"you know i'm right, sweetheart. you know i'm the only one who's honest with you. my love for you is all you need. "

his muscular hand gradually, peacefully, came to caress your back to take off the buttons of your dress. his lips came to meet yours, to draw you into a long, languid, unsentimental kiss. your lips asked for more, your whole soul asked for more of shoto. more of this man for whom your heart never stopped beating. even if his was vibrating for another woman.

you wanted to feel his lips making love to you sensually, sincerely.

you just wanted him to love you for one night. one fucking night.

shoto was ecstatic. he could already see himself opening a bottle of champagne with his father, to celebrate the divorce that would never happen. tonight, shoto had brought out his best acting skills. millions were at stake. he had brought out his best kiss. he had never touched you like that. so gently, so carefully.

he had never called you by any affectionate nickname.

he has done too much to keep you around.

and you were drunk, not stupid.

you finally stood up, moving away from him, reluctantly. nothing he said was true. from his love for you, to his accusations against katsuki.

awkwardly, you put your dress/suit back on properly.

"i have a meeting with my future employer mr. bakugou tonight. i'll be late. don't wait for me, i'll sleep at the hotel tonight, with your card. "

a red color came to his cheeks. anger ? sadness ? jealousy ?

he had never seen you so determined, so proud. and that attracted him. he was going to lose millions, no matter what. but it was you who was going to escape him. for that bastard bakugou katsuki.

the nice little y/n was no longer shoto todoroki's.

AHHH omg sorry sorry i told you i can't do a fluffy end!! >< (comments and reblogs are appreciated <3)

🔖 tag list ; @nveusii @angelofthorr @missmolliemoo @jazzylove @loki-an-idiot @deepestranchgoopdeputy @mhasimp666 @shotorozu @chscklvr @devilsbooksworld @marshmallow12345 (ones in bold cannot be tagged)

#bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x you #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #shoto todoroki x you #shoto x you #shoto x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki angst #bnha shoto #bakugou x reader #bakugo x self insert #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugou katsuki

[hotdamnhunnam]

🎰🔪🧨 with Charlie himself. 🤞🏻

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

..................................................

Slut Machine

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, Vegas shenanigans Word Count: ~1.5k Emoji Prompt: 🎰🔪🧨 (key words are in bold)

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

… Whose voice is that? Your senses are too hazy yet to process who it was or what he said. You blink your bleary eyes and wake up in an… unfamiliar bed. The sheets are a ridiculous resplendent red—must be a love motel or some shit—there’s a story as to how you ended up here but you find you can’t remember any of it. Sleep was so deep that you feel as if you’re waking from the dead.

When your eyes finally flutter open everything comes flooding back. You’re here in bed with Charlie Motherfucking Hunnam and the sight of his blue gaze and bright white grin gives you a goddamn heart attack.

You cover your face with your hands and groan out loud at just how mortified you are. Recalling how you’d made a clown out of yourself last night when you bumped into this million-dollar movie star. Literally bumped into him—till yesterday you never even knew him—you had just been crushing hard on him for years but he was always a completely unattainable celebrity. A girls’ trip brought you to Sin City; you and your besties were hopping casually from bar to bar, when you had stumbled clumsily straight into Charlie as he stepped out of his car.

You’d simply scurried off in that instant ‘cause he was too damn beautiful in person and your ass was terrified. But then bumped into him again soon after you both got inside. This time you had a full martini glass in hand and spilled its contents all across his shirt and thought you ought to help the man get dried. Decided then you really shouldn’t try to run away and hide.

You’d grabbed a bunch of napkins, dabbing at his chest and abs through the damp fabric as you nervously apologized for what happened. Your spastic wiping motions all across his chiseled muscles weren’t exactly very helpful with the spilled drink situation, as your brain cells were all absent in the face of heaven’s most stunning creation. Charlie said some shit about how bumping into you a second time wasn’t an accident. You were too hypnotized with lust to understand just what he meant.

He joked that you could make it up to him by winning him a jackpot at the slot machines. You told him shyly that the whole gambling thing isn’t quite your scene. Although he didn’t want to pressure you he asked you to indulge him in a night of fun—all kinds of shit you’d never done—let him take you out around Vegas to the wildest places you had never been.

It didn’t make sense that you felt so safe with him but hell you did. You were still sober by the time Charlie was coming onto you and all your girlfriends chanted do it do it do it! And the craziest night of your life began before you even knew it. Took you to his favorite high-stakes casino—then to seats in the front row at a big AEW Dynamite show—and then to some intense axe-throwing place that also offered knives and ninja stars and other shit to throw.

The best part of the night though… was of course when Charlie claimed you as his dirty little ho. The memory of it is vivid as you look up at him now and find that both of you are still stuck in the most mind-blowing afterglow.

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

“No way that was your first fucking time throwing knives?!” Charlie shakes his blonde head in defeat as he walks you back out to the sweet car he drives. “Bitch I swear you’ve been doing this shit your whole life.”

You slide into the passenger seat while erupting in laughter. He’s so fucking butthurt that your aim was better than his because he’s a competitive smug little bastard. “Well I am an assassin specifically hired to take out insanely attractive actors… but I can assure you that wasn’t a factor.”

He closes the driver’s side door, turns the keys and the engine ignites in a smooth thrumming roar. “And by ‘take out’ you mean…?”

“It’s cute of you to ask but dinner and a movie isn’t really the assassin scene.”

He chuckles playfully as he speeds down the street, the night alive with white hot heat, the lights of Vegas bright as ever as the night deepens. “You gonna kill me in my sleep, then?”

“That’d be making it too easy.”

“Babe, don’t tease me. We both know you make it hard.”

Okay so he just pulled that card.

Fight off the burning urge to stare down at his crotch—no doubt the car would crash then if you saw what you’re imagining and know you’d be unable to resist the urge to touch…

You’ve never wanted anyone or anything in all your life so fucking much.

The sudden tension in the air leads him to smooth back his slicked hair, facing the road with a restrained stare. He’s been picking up on signals all night long but doesn’t dare to just assume you want to go there. Tries to come off calm and cool although there’s nothing he wants more. “So, uh—should I just drive you back to your hotel or…?”

The voice that comes out of your mouth is one you barely even recognize. It takes both you and Charlie by surprise, the way your inner slut replies: “That’d be a fucking bore. You know I’d much rather you take me back to yours… so you can fuck me like a filthy little whore.”

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

The swanky penthouse suite in the five-star hotel where Charlie came to stay… it’s a ten-minute drive away.

That’s way too far needless to say.

He needs you right this second, after what you’d gone and said—although the backseat of his car is a fine spot for a good wrecking, there are fifty shades of shit he’d rather do with you spread in the comfort of a big sumptuous bed.

Thankfully there is an extremely tacky-looking love motel just down the road. And it’s the perfect place for you two to check in and let your passions for each other just explode.

It turns out this particular motel has a requirement for guests to stay the night that just might pose a bit of trouble: lovebirds have to pass through the adjoining chapel first and be a lawfully wedded couple.

So you stand uncomfortably at the reception desk and bite your tongue. Happen to know that Charlie tied the knot in Vegas once when he was young; you’ve heard about it in some interviews. You’re sure that he’d have no desire to repeat that same mistake tonight with you.

But this has been a night of wild crazy shit and he’s on fire to continue.

Mostly it’s just that he really needs his dick in you… but there’s a spark that he can feel might someday blossom into something more and he just hopes that you can feel it too.

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

Of course you do. The ceremony is a joke but you’re both giddy as if it’s real by the time you’ve seen it through. There’s just no hope of sanity and self-control between you two.

You’re in a fluffy white confection of a wedding gown that this establishment provided for the night. You look like a big puff of cotton fucking candy and he wants to take a bite. So much about this night seems wrong, but when the heat between the racing of your heartbeats is so strong, it can’t feel anything but right.

Once you’re at last inside your room he throws you down onto the bed and dives headfirst into your gown, and goes to town, taking you high until you die as he goes down.

The dress is so damn big, that you can’t see his flawless face, let alone his glorious dick, and that’s a royal fucking waste. You need to see and touch and taste.

He knows exactly what you need and ravenously rips the poufy fabric off of you. His pearly smile and the bristles of his beard are gleaming with your pussy juices as he climbs on top of you. You long to tell him just how bad you want to blow him—want to tell him that you love him even though you barely know him—it would be fucking insane to say I love you, but of course you can still show him.

Yet he wants to consummate this marriage first, before he lets you satisfy your thirst. You’ll have a lifetime’s worth of days and nights to suck on his big dick if you decide to stay with him and make him yours.

That’s everything you want of course.

This whirlwind of a night that started with a stupid joke about hitting the jackpot at the slot machines… turned into you being his motherfucking wife, after the wildest and best night of your motherfucking life. And now he’s here on top of you about to fuck you and it’s totally outrageously obscene.

You wouldn’t have it any other way ‘cause you know you were put on earth to serve as Charlie Hunnam’s dirty little slut machine.

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Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

@happyhunnams @band--psycho @est11 @edonaspanca @starbooty @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @coffeebooksandfandom @thesuicidalflower @flaireandsynch @helloheyhihowdyheya @gemini0410 @waywardodysseys @zozebo @bettergetusetoit @emilykjh @little-diable @rocketqueen @mrspeacem1nusone @miss-smutty @rayslittlekitten @abby-splace @chubbychubbs28 @miraclesoflove @tegggeeee @hunnambabe @missusnora @kesskirata @vixenrebellion @thexhostess @pomegranatearildreams @kandii395 @severewobblerlightdragon @itspdameronthings @niki-xie @cind-in-real-life @saweetspoiled @poge-life @few-proud-emotonal @samanthaisnthome @melodranas @soaharleys @charlie-hunnams-old-lady @simpmasterjr @nataliewalker93 @lovebarefootblonde @marvelousmermaid @tsukuyomi011 @sciapod @midnight-dreams-23

#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam smut #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam fic #charlie hunnam x reader #charlie hunnam x you #jax teller #sons of anarchy #soa #gavin nichols #the ledge #rpf #rpf fanfic #rpf fanfiction #celebrity imagines #emoji fics

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 6

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: Connor gets his new assignment. He's not thrilled.

AO3

Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

Chapter 5 art by @semains​ (18+ only)

November 6th, 2038

Saturday 09:56AM

There was a time when Connor didn’t have to come in on Saturdays. He remembered the days when mandatory overtime was few and far between.

Not anymore. 2038 seemed to be the year shit just kept happening, and now that he thought about it, quite a few of it seemed to be because of androids. Ones gone missing. Disobeying orders. And now, homicidal.

Connor rubbed the bridge of his nose after putting his car into park, regretting how enthusiastically he’d hit the bottle last night. It wasn’t too bad this time, just an annoying throbbing behind his eyes, but it made it more difficult to see and he’d had to squint through his windshield.

Whatever. The reason for his shame-drinking was no longer relevant. Connor just had to survive until lunchtime, and if he were lucky, Hank would let him go early. He tried not to itch at the butterfly bandages on his cheek, applied himself after he’d woken up in a haze with blood on his pillow having completely forgotten the injury existed.

Connor kept his head down as he walked through the lobby of the station and through the security checkpoint to the bullpen proper. He tried not to be completely antisocial, however, and sent weak smiles at the coworkers who bothered to notice he was there.

Helen, Alexander, and Rupert all acknowledged him with various degrees of warmth, some colder than others, and all pretty much deserved. Ralph gave Connor a nervous smile from his chair, though it quickly faded as his eyes flickered to something across the room.

Frowning, he followed Ralph’s eye line across the bullpen and scowled when he spotted Colin leaning casually against Connor’s desk, talking to… someone. He couldn’t see who, Colin’s figure blocking them from view.

Against his better judgement, Connor drew closer, pressure building at the back of his neck, an uneasy feeling of dread that increased with each step.

“Con’s just gonna love this. But seriously, if he bitches about it too much, or gives you a hard time, you can always partner up with me. I won’t mind one bit, promise.”

Connor would have rolled his eyes at his brother’s typical cocksure demeanor, but instead, he went stock still at the familiar voice that answered.

“While the offer is appreciated, Lieutenant, my instructions stipulate that I must assist Detective Anderson with his new, specialized caseload. I’m sure you can understand that CyberLife only wishes to cooperate with the DPD and does not want to interfere with police procedure—“

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The YN800 model blinked and turned its head to meet Connor’s eye, its little blue light blinking for a moment before solidifying again.

It was sitting in Connor’s chair.

“It’s good to see you again, Detective,” it answered, chipper as ever as a fake smile graced its features.

Connor looked the prototype over, his nose crinkling at its appearance. The suit must have been brand new, there were no stains or bullet holes, and her—its hair was once again pinned upwards into a perfect knot.

He felt his insides churn at the near slip, at thinking for even a split second that this thing was a person. Shoving down the crude thoughts of the night before, Connor gave the order through gritted teeth.

“Get. Up.”

The prototype did as it was told, for once. It rose out of his chair, not even having the decency to look chagrined as it straightened its jacket of nonexistent wrinkles.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I tried to call your phone and left you a message. It was not my intention to surprise you—“

“Oh, no, it’s never your intention to do anything, is it?” Connor snarled back. His headache was in full force now, and he swore he could see the bright lights of the station brighten in time with his heartbeat.

“Aw, c’mon!” Colin slapped him on the shoulder. “Be nice to the temp.”

“Temp?” Connor answered, voice pulled as taut as a wire.

“Yeah, you know. The temporary assistant. The new girl. The—“

He shoved Colin’s hand off his shoulder, leveling a glare at both of them. Colin merely shot him a shit-eating grin while the YN800 stood there, hands clasped behind its back at parade rest, polite and perfect as ever.

“Connor!”

All three of them turned toward the voice booming across the room.

“Get in here!”

Connor glared at the android, as if Hank’s shouting were its fault, which was probably the case.

He turned without a word and stalked to the captain’s office, shoulders hunched as his heart raced and his hands shook at his sides. He let the glass door fall shut behind him, but when he didn’t hear the whoosh of it close, he glanced over his shoulder to see the YN800 had followed him inside.

Great.

Connor stood in front of the desk with his arms crossed.

Hank sat down in his chair, pointedly looking at the chairs in front of his desk. Connor remained standing.

The older man glared, answering Connor’s attitude with a look and a heavy sigh.

“Bet you’re wondering what that’s about.” Hank jerked his chin over Connor’s shoulder. The prototype had taken a spot at the back of the office, observing politely with its hands clasped in front of its hips.

“Yeah, I am.” Connor was a little too cranky this morning to try a more diplomatic approach. “What the hell is it doing here?”

“I’ll get to that. First on the docket, I got a shit ton of android-related cases filling up our database every day and I’m at wit’s end.” Hank took a deep breath, bracing himself as he met Connor’s eye. “Which is why I’m assigning all of these cases to you.”

“You’re what?”

Connor stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You think that case last night was a one-off? We’ve got more android-related crimes rolling in, including assaults and homicides just as bad as the Ortiz case, and right now, you’re the one with the most experience.” Hank leaned his elbows on his desk as he leveled a formidable glare his way. “Is that going to be a problem, Connor?”

 “Yeah, it is a problem, Hank! Why the hell do I have to do this? What about Colin? He was with me at the crime scene and was there for the interrogation!” Connor shoved a finger at the glass wall to prove his point.

Hank’s jaw tightened. Connor had seen that behavior enough times to recognize how he was pushing his luck.

“CyberLife asked for you specifically.”

“What?” Connor blinked, dumbfounded once again, racking his brain but coming up empty. “Why?”

“The hell if I know!” Hank barked back, rising to his feet as he pointed a finger at Connor, “and frankly, I don’t give a damn. Colin’s got enough on his plate—“

“—and I don’t?” Connor interrupted, scowling. Hank sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, and Connor almost felt guilty for his outburst.

Almost.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you implied.” He tried not to sound like a hurt child, but, well, that’s exactly what he sounded like.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor! There are more people that are gonna start dying from this!”

“Yeah, I know, but—“

Hank lifted his hand, palm forward, effectively shutting Connor up.

“You saw what one of those deviants was capable of last night, and that was with three of you and another android trying to get it under control! You think the average person stands a chance against one of these fucks? That a little ol’ grandma can defend herself against the murderous robot gardener coming at her with a pair of shears? What the hell happens when a nanny bot decides to take a human kid for itself? Oh, wait, that’s already happened, and you would know that if you checked the goddamn case files I sent you!”

Connor was silent as Hank deflated. The older man leaned back against his desk as he looked through his glass wall out over the bullpen. His voice was rough but much quieter for the next round.

“We’re totally in the dark, Connor. We don’t know how bad this is gonna get and how many androids we’re dealing with. This has the potential to turn into a fucking nightmare with Detroit as ground zero.” Hank’s gaze drifted over Connor’s shoulder to the elephant, or the machine, in the room. “CyberLife was gracious enough to send us a state-of-the-art prototype until this issue is contained. It’s gonna be your partner until such a time that these androids are no longer a threat, and then you’re free to go back to being a misanthropic son-of-a-bitch as much as you like.”

Connor was thoroughly shamed by the end of Hank’s speech, that old familiar feeling of disappointment making his gut roil with nausea, but his anger hadn’t entirely flagged. He clenched his hands tightly to his thighs, fingers desperate for either his coin or his cigarettes.

Connor hadn’t felt the need for one in months. This was bad.

“Hank,” he tried again, his voice soft and pleading in that way he knew Hank couldn’t ignore. “I’m not saying this just to be a pain in your ass. I understand the stakes, but I genuinely believe I’m not qualified for these types of cases. I’m not a CyberLife technician, or an AI specialist, or a computer engineer. I’ve never even owned an android.”

That last one was technically true but only in the barest sense, and Hank gave him a knowing look. It wasn’t without sympathy, and his own answer was given with more kindness than he probably deserved.

“I know, Connor. I also know you’re the sharpest pair of eyes on the force, not to mention the quickest brain and the best instinct. You see shit other people don’t, even Colin, and you’ve got this creepy knack for taking one look at a person and knowing what makes ‘em tick. I’d say you’re almost like an android yourself, but I know how much that’d piss you off.”

Connor gave him another narrow-eyed scowl, and Hank immediately put up his hands as a sign of surrender even as a smirk played on his lips.

“My point is, I need you on this, son. I know it’s not ideal, hell, it downright sucks, but I know you can do this. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

And there it was. As effective as Connor’s pleading expressions could be, they were nothing in comparison to his need for Hank’s praise. The old geezer knew it, too.

And throwing a “son” into the mix was a goddamn dirty move, but Connor couldn’t even muster up annoyance. He just sighed, gave Hank the smallest hint of a smile, and said, “All right. But only until these cases are solved. Once the deviancy issue is addressed, the prototype is going back to CyberLife and you never give me an android case again.”

“I’ll pay for the postage to ship it back myself,” Hank said, smile wide and pleased as he patted Connor on the shoulder before returning to his desk. “And I want daily reports on the progress you and your new partner are making. Gotta make sure CyberLife’s best is pulling its weight.”

“I can assure you, Captain Anderson, I am worth every penny. And considering it took a small fortune to build me, I—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank interrupted the prototype, using that catchphrase that Connor and all of his brothers had picked up years ago. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The android blinked almost comically before giving a slow nod. It then turned to face Connor, straightening its back at attention, and he rolled his eyes. He was still being handed the shit end of the stick, but he couldn’t deny that the cases were piling up and Hank really did need the extra help.

But why, out of all the androids in the world, did it have to be one like that.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Connor turned and left Hank’s office, not waiting to see if the android would follow, knowing with a sinking feeling, it would.

Next Chapter

#connor x reader #human!connor x reader #human!connor x android!reader #connor x android!reader #inside your wires #my fanfiction #my writing

[batarella]

3 birds 1 stone - chapter 3

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: New readers, I’d like to welcome you to my blog by showing you exactly why when I wrote IDHY, a virtual angry mob was ready to burn me at the stake. Do enjoy.

WORDS: 8670  WARNINGS: PTSD

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

You were so happy then.

Before everything happened, when things went for the worst, when your life was so much more than having to settle with the mounds of shit some cruel deity decided to throw at your face. Before your life was just some settlement, which was what it probably was going to be for so long, for as long as you could foresee what was in store for you.

Back then, you were in this blissful bubble of obliviousness, having plans of your own for the next years without much thought on circumstance. You had this kind of illusive mirage that somehow, this was how it was always going to be. You knew, deeply, that it probably won't be. You knew something might happen, something bad that could put an end to this freedom. But you were ignorant, enough to still go through with these plans and thoughts, let them have their place in your head as if they were permanent. You knew they’d have to change, maybe to some extent. Just not to the extent of what actually happened.

Though you couldn’t say you wasted those oblivious moments not living each day as if you were going to suddenly drop dead on the next, especially since you actually did live those days so near to death each time without regret. You were, in the closest sense, a bird taking advantage of its large wingspan, taking advantage of its flight. You were happy, and even when you couldn’t exactly tell how those happy, oblivious days were about to be stripped away, you never let the sun set and the darkness rise when you weren’t fighting for others, fighting beside your loved ones, providing a kind of service that was needed but wasn’t so deserved, so they hadn’t gone to waste, not in your eyes. You didn’t look back and think you should have done more. You did enough. You did what you could.

One of these included what was probably one of the most stupid decisions for even a sixteen-year-old could possibly make.

The winds weren’t so strong, and it wasn’t so freezing that your limbs would occasionally stiffen after five seconds of immobility. Not many birds. No helicopters. No drones up in the air to catch you in the act. The city was practically inviting you to soar, let your wings take flight and feel exactly what it was like to be a feather so light, falling from such heights in the most delicate, mesmerizing drop, or perhaps an eagle with its wings closed, diving from thousands of feet up in the clouds, let the mist run through its feathers until it reaches so closely to the ocean’s surface, then it extends its impressive wings, gliding and hovering over the water.

It shouldn’t be any reason to do this, though. You weren’t a feather and you weren’t a literal bird. Its feasibility shouldn’t be reason enough to just set all other logical thought aside.

But, again, you don’t like wasting time. You didn’t like letting the days go without flying, falling, living.

Robin, on the other hand, clearly had more practical senses than you were, because he was shivering with his knees by then just from the sight of being a hundred stories above ground, on the highest tower in Gotham. You were right at the base of its antenna and the air was so light that if you weren’t going to get out of there any time soon, both you and your partner would drop lightheaded.

But your head wasn’t spinning. You weren’t trembling. You weren’t at all bothered by the heights and you held yourself up as if you hadn’t a fear in the world. You were the free-spirit, the bird that just couldn’t stay stagnant on a tree’s branch. Laughing at Robin, whose eyebrows were almost sticking up his forehead, you grabbed his hand.

“Tim. Seriously. You don’t have to do this with me-“

“No. No. No. I’m not letting you do this alone. It’s stupid enough as it is.”

“Then stop shaking!” you put your arm around his shoulders, then both of you turned at the ground that was much too small and blurry for you to make out anything other than the thick road. The thick, cement road that certainly was going to break you like shattered glass if things go wrong. Robin wasn’t like you, obviously. He liked to go through things after calculating every possibility, go through the safest, smartest manner and he certainly didn’t like putting his life at risk just because he wanted to.

But, then again, this had you involved.

You held his hand, squeezed it hard, then Robin let the thinning air fill his lungs to a bulk he’d probably never reached until then. He stopped shaking, or at least forced himself to stop shaking, then you turned his chin to look at you.

That’s when he smiled.

“Ready?”

“Wait, now?!”

“If we stay here, we’ll pass out!”

“Wait!” he bounced on his feet, breathing in, breathing out. You wished he wasn’t awake this time just from the rush of caffeine, but it was too late to back out now. If anything happens, you’ll be there. You’ll save him.

Do you trust yourself enough? Yes. Should you? Probably not. No one would.

“Okay, okay. Let’s do this.”

Hand in hand, you bent your knees, eyes on the ground. You ignored the thinning air. You ignored the strengthening winds. No noise. Just you and the height.

Like eagles soaring to the ocean, or a feather dropping from the clouds, you and Robin jumped from a hundred stories above and let the winds speed violently past the frozen muscles on your cheeks, the mist that was running up your suits, only to be suspended in the air when you continued to drop. Heads first, hands firm on your sides, you were alive. You were living.

“WOOOO!” you screamed until your throat burned, probably not a good idea when there were bugs all around, but it couldn’t be helped. Then your arms were up, enjoying the thrill, enjoying the fall. Robin was more focused, serious. He kept his hands strong and firm, watching as the ground grew nearer and nearer.

You dove through the air. Everything else was still, unmoving. Time was practically stopping all around you. You and Robin were in this own secluded space of a blurry, messy little figment of ecstasy, a moment when you shouldn’t care about the world, nor could you. Further and further down, you forgot you were human.

Just a few stories up from the ground, you both shot your capes up to break the fall, suspend yourselves in the air whilst ignoring the slapping impact. Arms were starting to hurt, but you held on. You were gliding down, and it was slowing.

Then you shot your grapples up to the building right across, Queen Industries, and suddenly rising back up towards the sky from whence you were sinking from. The shift of the winds wasn’t so kind to your skin, but it was all the more uplifting, invigorating. Every nerve ending in your body was buzzing and your blood was going rampant.

When your feet landed on the rooftops and your bodies rolled about the floor, there was an inescapable grin on your face, cheeks numb from either the rush, the air, or from your smiles. And your laughter was everywhere. With your trembling arms circling your own stomach, you rolled about, chuckling on the ground. The high was there. You didn’t want it to go away.

“That was amazing!” you screamed. Robin, who was also on the ground near you, wasn’t as ecstatic. He looked scared out of his wits, lips were almost as white as his skin, and the poor thing was visibly shaking. You started to crawl after him, but you just couldn’t stop laughing.

A few more moments to get yourselves together, Robin catching his breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t about to die, and you with your high slowly subsiding but your chuckles still there, he finally pulled himself up.

“Fucking come here, you.”

“Tim, no!”

He slammed his body against you on the ground. You were both numb and buzzing, and you laughed and tried so hard to push him off of you, but his back was against your chest, and he certainly wasn’t very light. Both of you smiling, laughing, Robin grabbed both your hands and pinned it against the floor so you couldn’t budge.

“Not so fun, now is it?”

“Get off me!”

“We could have died!” he laughed.

“Yet, here we are!”

He was so pretty, even with the mask. His nose was sniffling from the cold, and still his skin was warm felt through his suit that was against you. His masked face was starting to get closer, and you kept laughing, still in a buzz. It was his choice to come with you, and you wouldn’t have let him if you didn’t know your dangerous endeavors most often left Tim just as high up in the clouds as you were. A break from his work.

He stayed on top of you, no longer laughing. He was watching you with your cheeks so high up and your smile so contagious. Robin’s one hand was now on your face, gently holding it. He was your high. He was the happiness you thought would never go away. The happiness that was permanent. You swore you could feel bells and keys playing in the distance, because everything around you suddenly felt so soft and delicate, like the air was afraid to topple you over.

This attitude you had of being a wild bird, so unafraid of falling yet so afraid of not being able to fly, it probably wasn’t a good idea with you not exactly being the best fighter in the family. Close calls, you had them too many times. Sometimes, it was to no other’s fault than yours. They worried you in the aftermath. They made you train for hours on end, but that was only because pulling your muscles with training just seems like a better option than being more cautious, to clip your arms back, or worse, your wings. You liked flying too much. You weren’t about to give it up.

You lived, and when you did, so did Tim.

You stopped by then, silent. The high from the fall had subsided, but it was then overtaken by Robin’s breath so cool against your mouth, your noses touching so playfully and delicately. You grinned from ear to ear, and when you felt his forehead starting to lean right against yours, your communicators started up.

You threw your head back against the ground, and Robin frustratingly groaned, pushing on his ear. “Batman?”

Though his arms were still around you and he just let your fingers continue to lightly trace the R on his chest.

“Trouble at Drescher. Sending you coordinates right now. You two get over here ASAP.”

Eyes shut close, he turned his communicator off, then took another minute to look at you in the eyes. You drew his hair back on his head, letting the strands breeze through your cool fingers. A peck to your nose, then Robin sat up and pulled you with him.

“Wanna do that again, soon?”

“No. Not in my life. And neither will you.”

You pouted, but he just pinched your cheek. “Race you.”

“Wait-“

He started running down the ledge, and before you knew it, he was jumping towards another rooftop, shooting his grappling gun in the air. You knew you wouldn’t win this, yet you ran after him, faster than your legs could bear.

Everyday, it was like this. You loved the thrill. You loved that high. You craved it every time. You went through training like a madman just so your life wouldn’t be put in as much of a risk. You did everything to enjoy what you had, never letting anything go without being cherished, without being put to its use. And that included your wings. You did enough when you could. You did everything.

You just wished you could continue to do it now.

-----

A yellow bow, perfectly tied and fixed on the top. The wrapping could have gone a bit better, but you guessed it looked decent enough. It had to be seamless, perfect, just as he’d wrapped all those other Valentine’s day gifts he never failed to send to you each year. At this point, it was unfair how Tim’s gift had the most attention, the cleanest, most delicate wrapping that hoarded most of your efforts than all your other gifts, and it wasn’t without a smile when you tied that perfect bow and smoothed out the wrapper with your palms. And on the tag, beautiful calligraphy that spelled out his name with a heart on the side. All the while, you had soft, soothing tunes playing from the phone plugged beside your bed and the window slightly open to let the cool in. Snow was falling so delicately, onto the ledge outside your room and some on the window sill.  

Wiping that bit of sweat on your hairline despite the cold, you piled Tim’s gift with everyone else’s in a large bag and stood from your desk. It was well into the noon. Everyone should be on their way to the manor by now.

And only at Wayne Manor could you get away with having a Christmas pool party in the middle of a stormy winter. At the indoor pool, of course, where everything was heated and warm. It was Steph’s idea. As much as you’d prefer to do other things, you couldn’t exactly vote your way out of this.

With your bag full of gifts on your shoulder, you stepped out into the falling snow, hands deep into your coat, then you hailed a taxi.

Tim would probably like what you got him, though it wasn’t exactly a gift you’d normally give to just any casual friend. Not that Tim was a casual friend in the slightest. A watch. An expensive one that you bought with the money he paid with for the last painting he bought from you. You had no idea it would eventually add up to such an amount, but it got you to buy him a decent gift. And to add to the sentimentality, you added a small painting the size of your hand sitting with the watch in the box. It was of you and him, in your old suits, overlooking the City of Gotham from the highest tower. You also made the box yourself, then you wrapped it so well you couldn’t help but feel proud.

Yeah. It would probably be too much. But this was Tim. It’s always different when it’s Tim.

Though, doing all this would escalate what you have with him. Your friend. Your best friend.

Are you ready to be more than that?

Still no answer. Not since you first asked yourself the moment you woke up that morning. Not even in the back of your mind.

It wasn’t because of your lingering feelings for Dick. You weren’t going to pursue Dick, and with that it was probably a bad idea to gift him an entire painting he was supposed to pay you for. The one of Bludhaven he asked for weeks ago that you said would be done by tomorrow and not today. Other than that, no more pining. You established that. Written it in stone for years now.

So it wasn’t because of Dick that you had doubts for Tim, someone you loved. Probably still do.

There was just that tiny little detail holding you back, something you couldn’t forget no matter how much you tried to. Something that you wanted to let go, so you could move forward and actually make beautiful something that was already so precious to you.

No. You probably weren’t ready now. Maybe someday.

It’s ridiculous how your decisions can be so unclear and clouded, decisions you didn’t even have proper ground to build from.

But this was Christmas. You were giving him a gift, not pouring your heart out to him. You’ll be fine. For now.

You reached the manor and you fought your way through the snow, head buried into your scarf. Alfred greeted you inside and took your coat, telling you everyone else had already gone to the indoor pool area. Setting your gifts under the tree, you got your clothes and made your way down to the basement.

The room had been warmed up, of course. Like a private tropical getaway in the middle of winter. The heater was practically blowing against your face and it thawed down the icicles forming under your nose the moment you stepped in. Plants against the walls, a small waterfall coming from the ceiling from high above. There were three marble pool chairs seated at the sides of the oval-shaped pool that had changing color lights from underneath the floor. Music was blaring through the speakers, as well, along with laughter, people talking over one another. Almost instantly, you were sweating, so you took your sweater off.

It was totally because of the new-found heat.

Totally.

Totally.

Tim was first to come up to you, shirtless and drenched from the sweet strands of his black hair down to his toes. Drips of the chlorinated water were so delicately sticking to his skin and so slowly tracing the lines of his lean muscled pecs.

His gorgeous, gorgeous body that looked all too inviting. Tim had been working out, because he was definitely bigger than the last time you saw him with his shirt off. His abs were more defined. His pecs just looked so lean and perfectly molded. His biceps looked a lot bigger, stronger, strong enough to snap a neck in one move.

There was a table at the side that served water from a pitcher and you never reached for something so quickly in your life.  

“You’re here!” he ruffled his damp hair and smiled at you so handsomely you wanted to scream. You nodded, keeping the glass of water between your lips. Then you swallowed hard in an attempt to not accidentally drop your jaw. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” you gulped. “You guys sure are acting like there’s not a blizzard happening outside.”

“What’s a pool party for a change? Come swim with us!”

Tim took the glass of water from your hands, and hearts were practically floating around your head when he craned his head up, drank from the glass with his throat doing little jumps as he swallowed, with the water slightly leaking from the corners of his mouth all the way down his collarbone and chest. The water from his hair also dripped down to the floor, and his pale skin looked so cool to touch. It was glistening, like gold and silver mixed in a pot, melted together in the form of such gorgeousness you couldn’t take your eyes away from. Your lips were between your teeth and you looked away before he could see you staring for far too long.

“Have fun, Tim!” you said, then he was already running back to the pool, jumping in the air to land a cannonball.

You had to take a long minute to stretch out your neck, which you hadn’t noticed was so tense and stiff you could have died right then. Setting the glass back on the table, you went over to one of the pool chairs to set your duffel bag down, pulling out your towel to place at the back of the chair.

“That chair’s taken, Y/N.”

“Oh,” you looked up for a split second and there was someone standing right in front of you on the other side of the chair. Grabbing your stuff back, you hurriedly fumbled with your bag. “Sorry, I just saw it was empt-“

You squealed. You actually let out a light, high-pitched squeal like some kind of hamster spinning around its wheel the same way your brain was spinning in circles around your skull. Dick was in front of you, in nothing else but a pair of blue swim shorts, and his taller, more built, yet still lean frame was staring back at you, an acrobat’s body.

Which you could describe as the most perfect, beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Not a flaw in sight. Bright, tanned skin looking back at you to make your knees shiver. And every move he made, some muscle would flex. It was just way too perfect.

“I’m kidding,” he said. Then he grabbed his own bag that he’d slung on the back, where you hadn’t seen it. “We’ll share this one.”

Damp skin. Black hair slicked back and clean. A drip of water was, as if nature was making it happen herself, falling down on his skin right in between his defined pecs and abs. Dick turned his head to the side, then started jumping with his hand slapping the side of his head. “I think I got water in my ear.”

“Mhm,” was all you said, because it took every bit of might in you just to keep yourself from squawking like a bird when his shoulders started to flex and the water from his body started splashing against you.

Get yourself together, you complete asshat.

Placing the towel back on the chair, you tried so hard not to look at his swim shorts that were starting to drop further and further down his hips the more he shook his head. His arms looked so strong. You want to be encased in them, carry you around so you’ll never have to walk a day in your life.

And his face was impossibly beautiful, like something out the runway or a romantic comedy with the most unrealistic expectations. A stray hair had fallen on his forehead, and you just wanted to reach over to place it to the back of his head so his eyes wouldn’t be covered.

“Fuck,” he groaned, then he looked relieved. “Finally got it out. You gonna swim?”

“I, uh-“ you said. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t planning to.”

“Come on. You're missing out!”

Dick winked at you, then he hopped back into the water with Cass and Duke, who also looked insanely pretty with his shirt off-

You couldn’t even look anywhere around the room and not see something that made you want to drown yourself in the pool from the red creeping up the veins on your neck.

Steph was there, talking to Tim as they floated on the water in bright yellow bikini. Cass was sitting on the edge, legs tossing about while Dick and Duke were wrestling it out in the water like twelve-year-old boys. Bruce, who Alfred finally convinced to enjoy Christmas like a normal person and take a load off, was sleeping peacefully on the pool chair at the farthest end, not looking like he wanted to be bothered by even the slightest bit with his arm covering his eyes.

And Damian was on the lounge chair right beside him doing the exact same thing, with a book over his head.

Babs wasn’t here. Probably with her own family. Which you probably should be, too, since you were technically the only one in the room who wasn’t an adopted child and more of a really close companion just like Babs who went with these group of beautiful crackheads wherever they go.

You sat on the lounge chair, weight on your hands, and you were thoroughly enjoying the sight of these kids, and that was basically all you were planning to do for the whole day.

No, you didn’t plan on swimming.

No, you haven’t been to the beach or another pool party in more than a year.

Yes, you were keeping your long pants on.

Then, of course, as is the world just couldn’t help but continue to pick on your poor, withered soul like a puppy with a stick, another flush surged up to your cheeks and you tried way too hard to focus on the ground.

Even through the rippling water, you could see every bit of Jason’s muscles flexing and stretching and moving so perfectly. The largest, tallest, most built man in the room, completely jacked up to any human being’s possible capacity. And of course, there were the scars that made you want to internally grunt and scream like a lunatic in a full moon. Eyes on him, and your cheeks no longer coloring but every nerve ending beneath your flesh buzzing in a cold chill, you locked eyes when he came over to the pool side right in front of you, placed his arms on the ledge and folded them to rest his chin on top.

Oh fuck. The veins. They were practically popping out of his skin.

Swallowing, you turned to the wall.

Why couldn’t you just be closer to your real parents, to your brothers and sisters you barely contact anymore so you could spend today with them? Why couldn’t you have just reached out and called so you could spend Christmas there and not in a multi-million-dollar mansion filled with the hottest men alive who are also your dear, dear friends just so you could keep some part of your sanity and dignity intact? Why couldn’t the world just be a little bit crueler at the same time kinder to you?

“Happy holidays, pretty bird,” Jason said. His hair was completely wet, and you tried not to look at the really long, painful looking scar that was stretching all the way from his wrist up to his absolutely phenomenal bicep that was bigger than your head.

Okay. You really had to stop gawking at every shirtless, black haired male that came up to you.

Especially not the incredibly pretty, incredibly flirty one that had the thighs you often found yourself trailing your wandering mind about. Could you see his thighs if you just moved your head enough to peak under water? Surely, they had enough substance to be visible but if you just moved a little bit-

Enough.

Sighing, filling your lungs with the warming air when you felt like you needed a swim in the four feet of snow that was piling up outside the building, you turned to Jason. “Merry Christmas.”

“You won't swim?”

You swallowed. “I don’t think I should…”

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to. Don’t let Tim and Dick get to you.”

Jason pulled himself up the surface, moving his ass so he could sit at the edge of the pool and oh my god his back looked so perfect and muscled and huge and a waterfall was draining down his rock-hard chest and back and his hair was so perfectly messy and roughed up and again with his back and the curves of his shoulders and fuck you could finally see his thighs and they looked even bigger than usual when he sits like that FUCK his arms his chest his beautiful, beautiful abs-

You had to get out of this fucking place.

Coughing, swallowing, panicking, getting whatever was stuck in your throat out of your system, Jason looked back at you and you rushed to look as completely normal and non-flustered as you could.

“I’m not letting them get to me.”

He shot his eyebrows up, and you inched about so you were both facing the same way. He rocked his legs in the water, and you watched as everyone else laughed and gathered in the center for a chicken fight, with Cass on Dick’s shoulders and Tim on Steph’s shoulders.

“Won't you join them?”

He snorted. “I’m fine. Besides, if you’re just gonna sit there all alone, might as well keep you company.”

“I’m fine, Jason. Seriously. I’ll swim if it means you don’t have to.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Your hands were gripping on the chair’s edges too tight; your knuckles went white and you kept your head down.

“It took me two years just to take my shirt off when I train in a private gym, Y/N. An autopsy scar’s not exactly something you want to flaunt about.”

You stared at your knees, at the metal that stuck out of your jeans.

“And even now, I only work out in the cave or in my apartment. I can't show myself in public. Probably not ever.”

Your nerves stopped buzzing. Your face started to cool. But something in your gut had started to hallow out and dig through the depths. A feeling you never liked but were forced to go through much too often.

“How do you know I just don’t like being in the water?”

The look on his face looked more like an annoyed scowl than a comforting frown. He rolled his eyes, then turned back facing forward, at Duke who’d sunk to the water when he went against Steph in a fight.

“I’m fine. But thank you for opening up to me.”

He shrugged, without giving you a glance.

“Don’t take it the wrong way though. They’re not asking you to swim to tell you ‘Oh, we don’t care that you only have one leg. We promise we think of you the same way as any two-legged mammal.’ They’re not exactly pretending it isn’t there, which I first thought they did, and I hated it when that happened to me. I sure as hell know you do to.”

Yeah. You did. You hated it especially when they try to tell you nothing was wrong or nothing was going to change. Because pretending it isn’t there, or that the accident didn’t happen, is just as bad as telling you that having one leg was something you should definitely overlook just to live normally.

“They’re asking you to swim because they genuinely think there’s nothing wrong with you and that there’s nothing to be ashamed with taking your prosthetic off. They mean well.”

“I know they do.” You swung your legs about, looking at the skin on your left one and the steel on the other. “But it’s a lot easier for them to say. I get it. I’m not mad.”

Jason roughed up his hair, bicep glistening, then he turned to you and smirked. “You’re holding up better than I ever did, though.”

“Losing a leg is considerably better than dying and coming back to life.”

Snorting and laughing, Jason leaned over his knees. “Have you ever taken it off in front of anyone so far?”

You shook your head. “Just with Tim.”

“Ah,” he nodded.

“I don’t even like to let it show. I haven’t worn shorts in years and the summer heat absolutely kills me.”

“Tell me about it,” he laughed. “I’m not gonna tell you to start showing it in public because it looks cool and all. Having a cybernetic limb. Which it is. But that’s like telling me I shouldn’t be afraid to show my scars ‘cuz the look hot.”

They do. They really fucking do.

“Yeah. It sucks when people do that.”

“It does.”

Silence when Steph’s screams filled the room. She was pushed onto the water, a large splash that drenched everyone all around her. You and Jason smiled and watched.

He understood you. And everything he said sounded straight out of the back of your head.

He never babied you. He never treated you any differently.

Because if there was anyone else in this family who knew trauma, it’s him.

Jason would have hated the kind of spoils and treatment you got from Dick, Tim, and Bruce after you lost your leg. Back when you used to fight alongside them, you went home alone to your apartment you’d shared with an unknowing roommate. But then the incident happened. You couldn’t exactly work anymore. You couldn’t pay the bills. So they let you stay in the manor for so many bed-ridden weeks. That was the only time you lived here, and you didn’t exactly have much of a choice but to accept everything Bruce had spent for you. Like a state-of-the-art bionic leg.

And you hated that.

When you finally could, you moved back out. And everyone has been asking you to come back to the manor ever since.

Everyone except Jason.

“Take that robot leg off when you're ready. Don’t swim if it isn’t to save your life.”

“I won't. Thank you. Now go join them. Please. I’ll be fine.”

You nudged his shoulder with your leg, and he grinned at you with his hair fallen to his eyes.

Thankfully, none of them gathered around the pool side near you just to force themselves to make you feel included. None of them gave you concerned looks or whispered to the other asking if they should come over and ask if you wanted to join in. Just as you wanted. So you just laid on the lounge chair, settled yourself as comfortably as you could, and let their cheers and laughter lull you to sleep.

-----

After everyone had dried up and changed, you went on with their rightfully anticipated Christmas dinner, with Bruce and Damian sitting on opposite ends of the long table, everyone else in between, and Alfred serving the best turkeys, yams, and pies enough for a whole table of starving vigilantes.

Tim was right in front of you, and you couldn’t help the smiles when you’d so often catch him looking up at you and flash that grin.

When you’d all finished, everyone went to the parlor and settled. Damian played the piano, and Bruce was on the sofa chair relaxing while everybody else sat in a circle. Talking. Laughing. Being normal for a change.

The parlor looked divine. Decorated so beautifully all by the hands of a hard-working butler. The cold and the snow, falling outside the three glass windows between the bookshelves that littered the walls. Then there were lights on the pillars, on the ceiling and the ledges that looked like heaven’s gates and fences being lit up in bright yellow. There were wreaths on the otherwise empty walls, and the carpets and drapes were switched from the usual boring dark red into a more festive print with greens and yellows.

Then there was the tree, high enough to almost reach the already tall ceiling. And it was undoubtably magnificent, with bright, starry lights, expensive looking flowers and balls hanging on its branches. A gold star was on top, of course. It sat right by the side near the gorgeously decorated fireplace that burned and cozied up the place to smell like roasted chestnuts and firewood.

You took your mug of hot chocolate and sat back against the couch. Tim was beside you. He had been for the whole time almost never leaving you out of his sight. And you placed your head on his shoulder, listening to the fire crackling, the snow falling, the piano so wonderfully playing right before it abruptly stopped just as the grandfather clocked started to chime.

“It’s midnight, Father,” Damian stood up and went straight for the tree. “You said we can open the presents.”

“Go ahead.”

A bright smirk from the adorable little brat, then he was then racing to the tree with Steph to open their presents under the tree.

You and Tim took your time. You didn’t want to leave his shoulder. Eventually you both moved to sit right in front of the warming fire for your presents.

You both started with other people’s gifts. Steph gave you a really pretty dress. Cass and Duke gave you art materials, really nice ones that you’d use almost everyday. Bruce, of course, gave you a cheque, just like he’d given everyone else in that room that was enough to pay a common man’s rent for half a year. Jason gave you paint brushes that he hadn’t taken off of its original packaging from Amazon. You laughed.

Then you saw a blue box with your name written in perfect cursive. It was well-wrapped, and it was heavy. The bow looked seamlessly fixed as well.

Tim was busy with his own gift, so he wasn’t watching you as you slowly opened the wrapper.

When you opened the box, there was a black, square-shaped device sitting alone in the bottom. The box itself was wonderfully decorated, with brown confetti on the bottom to cushion the floor.

You picked up the device and saw that it was a hard drive. A terabyte’s capacity. When you flipped it over, there was a note taped to the back.

‘Every movie we ever watched together, about fifty of your favorite classic ones, twelve you’ve been so excited to see but never could, and a hundred we’re yet to go over. Thanks for welcoming me back. Merry Christmas, Y/N.

From Dick’

There were other things as well sitting with the hard drive.

A polaroid photo of you, leaping up a vault in a perfect position.

A fountain pen, with your name engraved on the center.

A packet of hot sauce from that one Mexican restaurant when you ate the whole thing thinking it was ketchup.

A small box of your favorite chocolate chip cookies that Bruce once brought from Switzerland, ones that could never be found in America.

A pair of sharp, cat eye sunglasses you always made fun of every time you saw someone wear them around the city.

A piece of tissue that had your handwriting scribbled on it, from when you and Dick tried to write a song in the middle of a fundraising gala because you were so bored.

And a drawing you made years ago, back when you could barely sketch out an apple. Dick caught you trying to draw a tree outside the manor and ripped the page out of the sketchbook. You never knew he kept it.

You never knew he kept any of this.

Dick was on the other side of the Christmas tree, helping Damian out with his presents. You caught his eye, and when his beautiful blue eyes made you jump, you smiled at him.

He smiled back.

Then when Tim inched behind you, tapping on your shoulder, you saw Dick lose his smile, slowly facing the ground and cover his mouth with his palm.

You snapped back to where you were sitting and laughed when you saw Tim was wearing a little elf’s hat on his head. You reached over, toyed with its bell, and he playfully scowled at you.

“Here,” you handed over your gift for him. “Merry Christmas.”

“This isn’t another coffee mug, is it?” he joked.

“No, and you're insane if you think I’m enabling your addiction any more.”

Tim sat cross-legged, and you had your legs set to the side as you watched him smile so heart-warmingly beautiful that it could possibly hurt you and your eyes if you even dare to look away for even a second. Probably not hurt, but it would make you miss out on one of those scenes you just wouldn’t want to miss. A brightly-lit fire, lighting up his face in an orange glow, the sweet smell of candy that had just been served on the coffee table nearby. And of course, the sight of him, eyes glimmering and shining with its blue hue.

Tim took the gift from you. Maybe you did take this a step too far, a step you weren’t sure you were ready to take. A step that needed you to forget what had happened years ago and move on.

But you could set that aside for now. You just wanted to enjoy this.

“Wow…” he breathed. You saw his chest heave, his cheeks looking like it hurt from the smiling he was doing. He took the watch and already had it around his wrist. It looked so good on him.

Then he stared too long at the painting you made for him.

“Y/N, I don’t know what to say…”

You let the beauty in front of you sink into your skin, into your flesh, into your head. Him, looking so happy and content, just as you used to be years ago. You’d left those years of yearning to fly and leaned to love what was so mesmerizing when you just took the time to sit down, marvel over the world flashing right in front of you. Your world. Your best friend.

Not even the fire was as warm as him, even when he was sitting almost a foot in front of you, but as he inched forward, close enough to let your knees touch, you looked up and met his eyes. Everything was so elusively delicate, that even with so much brightness and colors, looking at him softened everything else. Softened you. Grounded you.

You couldn’t imagine being without Tim. Not even for a minute.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

He was blushing, handing you an equally small box that was also considerably heavy. Your face started to hurt at this point from the amount of smiling you were doing.

But when you had it in your hands, you lost your smile. It didn’t have a wrapper. It didn’t have a bow.

It was a velvet jewelry box.

So soft to touch beneath your fingers, you ran your hand over your initials engraved on the top and felt every bit in you melt just as it would have being so close to the fire. You didn’t know if your palms were sweating from the heat, from the excitement of getting to find out what was inside, or the nerves that were rabidly going insane from the look on Tim’s eyes staring at you like you were the world.

Trying so hard not to shake, you opened the box.

Then you actually stopped shaking. In fact, you stopped moving at all.

You’ve never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

So greatly contrasting the dark velvet, a radiantly glimmering necklace with a light silver chain stole every bit of your breath until your chest could no longer heave, no matter how much you felt the need to. You ran your hand down, brushing your fingers down until you reached the pendant.

Your initials, stylized so gorgeously and encrusted with the brightest little diamonds.

It caught your eyes and all of your attention that no longer could you hear much of everything else that went on, with Tim still staring at you, nervous at your reaction. Your mouth was parted. Your breath started up after a while but only to keep you alive.

You never could say you had your breath taken away so many times in your life. But if you could, this moment was definitely one you were going to remember for the rest of your life.

“Here.” Tim took the necklace back from you, then asked you to turn around.

You swallowed at the buzzing warmth when his hands went around you, locking the necklace behind your hair. You still couldn’t move. Everything was a blur and at the same time nothing moved so clear, steady, and slow, like a movie on slow motion. Your skin felt cool but everything within you was as scorching as the fire.

When you turned back around, Tim was so dangerously close to you that you just knew there was no going back from this, no pretending that you were just going to be best friends.

You hugged him, pulled him so closely in your arms. And he did the same.

And you stayed that way all through the night. That wonderful, normal, beautiful Christmas night that was that taste of normality you often craved as much as you missed not being normal.

You decided to stay in the manor. Just for that night. It was snowing too hard for you to go home to your apartment anyway and by the time you and the family had finished with the festivities, it was a few hours away before the sun would eventually come up.

Tim walked you to your room while it was still dark.

“I had a great night,” you said, and he went with you into your room and closed the door behind him.

“I did, too.”

“Thank you for having me.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, and Tim stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets. “You know you’re family, Y/N.”

Smiling, tossing your feet about as it hovered over the ground, you inched back to the center of the bed, bringing your feet closer, then you started pulling the ends of your jeans up to your knees. Tim walked towards you and sat on the edge, then you watched him take off your prosthetic leg for you.

Then he squeezed your knee. He didn’t even turn on the lights. Everything was dark, save for the light coming from outside the window. The snow pouncing against the glass were the only sound there was, and with the chill that came with it, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Tim’s hand still on your knee, the warmest thing there was to aid you, you could make out his eyes, his sharp nose, his pale skin that looked so soft to touch, his lips so soft you could see even with so little light.

He moved closer. Closer.

You moved closer as well.

Then his hand was on your cheek.

It wasn’t sudden. It had been building up since you saw him in the pool.

But it was nevertheless a burning fire being thrown with a bottle of gasoline, bursting out into the air at the instant that tension finally came with its climactic collision.

You both leaned in at the same time, and you could have sworn the ice that had frozen over your chest, from the years of trauma, cynicism, of wanting vengeance, it all melted at the instant his lips grazed so delicately against your own, how gentle he was, like he was terrified you could possibly break. They were wet, and soft, and you made them even more so when you pressed yourself even closer against him. His hand on your knee went up to hold the other side of your face, and your hands were on his wrists, holding them, squeezing them, feeling how firm he was making sure you wouldn’t pull away.

He was everything. He was always everything. To you. And supposedly to everyone else.

With the light outside so slowly starting to dim, leaving the room in such blackness you couldn’t see past, you relied on your hands, your lips, your every other sense to know what he was doing.

And what he was doing was pushing you to lie back on the bed.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes-

No.

A sharp jab of an icicle, or a knife, or a bullet that went straight to your chest, tugging so violently that you instantly jumped at the hot flashes of images, pictures, memories that so painfully played in front of your eyes.

The pain. It was still there. You were so, so terribly afraid that it was. That it never left. Because you wished it could just go away and leave you be. So you could have him, again.

But it was all still there. Every word he’d said that day. The look on his face. Everything that led up to it. Everything that happened after. Everything that raced in your whirlwind of thought.

It was disgusting how cruel you were to yourself, to let it all suddenly come back to you at the worst moments.

Because you couldn’t help it. As much as you prayed you could. As much as you believed you finally forgave him, you hadn’t.

You pushed Tim away.

At first, confusion, with what so little you could see plastered on his face.

Then that confusion turned to realization.

Then it was hurt. Pain.

Because he knew, too. He understood.

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry…” you buried your face into your palms. “I’m so sorry…”

He pulled on your chin, tried to kiss you again.

But you stopped his wrists and pried them away from you.

“Please…”

“I can't…”

“Please… I thought we had this… I thought we were gonna-“

“I can't forget it didn’t happen, Tim…”

“I love you.”

“I know…” you whispered so softly as if saying it any louder would only heighten the pain. But it was, inescapably, equally painful if you’d screamed it out the window.

“Why?” Tim licked his lips, holding your face. “I’ve waited so long…”

Waited. Waited for you.

All those years. He was waiting for you.

“Is it because of Dick?”

You closed your eyes, shook your head. “Not even a little bit.”

“Then why?”

Whatever the pain that came with that, it couldn’t possibly have been as worse as what you had to go through.

That tug on your chest went on, and when you could see his eyes, with so little light, you held his face.

“You broke up with me, Tim…” you choked.

Everything in his face, every bit of hope you could see in his eyes, it all went away in an instant.

“Y/N, that relationship… We were kids…”

“That’s the problem,” you swallowed. “It didn’t mean anything to you. It meant everything to me…”

“That’s not true…”

“No one has ever hurt me the way you did.” You tried taking your hands away from him but he wouldn’t let you. You just closed your eyes.

“I-I was…” he swallowed. “I was a kid. I had no idea. But then… You were still so kind to me and you never treated me any different… You’re everything …”

“I was a mess…” you gulped. “And the worst part was… you weren’t. You were okay.”

“Y/N, I swear, that isn’t true…”

Tears, even when you’ve cried enough of them over the years now.

“Did you love me then?” you asked.

Tim was crying. “Of course, I did-“

“But not as much as I loved you…”

He didn’t have to answer that.

Because you knew you loved him more. At least back then. You could see it. Everyone could see it.

Otherwise it wouldn’t have been too much for him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left you so broken when he was more than okay.

It hurt just thinking about it.

“B-but, I…” he took your hands. “But I love you so much now… More than I ever did… It can't be too late… Please.”

No, it probably wasn’t too late.

Tim didn’t start loving you too late, because you never stopped yourself.

But it hurt you so much, that it forever made you believe that the people you loved endlessly were going to love you less, leave you when things get too much.

“I’m sorry…”

“If this is because of-“

“You can blame Dick all you want.” Your voice was stern, firm, no longer shaking. “But we both know what really happened.”

“Y/N,” he cried.

“I loved you first,” you said. “And you know that. I fell in love with you. I chose you. Over Dick. Over everyone else. I was hurt… and so vulnerable. Dick was there. He helped me through it…”

Tim cried, and you felt his tears fall to your legs when he bent over to cover his face. You reached over to him.

“I’m so sorry…” he sobbed.

You pulled back.

Then you took the necklace off your neck, taking his hand, stuffing it into his palm.

“No, please.” He placed it back into your hand. “Please keep it.”

Your hand didn’t flinch away. You didn’t push back.

Everything was in a raging blizzard around you, even with the snow outside falling so soft. The only thing you thought of doing was closing your eyes to block it all off.

Tim backed away, and never have you felt so cold.

“I’m sorry…” he said.

He stood from the bed, wiping the tears with his sleeve.

“No,” you said, just before he went for the door. “I am.”

-----

A/N: 

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MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

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#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #batfam #batfamily #batboys #reader insert #bruce wayne #damian wayne #stephanie brown #duke thomas #cassandra cain #dc comics #batman #nightwing #red hood #red robin #3 birds 1 stone #3 birds 1 stone series #batarella #batarella series

[the-witch-and-her-husbands]

You Know My Name

‘Are you fucking SERIOUS?!?’

There was a crash as a glass landed at Shabandar’s feet. ‘Darling, I can explain,’ he began weakly.

The young woman picked up another water goblet. Jilomena intended to keep throwing them until she ran out, ran out of the glasses that the hotel had so thoughtfully provided. ‘Don’t you “darling” me!’

This time he had to duck as the hurled object only just missed his head. It shattered on the wall behind him. He swallowed, hard. ‘It’s just one night….’

‘You gambled me at a poker table, Lionel! Used me for a stake! ME!’

Unbeknownst to Jilomena, the truth of the matter was the other man had actually initially expressed an interest in Haystacks At Dawn. Shabandar’s most prized possession. And his hand had been too good to lose, goddammit! He was certain the other man had been bluffing, had touched his face in a tell that the hand he was holding was rubbish. Shabandar needed to match the stakes, stay in the game. Really, offering one night with his showgirl girlfriend had been the lesser of two evils.

‘And then you fucking LOST!’ She snarled as she scooped up another goblet. ‘How in the hell do you gamble with a person?! I’m not some bit of furniture, and I’m certainly not your property! I’m not doing it, I tell you! I! WON’T! GO!’

She raised her arm, but something in the other man’s face made her pause. It was the fact that he’d instantly gone ashy grey at her refusal, as if all the blood had drained from his face. He looked…frightened to death.

‘Lionel,’ she whispered. ‘Who in the hell did you lose to?’ Her arm lowered slowly.

He hung his head. When he finally spoke, it was barely audible. ‘Le Chiffre.’

‘Shit.’ The glass dropped from her hand. She managed to stagger to the bed and sit down heavily.

The name was notorious in casino towns. Notorious enough that she knew what would happen if she were to refuse. They’d both be dead at best, dead in some mysterious circumstances that could never quite be traced back to Le Chiffre. There were rumours the man liked a bit of torture as well.

‘What time?’ All emotion had been drained from her voice.

‘Eight.’

‘I’d best start getting ready then.’

Now here she was, strolling through the main lobby of The Venetian. Heads turned as she walked. Well, she was used to being stared at, gawped over. She was a showgirl, after all. She kept her chin up high, pretending not to notice that every man had turned in his chair to watch her backside as she went past.

She was wearing one of her best dresses, one of pure silk that clung to every curve like it was custom made for her. Bright bubblegum pink, it may have seemed garish on the hanger but complimented her colour and her features no end. Her friend Lola had once gushed that the dress made her look like ‘a living Barbie doll.’

Jilomena certainly felt like a doll, alright. A plaything, passed from man to man without any say in the matter. More than likely she would have her clothing removed before the end of the night and had Lord only knew what done to her. Like a doll, oh yes.

She got into the lift and pressed the button for the top floor. Penthouse suites. Deep breath in, trying to calm her racing heart.

All too soon it arrived at its destination. With one last fluff of her long blonde hair in the mirror she stepped out, doors closing smoothly behind her. Much like the doors of a tomb.

There was no time to be maudlin. Another deep breath and she started down the hallway. One foot in front of the other, rolling her hips as if she were parading across the stage. It was a routine as familiar as breathing, and helped to calm her nerves somewhat.

A door opened, and an attractive blonde came flying out. ‘I HATE YOU! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN!’ she screamed over her shoulder. She purposely bumped into Jilomena as she passed, giving her a death glare.

Jilomena was used to that, too. ‘Oh! Excuse me,’ she simpered in her sweetest voice. Honey wouldn’t melt.

It turned out that the door that the other blonde had fled from was Jilomena’s destination. She could just make out a shadow on the other side of the door….

‘Hello.’ A man stepped forward, smirking widely. His features weren’t entirely unattractive. Something was clearly wrong with one of his eyes, but she tried not to stare at it. No doubt he wouldn’t appreciate her staring. His dark hair was slicked back neatly, and a clearly very expensive black suit completed the picture. ‘You must be…Jilomena. Please, come in.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled as warmly as she could, given the circumstances. ‘And you must be my…date for the evening.’ The hesitation was slight. Hopefully it had gone unnoticed.

‘Who says it’s just for the evening,’ he purred, smoothly closing the door behind them. He stepped close, so close she could smell his aftershave. ‘You might be begging me for more.’

‘And you might end up begging ME for more.’ Flirtation was another thing that came as easily as breathing, so she slipped into it as if slipping into a comfortable bathrobe. She tried to focus her attention on his good eye, and the cheekbones you could cut yourself on.

‘Touché, Miss Jilomena.’ He chuckled, picking up one of her hands to press a kiss to the back of it. ‘Enchante. Jean.’

‘Jean.’ She smiled again, the warmth a little more genuine this time. Something about the way he had kissed the back of her hand had her wondering what else those lips could do, what they would feel like on her neck, perhaps. She tried to quickly shoo those thoughts away and focus.

‘Come.’ He took her by the hand, drawing her further into the suite. ‘The jacuzzi is up to the perfect temperature. And I have poured us some champagne.’

‘Shame. I haven’t brought my suit.’ She shrugged, trying to feign disappointment.

He moved to her side, slipping an arm around her waist to draw her close to him. ‘You don’t need one.’ He put his thumb under her chin to tilt her head up before claiming her lips in a soft kiss.

Instantly she began to melt, kissing him back almost before she knew what she was about.

All too soon the kiss was broken. He spun her around, a deft hand unzipping her dress. It had fallen to her feet in a puddle of silk, leaving her no time to protest.

Now she was clad only in her white lace lingerie and a pair of heels. A tiny scrap of fabric was the only thing covering her modesty. It was of little consequence, she’d appeared onstage in as much.

Le Chiffre…Jean…helped her step clear of the pooled fabric. He pulled her close for another hungry kiss, hands roaming everywhere he could reach.

‘Unfair,’ she pouted when they finally came up for air. ‘You seem to be at an advantage in all those clothes.’ Really, their respective positions excited something within her, her being all but naked while he was fully dressed. Still, she couldn’t let him have the upper hand if she could help it.

‘Perhaps we should play strip poker. We can wager garments.’ That insufferable smirk again, yet she was getting fonder of it by the second.

‘Nuh uh.’ She shook her head for emphasis. ‘You’d beat me under the table. I’d be naked before you could count up to Jack Robinson. Hardly fair stakes.’

He laughed at that, a genuine laugh. ‘I’m afraid my reputation has preceded me.’

‘You’ll just have to think of another way to get me out of the rest of my clothing.’ She smiled sweetly, actually beginning to enjoy this game of cat and mouse. Well, it served old Shabby right. She was here, and she might as well make the best of things. If she played her cards right - no pun intended - she might actually get an orgasm or two before the end of the evening.

‘Challenge accepted. You might want to step out of those heels, though.’ There was a dangerous gleam in his eye…his good eye.

She did so, swallowing hard. ‘Jean? What are you…EEK!’

The sentence ended in a squeak of surprise as he suddenly swept her off her feet in a surprising show of strength.

Pressing kisses to her face all the while, he carried her over to the jacuzzi…before unceremoniously tossing her in.

‘JEAN!’ She spluttered as she came up for air.

‘Oh dear.’ He pretended to tut in sympathy. ‘You’ll just have to get out of those wet things, wont you?’

Her reply was to remove her thong and toss it at his face. He smirked, collecting the garment and carefully laying it on the side to dry. ‘Your bra as well. Or do you need my help?’

She knelt upright, turning her back on him near the edge of the tub. His hands deftly unhooked her bra, sliding the straps off of her shoulders. The cups were soon whisked away, his hands replacing where the material had been.

A soft purr escaped her. She arched her back, pressing her breasts forward into his touch. The noises got louder as he began to roll her nipples between his fingers.

A gasp of disappointment escaped her as he stopped. She wasn’t bereft for long, as he soon stripped off and joined her in the warm water.

‘You’re even more beautiful than I was told.’ He pulled her close, so that she was sitting in his lap.

‘And you’re more handsome.’ This time she initiated the kiss.

Soon she was straddling his lap, grinding against him in desperation as they explored each other’s mouths and bodies.

‘Not here,’ he managed to pant. With that, he wrapped her arms and legs around him as if she were a koala bear and stood, carrying her with him to the large four poster bed.

He all but threw her onto the centre of it, not caring that they were soaking wet. Housekeeping could soon change the bed afterwards. Soon he was crawling over her, pressing her into the mattress with his weight as he settled between her legs.

‘Jean…’

‘Jilomena. Beautiful Jilomena.’ He kissed and nipped his way across her jaw and down her neck, biting and nibbling and sucking all the way.

So what if he left a mark? She decided she didn’t care as she tilted her head to the side, allowing him all the access he wanted. Seeing them would serve Shabby right. ‘Jean,’ she murmured again. ‘Please.’

‘Are you sure you really want this?’ He drew back to look at her.

Jilomena studied him for a second. The fact he had asked had taken her aback for a moment. Surely she had been promised to this man for the evening, to serve his every whim? Perhaps there really was a gentleman under the frightening facade, a man underneath all the rumours of a monster.

‘Yes,’ she whispered at last. Her lips met his again, trying to remove any doubt.

With that, he reached down and positioned himself, sliding into her with a smooth thrust of his hips. She cried out in passion as he filled her, clinging to him tightly.

He was a surprisingly considerate lover, making sure that she had come some three times before finally allowing himself to let go and fill her with his seed.

They lay together afterwards, her head snuggled into his chest. He was so furry, unlike her smooth chested boyfriend. She rubbed her cheek along his chest hair, revelling in the novelty of it.

‘So.’ She cleared her throat, awkwardly. ‘Do you want me to go now, or…?’

‘Go?’ He chuckled, pulling her on top of him. ‘I was promised the entire night. You’re not going anywhere yet.’ He hugged her tight, genuine feelings behind the gesture. ‘You’re not that desperate to escape me, are you?’

‘No.’ She shook her head, her honesty surprising herself. It seemed like it certainly was a night for surprises. ‘In fact.’ She drew herself upright, straddling him. ‘You know what you said earlier…about more…’

‘I might remember something about that, yes.’ With that he put his arms around her, flipping their positions so she was on her back underneath him once more.

‘I think I could get used to this.’

#v:yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there #lemon

[sweetestlamb]

Bring Me To Life

Summary: Kang Sujin has never had anyone to turn to, hiding behind a façade her entire life. Someone begins to peek behind the mask. 

Author’s note: My two favorite characters in TB are Seojun and Sujin, both characters who are honestly treated like trash by the writers. I cannot begin to tell how upsetting it was to see Sujin’s character assassination or how painful it is to watch her being physically abused knowing that the writers will not give her therapy or a true happy ending. She’s just here to be beaten and vilified. Seojun, I won’t even rant everyone knows what the problem is (idk who told them we wanted to see Start-Up the high school edition.) So I wrote this after watching the most recent episode and hating most of it for these reasons. I don’t know how far it’ll go or how often I can update, but I need my two babies to have a happy ending preferably together because the visuals are just a dreammmm. 

The rain crashes down loudly from aggrieved storm clouds bellowing above her in the sky, the chilled condensation plastering her thin satin pajamas to her trembling body. She had to get out, the pain in her cheek numbing and electrifying all at once.

How dare she tell him that she didn't want to get married, want to stand on her own two feet without a man giving her value?

His hand had flown across the room before she could sidestep the blow, the fragile glass filled with water in her hand- the very reason she'd left her room in the dead of night- shattering into jagged pieces as it collided with a greater force. Just like her.

She hadn't been trying to eavesdrop but it was hard not to hear him chuckling deeply on the phone, offering up his only child like she was an item on a menu.

"Yes we should set them up. It seems Suho isn't interested and she should marry young, that's when women are worth the most."

Nausea rolled like waves in the pits of her stomach and before she could think logically, her feet were sprinting into the living room, air barely filling her lungs as she stared at the man she'd never once thought of as a father. The last time she'd made the grave mistake of calling him daddy he'd smacked her so hard that was how she lost her first tooth. He'd been father ever since or Mr. Kang. She tried her best to avoid him at all cost, she would never be good enough and it was getting harder to hide the marks he left behind.

It was difficult to remember clearly what occurred seconds after her refusal to marry a man she didn't know left her lips, his fist connected and she was knocked back onto their coffee table the sharp edge cutting at her cheek. As she looked at him, anger painting his face a demonic red, fear crippled her and her hands twitched desperately wanting to wash them raw. Then he grabbed a thick marble ashtray from the table and her instincts took over and she was out the door, running as fast as she could, knowing her life was at stake and she couldn't afford to stop.

When the cloud in her head cleared that was when she found herself at the bus stop.

Judgmental whispers breeze by her ears as people passed by with umbrellas, shocked to see the young girl crying in her pajamas at the stop, but none stopped to offer her help or inquire about her situation, happy just to pass judgement. She ignores them all, panicking racing through her blood until she's unable to breathe, choking on nothing as she twitches in the harsh air. Her throat constricts as she screams at herself, breathe. 

Breathe.

BREATHE! 

But it's useless as her body shuts down, forgetting how to do the basic function, she sways as she starts to feel light headed from the lack of oxygen and with a final wheeze she collapses. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He signs as he weaves past cars moving far too slowly, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he marginally misses nipping a car to the left of him, easily dragging his motorcycle away with the fluid movements of his body. He glares up at the sky before cursing, "Fucking weather report didn't say anything about a sudden rainstorm." If he'd known he would have stayed home, always hating the rain. It brought back bad memories.

Halting at a red light, he puts his leg down for balance bouncing slightly in place. Pulling the shield up on his helmet he glances around, recognizing the area easily, before something in his peripheral catches his attention, a lump on the ground. Tilting his head he revs his trusty iron steed to live, riding over to the direction of the mysterious mass on the wet ground. As he gets closer his heart falters, it's too evident now. 

It's a person.

Jumping off his bike and pushing out the kickstand he flings his helmet off, his hair immediately drenched under the downpour as he races over to help. As he nears the figure, it becomes clearer it's a woman wearing what looks like sleep clothes. Momentarily he wonders if this is a crazy person and if he should just mind his business but a frightening image of his little sister unconscious on the ground and no one coming to her aid flashes in his mind.

"I'll just check if she's breathing and call an ambulance. That's all, if she tries to attack me I'll just ride away." He takes a deep breath, collecting his courage before closing the gap between him and the unconscious woman.

Crouching beside her, he reaches out a hand hesitating before sighing and shaking at her cold shoulder. No response. He shakes harder now, watching the motion quake through her entire body, but still she is unresponsive.

"Hey! Hey! Are you okay? Wake up, you're scaring me!" He starts to jiggle her with both hands, before he crawls into her space not caring about his safety any longer, the idea that this unknown woman might be dead is making him nauseous. People are always dying without his permission. It's so frustrating.

"Wake up! Come on!" He shouts at the figure now holding both her shoulders and turning the woman over, lifting her face from its place on the ground, cradling her limp body in his lap. After two more vicious shakes, she starts to cough and groan in his arms. Relief swims through his veins as he watches her come back to life, anxiously watching as her dewy long lashes flutter open and he's caught in a lifeless deep gaze.

"Han Seo-Jun?"

It takes a long pause for him to register that the woman has said his name and then a longer moment to recognize who she is.

"Kang Su-Jin?" He replies in genuine shock, taking in the wom--young girl in his arms. She's shivering so violently that it's becoming difficult to hold onto her, vibrating out of his hold before he grips her tighter, whipping off his jacket without second thought and wrapping it around her. Goosebumps raising on his skin as his body mentally berates his lack of survival skills.

"What are you doing here?" She looks at him bewildered as if the stranger occurrence is his presence and not her own.

He squints his eyes looking back at her, "I could ask you the same thing. I found you unconscious here. I thought you were...." He trails off unable to utter the rest of his sentence.

"You should have left me here. Maybe I would have. If I was that lucky."

"What? Are you crazy, you want to die? Did you do this to yourself, what are you on?!" He roars at her, rage flooding his system as he shouts at the stupid girl, how dare she try to kill herself and leave her body for him to find? He wishes he had taken a different route, that he'd never come across her. He was in no state to comfort someone who was suicidal, still too raw and hurt. What was so hard about living that made people want to do that? Hot tears gather in his eyes as he abruptly pulls away from Sujin, unapologetic as she tumbles to the ground without his support.

She starts at him, stunned before righteous fury twists her features and she roars back at him.

"Who are you to judge me! I didn't ask you to help me, leave me alone!"

He glares back at her ready to yank his jacket away and run away from her but a small movement stops him, as she's screaming at him a small muscle twitches in her cheek bringing his attention to said cheek. It's nearly purple, standing out obscenely on her pale skin and then he notices the split lip and the bruises on her neck and he's so ashamed of himself he could bawl.

He deflates before speaking to her, "What happened to your face? Who did this to you?"

He doesn't know what kind of look he has on his face but before his questions can even settle between them she's sneering and twisting away from him, throwing his jacket on the ground before making her escape. Unprepared for her sudden departure he reacts too late, before chasing after her. It's easy to close the distance separating them with his long legs and within seconds she's merely inches in front of him, he reaches out a large hand to grab her wrist but hesitates recalling the bruises littering her frame. Instead he races past her, blocking her with his body swerving to the left and then the right when she tries to dodge him. They play this cat and mouse game before she finally gives up, glaring up at him with moist enraged eyes.

"Why do you care? We aren't even friends!"

Her piercing shout rings in his ears as he looks down at her passively. He can't answer that question, doesn't know what brought him to this area so late and not understanding why he was the one to find her in this condition. He doesn't know why he cares. But maybe things could have been different if Se-Yeon had someone to chase him. Maybe he'd still be alive...

So he answers her honestly.

"I don't want anymore people to die."

To his complete shock she starts to cry, tears falling rapidly from her eyes before she crumples to the ground, the rain pounding on her head and he stands still unsure of what to do before he drapes the jacket he'd rescued from the ground over her head, shielding her from most of the thunderous downpour. When she looks up to see the jacket protecting her, he almost falls backwards as her head slams into his chest, her tears simmering hot on his chilled body. It's almost painfully uncomfortable but he doesn't move away. Letting her cry on his chest, his shirt is soaked anyway this makes no difference.

He doesn't know how long they are crouched there on the ground, so dark that the sidewalk is completely devoid of anyone else, it feels like they are the only two people left on Earth.

"If we stay here you're going to get a cold."

He voices his concern but the only reply he receives is a gross sounding sniffle and he grimaces, knowing that his poor shirt is probably damaged beyond repair covered in snot and tears.

Sighing he starts to repeat himself before she whispers, "I don't have anywhere to go."

"I can take you home." Her fists tighten in his drenched shirt, he can practically feel the fear wafting off her, he'd assumed the marks on her face were from a possessive unhinged boyfriend but her reaction makes him uneasy. He tries to push those unpleasant thoughts to the corner.

"What about your friends? Why don't you call Su-ah or Ju-Kyung, I’m sure they’ll help you.” 

She stiffens in his arms before shaking her head in decline.

"No. I can't let anyone else see me like this. I don't need them looking at me the way you did, like I'm a sad pitiful puppy. I never want anyone look at me like that again."

He can respect that, he never wants to appear weak in front of others. It was easier to become angry and lash out rather than showing your true heart, nobody could hurt you that way.

"Then what? Where do you want to go?"

"I have nowhere to go. I'll stay here until morning. I'll be fine, you can go."

He looks at her dumbfounded, what kind of man would leave a battered woman alone in the rain? He wasn't raised by animals, damn it.

"Let's go." He makes a point not to touch her, their only point of connection are her hands twisted in his shirt.

"What?"

He bulldozes past her confusion, looking at her with what he hopes are comforting eyes.

"I'm taking you to my house. I can't just leave you here."

"Are you crazy? Don't you live with your mother and sister, what will they say?"

He winces at the logical inquiry, he had already considered that himself, thinking of his mother's subsequent smacks and his sister's teasing once they learned what he'd done but still deciding that he has no other choice. He can't just leave her here.

He shrugs, "That's my problem to worry about. I'm not leaving you here, I'd really like to get out of his rain. Let's go." He repeats himself harder, pleading with her.

She looks away and he's prepared to throw her over his shoulders and face the consequences when he hears her response, "Okay. Let's go."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It's a quiet ride back, the engine rumbling through the aching bones of her frozen body. Han Seojun. The last person she ever expected to see after being roused from her panic induced collapse. Her arms tighten around his thin waist as he swerves around a car, adrenaline and fear battling for dominance in her body. When her fingers accidentally brush across wet bare skin she quickly moves her hands higher, fighting the embarrassment that washes over her.

If he notices she can't hear his reaction over the roar of the motorcycle.

When they finally pull up to a small apartment, she loosens her hold on him cracking her frozen digits.

"You didn't need to hold that tightly, I wasn't going to let anything happen to you. I ride this everyday you know."

She doesn't reply focusing on getting off the bike, swinging her leg over and hopping off not graceful but effective, a small proud smile spreads on her face before she gazes back at him.

He stares back before shaking his head, as if lost in a daze before he stomps off for her to follow.

Wordlessly she trails behind him, feeling foolish in her duck pajamas, a gift from Su-ah.

When he pushes his front door open, letting her in first she steps out of her sopping wet house slippers standing awkwardly looking around.

"Stay here. I'll get towels so we don't trail too much water."

She nods at his command, gazing at the floor and seeing how much water is already pooling around her feet.

"Here." He hands her a fluffy pink towel, she raises an eyebrow at the color.

"It's the guest towel. I wouldn't give you my towel."

That makes sense, sharing towels is far too intimate for the relationship they have. That being none. 

She rapidly towels at her hair, before running the towel down her body and wrapping it around her waist.

"You can use the bathroom. It's the second door on the right. I'll bring you dry clothes."

She steps cross the doorway, finally entering his home. Before she turns back to him staring directly into his eyes, "Than.... You didn't have to do this." She loses her confidence but his answering smirk lets her know he understood enough, with that she walks to the bathroom locking herself inside.

The sight of her bruised face in the mirror makes her pause, reaching up to finger at the stark purple mark on her cheek. She's crying before she can control her emotions, tears dripping into the sink as she remembers her night, how close she was to the end despite what she said to Seojun she wanted to live. As her father stood above her ready to snuff her out like a mere nuisance in his life, she realized with a burning passion how desperately she wanted to live.

A soft knock drags her back to reality as she rapidly wipes her tears away.

"I'm leaving clothes by the door. You can come out whenever you're ready. I'm making tea."

When she hears the light steps of his feet moving away from the door she opens the door a crack, picking up the neatly folded pile of clothes. Sending the boy a mental thank you before closing the door quietly.

It's clear that these clothes belong to Seojun, draping off her body, too large for her frame, a black T-shirt with a microphone on the center and sweatpants that cover her feet as well, he'd even remembered to bring her socks. Instantly she feels her body warming as her body temperature returns to normal. 

Folding her wet clothes and splashing water on her face then using the towel to rub it dry, she exits the bathroom walking towards the light she sees assuming that's the kitchen.

"The water's almost done boiling. Sit down."

His deep voice greets her as she follows his orders and takes a seat.

"Are these your clothes?"

"What? Oh yeah they're mine, sorry my sister locked her door. They're very old though, I haven't worn them in years I thought they would fit you better." He eyes her as he says the last sentence, "I guess it didn't make much of a difference I'm just too tall and manly for my own good."

She scoffs at his narcissistic comment rolling her eyes "Tall and manly my foot. You're so skinny I could probably pick you up with one arm."

He immediately turns at her comment, affronted look on his face, "Shut up! It's hard for me to put on weight, I'm not that skinny."

He places his hands on his hips, looking down at himself before puffing his chest out to make himself appear broader, it's so ridiculous that she can't control her reaction.

Sudden uncontrollable laughter.

She laughs breathlessly, folding onto her lap trying to contain her giggles but his scandalized look makes her laugh harder and she has to stuff her face in her elbow to prevent herself from waking his family.

After a few minutes of random spasms of laughter she finally peers back up at him.

He looks just like he did outside when she'd smiled after successively getting off his motorcycle.

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. I just never see you smile at school."

"Well you never do anything worth smiling about." She quips back, wondering if she'd gone too far but he doesn't reply beyond a slight smile that's gone too fast to even be titled that, he places her steaming cup of tea before her sipping at his own after blowing on it.

They drink in comfortable silence.

She's the first to rapture the silence, "I don't need pity."

"I don't pity yo--"

"But thank you. Thank you for stopping. Thank you for this, thank you."

He stares wordlessly before nodding, a slight blush on his cheeks before he hides his face in the cup of tea. She doesn't bring attention to it.

"You can sleep in my room. It's the door next to the bathroom."

Humming she looks up, fatigue hitting her like a brick at the mention of sleeping.

"Where will you sleep?"

"I have a perfectly good couch, don't argue you're sleeping in my room. That's final. It's better that my mother doesn't see a strange woman on the couch when she wakes up."

Well, she can't argue with that logic.

"Okay." Drinking the last of the soothing beverage, she stands up walking over to place the cup in the sink.

"Good night." She starts to walk back in the direction of the bathroom, seeing another door next to it. Seojun's room. Twisting the doorknob she pushes it open, before she hears his voice from behind her.

"If you need anything I'm right outside."

Blinking her tears away, she nods without looking back, too vulnerable with his palpable concern.

When she lays her head down on his pillow, his scent fills her senses and she falls into a deep restless slumber feeling safer than she has in long time.

Tomorrow will be horrible.

But tonight, she will allow herself to breath easy knowing that someone is on her side.

#true beauty #kang sujin #han seojun #sujin deserves better #redemption fic #healing each others wounds #the visuals #true beauty kdrama #slow burn

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2  ||  chapter 3  ||  chapter 5  ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh. 

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

------

chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean  

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them. 

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

 One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop. 

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.) 

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine. 

He paid you a visit in the early morning. 

 The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.  

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop. 

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way. 

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time. 

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured. 

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’. 

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do. 

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly. 

 Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

 You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink. 

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt. 

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor. 

 You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

 It was your only self-imposed criteria. 

 You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

 Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

 You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible. 

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent. 

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day. 

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool. 

 “Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice. 

You caught it but said nothing. 

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

 What.

What the fuck.

 Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat. 

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body. 

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong. 

 It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp. 

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup. 

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

 It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea. 

It was you. 

 The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip. 

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours. 

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

 “It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.” 

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?” 

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.” 

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak. 

He didn’t.

 Keigo stared down at the drink, then you. 

Holy fuck.

This was ambient? 

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you. 

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

 “What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

 Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

 Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

 “Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it. 

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it. 

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand. 

 During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach. 

 Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing. 

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

 He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday. 

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

  Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation 

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality. 

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.  

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli. 

Quirk potential: 

 Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

 The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

 Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused. 

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it. 

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind. 

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

 You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut. 

 By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon. 

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

 [birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

 Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

 [birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this 

 You snorted. 

 [birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

 You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching. 

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early. 

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

 It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks. 

 Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting. 

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later. 

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups. 

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction. 

 Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand. 

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

 You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms. 

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you. 

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough. 

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass. 

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you. 

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz. 

You just had to keep moving. 

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh. 

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

 You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits. 

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative. 

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know. 

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

 Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics. 

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel. 

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war. 

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you. 

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training. 

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.  

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight. 

 Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window. 

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway. 

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak. 

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

 You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again. 

Something was seriously fucked up.

 Then Hawks called your name. 

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse. 

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you. 

 Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious. 

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass. 

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him. 

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass. 

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

 You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms. 

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop. 

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind. 

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

 Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

 “(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely. 

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest. 

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.  

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body. 

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression. 

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly. 

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage. 

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee. 

 With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more. 

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.  

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out. 

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds. 

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals. 

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation. 

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths. 

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat. 

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

 You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain. 

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red. 

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile. 

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg. 

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag. 

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement. 

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations. 

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

 “(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass. 

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely. 

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking. 

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort. 

 “There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid. 

 Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises. 

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg. 

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side. 

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble. 

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together. 

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did. 

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife. 

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather. 

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you. 

 “Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue. 

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

 Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

 So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk. 

 “Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg. 

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream. 

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of. 

 (Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

 “We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs. 

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends. 

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears. 

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

 The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state). 

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

 From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him. 

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay. 

You were friends, right?

 Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch. 

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil. 

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.  

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity. 

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat. 

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more. 

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot. 

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.  

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo reader insert #hawks reader insert #hawks fanfiction #reader insert #mha x reader #tw blood #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Crashing | Jurdan Fake Hating One Shot

Written for: @poeticbrownmermaid​ for my 1k celebration!

Massive thank you to: @clockworkgraystairs​ and @sweetlyvillainous​ for beta reading this and holding my hand before I posted 🥺❤️

Summary: You’ve heard of fake dating. Get ready for fake hating. It’s all very romantic.

Rating: M/E for explicit language and a short, soft focus smut scene (a steam scene, if you will). The sexy parts start and stop after the ☽☽ in case you want to skip.

Masterlist

“You taste—” I’m cut off by my own giggle, which rises to my lips like my mouth is a glass and my laugh is the Champagne they’re serving at this dumb party. “You taste like bubblegum.”

Cardan looks at me funny, then snorts. “What?”

His eyes are beguiling when they’re amused. Even more beguiling when they’re amused and looking at me. They are dark intoxication. They compete against the night sky for vastness. I could swallow them whole.

We’re on the terrace under the stars outside his fancy-pants mansion. I’m sitting on the stone railing, my knees bracketing his lithe frame. His hands and lips are breathless effervescence on me.

I’m in a daring dress of red satin that I would’ve never chosen for myself had Oriana not insisted on finding us girls a tailor. It’s an elegant, backless number with an audacious slit up the side. The whole time before this in the ballroom, I could sense Cardan’s eyes eating it up while he pretended to hate me.

In this dress, I am a femme fatale spy from a film, meeting her tryst in the secret of shadows. Which is honestly not too far off from the reality of the situation, though I am no spy.

Cardan ghosts one hand up the exposed skin of my thigh. The night air is bracing as his touch.

“Jude,” he murmurs, “Are you drunk?”

He’s in a rakish black velvet suit with two blood-red rubies dangling from the pointed tips of his collar. It is decadence and sin given form. The first hour of this hell party was just that: Hell. By the time Cardan pressed a napkin into my palm with the words “Terrace. 10 min.” scrawled on it in smeared ink, I was beginning to glare at him in earnest—if only for the way he must’ve known he was teasing me.

Now, we’re making out behind two conveniently tall potted plants.

It’s all very romantic.

“I had one glass of wine, Cardan,” I say. I slide my hands from his hair and scrape my nails lightly down the column of his neck. It is heady, watching his eyes shutter. My hands slide down his chest and take up his lapels. I give them a firm tug. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I,” he says, lips hovering over my own, “Don’t believe you.” His breath fans across my face. It really does smell like bubblegum. And not the minty kind, either. I’m talking bright pink and bubblicious.

I lean back a little and stick my bottom lip out in a mock-pout. “Why not?”

“For starters,” he says, “You’re a lightweight.” He trails that damned hand down my exposed thigh again.

I shiver. “So? I also ate like twenty of those canopy things.”

“Canapés?” Cardan smirks.

“Yeah, whatever, Your Highness.”

He flashes me a grin and I’m briefly stricken into silence. “Then, what have you to say to your unprecedented giddiness this evening, Your Majesty?”

“Ew, don’t call me that.” I grimace. “I just called you ‘Your Highness’.”

“What? Scared of the implication?”

“Uh, yeah.” My brows shoot up on my forehead. “Mainly because it implies that I’m your mother.”

Cardan’s face goes slack. “Shit, really?”

I nod and bite back my grin.

“I thought they were interchangeable.”

“About as interchangeable as a fork and a spoon.”

He sputters a laugh. “Shows what I know about royalty.”

“You realise how ironic that is, don’t you?” I say, nodding pointedly in the direction of the party.

It goes on without us, spilling its mirth in great golden shafts out onto the terrace. It doesn’t touch us, though. The air is cool, clear of the preening bullshit that so regularly lathers these kinds of events. And though he makes me dizzy, Cardan is the only real thing here.

I think I like parties better this way. From the shadows. In there, we’d have to talk to people, explain ourselves. We’re supposed to hate each other. We were always supposed to hate each other.

A smile plays at the corners of Cardan’s lips as if he’s gleaned these thoughts of mine. “You haven’t answered my question.”

I narrow my eyes. “You think I’m too giddy to not be drunk.”

“Mhmm.” He nudges his nose against mine. “I’ve never heard you giggle before.” A slender finger tracks up my spine and it takes a considerable amount of concentration not to squeeze my thighs together. Goosebumps and a flush spring to my skin, anyway. “It’s delightful,” he tells me.

“Well, maybe you should work on your sense of humour.” My voice comes out shakier than I want it to.

“Maybe,” Cardan says, grabbing the back of my knee and hitching it up. “But that sounds like effort.”

I want to roll my eyes. This is exactly the reason we used to hate each other. His laziness, his arrogance, and entitlement made me want to punch him clean across his pretty cheekbones. I know my stubbornness and sharp tongue made him hate me right back.

Yet, when our worlds crumbled around us, we found ourselves crashing into each other. Entwined in a thicket of mutual understanding. Suddenly, there was so very little to hate.

We pretend to in public to keep up appearances. Everyone knows we hated each other. If we started being friendly around everyone else, people would talk. That’s the last thing we want. Even if they’d technically be right.

In private, though, Cardan is probably my most closely held secret.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still annoying as all hell. Like right now. But I’ve always liked a challenge.

I hook my leg around his back, pulling him in. My fingers card through his hair again. “I can be delightful in other ways,” I say, biting my lip.

His eyes lower to my mouth. “Oh, I’m well aware.” Cardan’s voice comes out a rasp. He cants my chin with the crook of his finger, pulling my lip from between my teeth with the pad of his thumb. He looks at me with undiluted lust. The weight of his gaze is like a dizzying nightmare.

Then, he devours me.

Our mouths slide together, slowly at first, but building in fervor. Hot and heavy, like a fever. His grip on my thigh is bruising. His other hand splays across my bare back, crushing me to him, long fingers twining in my hair. Everything turns saturated and slow.

I invade his mouth with my tongue, determined to drink him up. He tastes like bubblegum and our reconciliation. At the same time, I hook my other leg behind him so he’s pressed flush against the apex of my thighs. ☽☽

A muffled groan rolls between his teeth. “Fuck, Jude.” Cardan is growing firm beneath his trousers. The feel of it sends a curl of sweet desire, dark and throbbing, through my core.

“You’re going to have to be quieter than that,” I tease. I’m so featherbrained on the savour of his mouth, his liquid touch. My veins feel full of amber liquor instead of blood. I know I’m not drunk, and yet I feel it.

His fingers drawl back up my leg. “The question is, dear,” he says, “Can you be quiet?” The coolness of his hands sends a shock along the heat of my inner thigh.

I realise where he’s going with this and my breath hitches. My cheeks blaze. “Yes,” I tell him, though I don’t sound as confident as I should for such a high stakes rendezvous.

“Hmm,” Cardan thrums. “We’ll see about that.”

His fingers are deft and twice as sly. He hisses through his teeth when they glide over me, exploring.

As a steady rain, he begins my unravelling. His mouth covers mine, swallowing a soft whimper that escapes my throat. I want to moan his name, to curse aloud, but I can’t if we’re to stay hidden.

The thought is both terrible and exciting at once.

Cardan keeps a torturous pace. I cling to him, panting, clutching at his arms, clawing at his back. His mouth roams my jawline. His teeth tug my ear. My mind is frenetic, frenzied, and at once thick in a viscous haze.

All I can think about is how this party is so stupid and soul-sucking, but Cardan is the farthest thing from stupid and soul-sucking. About how he makes me feel very much alive. About how I like him more than anyone here, probably more than even myself.

His other arm wraps certain and solid around me as he spins my world on its side. I lean my forehead on his shoulder. He kisses my neck. I can’t help the gasps that leave me.

My heart is racing. So quickly does it pump, in time with his ministrations, I think I might turn to white lightning in a bottle before all is said and done.

I know it when I’m drawing towards that precipice. My toes curl and flex. My legs begin to quiver. My knees lock up.

“Cardan,” I gasp. “Please.”

“Can you be quiet for me, Jude?” Cardan murmurs rough against my ear. He sounds a little breathless, too.

I am so muddled, I am so close. I can only manage a soft sob in response. Now he’s doubling his efforts and oh, gods is he clever.

I bite his shoulder to keep from making a sound as I shoot over the edge, a wondrous arc so high I’m sure I scrape the stars of their dust.

My hips writhe against his palm. I pull and rake my fingers through his hair as I spiral through the five stages of sweet delirium.

He holds me through it. Presses his lips to my hair and whispers what I think must be comforting things into my ear. I can’t tell because I’m incapable of comprehending much of anything beyond myself in his arms. He strokes soft circles over my back until it’s done. ☽☽

When everything settles, I’m still clinging to him, my forehead against the sureness of his shoulder. A sheen of sweat dewing my skin.

I’ve always hated this part about intimacy. The aftermath. Everything is too quiet. The excitement is gone. You’re faced with the reality of looking at each other without the rosy filter of lust. Maybe you’ll see each other for who you really are, and that’s a scary thought.

That’s probably how I felt once with Cardan, too. Back when we started…whatever this is. But now, in this moment with him, it feels less vulnerable and more like holding someone’s hand as you stare upon something a little terrifying.

Which is why I’m able to look up at him and ask in every manner of seriousness, “Why do you taste like bubblegum?”

His responding laugh is gentle and he shakes his head. “One-track mind,” he says. I shrug and wait.

“They’re serving bubblegum cocktails at the bar inside.”

My nose crinkles. “You actually drank one of those?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“No, I think I’ll sleep quite soundly if I never do.”

Cardan gives me an awful kind of grin that makes my toes curl anew. “Didn’t hear you complaining earlier.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” he says, then tucks a loose curl behind my ear. “I happen to like bubblegum cocktails.”

I give him a dubious look. I can’t help but feel that maybe we’re not talking about bubblegum cocktails anymore.

For a long moment, we just sit there staring at each other. There’s a bloom of laughter from inside the house. The clink of glasses. His eyes trace the lines of my face. I still feel drunk on him and he’s looking at me too soberly.

So I say, “You have shit taste, then,” and hop off the railing. I side-step him before beginning the task of smoothing down my dress. If I walk back into the party all flushed and disheveled, people will know what I’ve been doing—which is almost as bad as if people knew who I’ve been doing.

“Oh, you can’t say that dear,” Cardan lilts as he leans back against the balcony with all the insouciance of someone who lives in this ridiculous mansion. And rightly so, because he does. “Not when you taste equally delicious.” Then he brings his fingers, the ones that have just been inside me, to his mouth and closes his lips around them, burning gaze locked on mine.

My eyes go wide. My jaw slacks as I watch him. I’m somewhere between affronted by his audacity and completely turned on again. Which is a confusing place to be.

He laughs at my probably very foolish expression and I turn on my heel to head back to the party. I’m not actually offended. I just can’t bear to look at him while he’s tasting me off his fingers without combusting on the spot.

Cardan grabs my wrist. “Wait, wait,” he says, still laughing.

I arc a brow and turn to face him. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and sounds earnest enough. “It’s just… you make me giddy, too.”

His words are a punch to the gut. I hadn’t realised it until he said it, but it’s true. It’s not the way he kisses me or the high of a climax, though those are surely nice things, too. It’s the way I feel when we’re together. Just his presence makes my head swim, my stomach turn flips.

He makes me feel a little bit invincible, and entirely beyond reason.

I look at him, the warm glow of the party playing off the sharp angles of his face. He’s still holding my hand, fiddling with the ruby ring I always wear.

On the crest of a breath, Cardan says, “Stay tonight.”

“Why?” I whisper, because we’ve never spent the night. I’m not sure we’d even know how.

“Because I’ll miss you terribly?”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I think you’ll survive.”

“Because you’ll miss me terribly.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely survive,” I say. Even as my heart gives a squeeze. I don’t want to leave.

Not yet, not yet.

“Because you’re too intoxicated to drive home,” he says.

“I took an Uber here, Cardan,” I tell him. “And for the last time, I’m not drunk.”

“I’m not saying you’re drunk, Jude.”

He’s not grinning at me, which I think is a good sign. It means he’s not hinting at something sexual. Then again, that might also be a very bad sign. It means he’s hinting at something deeper. I’m not sure I want to get into that conversation just yet.

“Fine,” I say. I do want to stay. The thought of it sends a little thrill through me. “Hate me for an hour more. We’ll have a big argument about… something. And then I’ll tell Madoc I’m leaving.”

His hands snake around my waist. “What will we argue about tonight?”

I smile at him sweetly. “If your head is half as cunning as your fingers, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Cardan hums. “I do love it when we’re at each other’s throats.”

I roll my eyes but I’m betrayed by my laugh for not the first time tonight. Stupid punch-drunk feelings.

☽☽☽☽☽

Enjoyed this? Try:  King  |  Wicked Game  |  We’re All Mad Here

Masterlist

AN: So this was supposed to be a drabble for my 1k celebration but my hand slipped and whoops! It’s 2.5K words. I really hope you enjoyed this secret tryst one shot. I had so much fun writing it. If you liked this and want to see more from me, comments and/or reblogs are very much appreciated!

I have a tag list so if you’d like to be added to that, let me know in the comments/my messages/inbox and I’d be happy to add you! I also recently jumped on the Twitter/Instagram bandwagon. You can follow me @/rebelwriter23 on Twitter and @/slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Instagram.

Back to the forest now. -Em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Crashing- Illenium

Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @knifewifejude​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @clockworkgraystairs​ @thesirenwashere​ @judexcardanxgreenbriar​ @nite0wl29​ @aelin-queen-of-terrasen​ @whocares-idont​ @babycardan @sweetlyvillainous​ @aesthetics-11​ @storiesandschemes​ @jurdanhell​ @poeticbrownmermaid​ @thechainofiron​ @random-llama-socks​ @villanellevi​ @lady-thea-of-narnia​ @b00kworm​ @flowersinvegas​ @vanessa172003​ @cardanstrickytail​ @queen-of-glass​ @doingmyrainbow​ @words-of-the-wise​ @scarznstars​ @charincharge​ @fizziefaerie​ @fateandluminary​ @tessas-herondales​ @styles-taylor​ @jyoti96​ @losssssstttttt​ @transbordeamento​ @katsemkitgostadetog @gloriouspalacebakerylawyer​ @woodsbeyond1​ @hizqueen4life​ @highqueenjudeduarte​ @m-like-magic1-blog​ @dorkzrul​ @whataboutmyfries​ @livelovereading123​ @queenofgreenbriar​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @lifeminuspickles​ @df3ndyr​ @christalpaez @aknymph​ @iammissstark​ @disco-tits1​ @star-flecked-soul​

#tfota #jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota fic #jurdan fic #tcp #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #queen of nothing #twk #qon #tqon #holly black #judecardan #jude x cardan #jude duarte x cardan greenbriar

[breadboylovin]

NEW POST FOR MY 95060 PLAYLIST!!! complete with explanations of every song choice under the cut because i love explaining my own creative decisions for some reason (PLEASE DO NOT FEEL COMPELLED TO READ ALL OF IT IF YOU DONT WANT TO ITS VERY LONG LOL). i may add a few songs here and there later on, or more likely rearrange what i've already put in slightly, but for now i consider it done.

alright now heres a look into my twisted mind

PART 1: TEMPTATION

Franz Ferdinand - Michael: It's a song about seducing someone named Michael. What more can I ask for (serious explanation is that it’s also very homosexually charged like you just have to listen to it… also feels taunting in a way where it’s like ‘oooooh you want me so bad’ and he’s RIGHT Michael DOES want him so bad). Also credit to this post for letting me know this song existed and inspiring me to make this playlist in the first place :-3

Mystery Skulls - Paralyzed: Just another song about how Michael is awestruck by David and feels compelled to follow him for whatever reason (the reason is that he wants him so bad)

TAEMIN - WANT: This is one of three Taemin songs on here because I think if David survived until present day he would fucking LOVE Taemin. Anyways this is a song about knowing you’re hot shit and everyone wants you and I think after seducing Michael through fucking?? Fatal motorcycle races and evil noodle mind tricks??? David deserves to feel that

Glass Animals - Gooey: OHGHGHGHFH THIS SONG… the vibes are impeccable on this one, Dave Bayley’s alluring voice feels like a slight remix of what David is going for and the way it feels like the singer is trying to convince the listener of something (even though it’s purposely vague) just FEELS like David with Michael. The line “I can’t take this place, I can’t take this place/I just need to go where I can get some space” especially fits when imagining how Michael is new to Santa Carla and may want a place to belong that David and the boys are happy to provide

TAEMIN - Impressionable: I see this as the moment that Michael downs the bottle of “wine”, where this song is David’s internal monologue reveling in how easy it was to charm Michael and get him to join. I always thought this sounded like a taunting villain song so it just fits. Also it’s like ridiculously horny which is a plus

PART 2: THE RELATIONSHIP ITSELF

MGMT - Me and Michael: In my head this is directly after Michael drinks the “wine”, and if it were an actual song in the movie, it’d play instead of Cry Little Sister in that scene. I already made art related to this but I really just love the juxtaposition between something that Michael will later see as horrible (becoming a half-vampire) and David seeing it as a perfect slow-dance moment. Also “Me and Michael, it’s not a question now” because the blood drinking has now linked them together… mmmmm. Credit to this post again for making me find this song!!

ALI - DESPERADO: This one is less about David and Michael specifically and more about how the night in the cave went down for everyone there, starting with a soft slowness as they ate and then descending into chaos as Michael downs the wine and they celebrate a new addition to the pack. The bacchanal energy is off the charts

Dorian Electra - Man to Man: This song is just one that I attribute to all of the boys because I think they do a lot of homoerotic sparring. Also the part of the movie where Michael punches David in the face and David just goes >:-3 back at him

Chase Atlantic - Friends: I don't know what it is about this one but it just Hits… The chorus kinda sounds like David and the boys trying to convince Michael to stay with them instead of coming back to human society after drinking the blood, in the same sort of taunting manner that they had when David (presumably?) made Michael hallucinate the bike lights and sounds outside of his house

Taking Back Sunday - You're So Last Summer: THIS SONG IS JUST REALLY GOOD. I don't know what it is about this one either… I guess the “Maybe I should hate you for this/Never really did ever quite get that far” part could represent the first glimpse of Michael’s more conflicted feelings about David. Also the second half of verse 2 not only fucks so hard but could also be indicative of Michael’s repressed gay feelings, lying to himself about how he wanted to be around David because he’s cool or whatever but he actually just has the hots for him and would let him do anything if he asked to

MGMT - Little Dark Age: Mostly here just for vibes. Have y’all seen that one edit set to this song? Yeah

The Neighborhood - Prey: I feel like this song captures the general unease that Michael feels right before he sees the boys kill for the first time, knowing that he’s probably turning into a vampire and something horrible is happening… especially with “Something is wrong, I feel like prey” just generally describing what it must feel like to be a human among vampires (though he’s not fully human anymore at this point)

PART 3: REALIZATION + FIGHTING BACK

TAEMIN - Criminal: YET ANOTHER TAEMIN SONG!!!! It’s all about realizing you're with someone who’s like, an evil manipulative villain and genuinely bad for you but you can’t escape just yet because you’re kinda into it. I don't think David is THAT bad of a guy, but Michael could be like “I need to get out of this situation because this man is a vampire but I feel attracted to him and it’s hard to really get away”. Also the line “My hands holding yours that stabbed me are not clean either” just HITS cus Michael hates David’s vampirism but HE’S a half-vampire now so it’s not like he’s innocent either. This is just a really good 95060 song AND a good song in general, listen to it even if you don't normally like K-pop cus it slaps

Glass Animals - Wyrd: This would be the moment where Michael snaps out of it and just starts running away, but to no avail, because he’s still a half-vampire (“You can’t run so you must hide” meaning that he can’t outrun his new monstrous nature, the best he can do is hide it until it eats him alive). Meanwhile David laments over how this is a stupid decision from his perspective (“So, my friend, our time is done/You and I could’ve had so much”)

Moonface - Minotaur Forgiving Theseus: This is a very veeeeery bitter song from Michael’s perspective about David being a vampire… with the “You’re just a hitman” repetition referencing how David. Y’know. Eats people. And the “I heard you're coming for me now” references both how David first approached him and the impending confrontation

The Neighborhood - The Beach: This song goes from the bitterness of the previous one to a pseudo-acceptance of the end of their brief friendship and what’s inevitably going to happen next. However, I think the bridge of the song illustrates the little bit of Michael that doesn’t want this to happen, that wants this relationship to somehow work out because he cares about David even if he is a vampire (unfortunately he ends up repressing this because he feels a duty to kill David now)

Gorillaz - Rhinestone Eyes: This is mostly in here because of the music video, the buildup to a battle just echoes in my head whenever I hear this song now. In the context of this playlist it makes me imagine David looking up at the Emerson’s house from the hotel (and Michael doing the opposite) knowing that something’s about to happen and it’s going to be horrible

Glass Animals - JDNT: This entire song feels like the climax of the movie. Verse 1 feels like the Emersons and Frogs getting ready to attack the cave (“I’m all armored up”) with “I feel that final poke” being when Marko gets staked, and the chorus right after is a tinge of regret that Michael feels once the plan starts to take shape. Verse 2 is the other boys waking up to see that Marko is dead + them dying themselves (“Where my funny friends gone?”) and the bridge is Michael and David’s fight before Michael finally gores David on the antlers. The outro of “You can’t breathe without me” VERY much feels like David taunting Michael from beyond the grave, knowing how much Michael loved him and how horrible what he’s just done is

PART 4: GRIEF

The Brazen Youth - Burn Slowly/I Love You: Ooooooghghgh the conflicted feelings about their relationship is STRONG in this one… The “Burn Slowly” part being him trying to convince himself that he did the right thing by killing David while the “I Love You” part is him realizing that he really did love David and it fucking hurts

Sufjan Stevens - The Predatory Wasp Of The Palisades Is Out To Get Us: MAN. MAN… Everything past “I can’t explain the state that I'm in” is just so… it’s Michael realizing what he had even more and just how much it hurts that he’s lost it. He knows he was in love now and it fucking hurts SO MUCH!!!!!

Sufjan Stevens - The Only Thing: [head in my fucking hands] Michael moping around Santa Carla because it feels empty without David. All the “should I tear my eyes out now?/Should I tear my heart out now?” parts oh my GOOOOOOOOD sufjan stevens i'm going to slap you on the head.

Paramore - Tell Me How: THIS SONG HURTS SO MUCH ITS SO. It’s another one about conflicting feelings so theoretically it should be earlier in the story but I always envision something very morbid when listening to this (and have now written a fic about it so check that out)… Michael going back to the hotel where he put David’s body and musing to no one, asking how he’s supposed to feel now, the “And always coming to your defenses” where Michael keeps defending David and their relationship to his family who all think David was a horrible monster… this song fucking hurts. Also I unintentionally drew a parallel between JDNT’s “You can’t breathe without me” and this song’s “Do I suffocate or let go?” and now that I’ve realized that it hurts even more. Fuck this song

#the lost boys #michael emerson #the lost boys david #95060 #michael x david #david x michael #text #Spotify #i have thought sooooo hard about this playlist fr and theres so many individual lyrics and bits that i want to make art for #if i had all the time in the world i would #but. for now. enjoy :-3

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 7

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update

Chapter Summary: Alive but weak, Michael wanders Alex’s house as he tries to come to terms with the past few days.

Excerpt:

 At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.

 What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.

 But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.

 So he’d live with it.

--

 “Fuck!”

 Michael’s water glass flew to his hand but bumped the edge of the table and skidded the last few feet, spilling water across its surface. Still cursing, Michael shoved his chair back and got to his feet to clean shit up the old-fashioned way, on weak and shaky legs, with weaker and shakier lungs.

 Max kept healing him, checking for any possible little injury, but it seemed that Michael was just weakened by the enormous strain Jones’s “teaching” had put on his body, and he’d have to build back his strength.

 So there it was. All his fears about not being to protect anyone, all the needy clamor in his head, all of them led him here, by nothing but his own recklessness and desperation. Weak as a kitten. More a burden on Alex, quite literally, in his life, taking up his space, invading his home, leaning on him to get from point A to point B.

 Fuck.

 He was, at least, too tired to wallow in much, in between long jags of ragged sleep, torn apart by vivid dreams of light and letters and scraps of knowledge just out of reach. But despite the awful aftertaste of near-death those dreams represented, they were almost better than his waking hours, hovered over by a furious Isobel and a Max worried half to death, Valenti inspecting him head to toe the normal way, Maria trying to cheer him up, and      Alex    .

 They hadn’t spoken much since Michael awoke. Alex had to work, and when he didn’t, they, well. Cohabitating was a lot to get used to. But no matter how awkward things got, he offered a perfect porcelain protection, and Michael studied him obsessively for flaw, for the true Alex underneath the façade brought on by Michael’s own foolishness.

 “Everything going okay?” Max asked, emerging from the guest bedroom, Buffy at his heels. She’d become his shadow in the days since Michael’s near-death; it was almost endearing enough to keep Michael from snapping at him, but only almost.

 “Fine,” he snarled, but far from driving Max off, his tone brought Max forward, to sit across the table from him and fold his arms.

 If snapping wasn’t gonna keep people away, why had he been working so hard to not be a total asshole for the past few days, through every well-meaning coddle and condescension from any one of their friends, from everyone but Isobel, who wasn’t talking to him.

 Max sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, and a twinge of guilt disturbed Michael’s surly mood.

 “Go ahead,” he said a little too loudly, before those thoughts could get to him. “Tell me what a hypocrite I am. One of you has to, and it might as well be you. I was fucking stupid after getting on your case constantly, and it almost killed me. Go ahead!”

 “You seem to have gotten a head start, so I don’t see the need,” Max said wryly.

 Michael scoffed.

 Picking up Michael’s abandoned glass, Max ran his finger around the rim as he spoke. “You know, I know what it’s like to lose this. When my heart was still so weak…I pushed myself too hard and almost…well. You know. So I understand. Give yourself time. Let your system settle and see where you are.”

 The words were too kind and too logical for Michael to bear, so he let out another bratty huff and didn’t respond.

 Max just sighed again. “Well. Anyway. Kyle’s going to be here soon. I know you hate him, but he’s—”

 “I don’t.”

 “Huh?”

 “Hate him. Kinda hard to hate the guy after what he did for you. I don’t like the doctor shit, but…”

 That brought out a small smile on Max’s face, and the knot in Michael’s stomach unclenched. “That’s good,” he said.

 A knock on the door saved Michael from having to find a dignified answer, and he stood hastily to answer it—a little too hastily, it turned out, because the world tipped and took Michael with it.

 “How ‘bout you let me,” Max said as Michael dropped heavy back into his chair before falling. He clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Alex’d kill me anyway if it was trouble and I let you answer it.”

     Alex.    The too-casual reminder that he might have some kind of stake in Michael’s well-being sent him reeling. What was he supposed to do with that information, that perspective? How did he earn it, how was he worthy of it, and how did he keep it from flying away? All questions that were too much to answer—questions he’d asked his ceiling and his eyelids and his stars every night for a decade and was farther than ever from answers even now that he was coming to accept the core truth of the problem’s existence.

 Of course, there was no trouble at the door; it was just Kyle, as expected, and he pet Buffy with one hand while waving at Michael with the other.

 “Hey, Guerin. How’s it going?”

 Michael marshalled himself to answer.

 “How do you think it’s going, Doc? A newborn deer’s got fancier footwork than me right now. But I’m alive, so…”

 “Can’t complain,” Kyle finished the sentence with an amused shake of his head. “That’s one way to look at it.”

 His exam was quick and efficient, something Michael was grateful enough for that he’d die before he ever let Valenti see it, and when he was done he took a seat across from Michael.

 “It’s not exactly a clean bill of health, but your condition seems stable and improving. The condition of your body, at least. It’s hard for me to give any diagnosis about what might be impacting the use of your powers.”

 “Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t expect you to. I’ll figure it out. You’ve done enough,” Michael said, scratching idly at his temple where Max’s handprint lay, thankfully hidden by his hair. “Tell me this, Doc.” He glanced around to make sure Max wasn’t in earshot, and when he spied him through a window throwing a ball for Buffy, he continued, “Have you had a chance to check out Max yet? The healing he did, with his heart—”

 Kyle smiled, and Michael glanced away from his knowing face, shifting in his seat.

 “I did, and you have nothing to worry about. He’s fine. It was a significant strain, but considering the alternative, the outcome could have been much worse.”

 “But what about his condition otherwise?” Michael powered through. “He’s been dealing with depression and exhaustion for months since—"

 The back door swung open and Buffy bounded in for her water bowl, Max following. “How’s it going?” he asked them both, but mostly Kyle, voice full of false cheer.

 “All good,” Kyle said easily, getting to his feet. “It’s going to be fine,” he tacked on the firm reassurance to Michael. “I should get going so I can get ready for work. Catch you later, Max.”

 “Thanks again, man.”

 “Free drinks at the Pony for life, you know my price.”

 As little as Michael cared to socialize with Valenti even now, awkward silence descended when he was gone and it was just the brothers again. What did you say to the guy who saved your life—again—when you had nothing but your own stupidity to blame?

 It didn’t help that Max’s ability to make Michael feel small and stupid and guilty as hell without even trying was still unparalleled, or that he was still too weak to pace it out, or that he was hyperaware of how everyone would perceive him if he sampled some of Alex’s liquor cabinet to take the edge off.

 “I’m going out to the back to get some light exercise,” he said eventually.

 “Okay,” Max said, not arguing or inviting himself along.

 “Thanks,” Michael replied, not elaborating on what for as he passed him at the fastest shuffle he could manage.

 Outside, under the sun, Michael’s head was no clearer, his muscles no stronger. Alex’s backyard was featureless, incomplete, clearly not somewhere he spent much time, unlike the front patio, which at least had some furniture, some lived-in rested energy. And, Michael thought, of course: Alex would spend his leisure somewhere he could anticipate most attempts to accost him.

 Letting out a heavy sigh, Michael ambled from one end of the fence to the other. As he went, Alex’s cameras followed him, and Michael tried not to feel weird about that, weirdly paranoid despite it being      Alex,    weirdly comforted to know Alex could watch him. The whole thing was weird. Living in Alex’s home was…weird.

 At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.

 What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.

 But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.

 So he’d live with it.

 His pocket buzzed frantically, and he swore loudly, startled, before he realized it was just his phone ringing.

 “Fuckin’ spam calls,” he muttered as he fished it out. “Why the hell does anyone carry this shit around all the—”

 But it wasn’t a spam call at all.        Ortecho    sat dead center on the screen, and, not knowing what ring it was on, Michael answered immediately.

 “Mikey!” Liz’s breathless voice shouted before he could say a word.

 “Well it’s about damn—”

 “Thank god, are you okay, why am I hearing from Maria that you almost      died,    what the hell?”

 “Glad to know that’s what it takes to get a hold of you,” Michael snarked back.

 “Listen, I—”

 Michael just sighed. “I know. I get it. But we’ve been calling you a damn lot, Ortecho.”

 “…I know.”

 Despite what he said, he didn’t understand. He’d never understand the running, not as someone so stuck in the ground he’d been planted in that he’d die if he tried to rip himself away. But he couldn’t love Alex after ten years without accepting what he’d never understand and knowing how to survive it.

 He hadn’t thought, until now, that maybe he and Max could talk about this shit. But maybe it’d be worth a try. If there was one thing that Michael      did    know, it was that Liz and Alex wouldn’t talk about how the situations made them similar until they’d exhausted all possible escapes from that conversation.

 “Well…” Michael said into the silence. “How’s California been? How’s the Genoryx lab; they better be letting you do all the mad science shit, or else what good’s a shady government drug company…”

 “Don’t change the subject! You haven’t even answered me.      Are you okay?    ”

 “I…”

 What was the harm in being honest? Liz wasn’t even here, wasn’t even talking to anyone who wasn’t dying, so who would she tell? Maybe Maria, but Maria could read it from him like an open book.

 “Gotta tell you, I’ve been better,” he admitted.

 Liz let out a soft, sympathetic noise. “What happened? You can…you can talk to me, if you want. I know I haven’t been the most reliable, but we’re friends. We are. Okay?”

 Shaking his head, Michael paced the length of the fence again, one hand on it to steady himself.  He reached the house and kept walking to the front, leaving the barren back garden behind.

 “There’s not that much to say. Maria probably told you already. I made a bad gamble on Hyde, and Jekyll had to haul my ass out of the fire. That’s it.”

 That version of the story left out the part Isobel played, but Michael didn’t have the words to describe walking his own head as it melted around him, images flying past bright enough to sear his eyes, snatches of conversation, aphasia in every sense, and how empty and cavernous and      bereft    he felt now, knowing what Jones had stuffed inside him—the knowledge of his entire people—knowing he wasn’t      enough    to contain it, weak, corrupted, and now he might never get it back. And knowing Jones did that to him on purpose, gave him more than his body and mind could handle to make him feel this way, didn’t make the feeling it any damn easier.

 Liz went silent on the other end. There was a question she wasn’t asking, but Michael let it ride, gave her the space.

 But finally, he answered it for her. “Max is okay. His heart held up, and so did the pacemaker. And I’ve got a handprint six inches from my nose, so I can call him on it if he tries to bullshit me.”

 “I—okay. Thank you, Mikey.”

 “Don’t thank me. Seriously, don’t. I, uh, said a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have in your voicemail, about Max. But it’s up to you if you want him in your life at all, so, uh. Yeah.”

 “No, no, it’s fine.”

 There was a thunk on the other line like she’d dropped or hit something.

 “Look, I should go,” she said.

 “Okay,” Michael replied.

 “I’m—really glad you’re okay.”

 “And, uh, it was nice to hear from you.”

 “Okay.” Her final reply was soft and hesitant and awkward as Michael felt making an earnest overture a friend might make. “Bye, Mikey.”

 “Don’t be a stranger.”

 She hung up.

 Michael dropped his arm and let his phone dangle at his side for a little while. His legs shook a little, so he held onto the back of one of the patio chairs to steady himself, but he wasn’t ready to sit just yet.

 Friends or not, clearly he and Liz had plenty to work on if they were that fucking awkward without a project between them.

 Still, this was something. Something unexpected. Michael was too tired to sort through feelings right now.

 But he should have—

 Before he could second guess himself, he pulled his phone back up and dashed a text off to her.

     We all get together on Thursday nights. Open invitation. -G  

 Then he dropped his phone face-down on the seat and sat down several feet away so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it if she texted him back.

 All the chairs on Alex’s patio were tilted subtly to watch different angles of the approach to the house, so Michael settled in the one that was shadiest. It was too fucking hot to be relaxing outdoors without water or sunscreen, but the air indoors with Max hovering and Alex…everywhere…was just as stifling.

 Max hadn’t asked him why, yet, even though the question itched at Michael’s head, even through the careful distance they were keeping from the handprint bond between them. Which was good, because, in the sunlight, on the other side of the storm, his arms wrapped around his own stomach, holding himself, Michael couldn’t have answered it himself.

 Eventually, though, people would ask. And what would he tell them—should he admit he thought that the pollen would be enough to keep himself from harm, should he confess that he’d been willing—or thought he was willing—to accept the risks if it meant no one would have to take a blow for him?

 The street stretched long and quiet as far as Michael could see. Every now and then, a car would pass from one point on the line to the next, disappearing down some other driveway or just continuing until the heat haze swallowed it whole. The sun hurt his tired eyes, so he blinked slow, and let minutes trickle past, waiting for something to happen.

 Maybe his phone would ring again; maybe Max would come looking for him. Maybe Flint Manes would leap out of the bushes and shoot him. Maybe Alex would come home from work and smile when he saw him. Maybe Forrest would come home early and try and fight him for shacking up while he was gone. Maybe Jones did something to him that was lying in wait and would detonate his heart any second.

 Thinking of possibilities was an endless sort of entertainment for a man who never knew what to do with having a future and who just nearly lost his lease on it.

 As Michael watched the road, a truck appeared on one side of the horizon, moving faster than most would on a residential street like this. It whipped up dust as it went, and Michael rolled his eyes and slouched deeper into the chair. Fucking assholes in their screaming steel overcompensators almost universally considered themselves above getting work done in a junkyard, and that didn’t exactly give Michael a better opinion of them.

 And this piece of shit in particular, Michael recognized. What the hell was Wyatt fuckin’ Long doing on this side of town? Michael tensed as he roared by, just waiting for him to slow or stop—did he drive by often, harassing Alex for dating his cousin? Or looking for his cousin to harass somewhere off the farm where a real adult might stop him?

 He didn’t do either, though, and in seconds he was gone, cowgirl mudflaps dangling behind him.

 Asshole.

 What time was it anyway? Narrowing his eyes, Michael focused on his phone where he dropped it in the other chair and, slowly, tried to pull it toward him. It took seconds and enough strain his head hurt before it moved, but move it did, wobbling slowly towards him. Halfway there, it changed velocity and came shooting toward him, and he only barely managed to catch it before it overshot and slammed against the wall behind him.

 Still, progress.

 It was later than he thought. Shouldn’t Alex be home from work by now? Should he be worried?

 He was just hovering his thumb over Alex’s contact, deciding whether or not to call, when another car hissed along the drive and slowed. This one, though, turned into Alex’s driveway, and Michael relaxed.

 Alex pulled the car to a stop, and Michael stood up to greet him, stretching as he did. Unexpectedly, Maria was also in the front seat, but her presence answered the question of why Alex was late. If he wasn’t talking to Michael, at least he was talking to someone.

 “Hey,” Michael greeted them.

 “Hey, Guerin,” Maria replied.

 “Is everything alright?” Alex demanded.

 “Yeah, it’s fine. Kyle was by earlier. Seems like I’m still on the mend.”

 “That’s good to hear,” Maria said, as Alex said nothing.

 Michael gave her a smile. “Yeah, it is. So…are you staying for dinner? Maybe I can cook something…”

 Side-eying Alex, who stood as stiff and stoic as Michael had ever seen him, shoulders and back soldier-straight, Maria returned Michael’s smile and said, “Oh, Alex just asked me to take Buffy out for her walk for the next few days, so I’m here to see her.”

 “I didn’t want to impose on you for that,” Alex added.

 Michael rocked on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, chewing on his tongue to hold back any indication of how desperate he was to be imposed upon. The weakness in his legs kept him from making a real argument; despite her age, Buffy was a hell of a walker.

 Was that the reason Alex was asking Maria to step in? Was his leg okay? Michael rocked forward again, swaying toward Alex and tugging himself back, an old, familiar dance.

 “You could’ve. You’re puttin’ me up, I oughtta work for room and board,” Michael joked.

 It didn’t exactly land. If possible, Alex shut down harder, face cold and hard, though his voice was soft.

 “You don’t have to work for me to take care of you when you’re in need,” he said, every syllable clipped and careful.

 Michael should have known something was up then and there, seen it, seen Maria’s downcast eyes and crossed arms, the way she hovered close between them and kept to herself; he should have expected it, Alex to pull some kind of bullshit, but his head didn’t go there. Not yet.

 “So…you going somewhere?” he asked, licking his lips. The thought might have sent a bolt of panic through him, but now that Alex had a life here, a house and a job and roots, the threat was less immediate.

     That didn’t stop Liz,    his mind whispered, but he shook it off.

 Alex wasn’t answering, so Michael continued, “You heading out to meet Forrest in DC? You should have gone with him in the first place, man, take some time off.”

 Maria shot Alex a loaded look, but Alex’s face just hardened.

 “And been across the country when you almost died on my doorstep?” he demanded so fervently Michael took a step back, and Alex closed his eyes, chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry.”

 “No, uh, it’s fine. You’re right. I’m glad you were here.”

 Somewhere deep in his heart, Michael thought that it wouldn’t have mattered where in the universe Alex was when he lifted his foot and stepped across space to get to his door. His thoughts were inside out, tripled and rearranged with pieces missing, he couldn’t have said what he did or the powers he used or how he could do it again, but he could say this: for a brief moment, he’d possessed the ability to reorder the universe to put himself at Alex’s side, and no technicalities of time or distance would have stopped him.

 He didn’t have that power anymore, though, and neither did he have the ability to read Alex’s mind.

 “Seriously, though,      are    you going somewhere?” he asked again.

 “…I should get inside. My phone’s dead, I need to charge it,” Alex said.

 “      Alex,    ” Maria said in a scalded voice.

 Michael, though, was cold. Frozen. It barely registered when Maria reached out and squeezed his wrist to reassure him; he wasn’t reassured, though he was pathetically grateful to her for trying. She was a good friend—better now than she was or he was when they were two isolated points on a severed line, ten years as two stars on an unintelligible constellation, half its lights gone out.

 But that friendship, as cherished as it was—could it hold him up if the new foundation he’d built for his life was ripped away again? Again, he’d built it up around Alex without expectation or intention. It was reflexive, habitual, migratory. He followed a pattern etched into his bones. He didn’t know any other way to build.

 “Alex, I told you,” Maria said.

 “I know. But—”

 “No! No buts. If you can’t even be honest about what you’re doing, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

 “It’s fine,” Michael said. His voice was distant inside his own skull. “I get it. You don’t have to tell—you don’t owe me anything.”

 For some reason, Alex turned back around to face them, then, his face so openly wracked with pain and indecision that Michael had to close his eyes.

 Even less than he could stand to watch Alex walk away again, he couldn’t stand to watch it hurt so bad and him choose it all the same.

 “I’m      not    leaving you, Guerin. Michael. I’m—not. I’m not!”

 He said it again and again, like he was arguing with someone who wasn’t Michael or Maria, both of whom were silent. Maria pressed closer to Michael, leaning her weight against him, wordless but telling him:      I’m here.  

 “I’m not leaving,” Alex said again.

 Michael forced himself to open his eyes. A few feet in front of him, Alex took up the same amount of space he always did, posture helplessly perfect, hands helplessly flat at his sides.

 Through a tight throat, Michael said, “Okay. Then why…”

 Alex struggled for the words. At his side, Michael felt Maria breathe in and release a heavy sigh.

 “Talk to us, Alex. Please,” she said.

 Dropping his eyes, Alex replied, “I’m just going to be busy and out of the house a lot for the next few days and won’t have time to give Buffy the attention she deserves.”

 “Really? That’s it?” her voice was close to tears, and Michael unlocked himself to wrap his arm around her. She continued, “I asked you to      talk to us,    not just repeat what you told me before. What business, Alex? You’re scaring me.”

 “What am I supposed to do?” Alex cried, spreading his arms wide. Then he dropped his arms just as suddenly, head snapping back and forth looking for anyone who might have heard the outburst, then he dragged a hand over his face. He continued, quieter, flatter, “I get so wound up about one threat, and another one starts swinging from my blind side. I’m not waiting for Fields to come calling while Michael is here. And Jones—” That awful blankness crossed his face again. “—What am I supposed to do, let what he did to you go without doing something about it? Wait until he tries again? Absolutely not.”

 Every word stung Michael’s senses; he had no response, mouth parted but silent, eyes wide.

 Maria let out a frustrated growl. “And would you have told anyone these plans if I hadn’t forced you? Oh my god, of course not, you both suck so bad! What part of this one,” she jerked her thumb at Michael, “getting his gray matter pureed forty-eight hours ago makes you think now is the time to run off with some lone wolf Rambo act? What’s the point of being able to see the future if no one ever asks or listens?”

 “Did you? See something?” Michael asked.

 “Well. No. But I might have,” Maria replied.

 “Wait, nothing at all? It’s been how long now?”

 “Too long,” she admitted. “It’s not nothing, I just keep seeing our bearded friend standing in a field. I can’t even tell if it’s now or if it’s from before or even if it’s from the home planet. He doesn’t look at me, just…stands there.” She shivered.

 Alex’s eyebrows drew down. “Can he…block your sight? Is that possible?”

 Shrugging helplessly, Maria said, “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure we can’t just ask him. What are we going to do?”

     We.    Part of Michael wanted to protest, in the face of the danger that alliance would pose to two of the people he loved most in the entire world. Standing alone already almost got him killed, left him weaker than he’d ever been, but still part of him would try again, and again, until he was out of second chances, if it meant sparing Alex and Maria anything.

 But that wasn’t in question, was it. They’d made their choice. It was time for Michael to learn to live with it.

 “Thursday’s coming up,” he said. Maria and Alex turned to look at him, and he lifted and dropped his shoulders, curling in on himself. “If you guys are still available. We can talk about a game plan.”

 “      Guerin,    ” Maria sighed. But she smiled when she reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course we’re available.”

 Alex didn’t reply. Silence fell between the three of them, until Maria sighed again and headed toward the front door.

 “I already came all this way, I might as well spend a little time with Buffy. Since I won’t be walking her after all.”

 As she passed Alex, he made a soft noise, and whatever it was, she understood perfectly, because she turned to meet Alex’s raising arms, and the two of them hugged tightly.

 “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You were right. I’m sorry I didn’t--I shouldn’t have made you--”

 “Stop with the ‘shouldn’ts’,” Maria replied. “Just...don’t make us watch you destroy yourself alone when we’re here for you, okay?”

 Michael flinched. Neither of them looked at him, but her words hit home anyway. He was part of that grief, too.

 Alex nodded against her shoulder. “I won’t.”

 Then she gave him one last squeeze, he let her go, and she went inside, leaving Michael and Alex alone.

 And alone, what was there to say? They hadn’t found it so far.

 Michael’s heart still beat uncomfortably fast in his chest, a frantic effort to keep him standing and sane while his brain and body figured out that Alex wasn’t going to disappear from before his eyes, and it only pulsed harder when—he blinked to clear his eyes and—Alex got closer, closing the space between them in a few long, uneven strides.

 On instinct, Michael took a step back, but Alex stopped six inches away, just staring at him with his dark eyes. They scanned from his feet to his hair, taking in every minute tremble of his damaged muscles.

 Jittery, Michael licked his lips and said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer--”

 Alex took Michael’s shirt in his fist and pulled him in. They hit, chest to chest, Alex’s arm trapped between them until he pulled it away, down and out, clamped it around Michael’s back and held on, held on for dear life. He didn’t need to hold on so tight; Michael froze with the shock of Alex around him and couldn’t have budged for love or money, not until his mind caught up with his body and he slumped in Alex’s safe arms.

 “I’m so mad at you,” Alex said in his ear, close enough that his hitching breaths stirred Michael’s ear.

 “I know. I know,” Michael spoke back, lips moving against his shoulder. He let his eyes fall shut again. Like this, he didn’t need them, dropped every sense that wasn’t touch, anything that didn’t tell him the only thing he needed to know. Alex was here. Michael was here. They were alive. They were together.

 “How could you? What did I do wrong?” His breathing hitched harder, enough for Michael to feel it in Alex’s entire body.

 Gripping him tighter, one arm around his lower back, one arm around his broad shoulders, Michael murmured, “Nothing, God, nothing. I was stupid. I just wanted—I just had to—”

 “I wanted to protect you. That’s all I wanted—did I push too hard?” Hot, wet heat hit Michael’s neck. “I’m so shit at this, Michael, every time I try, I just make everything worse!”

 “No! No, hey, hey.”

 They were too tightly entwined for Michael to do much, but he maneuvered them enough to press their foreheads together.

 “I just wanted to protect      you,    ” Michael rasped. If he looked at Alex this second, this close, he wouldn’t be able to stand it, so he squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know how to—be protected. You making that sacrifice for me, I don’t know how to be worth it. It’s not your fault.”

 “You don’t have to do anything. Ever. I’m so fucking—sorry, for all the times I made you feel like you had to—earn...”

 They swayed slightly back and forth, half because Michael had pushed himself too far on his weak legs, half because it was an old self-soothing motion one or both of them fell back on, completely alone in the universe as children. They did it together, now.

 “We’ll figure it out,” Michael swore, clasping Alex’s sweaty hand in his own sweaty hand, in the nonspace between their chests, knuckle to sternum, palm to palm, sternum to knuckle. The words tasted like hope on his tongue.

 They opened their eyes, Alex first, then Michael, and they stood like that for a long time. Alex’s eyes were red from crying, but beautiful. Always beautiful.

     We’ll figure it out.    Neither of them believed it fully, but if both of them held a half, maybe they’d manage to make it work.

 “We should get back inside,” Michael said eventually, dropping Alex’s hand, stiffening his own to keep the shape of it held to his side as they parted.

 “Actually, could we, um.” Alex cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we could sit out here a while longer. It’s a nice sunset? And maybe we could catch up on normal stuff.”

 Michael looked over his shoulder at the sky. It really was stunning, broad beyond comprehension, all alien with pinks and purples and golds.

 “Normal stuff sounds great,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

#malex fic #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #my fic #roswell new mexico

[marcykinsmaki]

Since you write for all games can you write a s/o who at first couldn’t stand byakuya, mondo, kazuichi, and fuyuhiko but they comfort the s/o after a trial and they go from rivals to friends to lovers <3? Up to you if the guys disliked the s/o at the beginning too! If that’s too many characters the ones that really matter to me are byakuya and kazuichi! Thank you!!

HEYYYYY IT’S FINALLY DONE AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAANDAMDALKMDWAD cough cough cough. anyway. i only wrote byakuya because this piece is almost 5k words i hope you like it please love it anyway here it is.

Byakuya Togami x Reader.

Words: 4,365 (long)

CW: Mentions of suicide, heavy angst in the beginning, some suggestive moments.

Rating: Mature

--

You have to be kidding. This can’t be real. I thought he was bad before, but this? This is an entirely new low. He’s a jerk, a complete asshole who does nothing but make everything harder for everyone and laugh in our faces about it. Saying shit to hold us back, to make us confused and scratch our heads while he holds something we don’t. But messing with a body. A dead person’s corpse, for the sake of what?

“The motive of my actions is irrelevant.” I stared at him with a gaping jaw. “The thing we should be doing is figuring out the true killer. We know it isn’t Genocide Jack and now we know that it isn’t me.” Like that makes me feel better. He looks over to me, the sting of tears growing behind my sinuses. “Please, Y/N, keep yourself together. You’re going to catch flies if you keep that mouth open so wide.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and my hands grip themselves into tight fists, my body shaking with rage.

“Y/N, it isn't worth getting angry at.” Kyoko interrupts me before I could do something. “I think we’re all upset at this reveal, but we have to continue. It was an intrusion that no longer stands in our way. Let’s continue.” She replied before continuing on.

Eventually, Mondo slipped. Makoto caught his lie and called him out. The rest of the trial was a haze. We all watched Mondo get strapped to the motorcycle, ride into the cage and eventually come out as… that. Some sick fucking joke that is. We all stood after, looking at each other as we tried to hold ourselves together.

“Chihiro was a good person.” I finally broke the silence. They all looked to me. My eyes were locked onto the floor. I couldn’t stand to face anyone. “He didn’t deserve someone like you to be touching him and moving around his body so we could all get slaughtered for your stupid half second decision. And for what?” I muster up the courage to face him. “What was running through your head that this was a good idea? You know that you would’ve died, too. You’re all for other people speaking on your behalf or whatever stupid thing you have going on,” I began to step forward towards him. “, whatever God complex you fucking deal with. You are so far up your own fucking ass that you were willing to drag us all down for your dedicated fanboy shit? You hate when people mess around like low lives yet you built your own coffin, dug your own grave, locked yourself in your stupid little box, and buried yourself.” I eventually was face to face with him. The room was still silent. Even Monokuma didn’t say anything. Byakuya stared at me with the same unnerving judgemental gaze he held for everyone. “Stop circle jerking with yourself and get with the fucking program. People’s lives are at stake here, Byakuya. Take a drill and screw that into your head. I’ll even do it for you if you need help, because obviously you can’t see that we’re all hurting. I know you don’t give a rat’s ass, but you are a fucking asshole. And I hope one day that big ass ego dildo falls out of your gaping rectum.” I spat at him, turning and exiting the trial room. He looked disgusted by the time I turned to walk away, the silence failing to fall again as I walked out, tears streaming down my face and the pain in my chest and throat from the stress of this all finally settling in. I began to sob as I walked out and straight to my dorm. Chihiro was a good friend. He didn’t deserve this bullshit. I felt bad that Mondo died and his trauma or whatever, but Chihiro was just an innocent boy in a killing game that he didn’t deserve to be in. None of us deserved this. I found myself in my room eventually, the hallway down to my room seeming smaller than normal. I swing my door open, slamming it shut behind me and locking it. I quickly approach my bed, my body breaking down as I fall onto the mattress. My chest hurts from the sobbing, tired and exhausted from the excuses. My hearing diminishes and I relax, falling into a deep sleep.

“Y/N? … Y/N.” I hear a soft voice calling out to me. I slowly come-to and my eyes flutter open. A soft hand is on my back. My eyes fix to the figure standing in front of me. Hina. “Hey, you’re awake! Thank goodness, I’ve been standing here for like 10 minutes trying to wake you up.”

“Oh.. hey, Hina. Sorry, I guess I was just really tired.” I slowly sit up, looking up to her. She shrugs with a big smile on her face.

“No biggy. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. New floor opened up and we were all waiting for you, but no one wanted to check… just, you know.” She shrugs.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Sorry, again. I’ve just been stressed lately.” Pain settles in my throat, a hand raising to rub my neck.

“Will you plebians please hurry up?” A familiar voice sounds from behind Hina. I notice my door is open now, my eyes shooting up and Hina turning to see… Byakuya. We stand in tense silence for a few moments. “Don’t stare at me like dead fish, hurry the Hell up so we can get this done and stop being lazy.” He calls out to us again from my door, staring me down with an intense gaze before turning to leave us alone again. Hina turns back to me.

“Jeeze, I hate him so much.. Why is he always like this? Can’t he just be a team player for once?” She huffs. “Anyway, let’s hurry up so you can eat something. Not good to explore on an empty stomach!” She holds a hand towards me with a smile. I nod, reaching up to her and helping myself up, still in my clothes from yesterday and not bothering to change. Doesn’t seem to bother either of us.

--

After getting something to eat, I walk up to the next floor, reassuring Hina that I’ll be fine on my own after several minutes, watching her leave with Sakura. I began to walk out on my own, looking around and passing a random hallway I’ve yet to explore as I feel someone grab my arm and pull me aside, putting a hand over my mouth and nose, holding me close to them in silence. I struggle, and feel a hand grab onto my hips. My cheeks heat up.

“Quit struggling. It’s only me.” A calm, yet annoyingly familiar voice sounds out again. Byakuya. I quickly stop, my heart still racing. He can’t kill me now.. Way too early. He peels off his hands from my body. I quickly turn around with rage.

“What the Hell was that for, asshole?!” I retaliate. He chuckles a bit, only making me angrier.

“Keep that vulgar language out of your mouth. It doesn’t suit you, ruins your face.” He teases. I’m so confused, why is he acting like this? “My motivations for doing that isn’t important. What we should be doing is exploring the rest of the floor.” He nods, walking away as if nothing happened. I shake my head, trying to make some sort of excuse, turning the corner to give him a piece of my mind. But before that happens, he’s already too far gone for the effort to be worth it. I sigh to myself, just continuing forward and searching. I mean, what… what? Why? Suddenly he’s being all handsy with me, giving me no reason? Wonder what happened the last time he said that. Whatever.

--

Another body. Another trial. Jesus. My heart drops to my stomach. I was never really close with the two of them, but you can’t help but feel bad that after all that chasing and that fiasco that this is the outcome. A frown finds its way to my face. I feel someone tap on my shoulder. 

“Y/N. You will be accompanying me on my investigation.” Byakuya spoke behind me. I could feel his presence suddenly get closer to me, instinctively turning and backing away. He has a smirk on his face. “I’m not taking no for an answer, so wipe that petty look off of your face, Y/N. Please.” I immediately shake my head a little in disbelief.

“What?”

“What do you mean what? You’re going to be conducting the investigation with me. Now.” He refused to explain further, as always. I’ve gotten used to this, but him saying the word please. I never knew it was part of his vocabulary voluntarily. I follow behind towards the first body, my heart beating in a way I never knew it could before. At least, not for someone like this. I must be going crazy. I must be hearing things. Someone pinch me. “Hello? Must you be incompetent right now? We have a case on our hands and we need to finish it, L/N.” He almost snarls at me. I roll my eyes and join him, a smirk taking over his face for a split second only he and I could see. I feel the same invasive heat flooding my cheeks, unable to stop the red blush filling my face afterward. I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay? You look really…. Red.” I hear Aoi speak behind me. “Are you hot-”

“No, Asahina, they’re coming with me. Thank you very much, I can assure you that they are fine.” Byakuya interrupts her. She huffs towards him, puffing her chest out with dominance.

“Whatever. Please stay safe around him, Y/N. He can be… dangerous. I don’t trust him that much.” Hina looks to me with a concerned expression.

“I can handle myself, don’t worry. I won’t let him do anything.” I reassure her. She smiles and nods, as I return to Byakuya’s side. I feel like a damn puppy, walking by his side and coming to his beck and call.

“Well? Get to work. I don’t want to be here long.” He speaks softly to me. My body stiffens, nodding as I go down and begin my investigation. The rest of this goes on in silence, his eyes burning holes into the back of my head. It sent chills down my spine when I would look up to him from the ground, which he actually made me do, but was completely unnecessary. He just looked me up and down, and shrugged, every single time I asked if I was done. He physically would not let me leave. I never understood why he did that, and I don’t think I ever will, but eventually, we had succeeded, a wide smile on my face from finishing.

“Finally! God, I thought I’d be on the floor all day.” I sighed, joining Aoi and Sakura’s side, which I had made good friends with by now, being a kind of trio at this point since the first trial. But before I could join them, to our collective dismay, Byakuya cleared his throat.

“I didn’t say you could leave.” He kept his eyes off of us, refusing to look at me, having this long look of betrayal on his face. I sighed.

“Sorry, Hina; Sorry, Sakura, he’s been like this since the investigation.” I apologized profusely, the two looking at Byakuya intensely as I joined his side. He looks over at me one last time before we all went onto the elevator, going down to the trial room.

--

The trial was long, and the execution was brutal. Kinda funny, but brutal. I quickly join Aoi and Sakura after, Byakuya giving me a dirty look. I shrug it off, joining the girls for some quick after-execution down time, Aoi quickly suggesting donuts and tea,  Sakura making sure she doesn’t go overboard, knowing how she can get with this stuff. We laugh at each other, and I swear I see someone out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head, and in a split second they’re gone. But I’m used to seeing things after stuff like this, just my brain messing with me.

... Right?

Later that night, I returned to my room after about an hour of talking out our feelings with the other two. I’m just hanging out, resting my eyes until I drifted off, only to be interrupted by my doorbell ringing. I sat up, stretching a little, scratching my head and approaching the door. I open the door, and it’s suddenly flung open, which makes me step back in defense.

“Don’t fret, it’s only me. You should really be more careful of who you open the door for, I could have been a wild maniac coming to rip your throat open.” He makes his way into my room, without even asking. Which for him is in character, of course. I groan, rolling my eyes all the way back into my head, hoping they’d stay there. “Oh come now, don’t act like you aren’t surprised.”

“Trust me, Byakuya, I’m not, now what do you want?” I close the door behind him, staring at him with intense fury. 

“I’m here to propose something.” He turns to me, arms crossed against his broad chest. I sigh, shifting my weight to one leg, my eyes now being washed over with exhaustion.

“What.” The words fell out of my mouth carelessly.

“I wish to form an alliance with you.” My eyes widen. The same smirk returns from before. He knows how to get under my skin. He began to approach me, slowly. I back up at the same pace.

“An alliance?” I tilt my head a little. He nods.

“You help me in my every day life, like an assistant, and you help me during investigations,” He continues towards me, me not paying attention as I suddenly feel the heel of my foot against the door. We were already at a distance, him continuing his approach silently, and soon getting close enough to where he places a hand next to my head. “, and then I’ll gift you with certain information and grace you with my presence and willing conversation.” He speaks in a lower tone now, a rasp in his voice and rumble in his chest I’ve never heard before brushes against my ears. The unwelcome yet obscenely familiar warmth comes to my cheeks. He chuckles, bringing a hand and brushing some hair that’s sitting in front of my face. “Do you think you can do that for me, Y/N?” I squint up at him, trying to think of a way to escape. He looks at me with some tone under his eyes that I can’t read. After a few passing moments, I finally answer.

“Fine. Yes, whatever, can you leave me and take your weird antics with you?” I spat. He squints.

“Be ready to get up earlier. When you serve me, you must address me as Mr. Togami. Otherwise, you can just call me Byakuya. Please present yourself nicely, you are beginning to represent me, now, so your expectations are even higher coming from me.” He assures me, finally letting me go, backing up so I can step away from the door. I quickly grab the handle, opening the door oh-so-graciously for him. “Be up by 7, at least. And be in the cafeteria by 8 to 8:30. Sharp. I don’t tolerate tardiness.” He nods, exiting finally. I slam the door behind him, grunting loudly to myself. Thank whatever God is watching over me that these walls are soundproof.

--

8 a.m. came faster than I wanted it to. I was up by 7, out of the shower by 7:15, ready by 7:45. I arrived earlier than expected, Byakuya looking up to me in the cafeteria from the open book in his hands, us being the only ones in the room. I approach nervously, hoping this is up to his expectations. Why is my heart beating so fast for a man that doesn’t give half a damn?

“Good morning.” I fill the open air. He looks back down to his book. I squint at him. “Good morning.” I repeat. I’m confused. I stand staring down at him, and after a good while I finally realize what I’m missing. “Good morning, Mr. Togami.” I force, rolling my eyes. He frowns into a disappointed look.

“Finally. Good morning to you, too. Watch your tone next time.” He snaps back at me. “Do you know how to make coffee?”

“Kinda.” I shrug. He sighs.

“Thank God they are competent enough to give us the proper technology for it to be easy. Go and figure it out. Keep it plain black. No creamer, no sugar.” He doesn’t look back at me. I make myself keep up the tolerating demeanor. I approach the kitchen and finally manage to make something. I bring it back and hand it to him. I see him mumble something before he takes a sip. I cross my fingers, not wanting to deal with his whining.

“Not bad. Go fix something, the others will be here in about an hour and I don’t want to be here for it. We’ll be off after we eat.”

I make myself some breakfast and finally get to sit and eat, finishing before the others get here as to not piss Byakuya off more than he already is this morning. I put our dishes away and return to him, as we retreat to the library.

“Mr. Togami?” I decided to comply to his commands for now, it’s easier for him to respond to me. Ego.

“Yes?” I hear a pleased twang in his voice. It strikes me surprised.

“Why am I doing this again?”

“Doing what?” He doesn’t look back at me as I walk behind him.

“This whole thing. Getting up at 7 in the morning, dressing up all nice, addressing you as Mr. Togami, being your servant? Is this really all necessary for an alliance if all you’re going to do is sit there.”

“I know things you do not, being the head of the Togami Corporation. You will sit there and be pretty for me and do as I say,” The pretty part made my heart skip a beat. God, we’re barely two hours into this and I’m already catching feelings for a spoiled brat. “, and I will assist you during investigations and let you in on bits of information.” He nods, swinging the library door open, failing to hold it open for me as I catch the door before it closes on me. I quickly follow behind, as he reaches down for a book sitting neatly next to a chair already pulled out by a random desk. “Glad we’re on the same page now. You’re free to do as you wish in here.” He looks up to me for a split second as he sits in the chair, crossing his leg and the air around us is still with silence much more. I sigh quietly, rolling my eyes internally as we spend a majority of our day in the library.

--

The next days are mostly the same. I started to read new books and would run small errands for him. I would try to make small conversation, but not a lot worked. He’d smirk at some of my jokes (that he tried to mask), and reply sometimes, but he wasn’t a very social person anyway. Another body discovery passed, and it was heart wrenching. This investigation was more painful than the others, seeing one of my close friends pass away right under my nose. And for Aoi for be lying for her? Behind my back? I get she’s as upset as me, and we don’t have to experience another execution, but it… gets under my skin more than I expected. Aoi looks to me with sorrow after the trial, but I just shake my head as I exit the room with teary eyes. I’m backstabbed… again? Twice, in the same day? They explicitly kept it a secret from me. Why? I shut out Aoi’s voice behind me. I stormed to my room, slamming and locking the door behind me as I enter. It’s been a long day. Byakuya’s been giving me shit all day for not being fast enough. Sorry I didn’t know Sakura killed herself, asshole. I flopped onto my bed. The only thing that kept me safe during these times. I had a moment or two to relax and let myself cry before I heard my doorbell ring.

“What.” I call out carelessly.

“Do you think you should be talking to me like that?” Byakuya speaks from behind my door. I know that tone, so I push myself up and open the door for him and let him into my room, but he stands there. “Well?”

“Do you think you should be talking to me like that?” Byakuya speaks from behind my door. I know that tone, so I push myself up and open the door for him and let him into my room, but he stands there. “Well?”

“No. Sorry, Mr. Togami.” I mock. He shrugs and enters.

“Good enough. Sit.” He pulls up a chair and places it next to my bed. He sits on the chair, waiting for me. I sit on my bed, looking up to him with puffy and teary eyes.

“Why are you here.” I stress.

“Because Aoi is whining to me about how bad she feels for lying to you. She begged me to come in here and convince you since I’m the only person I’ve let you see. She said I’m your friend for whatever reason.” He shakes his head. I keep my eyes on him as he speaks. “Anyways, can you please take care of her? She’s pacing all throughout the hallway for no reason. I’ll be waiting in here.” He leans back, waiting for my departure. I stare at the door, slowly pressing myself towards it and opening it, looking past it to find Aoi. She turns to me with a broken smile, tears falling down her tan cheeks. She sniffles.

“Hey.” She speaks to me silently. Almost in a whisper.

“Hey.” I return it.

“I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t tell you. I promised her. And I know it would have gotten us killed and you all would have suffered, but she was hurting being here. I hope you can forgive me.” She looks at me with glassy eyes, puffy from crying. I stand there for a moment.

“Yeah, sure. I’m sorry for flipping out on you instead of listening to you.”

“Hug?” Aoi began to open her arms for a hug. I nod, walking to her and hugging her tight. She whispered into my ear lowly. “You know, I think Byakuya has a crush on you or something. Or maybe he’s obsessed.” She giggles. The same nervous feeling returned to my heart. I shake my head.

“Absolutely not. What makes you even think-”

“Maybe the fact that he treats you nicer than the rest of us. Has more patience with you. Speaks to you in a less serious tone. Actually talks to you for more than 5 words without insulting you. Wants to spend time with you a lot. I don’t know, I’m just saying, maybe you should think about it being a possibility.” She shrugs, pulling back to look at me with a glint of hope in her eyes.

“Hmmm, let me think about it; a big ego-centric dude with daddy’s money and balls big enough to lie to his classmates whos lives are in danger. No thank you.” I pull away completely now, smiling. She smiles back.

“Oh come on. I don’t like the dude that much, sure, but it’s super obvious. The way he looks at you, it’s insane. Now go on, your prince charming is waiting, Y/N~” Hina winks, turning and walking back off to her room. I shake my head, returning to Byakuya in my room. He’s sitting in the same position as last time.

“Welcome back. I’m assuming it went well.” He stood, approaching me. Maybe too close. Hina can’t be serious..

“Yeah. We made up and stuff.” I nodded, crossing my arms.

“I’m sure you did. Same time tomorrow, Y/N. And please, call me Byakuya now. You’ve graduated from Mr. Togami.” He walks by me to the door. My jaw drops, turning to watch him.

“Oh wow, thank you so much, Mr. Togami, how can I ever repay you for such a lovely promotion. I have been training so hard for this my entire life. I am eternally grateful.” I stare into the back of his head. I swear I hear a chuckle before he walks out of the door, softly closing it behind him… that’s new. I shake off the thought by moving before it could even come to me. Exhaustion catches up to me, and I yawn as I sleep to the next day.

--

A.N.// I got really lazy. I’ve been writing this for weeks and I’m exhausted. So sorry I didn’t write more friendship content but I wanna keep this moving so here we go.

--

The biggest trial of our lives come. Junko Enoshima herself has revealed herself to us. She’s even more egotistical than Byakuya, and that’s saying something. She parades herself around like her shit doesn’t stink and basically blames this killing game on us. Which is entirely untrue, no matter how she words it. But after a good while of debating, looking between all of my friends, and determination to survive, we persevere through her antics and take her down, leaving us only to leave to the outside world that awaits us, no matter how fucked it may be.

“Finally, I never thought we’d make it this far..” Aoi sighs, the final seven of us approaching the gate.

“Seriously, I thought we were toast back there…” Yasuhiro’s still a little shaky from it all.

“Well, we’re here now and we’re finally escaping, so let’s focus on that first. Y/N, come, please.” Byakuya adds, only to look at me. Toko is giving me the death glare. If looks could kill. I turn to Byakuya and approach him. He’s looking back at me to someone. I try to look back, but before I can he grabs my chin and guides my face to his, pressing a kiss to my lips. A deep, unexpecting one, in fact. I can feel the smile on my lips, the same mischievous smile he’s always held. I slowly return it, and Toko’s now screaming up a storm as Aoi holds her back.

“Don’t worry! Totally not saving your guts right now! Just forget about me!” She sighed frustratedly, Toko crying her head off. We finally part, my chest pounding away like a heavy drum as he stares into my eyes.

Byakuya Togami, an ego-centric asshole who kisses people to overwhelm them when he has feelings for them he won’t admit to himself. What an enigma of a man.

//

OKAAAAYY OH MY GOD IT’S FINALLY DONE. thank you so much for your request!

#byakuya togami #byakuya x reader #danganronpa

[voiceless-terror]

Hi ily and I love bothering people with prompts, so I'm requesting "a character who’s so exhausted his hands are trembling, his eyes are dull/unfocused, he’s starting to hallucinate… and his team needs him to stay awake" with Jon and literally anyone at any time (except s5 because it's too emotionally taxing for me to keep up with oop-)

Hello there, Shannon! Here you go! This takes place in Season Two, when all is not great with the Archives team. Hope you like! <3

“And you’re sure this requires all four of us?”

“Yes, Jon,” Elias sighed, his annoyance clear even through the phone. “Believe it or not, I am trying to help you. You’ve managed to alienate almost all of your staff, so perhaps this will do you some good. You seem to enjoy ‘following-up’ these days, unlike in your first months in the position.”

That stung a bit.

It wasn’t his fault someone had died in the Archives, and that someone happened to be his predecessor. It was a natural reaction to feel some paranoia, though he will admit he might have gone a little...overboard, in some of his investigations. Tim certainly thought so. Sasha was her usual cool, aloof self avoiding him as much as possible. Martin was the only one that treated him the same, probably better than he deserved after accusing the man of being a possible murderer. He dragged him out to lunches and hovered in the evenings when Jon stayed late. He was the one who accompanied him to the clinic after his incident with Michael. Jon couldn’t help the ache that went through his chest when he saw Martin still in the lobby, waiting to take him home and fussing over his bandages. 

Walking him to his door.

And now Elias, of all people, was deciding to be more ‘hands-on’ after the intervention. The intervention where even Martin held him at arm's length, though he was still the friendliest face in the room. If this meant keeping his job, he would do it. 

Though he wasn’t so sure he even liked his job anymore. But Jon kept pushing forward. He needed answers. 

Telling his assistants was another story. 

He stood in front of them, knowing he looked a mess. He’d seen himself in the mirror this morning after another failed attempt at rest. His hair was a mess, the dark circles under his eyes were turning a lurid purple. He looked waxy and gaunt and nothing he could do now would fix it. So he kept drinking his tepid black coffee and cheap energy drinks; frankly, they were the only thing keeping him going.

Nevertheless, he didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

“Seriously, Jon?” Tim wasn’t fond of using ‘boss’ anymore, not unless he was feeling particularly vicious. “It would be fine with two of us. Me and Martin can go and take shifts. You look like the living dead.”

“Tim,” Martin admonished, shooting him a look. “He’s right, though. You don’t look well, and I don’t think an all-night stake out is what you need right now. I mean, why are we even following up on this? It’s just some ‘vampire’ sighting that’s not going to pan out. Don’t we have more important things to be focusing on?”

“Elias insisted,” Jon tried for apologetic but must have missed the mark, judging by Tim’s narrowing eyes. “I’m- I wouldn’t make you do this, but I’m afraid-”

“Why does Elias even care about this?” Tim interrupted, slamming his drawer shut dramatically. The sound made Jon flinch- that wasn’t hard to do these days. “Did you even try to get out of it?”

“Of course I did,” Jon bristled. “I know- I know the last thing anyone wants to do is spend time with me. This wasn’t my idea-”

“That’s a bit hard to believe, Jon,” Sasha’s voice was mocking, though it remained light and easy. Sasha was always ready with a barb or a joke, mostly at Jon’s expense. “I’d think you’d enjoy this sort of thing- stalking, investigating. Or is that just with your co-workers?”

Tim snickered. Even Martin had a bit of a smile on his face, though he tried to hide it. Jon felt his face flush red. 

“That’s not,” Jon began a defense but quickly backtracked, knowing it would be futile. “Elias wanted us to go tomorrow night. It’s about thirty minutes away, so if you don’t mind driving, Tim-”

“Anything for you, boss,” Tim muttered. “If you could try sleeping before then, that would be great. I filled my quota on catching you collapsing on the job.” The words were unnecessarily sharp and hurt Jon more than he cared to admit. He remembered a time when Tim was always around to lend him a hand, conscientious and kind. But he’d gone and ruined that now, hadn't he?

“I’ll be fine,” Jon straightened his back, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Tim snorted and turned back to his desk, Sasha did the same. Martin just stood there, giving Jon an appraising eye. It made him feel like he failed an exam or came up short on an examination.

This should be fun.

_______

Sleep eluded him for all but an hour that night. The face that greeted him in the morning looked even more horrific than the day before; Tim wasn’t far off in his assessment. He said as much as Jon entered the office.

“Christ, this is going to be fun,” Tim rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair as Jon hunched in on himself, defensively clutching his extra-large coffee.

“I did sleep,” he bit out, avoiding the man’s eyes. It was true.

“Sure. Just try taking a fucking nap this afternoon, okay?” The words sounded almost concerned, but Jon knew better. “I’m not listening to you snore in the backseat all night.”

“I’ll try,” Jon grumbled as he exited the room. A sudden sting hit his hand and he hissed; coffee had spilled from the lid of his to-go cup and was now running a scalding stream down his arm. His hand was shaking, a steady and insistent tremor that refused to calm despite his best efforts. 

I’ll sleep this afternoon, he promised himself. Something’s gotta give eventually, right?

_______

Jon was wrong. Just my luck.

After two fruitless hours of tossing and turning, he finally gave up, leaving the office to grab a couple of energy drinks that he could hide in his bag. And now he was loaded in the backseat of Tim’s car, his heartbeat erratic and his chest tight. Martin had provided them all with coffee, though he handed Jon his with some reluctance.

“Are you sure you’re okay-”

“For the last time, yes, Martin!” The words came out harsher than he intended and Martin flinched back, avoiding Jon’s eyes as he got into the passenger seat beside Tim. “Don’t yell, Jon,” Tim commanded as he started the car. “God, you always were a right bastard when you’re sleep-deprived.”

“M’ sorry, Martin,” he mumbled to the ground. It was easier to focus on something stationary- whenever he looked out the window, his vision blurred and nausea churned in his stomach. And that’s why you don’t have energy drinks on an empty stomach. Stupid, stupid.

“It’s fine, Jon.” It didn’t feel fine.

By the time they arrived at the park where the supposed sightings took place, it was already dark. Tim had the radio playing softly in the background as he and Martin murmured in the front seats, a low sound Jon couldn’t hear. He wondered if they were talking about him.

Not everything’s about you. He shivered in his seat, drawing his coat tighter around his body. Sasha shot him a glance; she always had the hint of a smile on her lips, cold and calculating. As if Jon’s situation was amusing to her. Maybe it is.

He wished Martin was back here with him. Martin was warm, solid, and steady; Jon craved that, embarrassing as it was. But Martin likely didn’t want to be around him; unsurprising, with how Jon’s behaved.

The steady drone of sound was pleasant, a nice background hum that relaxed him incrementally. The occasional heart palpitations were starting to slow, and Jon felt himself relaxing for the first time in days. It was a sweet, blissful relief- surely a small nap wouldn’t be terrible, just enough to keep him going through the night-

A sharp jab in his side jolted him awake. He shot up with a yelp to find Sasha smirking, her face unreadable. “Don’t sleep on the job, boss.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, rubbing at his eyes and wishing for just a short reprieve. But the blurriness was worse now and his heart was back to its erratic rhythm- Sasha’s rude awakening had done its job.

“Maybe try looking out the window,” Tim suggested sarcastically. “We are here to do a job, you know. Not so you can zone out and sleep.”

“R-Right.” Jon didn’t mention that nobody else seemed to be doing the same. Still, he focused on the dim light emanating from the one streetlamp in the park. It was just an empty field at the edge of the woods. It would be hard to miss anything.

This went on for an hour, Sasha continually nudging him awake whenever he started to drift off. She was probably doing him a favor- who knows what horrors lurked in his nightmares, and the last thing he needed was to wake up screaming like a lunatic. He imagined word getting round to Elias that he was falling apart, even more unstable than previously thought. 

And then something moved out of the corner of his eye- a small, dark shadow was standing in the middle of the park, barely visible by the light of the streetlamp. Jon let out a choked gasp as he leaned forward, hitting the back of Tim’s seat.

“L-Look!” he whispered urgently, pointing ahead. “Someone- someone’s there?”

“Where, Jon?” Sasha’s voice beside him was amused, playful. “I don’t see a thing.”

“Right there!” He insisted, and as if on cue the figure began moving forward, edging closer to the light. “It’s moving!” 

“Jon,” Tim started, looking back at him with an inquisitive gaze. His voice was slow and measured. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing there.”

“There is!” He was aware he was begging now, a pathetic plea to just look, it’s right there, can’t you see?

Martin reached a hand to his shoulder, all concern and worry. “Jon, I promise you there’s-”

And that’s when the figure revealed itself, standing clear under the light. It was a woman, tall and sad. Her long hair was pulled back from her face with a headband, and she had round glasses and looked so, so familiar-

Sasha, his mind supplied. That’s not right. Sasha’s right beside him.

Sasha. It was insistent this time. Jon put a shaking hand to the door handle and wrenched it open, practically falling out of the car as the others protested behind him. But he paid them no mind and stumbled forward on weak legs. There were footsteps behind him but it didn’t matter because Sasha’s there Sasha’s there-

And then she was gone.

The park was silent and still, almost serene. And Jon stood under the lamp, his chest heaving and his heart racing until he collapsed in the soft, dewy grass. Sasha was in the car. Sasha wasn’t here. But it doesn’t make sense. He gagged, hands and knees digging into the earth as nothing came up but a small amount of bile and coffee. A hand went to his shoulder but he wrenched it off, a frustrated moan bubbling out of his throat as his eyes filled with tears.

“Sasha was here,” he wailed, no longer caring if he made a scene. “Sasha was here!”

“Jon? Oh fuck, oh God what do we do, something’s wrong-”

“Just pick him up, Martin, get him back in the car!”

Jon was hauled to his feet but his legs were shaky and useless; Martin cursed and scooped him up instead, unbearably gentle. He tugged at Martin’s shirt, desperate for someone to listen. “Sasha,” he hiccupped but Martin just hushed him, squeezing him tighter to his chest. 

“Sasha’s in the car, Jon,” He whispered soothingly as Tim opened the car door. “See? Right there!” Sasha, with her wrong smile and her wrong face and her cold, cold hands-

Jon let out a shriek, thrashing and kicking as Martin tried to place him in the backseat by that thing. “No no no,” he cried and tugged at Martin’s jumper. “I don’t want to I don’t want to-”

“Get in the front, Sash,” Tim commanded, something unreadable in his eyes. “He’s not going to stop freaking out until you do. Martin can sit in the back.”

“So fussy,” she said mildly as she opened the door and did as Tim said. “Is he going to be okay?”

Jon could barely follow the conversation as Martin awkwardly crawled into the backseat and tried to maneuver him into his seatbelt. But Jon couldn’t let go because Martin was real and there and the only thing holding him together at the moment. 

“Just drive,” Martin’s voice was hard and unlike him, but he squeezed Jon tighter to his chest and that was all he needed to finally give into the darkness at the edge of his vision.

_____

When he next woke he was tucked into a bed- his own, strangely. Light filtered gently into the room and Jon felt like he’d been run over by a truck several times over; every part of him aching and groaning as he attempted to sit up. 

“Jon?”

Martin stood in the doorway, the picture of anxiety and worry. “God, I thought you’d never wake!” He hurried over to the side of the bed and placed a hand to his forehead that Jon leaned into. “You don’t feel warm. You’ve been asleep for almost sixteen hours. Are you okay?”

“Define ‘okay,’” Jon croaked, leaning back into the pillows. Sixteen hours but he still felt like hammered shit. “What- what happened? Why am I here?”

“You don’t remember?” Martin’s voice somehow managed to sound more worried. “God, you were- you were really out of it, Jon. Ranting about Sasha- you wouldn’t get near her. I thought we should take you to the hospital but Tim insisted you wouldn’t like that.” Tim was always the one who knew him best. “He had a key so we dropped you off, but I thought someone should stay behind- I mean, is that okay? I don’t want to overstep or anything, but you were really bad and I couldn’t-”

“It’s fine, Martin,” Jon cut him off gently. It was touching, in a way, that Martin would want to look out for him after the fit he apparently threw. “I, uh- thank you, I guess.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Martin said, leaning back on his heels and fiddling with his hands. “I-I didn’t want to leave you alone, and I didn’t think you’d want to wake up to Tim or Sasha-”

“God,” Jon groaned and slumped over in bed, shame coursing through his veins. ‘“I’ll have to apologize to her tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, though not unkindly. “But I think she’ll understand. You were exhausted, it’s not like you meant it.” I suppose that’s true, he thought. Just my paranoia out of control.

“I’ll make us some tea. You stay in bed, okay?” 

“A-Alright.” Martin turned to leave the room but a thought logged itself in Jon’s brain and he reached a hand out to stop him. “Did you stop anywhere beforehand?” he asked. “Like the institute, o-or maybe Tim’s place?”

“No,” Martin replied, a puzzled look on his face. “Why?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows, feeling utterly drained. “It’s nothing.”

Martin exited the room and Jon tried not to think about the key he gave Tim ages ago, back when they visited each other with some regularity. 

And the idea that it was still on his keychain, waiting to be used.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457939

#prompts #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #not!sasha #martin blackwood #jonmartin #angst #sickfic #whump #postapocalyptic-cryptic