#anyway I like the narrow crop best but I liked his nose so

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Find You Again

PART OF THE ANGELFISH COLLECTION 

A/N: The middle of the night is the perfect time for smut, right? This first cropped up in my google docs during kinktober, so technically this is five months late. But as the wise @oonajaeadira once told me, “kinktober never ends if you keep the spirit of kink in your heart all year”, so here we are in kinkmarch with a (sort of) twist on the prompt of marking kink. This one takes place in the Angelfish universe, but would probably also be fine as a stand alone if you haven’t read the other parts. Takes place before the events of Prospect. The only physical description is that Reader has freckles and birthmarks. 

Word Count: 4.3k 

Warnings: sexual situations, this is a smut (in case the kinktoberness of its origin needs more explanation) but it is also a fluff. so a kinky smuff, I suppose. With a dash of angst? Idk. It’s an all play. Read at your own risk and enjoy. 

Summary: Your last night on the Green Moon is spent in Ezra’s arms. To ease the ache of leaving, you share with him a belief held on Lao - the planet you’re being transferred to - regarding the existence of bonded souls. 

You and Ezra were two of thirty-nine crew members that were currently stationed at Bakhroma Base, all of you packed into two narrow halls of connected dorm tents like canned Fanfish, bumping elbows in the commissary like Kamrean hogs snuffling at the trough. It was as crowded as it could be without having to add a third hall off the main hub - which was rumored to be on the horizon, housing another ten to twelve bodies - and it felt it. The din of all those voices and the constant hum of the filtration system filled the air  and your ears for most of the day, making it impossible to forget that you were surrounded by people at all times. 

At night though, once everyone had shuffled back to their quarters, it was easier to make yourself believe that it was just the two of you, tucked safely in each other's arms under the golden halo of your reading lamp. It was easier to tune everything out but the weight of his touch or the warmth of his breath. At night, the Green Moon belonged to you and Ezra alone. 

For one more night, anyway. 

The clunky old radio that lived on the built-in shelf above the bed filled the small space with the soft sound of music tinged with static. Ezra's hum vibrated against the kiss you left over the freckle at the base of his throat. He likes that. You smiled, lips curving upwards without moving away, your mouth parting just enough for the edge of your teeth to graze the same stretch of skin. He let out another husky breath as his arms tightened to fold you closer to his chest. And I like this. You swallowed. Oh, I’m going to miss this.  

In two cycles’ time you would be hopping a transport pod to catch a slingback to Hylion-4, where you would then board a second transport due for Lao. Ezra would be staying on The Green to complete his stand, and then returning to Central as he waited for his next mining assignment. As of that moment, neither of you knew when you’d be in the same sector again, let alone the same bed. It could be a full rotation. Or even longer. A knot formed in your chest at that thought, but you did your best not to let it grow and ruin the rest of the night. I’m not gone yet. Laying on your side facing him, you slid the hand you had on his back further up between his shoulders until your finger fell into the divot of a decades old scar. And he’s right here. 

He was still warm from the shower he’d raced through to get back to you sooner, his damp curls slightly soaking the pillowcase. The harsh, astringent scent of the Bahkroma Base standard issue soap clung to his skin in lieu of sweat and the smell of his suit. It was necessary for the soap to be so strong when living in an environment so hostile that even the particulates that hung in the air were toxic enough to kill you. You pressed your nose into his neck and inhaled deeply. But I can still smell him, too. Musk and moss and amber spice. Kissing him again, your tongue swept out to flick at one of the freckles you’d been teasing. Despite the fact that your own skin was heating from the contact with his, you felt a full body shiver work its way down Ezra’s spine to bring the grin back to your lips. 

“Like a moth,” he mumbled, hips scooting towards you to eliminate the space that wasn’t there to begin with. 

But I still want him closer. 

He ducked his chin to drop a kiss to your temple. It was your turn to let out a satisfied hum then at the sensation. Ezra being mid-stand meant that his patchy beard was slightly overgrown. He never shaves once he’s up here. He just lets it grow. Any open wounds - even the tiniest nicks and cuts from a razor blade - could sideline a crew member for several days, keeping them from contributing to the Aurelac quota and therefore extending the trip. That was something that Ezra had never been willing to risk. Not only did he not want to be responsible for holding up the dig, but the thought of staying back at the base while you trekked out into the toxic forest was one he couldn’t take. Not that he doubted your capability or thought for even half a second that you didn’t belong on the Green. But he knew how many ways a simple dig could go wrong, so doing anything that would keep him from being out there with you was out of the question in his book. 

Your heart gave a wild thud at the soft scratch that dragged along behind his lips as he moved them to the corner of your eye and finished his analogy. “Kissed by the flame it flies towards.”

Leaning back, you untucked yourself from him so that you could look into his dark eyes. “What’s that mean, hmm?” Unwinding your arm from around his torso, you brought your fingers up to rake through the splash of silver near his hairline. 

His eyes scanned your face, lingering on your lips before lifting to meet yours again. There was a soft sort of adoration tinting them that you felt settle in your chest, undoing the knot that had started to form. “The thrill I feel when you kiss me there, Angelfish.” He reached up to encircle your wrist, rough fingers sliding gently over the back of your hand to brush your middle knuckle. “I imagine it is akin to what a moth hopes to feel just before its wings are consumed in the conflagration.” He brought your hand down from the side of his head and folded your fingers in his grasp so he could trail his plush lips there, too. 

Your sigh took the shape of his name, eyes falling closed as you nuzzled into the dip of his collarbone. Without looking, your lips found another of his freckles from memory, giving him another fiery thrill.  By day the two of you were sealed away in your survival suits, your hands covered in gloves and your faces kept behind thick glass - no touch or taste or scent except for the heavy material you were wrapped in and the dry air being pumped into your globed helmets. But by night, tucked away in the comfort of the cramped bunk space that you shared at the base camp, you had learned every landmark on Ezra’s body and he had completely mapped yours. I know more about him than I do about anyone. The hand he’d just released came up to rest on his shoulder, where your pointer finger drew a circle around yet another darkened splotch of skin. And there’s no one I’ve given more of myself to. 

Your looming departure and the subsequent undetermined length of separation still weighed heavily on your mind. But though you would miss moments like these on top of many others while you were working to set up the research base on Lao, the strength of your relationship with Ezra wasn’t ever something that worried you. 

You’d witnessed other dig-couples crumble after one or both partners were transferred to different operations throughout the Fringe and the Seam, the temptation of a warm and willing bedmate on their current assignment too much for them to ignore. A few of them had been messy splits, resulting in Frontier Mining associates who once shared sheets that could now not even share postings on the same planet. But that won’t happen to us. Even Danelo, easily the most pessimistic one in your crew, had clapped you on the back after hearing the news of your promotion, saying that if any pair could last the distance between Bahkroma Green and Lao’s Blue Halo it would be the pair of you. Normally, agreeing with Danelo on the outcome of any given situation would mean you’d thrown in the towel and were ready to quit. Not this time, though. 

Letting out another contented sigh, you blinked and looked up at Ezra. Faces only a few inches apart, you could see every strand of bronze woven through his irises, every pleat of skin as it crinkled around the corners of his eyes. I love this man down to his pores. Though it was obscured by the way his borderline unruly beard was creeping down his throat, you knew there was another freckle just beneath the line of his jaw. “Did I ever tell you what the Laoan belief on freckles is, Ezra?” To punctuate your question, you opened your mouth and lightly nipped the area you were focused on, feeling as he smiled through it. 

The gentle, playful pressure of your teeth elicited a velvety sound from him that stuck around in his voice as he answered. “You have not.” He hooked his top leg over yours, linking them at the knees and securing your hips against his lower body. “Is this something that you learned in your background preparations prior to applying for the position?” 

You always liked to learn as much as you could about the places your work sent you, making it a point to know about things like cultural practices, sacred plants, and seasonal weather patterns. It was important to you that you could do your job as efficiently and respectfully as possible, and you knew that was something that Ezra admired about you. He had even started learning the Saytr language after you’d demonstrated how much easier it was to keep things peaceful with the Green Moon’s religious settlers by simply trying to make that connection with them. He’s getting good at it, too. 

You nodded, the tip of your nose bumping his chin. Ezra grinned, the motion yanking at the curved scar on his cheek as it rose. “Well then, consider me intrigued, Angelfish.” 

Your tongue slid along the seam of your lips to wet them, and you watched him track its motion. “On Lao, people believe that freckles and birthmarks show up in the places where their soulmate has kissed them in a past life.” 

“That so?” He brought one hand up to your face to trail his fingertips over the few freckles sprinkled there, your cheek falling into the cup of his palm as you nodded again. “And how did that particular myth take root?” 

His thumb slid over your lips and you pressed a kiss to the pad of it before answering. “It actually comes from the myllocks.” 

Curiosity flashed in his eyes. “Is that so? The very creatures you are going to be studying?” You confirmed, your touch roving over his shoulder and up the side of his neck. There were a few more freckles behind his ear, and your fingertips brushed them before sliding over his earlobe and idly tracing the helix. “Well you simply must say more. How is it that a belief about fated lovers springs from a species of deep sea dwelling cephalopods?”

“Well,” you tilted your head back to look him in the eye, his hand falling from your face to rest over your shoulder. Extracting the arm he had tucked under the pillow, Ezra propped himself up just enough to have an unimpeded view of your face. “Myllocks form bonded pairs for life.” And they live a long time. “Even though they scatter through the ocean when they migrate, or when the currents change, they always find each other again.” You sighed as his fingers slid under the strap of your tank top. “No matter what.” 

You went on to explain that the iridescent ink in their tentacles left distinct blue patterns on the shell of their mate that they were able to recognize after months - sometimes even years - apart. You told him about how when the shells wash up on the Dunes after big storms stir them up from the ocean floor, Laoans comb the beaches searching for whole, unbroken ones to give as a gift to their significant other. They were symbols of everlasting commitment, and traditional Laoan wedding bands were inlaid with pieces of those shells. The entire time you spoke, Ezra’s touch never stilled, and his eyes never wandered from yours. 

“Now we know that they live around a hundred standard years, but-” 

“A century? That is quite a lifespan.”

It is. You smiled, raising one eyebrow. “But, because they live so long, ancient Laoans first thought that myllocks actually lived multiple lives, and that if one of them died while the other was still alive, they could be reborn and reunited with their mates through infinite life cycles.” 

“Infinite, hmm?” The hand that had been teasing along your scooped neckline moved to the nape of your neck, strong fingers curling gently around it. You nodded, your heart beating out of rhythm as he swiped his thumb along your spine. You watched his eyes fall to your lips before yours fell shut. That feels… “Well that is as good a jumping off point as any.” You sucked in a breath as he left a whiskered kiss on your eyelid, and then you felt the bridge of his nose rest against yours. “But I am not entirely sure that infinity is long enough, Angelfish.” Before you could ask him what it wasn’t long enough for, he went on. “With you, I would require an infinite number of infinities to ever consider myself satisfied.” 

“Ezra…” 

His words made your heart swell, and then without knowing who initiated it, your lips met his in a kiss that was slow and deep. You felt him sigh as your tongue slipped languidly into his mouth, cherished the little groan he made and the way you knew his brow furrowed as he rolled his hips into yours. With only the thin sleep shorts you were wearing and the pants Ezra had on - which were made of the same lightweight fabric - between you, it was impossible not to feel him - firm and warm and pressed right against your core. You released a breathy moan as he nipped at your lower lip, tugging gently before freeing it. Kevva, Ezra. He ended the kiss with small pecks, starting in the center of your lips and moving slowly out to the corner of your mouth, and you chased each one with one of your own. Infinity with you isn’t long enough for me, either. 

 Voice huskier and breaths growing heavy, Ezra spoke your name. You hummed in response as he reached for the hem of  your shirt, fingers diving beneath it so that his palm could glide up the side of your body. When your eyes opened, his were waiting. “I think there may be some truth to that tale.” 

“Do you, now?” You licked your lips as he nodded, the hand under your shirt swimming back to the hem and making a grip. He pulled it up and you shifted just enough so that he could bring it up over your head, tossing it to the floor, and your chest heaved as the air - and then his breath - hit your previously covered skin. You buried your fingers in his hair and wound them through his curls, sucking in a breath as his scruffy beard and then his lips dragged over the top of your breast. Stars and satellites, that feels incredible. “What…” You tried to take a deep breath and failed as he kissed you there again, your sternum sinking rapidly with another shallow inhale. “What makes you think that, Ezra?” 

“Well…” Placing his hand on your hip, he used it to guide you to roll to your back. You did, but instead of keeping you there, Ezra dug his fingers under your body and hooked them to turn you even further. He pulled you to him until the small of your back was flush to his stomach. You sighed at the feel of his skin on yours as he resettled his arm over your waist. When he spoke again, his words were right behind your ear. “As you know, Angelfish, there are quite a few freckles on the back of your neck.” There are. To punctuate his point, he pressed his lips to a cluster of them and you grinned. “And it is, with few exceptions -” His fingers spread wide over your abdomen before sliding south, pausing over the place where heat was pooling in your belly. “-My favorite place to kiss you, that is not your mouth.” The hand behind your neck curved around it, his thumb lazily drifting over your pulse point. “So it would appear as though some other iteration of myself  has left some guidelines for me to follow.” 

Past lives, reincarnation, bonded souls - you weren’t sure what you believed in when it came to all of that. You were from Ciran Central. All you’d ever learned about your homeworld growing up was how important it was for you to leave it. For all you knew, there was no culture or religion or folklore on Central. There were no beliefs about things other than how many points were owed or lost or gained. You weren’t raised on Lao or Kamrea or in the Ephrate, where myths and legends and hymns were passed down and used to explain or teach things. 

But if souls were things that lived on and carried parts of their past lives with them, you didn’t want to imagine yours finding anyone’s but his. 

“You did, Ezra.” I’m yours in any lifetime. No matter what. 

Without fully letting you go, he loosened his hold and urged you to turn so that your back was to his chest. You felt one of his large hands settle over your abdomen, the other over your heart. The thin material of the tank you wore wrinkled beneath his fingers as they flexed slightly, and then you sucked in a breath as you felt his lips press softly over the skin at the base of your neck. “Still,” he murmured, the hand on your belly slipping down to the waistband of your sleep shorts. “I should leave a few more. For good measure.” 

Lifting your hips just enough for him to deftly free you of the thin blue bottoms, you hummed.  “I think you should. Just to be on the safe side.” The back of his hand swept up the inside of your thigh as he nipped at your skin, and though your eyes fell shut it seemed as though stars were bursting behind their closed lids. Kevva, that feels… incredible. “Want to make sure you’re able to find me again.” 

The mattress dipped as he shifted behind you, his knee and the width of his thigh bumping into your legs as he rid himself of his own pants. Instinctively, you tried to scoot forward to give him more room to move but he stopped you, the arm around your body locking down to keep you close. He mumbled something that sounded like “stay right there” and then you felt the playful bite of his teeth on the top of your shoulder, as though he wanted to secure you to him by any means possible. Your heart lurched at the need behind the act, and though you knew he was tremendously happy for you and proud of you for your promotion and reassignment to Lao, you could already feel how much he would miss you. I’m not gone yet, Ezra. 

As soon as he was finished discarding his pants, you reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair. See? I’m right here. He groaned, dipping his head further so he could access the slope of your shoulder where it met your neck, shaggy beard dragging up and to the back of your neck once more. Repositioning himself, he snaked his free arm between your body and the pillow, winding it up and around your chest so that his palm was flat against your sternum, his middle finger falling into the hollow of your throat. The fingertips of his other hand strayed further towards the apex of your thighs, and when he pressed both hands to your flesh, you felt your heart pound under one and a wave of heat crash beneath the other, and you knew he felt both sensations, too. 

“I do not intend to ever lose you, Angelfish.” His tongue flicked out to lick at your existing marks as though tasting them - as though trying to remember leaving them there in a previous life. You gasped as his lips grazed your damp skin at the same time that his touch roved between your legs to find you just as wet there as his tongue had left you. Swirling his fingers in a slow circle, he mouthed at your neck with his teeth again, and just like with the kiss that started all of this, it was impossible to tell whether his low growl brought about your stringy sigh or the other way around. “But if I did…” He teased you with one finger before thrusting two into you, your fingers tightening in his hair as your chest heaved against his other hand. Fuck.  “It would take more than an ocean to keep me from finding you again.” 

You sighed around his name, tilting your head so that your mouth could land close to his, somewhere along his jaw. “I know,” was all you could manage in response, his wrist twisting to change the angle of his touch. Raking your fingernails over his scalp, you removed your hand from his hair and brought it down between your lower bodies, grip wrapping loosely around him. The curve of his forehead rested against your shoulder as his hips stuttered at your touch, and he turned his face to bury his groan in your hair. 

“Need you.” He panted through another kiss to your nape, flexing the fingers that were inside you. Your muscles involuntarily clenched around them and he hissed, a string of curses both foreign and familiar dripping from his lips as you tightened the grip you had on him and moved your hand along his length. “Need you right now.” 

You both pretended not to hear the unspoken conclusion of that sentence: Need you right now, while you’re still here. 

Swallowing, you nodded. “Need you too, Ezra.” Releasing him, you started to push yourself up so that you could turn to face him, but again he stopped you. 

“Stay. Right. There.” Though his voice was strained with want, he didn’t mumble this time. It wasn’t a command so much as it was a plea, his palm covering one breast and squeezing on the last word of his request. 

Before you could say anything, he pulled his fingers from your body, and whatever you might have said devolved into a whimper in the absence of his touch. You felt his to leg push between yours then, his meaty thigh separating them and keeping them apart. Fingers still covered in your slick, he reached for himself, preparing to line himself up with your entrance. All active duty Frontier Mining employees were given the option to receive birth control injections before each deployment to ensure that they wouldn’t need to cut their assignment short. They had been used safely and effectively for years, so both you and Ezra had always opted in which meant that there was no need for any added protection. But before he pushed into you, he spoke your name. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thirty seven other sets of ears here.” The thumb of his left hand rolled over your nipple as he nipped at your shoulder again. “You gonna be able to keep quiet?” 

You hummed, pressing your backside into him to throw the challenge right back. It worked, catching him off guard and making him groan. “Guess we’ll find out.”

That was as much as he needed in terms of an answer, and like he’d done countless times before, he slid slowly but easily into your waiting warmth. Pausing as you both sucked down dizzying gasps, you felt his fingers find you again, and then he was moving and each languid thrust sent shocks through your core. Though you’d been with others before Ezra, it had never felt the way he made you feel - like nerves you didn’t know existed were suddenly awake and alive and vibrating with bliss and light. Like you were on fire without burning. 

Like a moth. 

You weren’t sure if you were quiet as he took you apart, and frankly, you didn’t care. 

Later, you lay tangled together, sweat shining on both of your skin in the yellow glow of the lamp and clinging to your hair. Your ear was pressed to his chest so that you could listen to his heart, memorizing the thump of its steady beat the same way that the pads of his fingers rested against the pulse point of your throat, feeling it thrum under his touch. Neither of you said a word or moved a muscle, and after a while, Ezra must have assumed that you’d fallen asleep. He reached up to click the radio off, then did the same with the lamp, plunging the small space into dark silence. When you still didn’t move, he curled his arm around you and pressed a kiss to your brow. 

“I will always find you again, Angelfish. I swear it on my very soul.” 

Your hum surprised him as your arm tightened around his waist. “I know, Ezra,” you responded through a sigh. “I know you will.”

.

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Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know or you can fill out the form on my masterlist.    

tags:   @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @shoopidly @fific7 @valkblue @cannedsoupsucks @tobealostwanderer @paracosmenthusiast @gracie7209 @dihra-vesa @marauderskeeper @disgruntledspacedad @novemberrain-writes @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @stevie75 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi  @xasement  @imtryingmybeskar​ @wildmoonflower​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @theredwritingwitch​ @silverstarsandsuns​ @writeforfandoms​

#ezra (prospect) x female reader #ezra (prospect) x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x you #ezra (prospect) #ezra x angelfish #pedrostories #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra (prospect) fic #kinktober but make it march #find you again #angelfish au

[jaytherobot]

"The Fortune Smeller" - Drawlloween with AI's day 2

Definitely had Studio Ghibli on the brain when I did this one. I probably won't be coloring everyday, but I want to when I can. This one took a few tries to get the proportions and composition just right, but I'm happy with the end result.

Now for the AI's turns.

On a whim, I wanted to see what they would do with just the prompt and no other input.

DALLE2:

MidJourney:

DALLE is more or less what I expected, though I didn't think it would give me photo-realistic pictures. Gold guy seems like he could make the top of r/surrealmemes with the right caption. Midjourney on the other hand, I think we have something interesting. Let's do some variants of Image 3:

Holy balls, those are good. You could take any one of these images and run with them as the aesthetic to the next biggest thing on HBO. I want a video game where I can run around in these environments. It's interesting that "smeller" seemed to equate to flowers and I'm curious how much "fortune" contributed to the architecture. Regardless, neither AI's submission fits the brief of looking like something I created and created for Drawlloween, so let's see what narrowing our input will do.

DALLE2: "fortune teller woman smelling bottle of perfume, comic book, purple red yellow"

I had been doing some research since trying to send zombie Tim Allen to his doom, and found that you can separate inputs by comma and use that to suggest color palettes, art styles, and all sorts of things. I knew this input would be too vague to match my idea, but I just wanted to see what DALLE would do with the extra parameters, and it's not bad. Let's narrow further:

DALLE2: "fortune teller old woman with large nose standing over crystal ball, holding a perfume stopper, incense vapors in the air, comic book, purple red yellow, low angle"

Now we're getting somewhere! It's interesting how I didn't even tell it that I wanted the crystal ball to be the bottle as well, but it gave it to me anyway. Image 1 probably matches my drawing the most compositionally, but isn't in the requested comic book style. Images 2 and 4 aren't too bad, though 4's face is too weird to stand up to scrutiny. Image 2 I could probably submit as my own if I claimed I didn't have much time to work on it. Images 2 and 3 from the first input would probably go the most unnoticed, though they don't fit my idea. I could iterate of course, but I'm in a hurry and DALLE submission tokens aren't free. It's hard to say whether DALLE2 deserves a point here, but I do think I'm going to give it one.

Let's see about MidJourney:

MidJourney: "fortune teller woman smelling bottle of perfume, comic book, purple red yellow"

MidJourney: "fortune teller old woman with large nose standing over crystal ball, holding a perfume stopper, incense vapors in the air, comic book, purple red yellow, low angle"

I've seen this a lot on other people's MJ submissions, where most everything will be vertically symmetrical. I might have to start specifying which side of the composition I want my content on. Still though, we have the crystal ball as a perfume bottle once again. Image 2 intrigues me the most, so let's upscale that one:

I really like the perfume vapors as their own crystal ball. If anything, I could take that idea and draw my own take on it, completing the circle. But that's not the point of the exercise. We're trying to pass off AI art as my own for Drawlloween, and I don't think anyone is going to be fooled that I did do this one. The hands and face are completely illegible, and again it doesn't look much like the requested comic book style. Image 1 or 3 from the first, less specific prompt are probably my best bets for fooling the masses, though I'd have to crop the hands out of #3. I think technically MJ gets a point as well, but I'm not exactly happy about it. Both AI's need to learn to take direction better.

JayTheRobot: 2 DALLE2: 2 MidJourney: 1

#drawlloween #illustration #art #drawing #artists on tumblr #inktober #october art challenge #the fortune smeller #dalle 2 #ai artwork #ai art #ai art generator #dalle2 #ai generated #midjourney #fortune teller #occult #neural networks #ink drawing #pen and ink #jaytherobot art

[curiosity-killed]

True form

#Hua Cheng #tgcf art #my art #sorry for the mobile post :( forgot to upload last night #and now just stuck waiting for the bus #anyway I like the narrow crop best but I liked his nose so #y’all get both

[akaashisupremacy]

Moments of Courage

Summary: Osamu Miya is a difficult ex to have. When your paths cross endlessly, you try to rebuild your relationship. Will there be second chances? Or just more broken hearts?

HQ Masterlist || Multi-fandom Masterlist || Read it on A03

Osamu Miya  x reader  

“Are you leaving this party because of me?”

Osamu calls you out from the tiny hallway of your friend’s get together. After locking eyes with him, you did your best to subtly scamper towards the door.

“You don’t have to go. I can leave if it’s making you uncomfortable.” he assures.

You shake your head, “You can stay. I’m not having that much fun.”

You begin shuffling through the coat rack to look for yours. You’re desperate for anything to cut the time talking to him, talking about him. The only guaranteed way for this to stop is to leave.

“Are you hiding from me?” he asks almost rhetorically. His brows are gently raised.

“Yeah, obviously,” you retort, “I don’t want to be seen by you or with you.”

Osamu Miya is your ex. After over a year of dating, he decided to end things with you in a small cafe far off his onigiri stall.

“I’m too busy,” he claimed, “You deserve someone who could give you more time.”

You reasoned out that you didn’t mind not spending so much time together. His job was time-consuming. You understood that.

But Osamu was unsettled. You didn’t mind cheering him on from the benches waiting for him to finish up work. You liked seeing Osamu do things he was passionate about. And yet he felt unsettled, because he knew this was the type of work you would not engage in.

Osamu pressed on, “I’m sure you’ll find yourself someone more worldly, more sophisticated in the city. I don’t want to prevent you from meeting someone like that.”

Something dropped at the pit of your stomach. Your mouth was ajar. He’s really trying to break up with you. It’s no secret that you preferred the city and Osamu the countryside, but neither of you seemed to mind. You’d both make the time to visit each other. You made it work.

You remember barely touching your drink. Listening to him talk was like having a ton of bricks dropped on your back. The sunlight pouring in from the glass window suddenly felt prickly.

“I just don’t think we’re a good fit.” he swallowed, unable to look you in the eye, “I think someone from the country, someone simpler and more traditional would be better for me.”

You don’t miss the yearning in his voice, the dreaminess for someone who was clearly not you. He’d always tease that you were a true blue big city girl. You liked the tall buildings, the noise and the fancy department stores. You thought it was a point of endearment, but apparently not.

It’s been almost a year since you last saw him. He looks so unaffected it irks you.

“I broke up with you respectfully. Why are you mad?” he scratches his head.

It takes all your self-control to not slap him across the face.

“Because you hurt me! You’ve hurt me so…so…much.” your voice hitches before you can catch it. This is so humiliating. He’s clearly moved on from you.

Tears start pouring down your face. You quickly hide your eyes behind your coat.

“You’d eventually realize that I’m not right for you.” he murmurs, “We’re too different.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” you snap, clenching your fists, “So is this is it? To make you feel better you’re going to date a small town girl to solve all your problems.”

“Well, Kita did introduce me to someone lately.” he unironically replies, “She works in her family ryokan (inn) and we work similar hours. I think we’ll understand each other more than we did.”

Your eyes narrow.

“There’s no point staying in a relationship that I can’t make time for. Why can’t you understand that?” he snaps back.

It is one thing to be left for someone else and another for him to dump you just because. Somehow you feel like you lost even if you didn’t even have competition. He simply didn’t want you.

Your face contorts into an angry frown.

You slip on your coat and grab the door. “Man, you are a terrible ex. Do you know how it hurts when you tell me how wrong I was for you?”

When Osamu regains his cool, he tries to reach out to you, “I didn’t mean it that way…I didn’t feel good that I could make time for ‘ya and so I let the relationship go. Because i don’t know…—“

“Well, this is all just theory anyways.” he says, “I haven’t met Kita’s friend yet. We haven’t gone out yet, just the two of us.”

You do a double turn. “What?!?”

“Yeah, we’re working all the time but we haven’t made the time to meet.”

You break into a laugh. He stands stunned and confused.

“You know what? You stay behind. You left the last time. I want to be the one to leave this time.” you sigh, closing the door behind you.

You don’t turn back to see the look on his face.

————————————— Osamu mostly works in the countryside which means that you’d be less likely to run into each other in the city. It’s easier for you to keep your mind off him and focus on your current life.

So when you see him in the corner store in place of a small fried chicken stall you used to frequent, you’re visibly shocked, appalled even.

“What are you doing here?!” you jump back, “What happened to the fried chicken stall that was here?”

Osamu looks left and right, making sure no approaching customers can hear your dialogue.

“I run this stall now. Kawaneshi-san retired. It’s a great location. I’m literally in a crossroad between a shopping district and some schools. The rent isn’t too bad and it’s a very busy location.” he answers in his usual no nonsense tone.

You make a mental list not to pass by here again.

He recognizes the look on your face, “Have I just ruined your usual route for you?”

“I thought you were a country boy.” you avoid answering him.

“Even I need to make a living.” he snorts, carefully arranging umeboshi-flavored onigiri in his display case.

Sure! All of a sudden working in the city becomes important after he breaks up with you!

You roll your eyes and curtly walk away. You got here first. You love this city. You refuse to let some onigiri-making man ruin your everyday route.

The days roll into weeks. You stick to your route and diligently ignore Osamu each time. After a while it stops feeling weird that he’s there. You feel like you’re slowly taking pieces of yourself that he broke.

It feels so good to start to be whole again.

———————————— Your newfound peace with Osamu is interrupted when he calls you out of the blue one evening. He calls to tell you that he’s sick and that he needs help running groceries. The nerve!

“Don’t you have anyone else?” you groan. Hasn’t he made friends with some other shopkeepers?

“I have no one else. There’s only you.” he coughs through his words. He tries to explain that one of his few friends is out on bereavement.

You let it go. He clearly doesn’t have anyone for today.

You find out that Osamu lives in the apartment above his stall. The space is rather small. He shares his home with some of the equipment and supplies from his store.

He must hate it here. Osamu always loved wide open spaces.

You open the fridge to find it totally empty. His sink has a few empty bowls from his earlier rice porridges. You understand his desperation. He had nothing to eat.

Moved by his situation and the little compassion for him that remains in you, you sigh and begin chopping up some vegetables to make a nutritious broth. You add in some mushrooms and root crops. While the soup boils, you prepare rice and some pickles.

The faster he recovers, the less you have to interact with him.

When you bring him a tray of food in his room, he is equal parts surprised and confused.

“You can cook?” he clears his throat.

“No, Osamu.” you roll your eyes, “I eat all my food raw.”

He sits up and sniffs the aroma of your food through his clogged nose. He dips a spoon into the soup to sample his first meal of the day.

“I mean you can cook well, like a proper home cook.” he says, his eyes wide with awe. He quickly takes a few more sips and starts on his rice.

“I’ve never known.” he croaks, turning to you.

“You never asked,” you shrug, “And you like to do the cooking yourself. You probably assumed I can’t cook, because I’m not as passionate about food as you are.”

He quietly eats and looks away to confirm the truth in your statement.

You sigh and take a nearby basin with some towels in it. “I’ll leave after I bring the basin back.”

——————————————- Something changes in your relationship with Osamu after that incident. He starts to greet you when you walk by and sometimes offers you onigiri from his store.

You always insist on paying. He doesn’t always take it.

“You’re here to make a living.” you say as you push money into his hands.

In between these exchanges you start to ask about each other again. How are you doing? Was today busy? Stuff like that.

Slowly and surely, you two were rebuilding your relationship ground up. But it was tough. Neither of you went beyond these interactions. Maybe things are just meant to stay that way.

One late evening, the last customer for the day disappears out of Osamu’s line of sight when he heads into the back to start cleaning up. He’s about to start pulling down the rafters when you suddenly show up at his counter.

His face expresses his surprise.

“If it’s too late, I can just go.” you gesture sheepishly.

He’s always surprised when you come here on your own volition.

“It’s not,” he denies, “I was closing up too early anyways.”

You pick out your usual onigiri flavors and quickly pay up. As soon as you turn your back, Osamu stammers at you.

“I-I’m cooking up some stuff at the back. Do you want to stay and eat? Think of it as a return favor for the other week.” he refers to the episode of his sick day.

You’re caught off guard but you slowly nod your head to agree. You hadn’t had Osamu’s cooking in a while and it was getting quite late. He opens the door for you and you follow him towards the back of his shop.

In a messy plastic table, you see an array of salads and pickles with different kinds of miso soup laid out. You feel almost intrusive, even more than last week.

You set the table. Osamu fetches hot rice.

It feels unnecessary for you to be here especially if he is with someone else. You do your best to keep your mouth shut. This is a friendly return of favor.

Osamu notices how unusually quiet you are. He chats you up about work. He tries his best to be animated and show interest in your latest project. He asks about your coworkers and your work environment. Were you having fun? Do you get to eat on time?

For dessert, he brings out mochi wrapped in leaves.

“It’s made by the girl I was telling you about.” he remarks, while clearing the dishes.

“Oh,” your heart sinks. You get up and leave, feeling humiliated by your naivety. Of course he’s with her. You feel stupid for even hoping.

You’re about to walk out when he comes back in. “Apparently, she’s been secretly in a relationship with another chef in her family inn. They recently got married and are hoping to start a family soon. She sent these down to inform me. I suppose that solves the problem of having to see someone outside of work—”

He sees you standing. Confusion runs through his expression.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Just stretching…” you lie.

You want to shoot yourself in the foot in embarrassment.

When realization dawns on him, Osamu looks crestfallen. Any energy left in his body abandons him. He sighs, resigned.

“It’s ok if you want to go,” he nods, “Or if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

He bites his lip and looks down on his shoes. The room is still and pregnant with silence.

“I really am just stretching. My hip feels wonky from sitting all day.” you insist with some renewed energy. You grab hold of the pot on the table. “Also, can we get some more hot water? Tea would be nice with the mochi and it’s kind of gone cold.”

He offers to make another pot, relief evident on his face.

“I’ll go heat up the water.” he walks to the kettle, “Are you sure you want dessert?”

You sit back down.

“Yeah, I want to stay.” you murmur. For once you don’t go running to the door.

He glances at you, content, a small smile creeping on his face. ——————————————————

Atsumu, Osamu’s twin brother, always finds himself in his brother’s kitchen every time he visits. He doesn’t mind too much though. It gives them something to do when they catch up.

“Samu, you can’t still be moping around your ex!” Atsumu exclaims. He’s washing Osamu’s dishes as his brother prepares for their meal.

“I’m not ready to get back out there.” Osamu waves dismissively.

Atsumu flicks some water his way. “You’re just not open to seeing someone else.”

His words clearly prick Osamu who throws flour into his face. Atsumu dodges right on time and flicks some flour right back.

Some flour grazes Osamu’s sleeve. He sighs and dusts himself.

“It’s tough, because I’m working all the time. This job doesn’t pay too much and it’s not glamorous. Who’d wanna date someone like me?” he murmurs.

“That’s why you gotta date around to find out!” Atsumu emphasizes, “Maybe you’ll even find someone who might help you with your business when you get married.”

Osamu obstinately shakes his head. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

Atsumu dries his hand and carefully observes his brother. He puts his towel down onto the kitchen counter and raises his brow, “Or maybe I should just give you advice on getting back together.’

As if right on cue, Osamu slams his hand down onto the counter, “I hate that we still haven’t gotten back together. This is killing me!”

Atsumu chuckles in satisfaction. He’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Why has nothing happened yet? I’m already in the city!” Osamu continues on, “They can cook too! Did you know that?! I wish we can skip to the part where we can settle down.”

He vigorously gestures in frustration.

“I cannot! I just cannot move on until I know I’ve given everything to make this work and yet every time I see them all I do is offer them food!”

Atsumu places his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “You need to be more strategic about it. Here’s what you need to do…”

———————————————————————————

Osamu takes a deep breath before knocking at your door. He holds a bag of onigiri in one hand and whatever courage he has in another.

One knock, then another. He hasn’t been this nervous in a long while.

When you open the door, his ear picks up on a male voice inside your house. Combined with your expression, he realizes that he’s come at an inconvenient time.

“I brought you something.” he tries to smile despite the sweat pooling, “I made you lunch. I just wanted to make sure you were eating. We don’t have to talk. I just wanted to give this to you.”

He tries to look past your shoulder, attempting to glimpse at your guests.

“Are you seeing someone else by any chance?” he blurts out, “I want to clarify before I make any more free deliveries.”

You frown. “That’s none of your business, Osamu. You should leave.”

Your frankness pierces something within him. He hadn’t expected to be rejected so quickly.

Osamu’s eyes widen and his mouth drops. He quickly gathers himself before he gets disheartened.

“I want you to give me a second chance. You loved me so deeply. Maybe you can find love in me again.” he says quietly.

“I thought I was too much of a city girl for you,” you retort, despite lacking an edge in your voice. You notice his hands tightly clutching the plastic bag.

The noise at the back seems to melt away. It’s like you’re back in that party, standing too close to each other near the coat rack and the door.

“Maybe you’re not.” his shoulders gracefully go up and down.

You shook your head wryly, “Osamu, I haven’t changed. I like my job and the city. I’m not the life and business partner that you’re looking for. I’m just a customer and we should keep it that way.”

“I can stop if you like.” he offers meekly, putting his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, you should. You’ve hurt me so much.” you cover your mouth with your hands while you try not to sob, “There’s nothing to go back to.”

“I’m sorry I ended things the way I did.” he looks away, “Seeing you walk by me every day feels like penitence…“

You close the door before he says anymore.

Osamu gazes longingly at the door. It’s only now that the full weight of losing you sinks in.

—————————————— “How’d it go?” Atsumu calls to check on Osamu.

Osamu sucks in his breath, his palm pressed on his temple. Atsumu braces himself, this doesn’t sound good.

“They had someone else over.” Osamu is seething in frustration and angry tears.

“Calm down. Were they alone? Or was it a friend group?” Atsumu ’s mind races. He sifts through the situation in an attempt to placate his brother.

“Yeah? No? I don’t know.” Osamu snaps, “They told me she didn’t want to talk about it. Your advice sucks!”

Osamu walks most of the way home. When he catches sight of his store, he curses. He had left his damn bike at your apartment complex! The universe is not giving him any breaks today.

He sighs and continues towards his store. He had a friend watch it while he was away. He’ll have to come pick up after he closes the store.

Throughout the rest of the day, he tries to push you out of his mind. By the time he closes the store, he is bursting at the seams with anticipation to make his way back to your apartment.

Before he sets off, he sees your figure wheeling his bike towards him.

“You left your bike.” you breathe out. You fish something out of your pocket and toss him the key to his bike lock, “You left this in your lock too.”

“Every time you see me, I just look dumber and dumber.” he sighs in exasperation.

You can’t help but burst into laughter at his candidness. He perks up a bit. He hasn’t made you laugh in a while. Of course he’d rather have you laugh with him than at him. Still, this was a start right?

"Did Atsumu put you up to this?" you chuckle, handing the bike over.

“Yeah, how did you know?” he asks dumbfounded.

“I just do.” you scoff, “It’s not like you to show up on people’s doors.”

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again. It was a moment of weakness.”

Your eyes lower, framing the sad expression that sets into your face, “Yeah, it better not. I’ve moved on.”

You turn around to walk away. In a brief moment of courage, he cups his hands around his mouth.

“I’m not ready to move on from you and if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” he calls out.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar​

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! I’m definitely making a part 2!

#osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu miya x you #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x y/n #miya twins #miya twins x you #miya twins x reader #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #osamu x reader #osamu x y/n #hq x self insert #hq x you #hq x reader #haikyuu fanfic #hq fanfic #hinata fic #osamu angst

[moonlitceleste]

No Time to Die (Villain!Mari)

A/N: This is a songfic based on No Time to Die by Billie Eilish. I literally listened to this every day of the month and another six hours on repeat while writing this. It’s a miracle I’m not sick of it yet, but it’s a very timeless song. I seriously recommend listening to it to set the mood!

I should've known I'd leave alone Just goes to show That the blood you bleed Is just the blood you owe

Marinette hadn’t meant to become a villain. Some might consider her an antihero, but her methods were much too ruthless for that. She wasn’t always like this—wasn’t always vicious and cruel. But her life was a tragedy, and there was no hope of ever making it out unsullied. She had seen too much, gone through too much for someone her age. All life ever did was take, take, take, and screw her over time and time again.

There was once a time where things were simpler, when she would have preached justice and righteousness above all. Those times were long gone.

It was her own sense of selflessness that led to her downfall. Marinette was once thought too pure to be corrupted, but power could corrupt anyone. Not even she could contest against the forces of the universe.

Perhaps what transpired had only unleashed something that was in her all along—a dark side she could no longer control. A thirst for justice, more merciless and ruthless than anything she had felt before. But it was the price she had to pay in order to keep balance within the world. When it was time to do what had to be done, the darkness inside her took over. It made her a villain.

Maybe what she just found out was inevitable, then. Marinette knew she shouldn’t have let her guard down, but a naïve part told her maybe things would be different. Maybe he would be different. She guessed she was wrong about that.

She wanted to feel anger at the injustice, at the fact that someone she once trusted had deceived her yet again—and she did. But it was overshadowed by agony, because maybe she deserved it. Maybe this was karma for all the blood she had spilled. The universe must maintain balance, after all.

Marinette gave one last lingering glance at the picture in her hands before placing it in her purse.

She left the apartment alone.

We were a pair But I saw you there Too much to bear You were my life But life is far away from fair

“Tim!”

Marinette shrieked as the black-haired boy chased her around her apartment, weaving around the moving boxes she had never bothered to throw out. Her eyes flitted around, trying to decide the best course of action. There! She swerved right, hoping to throw him off, but she had taken too long to decide.

The air left her lungs as a body tackled her. “Oof!” she exclaimed, unprepared for the force. Gravity took over and her body fell forward, but a pair of arms caught her from behind. Tim set her upright before wrapping his arms around her waist like a hug, trapping her body against his.

“Give me the phone.”

She panted, trying to catch her breath before responding. Her chest heaved from running for so long. Normally she would have been able to hold out for longer, but the business she attended to the day before was especially taxing. 

“No,” Marinette said, laughing breathlessly.

She resisted the urge to turn around and look at him, which would have been difficult anyways considering their height difference.

“I guess I’ll just have to take it from you then.”

She had a grand total of one second to register his words before he attacked. His fingers jabbed at her sides, prompting shrieks and laughter.

“St-stop it,” she gasped.

Tim smirked, an expression that wasn’t common on his face but beautiful nonetheless.

“Not until you surrender.”

His tickle assault continued for as long as Marinette could hold out (which wasn’t long).

“I yield!” she squawked, wanting the sensation to end as soon as possible.

“Do you?” he asked.

Marinette’s breath hitched as she suddenly realized how close he was.

His dark hair brushed her forehead, and she could count every lash framing his steel blue eyes. His normally porcelain skin was tinted a rosy hue, cheeks flushed from exhaustion. Or maybe from their proximity.

She knew they weren’t just friends—she wasn’t stupid, and neither was he. But they were both content with their relationship, and neither bothered to do anything about it.

Except that now, in the moment, Marinette wanted more. Apparently Tim agreed, with the way he was looking at her. There was a hungry glint in his eyes, which flickered down to her lips before gazing at her once more. A beat was all they needed to come to a silent agreement.

Marinette closed her eyes, tilting her head upwards from her position on the floor. Warm breath fanned across her face moments before soft lips brushed against hers. She melted into the kiss, feeling his heartbeat thud against her chest, smelling his cologne mixed with sweat. It was languid and sweet, and Marinette smiled against his lips. It just felt right.

The kiss ended abruptly, however, as Tim pulled away. She frowned in confusion and sat up, ready to ask what was wrong before catching sight of the phone in his hand.

“You cheater!” Marinette gasped. She straightened and lunged for her phone, but he simply held it out of reach before clicking the “delete” button.

“Gotcha,” he replied smugly.

“Hey,” Marinette pouted. “I liked that picture.”

The photo was one she had taken of Tim while he was unaware, which led to him chasing her around in an effort to get her to delete it.

“You owe me another one.”

He simply sighed and motioned her to come closer, taking his phone out at the same time. Marinette smoothed her hair out as he wrapped an arm around the back of her neck. She smiled at the camera before noticing Tim’s neutral expression.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Smile!”

He gave an awkward grimace, and Marinette poked him in the side until he rolled his eyes and gave a real smile to the camera.

After the selfie was snapped, they both looked at the results. Tim seemed surprised at the outcome, and Marinette had to admit they looked good together. Their previous tussle was obvious from their flushed faces, but it made the picture all the more charming. For a stressed young CEO and a secret villain, they looked happy.

She felt a gaze burning into her and turned to see Tim looking at her with an uncharacteristically soft expression on his face.

“What?” she asked, confused.

His face morphed as a devious glint appeared in his eyes. Faster than a snake, he darted forward and placed a kiss onto the tip of her nose.

Marinette gaped like a fish, caught off-guard. She barely registered the flash of a camera; when she did, however, she snapped to attention.

“Hey! Gimme that!” she said indignantly.

Tim started to run, phone in hand, and Marinette followed, giggling at the boy’s antics all the way.

Giggled. It wasn’t something she thought she’d ever do again, but things changed after she met Tim Drake. She changed. After she met him, it was easier to control the darkness that took over her soul. It made her a little more human.

Moments of safety and happiness were always fleeting for her—even more so after the incident. But with Tim, things were different. Marinette felt normal around him. She felt loved. But little did she know those moments would soon come to an end.

Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to everybody else

Love hurts. That was something Marinette knew better than anything, because she had always been the type to give her love away without receiving any in return—but that didn’t stop her from continuing to do it.

She was the problem. That’s what she’d been told all her life. Even when she was right, she was wrong. Especially when she was right. Anything that went south was her fault, because Marinette had to be perfect even though all she did was mess up.

Maybe the fact that everything in her life went wrong was a sign that she just wasn’t meant to be happy. She would never be good enough.

That was always obvious to everyone else.

That I'd fallen for a lie? You were never on my side Fool me once, fool me twice Are you death or paradise? Now you'll never see me cry There's just no time to die

It was an accident.

Marinette had been scoping out her next target when she realized she had left something important behind at her apartment. She cursed her forgetfulness, which cropped up at the worst of times. Missions seemed to be the only thing she could succeed at nowadays, and there was no room for error. Checking her watch, she saw that there was still enough time to rush to her apartment and back.

She got there in record time, moving silently and swiftly, about to go through the window when a small detail caught her eye. Her front door was slightly ajar. When she had first moved in, she had to figure out a way to finesse the faulty door and get it to close correctly. Warning bells sounded in her head—someone had broken in. Or maybe she had forgotten to close the door correctly in a simple slip of the mind, but that was unlikely. No matter how off her game, Marinette wouldn’t have made this mistake. It was a reflex that couldn’t be broken.

She proceeded with caution, eyes narrowed. However tragic, the incident did provide her with the benefit of enhanced powers. Whoever was in there didn’t stand a chance. She could feel the darkness start to creep in, taking control.

The bluish glow of a light illuminated the inside of her apartment, and her limbs tensed in preparation. Movement in the corner of her vision made her snap her head to attention. There was a figure leaving her room, and the person was toying with something in their hands.

It was nearly pitch-black, but her enhanced senses bypassed any inhibitors. The culprit was wearing a black and red costume with strange chest straps and an emblem—one of Gotham’s vigilantes, then.

That meant they were onto her. She knew it would happen eventually; she was good, but Batman was better. Perhaps if she attempted to prove her innocence she could at least delay her inevitable capture. She dealt with magic, anyways—one more ancient than any other form. The traces left were hard to find by an experienced magic user and impossible to find by a non-user.

She was turned away from the window, about to return to her previous location as proof of her innocence and spin an alibi. But as she did so, the vigilante’s voice stopped her in her tracks. He was speaking quietly into his comm, but she could hear it. She could recognize it too. It sounded almost like—

“Tim,” the voice on the other end of the system said. “Are you almost done?”

It clicked, and horror flooded her Marinette’s body. It snuffed out the darkness, pushing the rage to the corners of her mind. It can’t be him, she thought. Because if it was him, it meant that she was wrong. She trusted him, and she was wrong.

“No names on comms, Dick,” the hero responded.

Any doubt Marinette had that it wasn’t Tim disappeared. A pit opened in her stomach, and the feeling of white-hot rage and betrayal blazed in her mind. Every inch in her body was screaming at her to get out, but she stayed. She needed to know.

“I checked her room, but I couldn’t find anything incriminating yet.”

“What about the bug?”

“Nothing. It didn’t pick anything up.”

A pause.

“That’s weird. Do you think she knows?”

“That I’m Red Robin? No. She wouldn’t have let me get this close if she did.”

Static sounded on the other side of the line before Dick responded one last time.

“Keep searching. If you can’t find anything else on her, we’ll have to take a more… direct approach.”

“Roger that.”

Tim pressed a button on his comms and resumed whatever he was doing, but Marinette had heard enough. She wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. She wanted to jump into the room and ask him if it was all a lie. Voices screamed at each other in her head, trying to get her to do something. Marinette drowned them all out. She steeled herself, turning her back to the window. Taking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes and fell into the emptiness.

I let it burn You're no longer my concern Faces from my past return Another lesson yet to learn

Marinette unpacked the boxes she had teleported from her apartment, face carefully blank. The day after she had found out Tim was Red Robin was spent packing her things. Normally they would have already been ready to go; all she would have to do was enact one of her contingency plans. After all, Marinette was prepared for everything. But she wasn’t prepared for this.

The warehouse was one of her most secure, but it was cold and empty, the only warmth emanating from the gas fireplace. The fire flickered, and she could feel her resolve flicker with it. After a few moments, she placed her purse on her lap and gently pulled out the picture of her and Tim.

It was only taken a few weeks ago, but a lot of things could change in a few weeks. Her happy expression was foreign now, and Marinette closed her eyes as she gripped the picture tighter.

After a few moments of hearing the crackling fire, she opened her eyes and studied Tim’s face, carving it into memory.

Then she let it go and let it burn.

That I'd fallen for a lie You were never on my side Fool me once, fool me twice Are you death or paradise? Now you'll never see me cry There's just no time to die

Marinette had dreams of him often. She hated them, because they gave her hope when hope was what hurt her in the first place.

In those dreams, he told her that he had always loved her. That he had made a mistake in deceiving her, and he wanted her back. Needed her back. He entertained her delusions, and she believed him. At least, until she woke up and cold reality struck.

She really was a fool.

No time to die No time to die

She didn’t think she’d ever see him again.

She didn’t know if she wanted to see him again.

But here they were, facing off. Hero versus villain.

Tim had shown up on one of her missions, somewhere off the coast of a random country. She couldn’t remember at this point. The darkness had consumed her completely, wrath twisting her face into one that was unrecognizable.

“You don’t have to do this.” The placating words sparked her temper.

“Neither did you,” she replied bitterly. They both knew what she really meant.

She charged forward, and Tim parried with his bo-staff, gritting his teeth at the force only to stumble backward when she ducked around and behind him. She sent a kick to the back of his knees—a dirty move, but she never played fair anyways.

Bracing his staff on the ground before him, he used the momentum just in time to flip himself over and avoid falling on his face.

Marinette surveyed emotionlessly as he panted from exhaustion. She could easily take him out right then, but she didn’t want to waste her energy. She had already done what was needed, and her target’s blood would take absolutely forever to get out of her suit.

It seemed as if Tim noticed, and his disbelief at her cruelty seeped through when he asked “How could you?”

She laughed derisively. “How could I?”

The vigilante at least felt some remorse from the way his eyes flashed. Up until this point she had been cold and detached, but he could hear a hint of desperation seep into her words. He knew what she was really asking: if what they had was real. If he had ever loved her, or if it was all a lie. He hesitated before opening his mouth.

“A mission is a mission.”

If he blinked he might have missed it. For a brief second she recoiled, visibly struck before schooling her expression into one of neutrality. Her back straightened, and she fell back into the person he couldn’t recognize. The darkness around her pulsed, and he shifted his weight into a defensive stance, preparing for another attack. But he wasn’t ready for what she had in store.

The darkness expanded, and Tim’s vision grew hazy. He could dimly register his body swaying before it hit the ground. As he faded in and out of consciousness, Marinette stepped into his field of vision. She looked the same since he had last seen her, but her eyes were shadowed and unforgiving. The same lips he used to kiss mouthed the words “a mission is a mission” before everything faded into black.

Fool me once, fool me twice Are you death or paradise? Now you'll never see me cry There's just no time to die

She didn’t think it would end like this.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

It was just another normal mission; nothing dangerous—or at least, more dangerous than usual. Hunt down her target, extract information, do away with them as painfully as possibly, and leave.

But after her interaction with Tim, her work had gotten more sloppy. Rather than the icy rage that had become her new normal, her movements were fueled by anguish. Recklessness trumped logic, like she had lost control. And although she was off her game, she wouldn’t let something so trivial become a hindrance.

Until it did.

Marinette was ambushed. She leapt into action as quickly as her reflexes allowed; her movements were slightly delayed, but it was so imperceptible it shouldn't have made a difference.

Except for the fact that her attackers somehow knew her. Knew how she moved, knew exactly what her weaknesses were.

She took down two of the three opponents, leaving the best for last. But with every punch she threw they knew exactly where to block. Her adversary seemed to sense her frustration and laughed behind their infuriating black mask. Marinette snarled, lunging for the figure only to stumble over thin air.

“I thought you were supposed to be better than this.”

She got up and drew in deep breaths, sweat coating her forehead and exhaustion making her weary. She slowly walked in a circle, eyes darting around the shadows in the room.

“You beat one of the Bats, did you not?”

The darkness around her flickered, and that’s when the opponent struck.

Marinette felt the impact, but didn’t realize anything had happened until she moved her hand to see it covered in red. The liquid was warm and sticky, and the puddle beneath her was growing bigger by the second. Blood? She moved her hand closer to her face in an attempt to see it more clearly, but her vision blurred. The room swayed, and she heard an oof as her body hit the floor. It had come from herself.

She knew she had to do something, but she couldn’t move. It was like she was paralyzed. Marinette reached out only to have her arm fall lazily into the pool of red, limbs weak and movements sluggish.

Scarlet seeped into her gloves, and her body burned but was so numb at the same time. She felt so sleepy. Sleep, she thought, the word repeating in her mind like a mantra. A nap sounds good. Right before her eyes closed, pain erupted in her side. Her body jolted, and a cross between a gurgle and cough left her mouth. She tilted her head up to frown at whoever had kicked her only to see the black-hooded figure.

She couldn’t tell from the mask obscuring their face but was sure they had just given her a wicked smile. The person tutted. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Marinette let out a soft noise of defiance. Her protest only seemed to amuse them—them? she was pretty sure it was a woman—judging by the small chuckle they let out. They leaned down, and she felt cold hands caress her face, sending shivers down her spine.

The masked face lowered to her level, and a final message left their lips.

“You can thank Red Robin for his assistance.”

There was a yank, and a strange burning sensation coursed through Marinette’s body. She heard the clatter of an object and spotted a metallic glint before the figure stood up. Panic bloomed in her stomach as they walked away, her breathing getting more shallow by the moment.

She pushed aside the pain, choosing to ignore it in favor of turning over those parting words.

You can thank Red Robin for his assistance.

Red Robin. Marinette wanted to laugh at the irony. Stabbed in the back indeed.

Moments before Tim ran into the room, she took her last breath.

-

Notes:

I left the details of “the incident” purposefully vague so you guys could think of your own turning point for her. Personally, what I imagine is that after Hawkmoth’s defeat, Marinette tried to take the magical punishments in his place. She also combined both Miraculous and tried to unbind the kwamis so they couldn’t be abused again, but there were consequences. The power “corrupted” her and made more violent. She’s still a hero, technically, but rather than saving people she punishes (kills) them for wrongdoings which is why she’s considered a villain.

In case you’re confused about the ending, here’s what happened: I dressed the ambushers in League of Assassins-esque clothing; I actually wrote it with Talia in mind but decided to leave the person unidentified. Essentially, Marinette lost focus when her opponent mentioned her fight with Tim and got stabbed in the back. The person tells her to “thank Red Robin for his assistance.” Marinette interprets this as another betrayal; basically, she thinks Tim willingly helped them kill her by providing them with information on her. This isn’t the case since they actually stole the information from him, but Marinette doesn’t know that. Whether or not the opponent actually meant for her to think she was betrayed is up for interpretation.

I was actually debating between a few endings—I’ll put them here just for funsies. The more angst the better :D

Marinette dies a while after the apartment incident and never actually talks to/meets Tim again

Someone randomly kills her (no mention of “betrayal”)

Tim accidentally kills her

A clone of Tim kills her

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad

#maribat #celestewrites #timari #timinette #cel's fics

[bubmyg]

scarecrow - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: vampire!yoongi, fluff, couple blood mentions, death mention (brief), bit of protective yoongi, those previous three warnings sound a lot more dramatic than they actually are, non-chronological with the rest of my vampire yoongi series, this hints at some of the angst for future parts but only if you squint

word count: 1,612

summary: you’re going to keep telling yourself (and yoongi) that the maze is targeted towards literal children or the one where yoongi growls at a fake scarecrow. 

“Whose idea was this?”

You contained your laugh by shoving your chin further into the pile of scarf fabric tucked around your neck and anchoring down on Yoongi’s clammy hand in yours. 

“Uh, yours, babe.”

There was an acute chatter around your huddled figures, laughter too, and the faintest of startled screams coming from the dying corn stalks that clattered against each other in the late evening breeze. You, however, were only aware of the leaves crunching beneath Yoongi’s boots as he shifted next to you, arm occasionally brushing yours, tiny shoulder bag clacking against your hip. 

“We can go home,” You reminded gently, casting a gaze behind you past the line that had quickly gathered behind you. “I think they’re selling cider near the entrance—”

“No,” Yoongi said quickly. Too quickly. Quick enough for a sheepish smile to form on his lips as he glanced at you. “I’m fine. C’mon, we’re next.”

You regarded the costumed attendants at the gate to the haunted corn maze with a muted giggle, squeezing Yoongi’s hand when the more bloodied of the two seemed to zero in on him with their pointed warning of, “Have fun…”

The group in front of you appeared as nothing more than some fuzzy shadows, disappearing as quickly as you thought you’d made them out until a small scream emitted from that general direction. You laughed again when Yoongi tensed, tugging him along through the beginning weave of the maze by means of threading your free hand around his elbow. 

“What if we get lost in here?” He wondered out loud, seeming to calm when the first dozen yards weren’t lined with haunted jump scares. 

“We can cheat the maze. Corn is planted in rows, we can just shimmy through them. The field has to end eventually...”

Yoongi was staring at you with a strange mingle of confused fascination. “Why do you know that?”

You saw the outline of a giant felt spider dangling at eye level before he did, letting your grin grow when the next succession of steps forward had him walking directly into it. There was a surprised yelp that came from his lips, higher pitched that anything you were accustomed to from your soft spoken, ancient boyfriend. 

“Not funny,” Yoongi complained with a clear pout even in the haze of the evening, unlacing your fingers to drag his perspiration lain palm over the front of his jacket. The wrinkle at the bridge of his nose only worsened when you used your grip on his elbow to surge forward and peck his nose. 

“Kind of funny,” You pointed out, regaining possession of his fingers in yours. “Haven’t you, like, killed people before?”

He groaned, dragging you past an actor’s arm that darted out from the corn in an attempt to snatch your heel. “Have I told you before that you’re ridiculously morbid?”

“You’re a two hundred year old vampire that just got scared by a fake spider made of styrofoam in a haunted corn maze marketed towards human children,” You cocked an eyebrow at him, “and I’m the ridiculous one?”

You didn’t need proper lighting to hear his cheeks pinkening. “I wasn’t scared…”

If there was anything about Yoongi you’d had to accustom yourself with, it was his consistent ability to be alert. Whether it was his inner survival instinct, his heightened senses, or simply a byproduct of his curiosity to understand the human world as it evolved around him, you weren’t sure. In fact, you began to hypothesize it was a combination of all three. Long ago had you stopped being startled when his nostrils flared at the sound of a loose dog two neighborhoods over, when his eyes flicked to a leaf rustling and breaking apart from its steam one hundred feet up in a one hundred and fifty year old oak tree. 

Everything about Halloween themed amusements were meant to simulate a similar thing, pricking your ears to every movement, every scream up ahead, every rustle in the dirt part below the soles of your shoes. Somehow, the opposite effect had trilled through Yoongi, relaxing him when he began to anticipate the miniscule jump scares, progressively becoming less and less infatuated with anticipating them so as to mask his reaction. He’d started focusing more on you instead, calming only when he began to register the roar of your heartbeat in his ears was good, fear consented to rather than something he needed to try to curb for your safety. 

You weren’t that scared by the scarecrow that catapulted from between the corn. There was an automated voice to the mechanism too, warning something about staying far away from it’s crop, encouraging you to run in some eerie monotone. You were near the end of the maze, anyway. You could see the lights of the festival at the end approaching over the stalks. 

But in the moment, you jumped. It was unexpected, genuinely, as it was intended. Your shoulder blades bumped into Yoongi’s chest, your hand immediately coming up to cover the thrum of your heart underneath the layers of sweaters and jackets. The laughter of disbelief at your own actions fizzled when you heard a sound you’d only heard Yoongi make a handful of times. 

A strong arm secured around your waist, heightening the growl that reverberated against your back, effectively pulling your stature backward until you were stationed firmly behind Yoongi’s bristling figure. 

“Hey—” You touched Yoongi’s waist first, then his arm, using the tiniest budge you managed to get on his strength to touch his cheek, turning his gaze to yours. The shade of gentle brown in his warm irises had darkened red and, as you expected, the point of his fangs extended beyond his bottom lip, “—it’s okay. I’m fine.”

He blinked, an action that only softened the shade of his eyes but didn’t calm the rigidity of his stature, not as his gaze whipped to where the scarecrows animatronic had already retracted itself back into the corn. Gently, you took his hand, willing your heart to stop beating so fast so you could, with the utmost trust, settle his palm against the side of your neck where your pulse thrummed the loudest. “See,” You coaxed, triumphant when his thumb stroked under your jaw and his eyes swirled caramel, “I’m okay. Promise.”

Yoongi’s shoulders slumped, dragging his gaze away from yours but his hand remained on you, standing there huddled in a corner and dangerously close to a stray husk of corn that was dangling off one of the nearby stalks. You paid no mind, not when his hand traveled up from your neck to your cheek, brown eyes returning to you despite his fangs that still pressed small indentations into the plush of his, now pouting, bottom lip. 

For a half second, you thought you were the one with the keen hearing when you heard him murmur, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” You demanded, the laughter that started the whole incident bubbling back through the slight, genuine, fear that had settled high in your chest. 

“Sorry,” He tried again. His arm curled around your waist, pressing you close enough to lay his lips to your forehead. 

You couldn’t resist. “No, thank you, actually. You protected me from the big scary scarecrow.”

It was a whine that left Yoongi’s throat this time, “I’m sorry. I can’t help it, I—”

“I’m kidding,” You laughed, rubbing a soothing palm over his stomach until he glanced at you again. “Hey—”

“I ruin everything,” Yoongi grumbled and even if he looked almost comical with the pointed tip of his retracting fangs still poking out from between his lips, you sensed he was at least halfway serious about the statement. 

“Hey,” The firmness in your tone made his eyes widen. “I love you. I love being with you. You were caught off guard, no big deal.” His eyelids lowered in solace, nodding a couple of times, mostly to himself.

“Besides,” You took to pinching his hip, “Would Jimin have growled at a fake scarecrow for me? No.” 

At the mention of your human coworker and best friend who harbored a not so subtle yet mostly joking crush on you, Yoongi locked his grip around your fingers again and began marching off toward the exit of the maze. 

“Wait,” You tugged on his hand, only to have narrowed eyes assess you seriously when he stopped walking. “Do not go girl who cried wolf on me,” Yoongi deadpanned, “I just got my fangs to calm down. That includes mentions of that human.”

You grinned, rolling on your toes to cup your hand around his ear, even if he could have picked out your voice among a million others if you were halfway across the world from him. 

“There’s a real life human waiting at the end of this maze to scare us. I think they’re dressed as a scarecrow,” You whispered, locking him in place when his features scrunched and he tried to lean away from you, “I’m telling you now that I’m not scared of them. In fact, I’m sacrificing you to them. As an offering.”

“You’re infuriating,” Yoongi told you when you dropped away from him, still rocking your hands at a gentle sway between your bodies, “You know that?”

“I love you?” You tried again.

Yoongi’s entire being softened, tiny flecks in his eyes now mirroring the stars shadowed by the thinnest layer of clouds racing across the night sky above you. 

“I love you, my angel.”

Then, a look of determination crossed his features as he began shuffling backward. “Let’s get out of here, I want a caramel apple.”

“...wait, you do?”

#bts imagines #bts reactions #bts x reader #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #fic: vampire yoongi

[cherrywoes]

001 (Mature) (P1)

Contains mature themes. Read with caution. Subtle thigh riding, nothing blatantly sexual.

YOU MET USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI on a cold, bitter day in the middle of winter at a beach that was deserted besides the small skeleton crew. They had brought their cameras and plastic tarps to keep you from getting sand all over their sample fashion pieces and were excitedly chattering over warm coffee that you couldn't have.

Modeling wasn't the job you had in mind when you had accepted the personal request from your best friend, Akaashi Keiji—the man who had skyrocketed to fame with his effortless clothing designs and pretty face—over two years ago. Yet here you were, freezing, nearly naked in the middle of winter with snow threatening to fall down from the heavens and decorate you with delicate flakes of precious ice. Akaashi paid you very well for going through with his sometimes insane concept ideas, but you couldn't help but curse him in your mind as you covered your breasts to retain some semblance of warmth, as well as any modesty you had left to keep from the photographers.

"[Name], how are we doing?" Your manager, Ayano, sidled up to you with a warm mug in her hands and looking amazingly warm and cozy, a direct contrast to your shivering form. "It won't be much longer, we're just waiting on the male model Akaashi hired. The other one flaked last minute for a trip to Argentina. Can you believe that?"

"Are you serious?" You chattered incredulously, teeth clacking together uncomfortably. Ayano had the shame to pity you. "Oikawa went to Argentina?"

You had been banking on the man to be your partner for the shoot. He was the only one you felt comfortable with half nude as you were, since you both did these spreads with each other often and enough that it wasn't strange for you to change in the same dressing room. He was amazing at lightening the atmosphere so you were comfortable with him, even if his manager got angry with him whenever he flirted with you on what he thought was the sly. Dancing his fingers over your bare shoulders was not sly, you'd laughed at him when he pouted at the hair and makeup station.

But he was in Argentina? For what? You had half a mind to text him an infuriatingly long text, and reached for your phone in Ayano's pocket, but found yourself exposed to the cold and even chillier than before. With a sigh, you pulled your arms close to your chest again, peering down to make sure you didn't have a nip slip in the process. The crazed press hiding in the sand dunes would have a field day with that.

"He never said why," Ayano answered, taking a sip of her coffee and ignoring your glare of envy. "It'll be okay though, Ushijima's a nice man and he won't try anything. Akaashi knows him pretty well, otherwise he wouldn't have gone to him last minute."

You snorted, imagining Oikawa boarding a plane hurriedly. "How last minute are we talking?"

"Around an hour or so before we got here." Ayano nodded her head sagely when you turned to look at her with more disbelief than you had at the reveal that Oikawa had dipped and flew out to another country. "Mhm. He's very reliable, according to Akaashi."

"Who has free time like that?" You laughed. "Nevermind, don't answer that. Can I get a jacket or something? I'm freezing here. We haven't even shot any singles yet."

Ayano winced in sympathy and patted your shoulder. Her fingers were so warm that you lamented the loss immediately, shuffling closer to huddle into her scratchy linen jacket. She snickered and let you stay close, almost burying yourself into her side, and too soon, you heard a car door slam near the parking lot over the quiet sea.

Your eyes darted to the top of the dunes where you spotted a tall, muscular figure cresting the half buried staircase and heading down to your entourage of photographers and stylists. At his side, two dogs loped in similar fashion, each held on leather leashes and clipped to what looked like diamond encrusted chain collars. Dobermans, you realized, from the cropped ears and docked tails when they drew closer, lithe frames stark against the pale sand. One was black and tan, slightly larger than the other one, which was Isabella and tan, with a more svelte figure and kept more closely to its owner, who was far more impressive the closer he got.

You couldn't help but poke your head over Ayano's shoulder and gawk at the male specimen before you. He was all toned muscle, from his neck down to his feet, and you could see carefully sculpted abdominal muscles through his shirt, which clung to him like a second skin in some silky nylon fabric that had some expensive name over his left pectoral. He wore sweatpants that were torn at the knees into shorts, and you raised your eyebrows at the way his calf muscles flexed when he shifted his weight to his left leg. You only saw that kind of dedication on bodybuilders and showmen, not models; they all seemed to prefer skinny muscle to actual muscle.

He had that austere cast to his features and aura, you could tell, when he turned his head just enough to reveal his eyes, brilliant chips of green and brown framed by severe eyebrows that complimented the bones of his face and the angle of his jaw. Even his hair was complimentary, a close undercut with long strands on top that looked to have been combed through with fingers and half heartedly with a comb.

"Damn." Ayano whispered your thoughts and pulled away from you, leaving you cold and shivering once more. Like a shot, she was off to speak to his manager, who was a lanky man with a startling shock of red hair that had you staring for a moment.

You almost screeched when a cold nose touched your cold knee. Somewhere between Ayano leaving and you shifting your hands under your armpits, the man had unhooked his dogs from their leashes and allowed them to wander up to you without a care in the world, because he was still listening to something the lead director was telling him.

The one nudging at your knee was the Isabella and tan one, her ears up and pointed towards you. Her stub of a tail wagged excitedly and you hesitated to pet her, eyeing the black and tan one that had settled into a sitting position beside your feet and out of the harsh gusts of wind that rose every so often.

Moving to cover your breasts with one arm, you held out your hand for her to sniff, cringing when she leaned forward and huffed over your fingers. Then, tentatively, she gave a few licks to your knuckles and bounded off towards her owner. The black one, male by the looks of it, stayed beside you, stalwart and unwilling to go back out into the cold wind.

"Nox." Their owner's voice was so deep that you were startled by the thrum that had begun in your belly. You looked over and saw the man was staring at the dog behind you, waiting for him to obey his call. "Come."

The dog, Nox, huffed and hid his head behind your leg, ignoring him. You had to stifle a snicker. The man looked at you, then, and you noticed that he kept his eyes trained on your face, analyzing your features with a slight furrow to his brows. Then he looked away, back towards the director who was pointing to you and explaining something with wide gestures. You almost felt offended at his easy dismissal.

"[Name]!" The director waved you over and you scowled, wrapping your other arm over your chest again and walking over to where he stood with the mystery man. His dog, Nox, trailed behind you, keen on avoiding both his owner and the wind. When you stood beside the director, surprised at how tall the man was and how your neck started to hurt looking up at him, he gestured to the man. "This is Ushijima Wakatoshi, Akaashi's friend. He'll be modeling with you today. Ushijima, this is [Name], the face of the brand."

Your face flushed red and crept down your neck when he looked at you again, this time an intense look of concentration on his face. Even his eyes were intense, sharp and narrowed and soul searching. You hoped he blamed the blush on the cold.

"Nice to meet you," you said, embarrassed at how your teeth cracked together, and held out a shaking hand for him to shake. "I'm [Name] [Surname]."

Ushijima stared at your hand like it was a particularly offensive bug. Your smile turned brittle and before you could pull your hand back and tuck it under your armpit, he enveloped your tiny hand in his—tiny compared to his giant ones, anyway—and shook it slowly, almost like he was pained to shake it in the first place.

"Ushijima," he said and that was all he offered. He released your hand and looked to the director again, waiting for a further explanation, and you clenched your jaw in irritation. Even if he was pretty, you didn't like being dismissed like you were nothing.

This time, the red flush creeping up your neck had nothing to do with embarrassment.

His manager seemed to notice your growing anger and slapped Ushijima on the back. Hard. You had to swallow nervously when Ushijima's eyes went cold and turned to his manager, shoulders stiffening and bunching underneath the sting of the slap.

"Wakatoshi, you can't just do that," the redheaded male admonished, pointing to you. "Be nice. Remember our lessons?"

You raised an eyebrow. Lessons? To be nice? You appraised the man in a new light; he was stiff, too tense, and seemed high strung like a live wire, like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. You wondered if he had an issue or something with any emotion other than coldness.

Ushijima stared at his manager with narrowed eyes, then looked back over to you. They softened slightly, scanning over your face—your anger ebbing away into confusion—and he dipped his head slightly in a small bow. "Sorry."

"It's fine," you whispered in reply, your confusion overriding your anger and the warmth it had brought you. You watched his eyebrows drop and then go back to neutral, as if he was thinking, and the director cleared his throat to draw both of your attention back to him.

"As I was saying—Ushijima, the poses are fairly simple. Because [Name] isn't tall enough to reach your shoulders, she'll be standing on a stool. It'll be your job to keep her steady. How uncomfortable are you with intimate skin contact?"

"It doesn't bother me," Ushijima answered in a clipped tone. You squirmed uncomfortably, cold once more, and felt Nox brush against your legs. "Is there anything else?"

"No, anything else is covered in your contract. Just put on the clothes they give you and we'll start in five."

You made your way back to the tarp, spotting the stool in question, and turned around, mouth open to ask if you should move it to the middle, and abruptly closed it with an audible snap.

There, behind a tiny rack of  clothes facing the ocean, Ushijima was pulling his shirt over his head, the muscles in his back flexing fantastically with the smooth movement. A few moments later he stepped out from behind the rack, dressed in sleek and slim khaki pants that hugged at his legs a little too snuggly. The stylist rolled the hems up above his ankles and handed him a pair of loafers, which he put on once he reached the tarp and wiped his feet clean of sand.

Your mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert. His personality might be lacking, but he was gorgeous, you had to give him that. Oikawa was pretty in a different way, but he'd never appealed to you in the way this man, Ushijima, was. Even if it was solely physical appeal, you couldn't help but wonder if he had deeper issues than just being nice; he didn't seem rude, just blunt, the more you thought about it, one of those silent types that your mother adored.

You didn't like that your tastes skewed close to hers.

"[Name], up on the stool," the director yelled over rising winds. Your hair whipped into your face. "Ushijima, stand in front of her. Yes, just like that, now move a little to the left—right there. Now [Name], wrap one arm around his neck and the other under his arm and over his back."

You looked Ushijima in the eye from your slightly elevated height. He was eye level with you now and raised his eyebrows.

"Are you okay with me…?" You motioned to your breasts and then mimed wrapping your free arm around his neck.

"Oh. Yeah." He shuffled closer and when the stool trembled under shifting sand, his hands shot up to steady you at the waist, just under the ribs. His thumbs almost touched, his hands were so large. "Are you okay?"

At least he was trying to be considerate. You removed your other arm and steadied yourself on his shoulders, faintly hearing the click of cameras already going. "There, I should be okay now. You can let go if you want."

You heard his frown, more than saw it, as you hooked your right arm around his neck and the other under his bicep, draping your hand loosely over his left shoulder blade. His hand came up to your back to hold you steady, pressing between your shoulders and unintentionally pushing your breasts and upper body into his chest. "I don't want you to fall."

Ushijima was pleasantly warm, you noted, and shifted slightly so the director could get your face better. When your nipples, hard from the cold, dragged against his chest, you could have sworn you heard him take a deep inhale and exhale sharply, but over the wind it was hard to tell.

"Thanks," you said, as normally as you could make it. It was a whisper and almost directly in his ear. His hand tightened subtly against the skin of your side.

A few clicks of a shutter later and the director wasn't satisfied. "[Name], wrap both arms under his and rest your chin on his shoulder."

You did as commanded, even if your body was screaming at the pose you were in and your mind damning Oikawa to hell at the same time. You rested your hands on his shoulder blades, this time your chest and shoulders and torso flush with his. You passed off the goosebumps rising on his skin from the cold, and gave a sultry look to the camera.

"Gorgeous," the director clapped.

They took a few more photos, most of them with you or Ushijima turning your heads to look at the ocean or each other. Every time your gazes met, it was like someone had dropped a nest of bees in your stomach and set them off, and his eyes were dark and intense enough to make shivers go down your spine.

"I'm loving this tension," the director remarked to Ayano and Ushijima's manager. "This is better than anything Oikawa could have produced, I think."

Ayano snorted out a laugh. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll be offended."

The director chuckled. "Alright, [Name], Ushijima! Ushijima, stand behind [Name] this time and [Name], face him please."

You pirouetted on the stool, Ushijima steadying you by your hips, and shifted behind you, allowing you to grip onto his shoulders and steady yourself when more sand sunk into his footprints.

"Alright, same pose as before except Ushijima, I want you to put your fist in her hair and look at the camera."

It was your turn to get goosebumps when his hand slid up the back of your neck to cradle the back of your scalp, and then close his fist into the hair at the nape of your neck. The steady pressure combined with the sound of his breathing in your ear had you mentally running laps, and in the back of your head, you wondered if he'd had experience in pulling hair—then you flushed when you realized exactly where your thoughts were going.

God, Oikawa was never going to forgive you.

Ayano whistled lowly at the display screen as the camera shutters went off. Ushijima's stare was deadly and the way his fingers were tight in your [color] hair added a flair that made her feel like she was looking in on an intimate moment.

"He's good," she complimented towards Tendou.

"Eh?" The redhead scratched his nose. It was numb from the cold. "His face always looks like that. It's terrifying."

When you and Ushijima parted for a break while the director examined the photos more closely, Ayano watched as Ushijima's fingers lingered on your spine for a moment longer than necessary. Then you locked eyes for a brief moment, caught in your own world, and then you stepped away, hurrying into the jacket that Ayano held out for you.

"What was that?" Ayano asked curiously, watching Ushijima tug on a jacket with his name embroidered on the breast pocket. "That tension was no joke."

"He's dangerous," You  said breathlessly, holding a hand over yout rapidly beating heart. "Jesus, what did his parents feed him? I might faint, Ayano."

"The souls of his enemies?" She joked, and you jabbed her in the ribs. "Seriously though, maybe you should explore that sometime. I haven't seen you like that since Kuroo."

You wrinkled your nose. "He'd be happy to hear you say that. I still need to call him and see how Kenma's doing."

Ever since your ex-boyfriend had come out as bisexual to you a few months ago, two years after you'd broke things off cleanly, you'd been his staunch supporter when his parents had shunned him and Kenma. While your relationship might not have been what you both wanted, you were still good friends, and had been there for each other through thick and thin. So when Kuroo introduced Kenma, a rising video game streamer, as his boyfriend, you'd cried alligator tears of joy and hugged the life out of him.

You and Kenma got along like a house on fire, to Kuroo's relief and slight worry. You made more than one guest appearance on his streams, and being a famous face, people started shipping you in a poly relationship with the both of them. Even though it was a joke, you'd caught Kenma and Kuroo eyeing you thoughtfully more than once and you were adamant that a poly relationship wasn't what you wanted or needed, even though you loved them both.

Kenma had shrugged dismissively and said,"We might convince you one day."

Coming from him, it was a vow and not a promise. You'd laughed it off and Ayano saved the day with a phone call, but you knew he was dead serious about it. Even Kuroo had been interested in the idea, saying he wouldn't mind it at all.

You weren't sure how you felt about that.

"What's wrong with Kenma?" Ayano inquired.

"He's caught some parasite from a bad batch of sushi. He's been in and out of the hospital for a while since he can't fully get rid of them, so I like to check in and see if they need anything." You shrugged. While Kenma made good income streaming, he couldn't do it while he was ill, so you had been subtly paying their bills. Kuroo's chemistry teaching job didn't pay as well as you'd like either. You'd thought about lending your Tokyo penthouse to them since you never used it, but Kuroo would be hesitant to accept the offer. "Last I heard he was able to keep fluids down and was working on soup."

"Hm. I hope he's okay," Ayano hummed. "I know Kuroo's been struggling lately."

You nodded sadly in agreement. Kuroo never ceased to amaze you with how thoughtful and unselfish he was; he'd drop anything for Kenma in a heartbeat, or you if it came to it, and you almost pitied him because all he had was Kenma and you.

Before you could say more, the director called for you and you shed your jacket morosely. Ushijima stood with his dogs and you stepped hesitantly beside him, looking to the director for directions.

"We're going to take one last shoot and then we'll be packing up for the day," he announced and you sighed in relief. You'd finally be out of the cold. "Ushijima, you'll be sitting on the stool this time. [Name], you'll be sitting in his lap and facing the camera. I'll direct you after that."

You avoided Ushijima's gaze as best you could as you both made your way to the tarp. The edges fluttered as the wind pushed it up, but you toed them down and waited for Ushijima to get comfortable on the stool. It was a bit small for him so he had to spread his legs wider than his pants would allow, planting his feet in the sand so he wouldn't fall off. It was almost hilarious.

"Nevermind! [Name], you'll have to straddle his left thigh. Ushijima, once she's settled, I want you to wrap an arm around her breasts and the other around the waist of her shorts. [Name], I want you to reach back and wrap an arm around his neck and use the other to hold on to the arm around your waist."

This just couldn't get any worse, could it? You pleaded to the gods that he wouldn't be able to read you like an open book and carefully lifted your leg over his thigh, using all of your weight to keep yourself steady. You couldn't avoid pressing the crotch of your shorts to his thigh, his leg was too long and your feet barely touched the ground. His thigh flexed between your legs and you had to swallow a tiny gasp that threatened to break free. You had to reassure yourself that he was probably as uncomfortable as you were. That was all that would get you through this.

He made sure not to let you have an accident in front of the cameras, shielding your breasts from view with his arm while you wrapped an arm around his neck and rested your fingers on the soft stubble at the nape.

When you were in position and had your best model face on, the director adjusted the camera lens to focus more on the way Ushijima was a hair's breadth away from touching his nose to the pulse in your throat and his lips to your shoulder. Then, he zoomed out and focused more on the image as a whole, chattering to the editor about how the red of the cold could be edited out.

You couldn't help but relax into Ushijima's warmth the more the cold got to you. He didn't seem to mind; if anything, his grip tightened, and you heard him sigh into your ear. The only thing driving you insane was the way he kept flexing his thigh between your legs; he kept stiffening up and forcing himself to relax, and you had to fight off the arousal that kept building within you every time you remembered that he was touching you as intimately as a man could.

While the director pointed at something you couldn't see on screen, Ushijima stiffened up again and shifted his weight just a little, but it was enough to drag the harsh seam of the shorts against your pulsing clit. You couldn't stop the shaky, small gasp that escaped you, so quiet it was drowned out by the ocean. Except Ushijima—he heard you. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your face and a blush crept up your cheeks. He couldn't have known—

PART TWO.

MASTERLIST.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyū!! #ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi

[theladyofdeath]

Get a Clue {ACOTAR}

31 Days of Halloween: Day 30.

All installments co-written with @snelbz​

Warning: language.

Autumn/Halloween 2020 {Collection}

I know, I’m a little past the date....but, we wanted to post anyway. :)

Prompt sent in by @photofeesh​

Elain was dressed in her finest 1950s attire. It was her first character-themed murder mystery party, and she had decided there was no better time to throw it than on Halloween. The theme? Clue. And since none of them knew their character until everyone arrived, they decided to dress in 1950s wear, due to the fact that the board game had been invented around that time.

The girls used to love playing Clue as children.

Nesta would always get pissed if she didn’t win, Feyre was usually doodling while they were playing, and Elain just loved to have fun; but, no matter how the game went, they all got excited to play together. It was one of Elain’s fondest memories of her childhood: playing board games on rainy days with her sisters. 

“I look ridiculous!”

Elain rolled her eyes as she adjusted the gloves that she wore. “You look handsome!”

He stepped out of his closet. The blue ascot tied around his throat was loose, but he tugged on it as if it were a noose.

The dark blue naval uniform looked like it was made for him, but it hadn’t been. It had belonged to the girls’ papa and seeing Azriel wear it brought a huge smile to Elain’s face

He couldn’t complain when she looked at him like that. “I’m not putting the hat on,” he grumbled.

His hair was slicked back, and Elain found herself wishing that she was born in the 50’s so she could look at Azriel like this every day.

Heading downstairs to make sure everything was ready, she paused to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yes, you are,” she said, with a smile.

She could hear Azriel groan as she took to the stairs, knowing full well that he’d do anything to please her.

Mor was in Elain’s kitchen, sealing the final envelope.

“No!” she yelled, clutching all the envelopes to her chest. “I haven’t hid them yet!”

Elain chuckled. “I have to take out my chicken!”

Mor narrowed her eyes but hurried away, nonetheless, taking her envelopes along with her. When Elain mentioned that she wanted to throw a murder mystery party, Mor was the first to volunteer to be the mediator of the whole thing. Mor definitely had a flare for the dramatics, but she also loved to know things others didn’t. Therefore, she offered to be the one to hide the envelopes and watch everyone else go crazy trying to figure out her riddle. 

It wasn’t long before everyone arrived. Feyre and Rhysand first, having sent their three-month-old infant away with a sitter for the first time, even though the sitter was just Rhysand’s sister. Cassian and Nesta showed up next, and ten minutes late, in true Nesta fashion. Lucien was the last to arrive, bringing a plate of brownies. Unlike Nesta, Lucien’s late arrival was excused, considering he had to work until 6:45 on the opposite end of town. 

“Do we get to eat first?” Cassian asked, his stomach grumbling so loud that everyone could hear. Elain had to admit that the 1950s were kind to the men in their lives.

Cassian looked like an old-time greaser in his rolled up jeans, his black Converse, his plain white tee, and his leather jacket. A cigarette rested behind his ear and his newly cropped, chin-length hair was greased back. He was the complete opposite of Nesta, who wore the cutest, knee-length circle dress. Her hair was in tight curls, and she finished her outfit with a pearl necklace and white gloves.

They were the living image of Danny and Sandy.

Elain felt the sudden urge to sing, but controlled herself.

Feyre and Rhys, however, looked like the President and CEO of a very well established 50’s business. They weren’t, obviously, but the vest, wool overcoat and thin tie Rhys wore and the very smart, but powerful sheath skirt and top Feyre wore would have fooled anyone. The red bowler hat she wore complimented the look flawlessly.

Then there was Lucien in his khakis, suspenders, plaid button down tee, and slicked back, fiery red hair. 

Elain’s friends had done her proud. “Dinner is a part of the game. So, if you all would follow me to the dining room table.” 

No one complained at that request. Cassian was the first to sit down, and Nesta was rolling her eyes as she joined him to his right.  

“As we start our meal, I’m going to pass the basket around. There’s an envelope for boys, and an envelope for the girls. Pick your character.” As Elain sat down, she held her basket to her right, where Lucien was sitting, already filling half his plate with corn. 

She adjusted the floppy, but adorable hat on her head and said, “You can tell us all who you are, but the rest of the information needs to be learned throughout the night, as you’re being asked questions.”

Nesta took the basket from Lucien and she and Cassian both removed a small piece of paper. She glanced in the envelopes. “Why do the guys have an extra character that the girls don’t have?”

“Someone has to be the dead guy,” Mor shrugged.

“Sweet,” Cassian said, grinning. “I hope I get to be the dead guy.” He looked at the slip in his hand and groaned. “Man. I’m Colonel Mustard. I don’t get to be the dead guy.”

Without a word, Azriel dropped to the floor, making Feyre jump.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

He looked up at her with a smirk. “My name is Mr. Boddy. And I’m the dead guy.”

Azriel was laying on his stomach and when Elain rolled her eyes and held the basket out to Feyre and Rhys, he knocked the stupid hat off of his head.

If he had been murdered, the hat never would have stayed on anyways.

“I’m Miss Scarlet,” Feyre announced. “You?”

“Professor Plum,” Rhysand snorted. “Of course.” 

The basket got back to Elain, and she picked the last slip of paper from the girl’s envelope. She beamed, “I’m Mrs. White, which means Nesta must be Mrs. Peacock?”

Nesta held up the slip in her hand that proved Elain was correct.

“And Luce is Mr. Green,” Elain said, giving her best friend the side eye. 

Lucien grinned, stuffing his mouth full of chicken. 

Azriel reached up from the floor and stole a roll from the basket.

“So, how does this go, Mor?” Cassian asked, his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Nesta muttered.

Cassian didn’t bother swallowing. “Okay, mom.”

“Well,” Mor said, clapping her hands together as Azriel dragged his entire plate down to the rug beneath the table. “On the back of your slips is a character description. You all need to follow the character description, along with the other details noted on your paper. We’ll start ruling people out until someone realizes who the killer is. In each room, there’s an envelope, hidden. Throughout the party, when you find an envelope, there are clues that will help you rule out specific characters, weapons, and rooms. I have an envelope inside my jacket pocket. Inside that envelope is the killer, the room in which Mr. Boddy was killed, and the weapon that was used to kill him.”

“Does the killer know who the killer is?” Cassian asked.

“We just picked our characters two seconds ago, Cass,” Feyre snorted.

“No,” Elain said, politely. “The murderer was chosen at random.”

“How do we know you didn’t rig the game?” Azriel asked, voice muffled by the table.

“Because,” Mor said, eyeing Azriel under the table. He smirked as he took another huge bite of green beans. “I am nothing but an honest woman.”

“This is actually your house though,” Cassian said, pointing at Azriel. “And Mr. Boddy is the owner of the house in Clue. What if I would have been the dead guy, would we have had to be at our place? A two bedroom apartment with three cats wouldn’t have been near as fun.”

Elain was pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing quietly.

Cassian took a drink of his wine and muttered, “It would definitely have been one of the cats.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Everyone understand the rules of the game?” 

A series of nods rounded the table. 

Elain smiled brightly. “Then let the game begin!”

“Can we finish eating first?” Cassian asked, his mouth still full.

Nesta just sighed, and shook her head.

“I hope so,” Azriel muttered. “No telling how long it will take you lot to figure out who killed me, and I’m starving.”

“You can eat while you play,” Elain said, pointedly toward her fiancé.

“You mean while I’m dead?” He asked. “Because I’m dead, I can’t answer any questions, so…”

He trailed off and shoved a forkful of chicken into his mouth.

Nesta cleared her throat. “Professor Plum?”

“Yes, Ms. Peacock?” He said, falling into character.

She stood, picking up her wine glass. “I’ve run out of wine, will you accompany me to the kitchen? I’ve got some questions I need to ask you.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t out of wine.”

With a heavy sigh, Nesta said, “I’m trying to be in character.”

He took a drink of his own wine, but said, “Sounds like your character needs to get her story straight.”

Looking him dead in the eye, she tipped her glass back and drained it. “Okay, now I need a refill. Plum, you’re with me.”

Her heels clicked on the hardwood as she headed for the kitchen and Rhys glared at Cassian. “Now I’m not going to get any information out of her.”

Cass smirked. “I know.”

Rhysand just shook his head as he followed Nesta into the kitchen. Cassian was instantly eyeing Lucien, who was sipping from his wine glass.

“Mr. Green,” Cassian began, cordially. 

Lucien blinked. “Yes, Colonel?” 

“Shall we leave these ladies alone and go for a walk of our own?” Cassian asked.

Lcien lifted an auburn brow. “Sounds like you’re flirting with me, Colonel.”

Azriel snorted from his place on the rug.

Cassian grinned. “Don’t let Peacock hear you. She gets jealous.” 

Lucien laughed as he pushed himself up from the table. The men, with their plates in hand, went into the living room.

Elain faced Feyre, who was already watching her with narrowed eyes. 

Feyre glanced down at her card. “Where were you at five this afternoon, Mrs. White?”

Elain didn’t skip a beat. “Changing the sheets in the master bedroom, of course.”

Feyre sipped from her glass. “And why was there need to change the sheets?” 

Elain’s cheeks heated. “Shut up, Miss Scarlet, goodness.” 

“Can I go be dead in the living room?” Azriel asked from the floor. 

“Shh, you’re dead,” Feyre said, not looking away from the face of innocence in front of her. “What I meant was…” A dramatic pause. “There wasn’t blood on the sheets from where you stabbed him with a knife was there?”

Azriel murmured from the floor, “Jesus, Feyre, bury the lead.”

“Of course not,” Elain said, a hand pressed to her heart. “I always change the sheets on Tuesday.”

From the floor, “It’s Friday, babe.”

“…on Friday,” she corrected herself.

Feyre narrowed her eyes at her sister again, standing from her chair and walking around the table to grab a roll. “Your story checks out. You’re off the hook…for now.”

“I think a better question is where were you at the time of the murder, Miss Scarlett,” Elain asked, eyeing Feyre.

“Easy,” she said, pausing with a hand on her hip. “Professor Plum was teaching me a lesson.”

“Boooo!” Clearly, the rug hadn’t liked Feyre’s innuendo.

“You know, you’re loud for a corpse,” Elain said, looking down at Azriel, and back to Feyre, who was smirking. “And could he corroborate that story?”

“Professor Plum!” Feyre called.

He poked his head in from the kitchen a moment later. “Yeah?”

Feyre gestured to Rhys. “Go ahead.”

Clearing her throat, Elain asked, “Where were you at the time of the murder, Professor?”

“Banging Miss Scarlet,” he replied, without missing a beat, smirk growing.

Feyre’s grin widened.

Elain cleared her throat. “Thank you…Professor.”

“Anytime,” he winked, before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

“Is that all?” Feyre crooned.

Elain cleared her throat. “How is it that you know Mr. Boddy?”

Feyre’s brows scrunched together, unsure of how to answer, but then Elain cleared her throat and gestured down at the notecard in Feyre’s hand.

“Oh,” Feyre began. “We are….having an affair, it seems.”

“My, Mr. Boddy, Professor Plum. You sure do have a long list of lovers, Miss Scarlet. Perhaps a jilted lover had found out about your affair with Mr. Boddy. Or maybe Mr. Boddy found out about Professor Plum?”

“I was open about my promiscuous lifestyle,” Feyre said, yawning dramatically. “Now if you'll excuse me, Mrs. White, I’ve grown bored of this conversation.”

Elain’s mouth fell open but she did nothing more as Feyre dramatically made her exit.

Azriel snorted. “Ouch.”

“Hush, dead man,” she whispered, harshly.

The dead man's grin only widened.

As Elain made her way into the living room and snatched Lucien from Cassian’s attentions, someone new soon filled them. Mrs. Peacock perched herself on his lap.

“Well, hello,” he said, dragging a hand up her thigh.

“Colonel,” she said, with an over exaggerated southern drawl.

Cassian snorted. “I don’t remember Mrs. Peacock being a southern bell.”

“Instead of what you don’t remember, how about we talk about what you do remember?” Nesta reached into the pocket of his jacket. “How exactly did this wrench come to be on your person?”

Cassian took a long drink out of his glass of wine — which he used as an excuse to look at his character slip — before saying, “My cat broke down today and I had to fix it. Must have accidentally brought it with me.”

Nesta blinked, then whispered, “Your…cat, Cass?”

Cassian’s brows drew together as he looked back down at his notecard. “Car. My car. I meant….car. My car broke down, hence the wrench.”

“And when did your car break down?” Nesta continued, after she rolled her eyes. 

“This afternoon,” Cassian shot back.

“At what time?” Nesta asked.

Cassian looked back down at his notecard. “At four-thirty this afternoon. I then spent the rest of my afternoon working on my car, until I came here, of course.”

“For someone who’s been working on his car all afternoon you sure are clean,” she noted.

“I, uh-.” Cassian froze and glanced down at his card, for some fact of information that may help out. “I always carry a change of clothes with me. It never hurts to be prepared.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Prepared for what?”

He squeezed one of her thighs. “Prepared for anything.” He smacked her ass and asked, “What about you, Mrs. Peacock?” He enunciated the last word.

“What about me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I can’t help but notice I missed you in the parlor for drinks,” he mused, raising a glass of whiskey to his lips. Nesta blinked. She wasn’t even sure where he’d gotten it from, the glass of wine was still sitting on the table beside him. “Mr. Boddy was also suspiciously absent.”

Nesta’s brows rose. “What are you implying?”

Cassian shrugged. “That Miss Scarlet wasn’t Boddy’s only lover.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed with such distaste that it was hard for Cassian to stay in character. “Is that what you think, Colonel?”

Cassian cleared his throat and muttered under his breath, “Just a side note, I love it when you call me that in that damned accent.”

Nesta gave him a small, mischievous grin. “Noted.”

“I think,” he began, slipping back into character, “Mr. Boddy told you your secret tryst was over and you retaliated.”

Nesta chuckled and squeezed Cassian’s leather covered shoulder. “A good theory, but you should have done your research, Colonel.” Cassian’s eyebrows furrowed but Nesta continued. “Mr. Boddy was my brother. Estranged. I was here tonight to make amends.”

He asked, “Peacock is your married name?” She nodded. “What happened to Mr. Peacock?”

“Nothing you can prove,” she said, with a smirk. “But I wasn’t present for drinks because I was doing drugs in my room.”

Cassian blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes, I have a drug problem.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “Do you really? Or are you making that up to throw me off?”

“Heroin.” Nesta’s face was deadpan and he was about to suggest they have a talk with Elain after the game when she smirked. “No, I fell asleep in my room. I had a long drive in and needed a nap before I was pleasant for company.”

“I see,” Cassian muttered. “Now, back to Mr. Peacock… Are you completely over him? Or…”

Nesta rolled her eyes but pressed a kiss to Cassian’s lips before pushing herself off of him and walking toward Lucien on the other side of the room.

“Finally, time alone with the colonel.” Cassian looked up to find Feyre, sipping from a glass of wine, plopping down on the couch beside his chair.

“That sounds terrifying coming from you,” Cassian mumbled.

“Don’t tell the professor,” she said with a wink. 

“It’s fortuitous that you were wanting to speak with me,” Cassian said, matching Nesta’s overly dramatic southern drawl. “Cause I was wanting to speak with you, Miss Scarlet.”

“Oh?” She crossed a leg and raised an eyebrow.

“Rumor has it you were quite familiar with our late host,” he said.

“Rumors can sometimes be true, and sometimes be false,” she said, adjusting her hair. At some she’s ditched the bowler hat. Cassian was willing to bet that it had something to do with the fact that her cheeks were as red as her hat was. And her glass was nearly empty again. A year of not drinking had turned Feyre into a lightweight.

“So, which was it?” Cassian pressed. “True or false?”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed as she finished off her glass. “Butler!”

With a snort, Mor came to Feyre’s side with a bottle of white wine and refilled Feyre’s glass. Before she left, she coughed, “Under the coffee table.”

Both Feyre and Cassian blinked as she walked away.

As Feyre started sipping her new glass of wine, Cassian was reaching under the coffee table, where he pulled out a manila envelope that read Living Room.

Feyre’s brow arched as she snatched it away from him and opened it up. She pulled out a single, white feather. “What the hell is this?”

“A clue,” Cassian whispered, taking it away from her. “A white feather.” He was looking around at all the characters, trying to scope out what their notecards said about their personalities. “What does it mean?”

Feyre stared at the feather for a second before saying, “I dunno, I’m too drunk to form a thought.” 

“Is it from a hat? One of those ridiculous things women wear around their necks like a scarf? From a pillow? Feather-duster?” Cassian guessed, then gasped. “What if it has to do with the color and not the feather itself?” His eyes shot to Elain. “Mrs. White is the murderer?”

Feyre shook her head. “I may be drunk, but even I know you can’t have a case based on one clue, Colonel.”

“No, but one clue can get you closer to solving it,” he replied, tucking it behind his ear.

Feyre looked at Cassian for a moment with the most serious of expressions before bursting into laughter. Cassian shot Rhysand a look from across the room, but Feyre’s husband was watching her with the utmost adoration. 

And so the night went on.

There were arguments and accusations and all the while, the wine continued to flow. At some point, Azriel excused himself to open a bottle of whiskey, which he generously offered a glass of to his brothers and Nesta, before he retook his spot on the floor, bottle still in his hand.

Nearly two hours later, the entire group was back in the living room. Azriel was in a chair now, thank the Cauldron, but now there was a prop knife jammed between his arm and side, “stabbing” him. He silently continued to sip on his wine, watching in amusement as Nesta and Rhys yelled at each other, arguing over whether he was stabbed or beaten over the head with a pipe.

“There’s not nearly enough blood for him to have been stabbed!” Rhys said, extending his arm towards Azriel.

“It’s not real,” Nesta cried, enunciating the words. “Did you expect Elain to let Mor spray her house in fake blood?”

“If she were committed, she would have,” Azriel said, but Elain glanced over at him and he became as quiet as the dead man he was pretending to be and put his glass back to his lips.

“I’m right,” Nesta hissed.

“Uh, no, I’m right,” Rhysand argued, his arms crossed. “I know who the murderer is, I’ve figured it out.”

Nesta scoffed. “That’s shit, but okay, go ahead.”

Rhyasnd lifted one brow. “Fine. Murderer? You. Weapon? Rope. Room? Kitchen.”

Nesta rolled her eyes but looked at Mor alongside everyone else.

Mor looked back and forth between Nesta and Rhysand before slowly shaking her head.

“Ha!” Nesta yelled, pointing her finger at Rhysand. “You failed!”

“My gods, I’ve never loved you more,” Cassian muttered, sipping from his glass.

“I win,” Nesta announced, simply. 

Rhysand was not going down easily. “No, you do not win.” 

“No?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms, as the rest of them watched her and Rhysand’s little display. “The killer is Miss Scarlett. Weapon? Rope. Room? Bedroom.”

The room was quiet for a moment before Mor said, “She’s right.”

“She killed him because he was going to end their affair, essentially cutting her off from the lifestyle she had grown accustomed to living,” Nesta said, not a hint of doubt on her face.

Rhys looked to Mor who shrugged. “She’s right again.”

Rhys breathed, “Damn it,” and dropped down next Miss Scarlett.

Who had been drooling on the arm of the couch since nine o’clock.

Rhysand shook his head as he looked down at his sleeping, drunk, passed out wife.

“I’m right?” Nesta repeated, and looked to Cassian with wide eyes. “What do I win?”

Mor hesitated. “What do you win?”

Nesta nodded, looking at Elain. “Yeah, I won, there’s a prize, right?”

Elain sucked in her bottom lip. “There’s….cake.”

Nesta followed Elain’s gaze to where the half-eaten cake sat on the dining room table.

“You win half a bottle of whiskey,” Az said, leaning forward and setting the bottle

and the fake knife on the table in the center of the room.

Nesta raised an eyebrow as she looked at Azriel. “That’s almost completely empty.”

He shrugged. “You got to enjoy your prize early.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled and grabbed the bottle regardless. They all couldn’t help the smiles on their faces, all except for Feyre, who Rhys had gathered in his arms, ready to take her home. More laughs and love had been shared tonight than some people got to experience in a lifetime.

None of them had a clue how they got so lucky.

#31 days of halloween #acotar #late #sjm #fanfic #oneshot

[squibbles-gubwee]

Shopaholic

In which Fortune and Spooks have fun at the mall.

@thelazyhermits here u go more Fortune Spooks shenanigans

-------------

"Man, I can't remember the last time I went to the mall… Thanks for inviting me, gatita."

Fortune smiled and shook her head, grabbing the much taller man's hand as he looked around in awe, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his pierced nose. 

"Thank you for coming! I know how much you hate the heat, you could have refused…"

"Bah, like I could disappoint my lil sis like that. Besides, the walk to the station wasn't bad. Probably good for me, if anything." The hand she held squeezed hers, a happy smile donning the white haired villain's face.

It was quite kind of him, she thought. He was incredibly sensitive to the sun- not due to any quirk drawback or his poor eyesight, but rather a medical issue he told her about. A very nasty heat stroke he had when he was a child gave the man, as he put it, a 'permanent debuff during the warmer seasons'. 

Apparently, once during an outdoor class, he had overexerted himself and ended up fainting due to heat exhaustion. It had put the whole class in a frenzy and he was forced off for two days. Yaomomo and Todoroki made sure Spooks frequently had either water or frozen towels to cool off with now.

"You'll tell me if you start feeling weak or hot, right? Here, let me take your vest, I'll put it in my bag-"

Huffing in amusement, Spooks let go of the concerned lady's hand to shuck his denim outerwear, leaving him in just his tattered crop top. He passed it to her and watched as she folded it, mindful of the patches as she packed it up. 

"You didn't have to do that, gatita." The man took the backpack, slinging it over his shoulder much to Fortune's protest.

"I can carry my own bags!"

"Yeah but anyone who has eyes can see that stealing from me is asking for an ass kicking." Spooks proceeded to motion to his boots, these not being his very tall platforms but what they lacked in height they made up for in spikes and studs. Fortune rolled her eyes and brushed her hair from her face, green eyes locking with monochrome ones. Out of habit, Spooks stiffened and tore his gaze away before remembering he had his glasses on, cancelling his quirk out.

"So, where first? I haven't been in years."

Tapping her foot, Fortune thought for a moment before remembering the entire reason for going. "Oh yeah!! I wanted to get something nice to wear for that big staff party coming up!" Fidgeting, her mind was drawn back to Aizawa, Hizashi, and Bakugo who all didn't like clothes shopping. "Oh, um, if it's okay with you, I mean. I don't want you to be bored, sitting and waiting-"

"Psh, what? And miss playing dress up? Not a chance." Fortune huffed and batted his hand away as he ruffled her hair.

Hearing the words 'dress up' made Fortune gasp. "Wait, you're staff too! You need something nice to wear to the party too!"

"Hah! Yeah, no. I'm not going."

Frowning, Fortune stopped, looking over at Spooks as they stood outside the first stop, a nice clothes shop, full of business-y and formal outfits galore. "Wait...what do you mean?"

Blinking, Spooks tilted his head, an unreadable expression on his face. "I'm...not going? To the party?"

Fortune couldn't help the frown deepening, gently holding his hand in both of hers. "Why not, though…? You're staff, are you not?"

She watched Spooks stiffen, worrying his lip rings in a way she knew was a tell that he was getting anxious. "I just...Look, I know I'm not welcome, gatita. I'm not a hero, I'm barely a teacher, and I don't get along with...anyone. The invitation wasn't extended to me." Sighing, he closed his eyes, steeling himself before opening them, giving a smile. "Listen, I'll be fine. I'd rather help you anyway! This is important to you, and it'll be fun. Ellos no me quieren allí- ah, I'm not wanted there."

"That's not true!!"

Fortune could barely contain her shaking, anger and sorrow mixing in a miasma at how someone could speak of themselves like that, especially someone she cared so much about. 

"It's not true, Spooks! I want you there! I know you don't get along with everyone, but it wouldn't be the same without you!" Putting her hands on her hips, the TA huffed. "Besides, I want a partner to dance with, and everyone knows you have the best moves~"

Her flattery made him laugh, the villain nodding and rubbing his eye. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry, I'll go."

"That's what I thought! Now come on, we got to look our best!"

---

"I can't believe you bought a skirt!"

They had hit up several stores, Spooks ending up with a shin length black suspender skirt coupled with a pinstripe button down. Fortune went with a cute tartan overall dress and a peachy turtleneck sweater.

They also had swung by the cute shop that Aizawa, Nemuri and Hizashi had brought her to before, where she picked up a necklace with a cute cat pendant that she planned on pairing with the outfit along with some darling kitty print stockings to match. It was while they were there that Spooks had saw the backpacks, zeroing in on the raccoon one and immediately falling in love with it. It was now settled next to her own cat backpack, the two of them buying keychains of the other's animal and attaching them to their packs.

Spooks grinned at the astonishment, pointing a fry at Fortune as they ate at the food court. "What? Nothing more punk than giving gender norms a big ol "fuck you"! Did you think it was weird or something?"

"No, it's cool for guys to wear skirts and dresses. I'm just shocked you found one that made it look like you actually have the hips for it."

The insulted gasp was Fortune's only warning as a fry hit her cheek, making her burst into a fit of laughter. "You're getting too catty!! Maybe I should ask Koda to send the cats off for a few days so you can tone it down!"

"Noooo, stop! You're bullying me! I'll call Aizawa crying, don't test me!"

The white haired man cackled, gently pinching her cheek. "Alright, alright! No tattling now!" With that, he went back to his fries, the milkshake he sipped on colourful and sweet. He offered a taste which Fortune accepted.

"So, are you starting to get excited about going?"

"A bit...Make sure to remind me of that seam in your dress when we get back to the dorms, by the way. I can hem it!"

"I will. And good!! I'm glad you're getting more into the idea!" Fortune beamed, leaning forward a bit on the table as she took a bite of her mango chicken. "So, are you going to dance with anyone but me? Not that there's anything wrong with it, I'm just trying to picture it." She couldn't help the snort when she thought of Spooks, a towering 6'4, dancing with Principal Nedzu.

"D-Dance? Oh um, I don't think this is one of those kinds of parties, but I still wouldn't mind dancing with you! Not many people I could think of that I would want to dance with, after all! Keheheh…"

The redhead cocked her head, green eyes looking over the man in front of her. He was behaving…odd. His bravado was dampened, eyes shifting nervously, he was fidgety and toying with his piercings… Fortune narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Hey, Spooks-nii-san, were there any other reasons you didn't feel like coming to the party? Like, I know you said you didn't feel welcome, but...were you also maybe...scared of seeing someone there?"

"H-Huh? No, um. It's not that, I mean a little bit it is but, I also just...didn't want to ah… aye, dios…" Fortune waited patiently as he cursed under his breath, seeming to argue with himself about something. "I did not want to um...make myself embarrassed...in front of another?"

"You didn't want to humiliate yourself in front of someone?"

"Yes! Bah, that."

Fortune was quiet as she studied the long haired delinquent, the other quietly sipping his shake as he looked around, his glasses occasionally catching the light. 

...He didn't want to embarass himself. He was nervous about going, he could think of very few people other than her that he wanted to dance with…

Lightning practically shot down her spine as she gasped, piece after piece clicking into place as she pointed a finger at him. "You…"

"M-Me?! What? Listen I said sorry about eating the last piece of taffy-"

"-YOU have a CRUSH on someone!!"

The rate at which the older man paled was hilarious, the only colour being the red that bloomed on his face and ears as he stuttered, panicked. "What?? I!! I just, um! I don't want to talk about this topic! I refuse!"

"Too bad, I'm your little sister! Now tell me who you have a crush on!"

#bnha fic #mha fic #tabf fanfic #bnha oc #mha oc

[lloydskywalkers]

*sweats* yeAH i know the one gbdfjgh. It’s very much a Halloween-centered piece so I was incredibly sad tumblr decided to end its life the one time i actually hit a deadline i’d set for myself, but it’s been kind of just...marinating in my docs folder since then. I might post it formally on FFN eventually, but in the meantime, i’ll post it on here below the cut!

“Guys, you will never guess what’s running around Ninjago City."

Jay’s announcement is met with a distinct lack of reaction, which is pretty disappointing, because it’s the kind you drop for a dramatic pause and reaction. And he did — try to, at least.

However, instead of reacting properly, like anyone in their right minds would, his team is woefully un-reactive. Nya continues to snore into the couch, her face pressed against the couch pillow in a way that’s gonna leave a spectacular mark later, and Cole’s too busy referee-ing Lloyd and Kai, who are in the middle of their sixth round of Dance Dance Ninja Revolution, which Jay can’t really blame him for, because they chose a Rihanna song this round and they’re getting a little too into it.

“How did you get that bonus and I didn’t!”

“You gotta pop your hip on that last move, like this—"

“What, and crack my spine in half?”

“I mean, your bones are pretty fragile.”

“Fragile?!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re so old.”

“I’ll crack your spine, you tiny brat—"

Zane is the only one to actually acknowledge him, even if it’s a slight cock of his head from where he’s video-chatting Pixal, making him the only one of these terrible people Jay actually likes right now, unless Kai manages to make a comeback and beat out Lloyd, in which case he’ll celebrate with him.

But it’s looking unlikely.

“Are you talking about the vampire rumors?” Zane asks.

Jay’s expression sours. Never mind, he retracts his appreciation of Zane now. Way to steal his thunder.

Kai snorts from where he’s waving his arms in a butchered kind of Macarena. “Seriously, Jay? Those rumors crop up every year. There’s no vampire.”

Jay glares at him, mentally switching his loyalties to Lloyd, as it looks like he’s going to wipe the floor with Kai anyways, because he’s just snatched that one difficult bonus Kai usually wins where you hair-flip like a diva.

“This is for real, though,” Jay argues. “It was reported on the police scanner. Someone’s running around biting people!”

“Maybe they’re just into that,” Nya yawns, burrowing her face further into the couch pillows. “Don’t be so judgmental, Jay.”

Jay colors, and Kai chokes. Lloyd gives a triumphant crow of victory, doubling his score at the last minute, leaving Kai solidly in the dust. Kai makes a sour face, collapsing on the couch and crossing his arms.

“You cheated.”

“Not my fault you got distracted,” Lloyd shrugs. He turns to Jay, wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead and looking curious. “Wait, they’re really reporting that someone’s out there biting people?”

“Or something,” Jay says, quickly seizing on the attention. “Something bloodthirsty that goes around biting people’s necks, which obviously has to be a vampire.”

“It says here it steals their wallets, too,” Zane remarks, scrolling through the news article.

“A wallet-stealing vampire,” Jay amends.

The others look decidedly unimpressed, which is rather insulting and extremely disappointing. Geez, you fight one giant stone titan and a few mythical, apocalypse-bringing monsters and suddenly no one’s impressed by anything anymore.

“Sounds like petty crime, not our thing,” Kai yawns. “Besides, vampires don’t exist.”

Jay sputters. “Are you kidding me?” he exclaims. “They totally exist!”

Cole raises an eyebrow at him. “You know those vampire books are fiction, right?”

Jay presses his lips together tightly. “Are you telling me,” he says, stiffly. “That after everything — everything we’ve seen — which includes and is not limited to warriors made up of tiny snakes, a walking eldritch horror that’s actually another realm, and living skeletons — you don’t believe vampires can exist?”

“Well, yeah,” Kai says, simply. “Because those other things are real. Vampires aren’t.”

“You didn’t even think the Serpentine were real!” Jay accuses, because Kai’s opinion is clearly trash here, and he obviously should’ve started by attacking Cole, or Nya.

“Jay, chill,” Lloyd says, rolling his eyes. “Whatever it is, it’s not a vampire, unless someone stumbled off the set of a B-movie horror film. They don’t exist, Jay."

Jay opens his mouth, prepared to fire back, because of all the people to argue with him, Lloyd has no right at all, he’s a walking eldritch mutant himself — when Lloyd suddenly continues.

“It’s clearly a werewolf, if anything.”

Jay stops, his mouth half-open. He blinks. “Wait,” he narrows his eyes at him. “You don’t believe in vampires, but you’re game for werewolves?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd shrugs. “Werewolves make sense.”

“And vampires don’t?!”

Lloyd shrugs. “I mean, after Akita and the Formlings, you know?” He pauses, eyes widening as he contemplates something. “Wait. Is Akita technically a werewolf?”

Jay seizes the opportunity. “If she counts as one, then Oni count as vampires,” he argues.

Lloyd frowns at him. “What? No. That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Oh yeah?” Jay counters. “Then explain why they both have fangs. And glowing eyes. And drink blood.”

“I don’t drink blood!” Lloyd exclaims, indignantly. “And neither do Oni!”

“How would you know?” Jay challenges. “You’re just a tiny little quarter Oni.”

Lloyd glares at him. “A quarter Oni with teeth that can bite you—"

“Okay, okay!” Cole says hastily, shouldering between them. “No one’s biting anyone, geez. I’m taking this opportunity to declare it time for bed.”

“Aw, but I didn’t get to trash Kai yet,” Nya yawns, waving absently at the still-scrolling game on the television. Zane quickly turns it off.

“We can trash each other tomorrow, after six a.m. practice,” Cole huffs. Everyone groans in unison at the reminder.

“We should start getting skip days,” Kai grumbles into the pillow. “Like, mandated days we get to just sleep in instead.”

“You would use that every day,” Zane sighs, tugging him up. Jay watches as they slowly pack up, preparing to head off to bed.

Unbelievable.

“Wait, so we’re just gonna let this thing run loose?” he exclaims, waving his arms in the air. “Ignore our civic duty for sleep?”

Cole pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Jay, there’s one article about it, and these kinds of things crop up every year,” he sighs. “It’s just some Halloween pranksters using it as an excuse for petty crime. The police can handle it, okay?”

“But a vampire,” Jay bemoans. “What if it’s real?”

“Or werewolf,” Lloyd corrects. Jay would elbow him for that, but — aha. Lloyd has that spark in his eyes, the one that means trouble. Jay’s hooked at least one person then, even if it’s for the totally wrong reason.

“Whatever it is, according to reports, it will still be here tomorrow,” Zane says. “Halloween isn’t for another day, and it usually strikes then. If it means that much to you, we can look for it then.”

Jay squints skeptically at him. Kai and Cole are both wearing expressions that say they will not be helping with that particular excursion, and Nya’s already halfway into her room, clearly writing him off as well. Hmph.

“But by then, we won’t have a sighting to follow,” Lloyd says, hesitantly.

“Good,” Kai grumbles, apparently done with the conversation. “Then we can forget about make-believe monsters.”

Jay is pleased to find that he and Lloyd are still just as effective at giving people the stink-eye in perfect unison as they’ve always been.

“Drop it, guys,” Cole warns, his dark eyes tired. “You can argue over this in the morning. When we’re all dead tired at dawn practice.”

Jay scowls, but he nods. He knows a lost cause when he sees one.

However, he also knows when a cause isn’t lost. He trades looks with Lloyd from the corner of his eyes, and Lloyd gives him a tiny, imperceptible nod. Halfway into their bedroom, Kai suddenly turns on them.

“And you guys better not sneak out to hunt it down by yourselves,” he says, his eyes narrowed. “The police have it covered. There’s no such things as vampires or werewolves, but if I wake up at three a.m. tonight and find out you guys snuck out, you’re gonna wish one had already killed you.”

“Geez, overreact much?” Jay mutters.

Lloyd rolls his eyes. “We’re not gonna sneak out just to chase down a few rumors, Kai,” he scoffs. “We’re not stupid.”

Kai eyes them both. Jay can almost see him mentally scrolling through Lloyd and Jay’s Best Hits, Screwing-Up Edition, in his brain, and he doesn’t like it. Like Kai has room to talk about dumb decisions.

Kai finally shakes his head, sighing as he heads for his bed. “I swear,” he mutters to himself. “If I have to fish you out of a river later…”

“You won’t!” Lloyd promises cheerfully. “Word of honor.”

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

As it turns out, Lloyd’s word of honor is garbage. But so is Jay’s, so he’s not gonna judge.

“Okay, the reports said it was last sighted over in the east sector in the sewer tunnels, so I vote we start here,” Jay tells him in a hushed voice, as they plot their path from one of the city rooftops, the dim streetlights blinking down below. “There’s a bunch of bars and stuff around, so if I was looking to steal someone’s wallet by biting them, I’d go here. Down for a stakeout?”

“I’m game,” Lloyd says, slightly muffled through his mouth of—

Jay blinks at him incredulously. “Are you eating our garlic bread right now?”

Lloyd freezes, shifting guiltily and quickly swallowing. “No-o?”

“Lloyd!” Jay hisses. “We need that for the vampire!”

“Then you should’ve gotten actual garlic,” Lloyd hisses back. “I got hungry, and we’re carrying around garlic bread! Can you blame me?”

“Hmph.” Jay glares at him, then snatches the bag Lloyd had been hiding behind him. Lloyd makes a face.

“S’not like we need it anyways,” he mutters. “Garlic doesn’t work against werewolves.”

“It’s not a werewolf,” Jay retorts. “And even if it was, it’s not like we have any silver.” He frowns. “Wait, doesn’t silver work against vampires too? Maybe I should’ve gotten us some…”

“Got it covered,” Lloyd says, pulling a small ziplock bag from his sweatshirt pocket. They’ve opted to wear civilian clothes tonight, as one, they’re trying to be inconspicuous, and two, it’ll make it a lot more difficult for Kai to claim that they were out breaking their promise if they aren’t in very distinctive, undeniable gis.

“I snatched a pair of Nya’s earrings earlier,” Lloyd continues. “Sterling silver counts, right? ‘Cause they even have these little bits on the back you can stab people with.”

Jay blinks rapidly. “You snatched her—"

Well, actually, on second thought, it’s not the worst thing they’ve ever stolen from each other. And it’s definitely not the worst purpose for such a theft, either.

“Okay, nice, we got silver,” Jay says instead, trying not to think about what Nya’s reaction to finding out her earrings were used as lethal injections for a vampire is going to be.

“The better prepared, the lower the chances of dying horribly,” Lloyd says, cheerfully.

“Please don’t phrase it that way.”

“You literally said that exact same thing to me last week, on the Metallonia mission—"

“You must’ve had water in your ears,” Jay waves him off, knowing full well he did say that but having zero intent of admitting it. “Anyways, it’s just one vampire. We can handle this, easy.”

“Or one werewolf,” Lloyd says, pointedly.

Jay takes a very long breath, then lets it out. If it were Kai or Cole, maybe he’d pick the fight. But it’s Lloyd, and he’s risking Unholy Big Brother Wrath as it is.

“Fine,” he half-surrenders. “If it’s a werewolf, we can handle that too. But it’s not, because it’s clearly a vampire.”

“That’s what it wants you to think,” Lloyd grouses.

Jay rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of their supplies back in his ratty old backpack. He cranes his head over the edge of building rooftop, watching the evening crowds just beginning to flood into the bars.

“Now what?” Lloyd whispers, materializing next to him.

Jay, with his reflexes as sharp and well-honed as they are, does not nearly jump off the roof at Lloyd’s sudden appearance. He doesn’t squeak, either, the look Lloyd is giving him is just — Lloyd being a terrible gremlin.

“Now,” Jay clears his throat instead, taking on an air of expertise, because he is an expert. “We wait.”

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

In the excitement, Jay has, tragically, forgotten how absolutely boring stakeouts are.

Really, he should’ve brought a board game or something.

“—somethin’ strange, in your neighborhood. Who you gonna call.”

Jay punches his hand in the air without enthusiasm where he lies on his back, yawning, “Ghostbusters.”

“Dun dun, dun dun, du-du-dun—" Lloyd continues humming the bridge, staring up at the sky where he’s got his arms beneath his head, sprawled out next to Jay.

“You know, I still swear I heard the ghosts playing this back at Styx,” Jay murmurs.

Lloyd’s humming halts, and he snorts. “Maybe they had a sense of humor.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Jay frowns. “So wait, this is your favorite holiday song? The song about ghosts? Really?”

Lloyd nods. “I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” he sings.

Jay makes a face at him, then shrugs. Well, he guesses he doesn’t have room to judge people’s coping mechanisms. He still deals with spiders by blowing the entire room up. “That’s one way to deal with it, I guess.”

“I like the irony,” Lloyd continues, with a lopsided grin. “Also, like, do any of us deal with our issues?”

“Ye—" Jay pauses, considering. Huh. He knows they’ve all been putting off therapy, but sometimes they, like…cry all over each other? At three in the morning? That counts, right?

He supposes that doesn’t quite equate.

“I stress-baked eight batches of brownies with Cole one night and ate half of them after the Oni thing?” he offers weakly.

Lloyd stuff a fist over his mouth, holding back a laugh. “I ate a whole container of frosting with Nya after the SOG thing.”

“That’s where it all went?” Jay snaps his head up, his eyes accusing. “Lloyd, that was our only cream cheese frosting! I was going to use that for a meltdown!”

“Oops,” Lloyd says, unapologetically. Jay digs his foot into his side, and Lloyd jerks away, giggling.

“You, I’d expect, but Nya…” Jay grumbles, processing this betrayal. “That’s like, cliché teenage heartbreak coping there.”

“Well, I mean,” Lloyd says, his smile suddenly painfully forced. “Kinda…was. A bit.”

Jay frowns. “Wha — oh.”

Oops. Too late, Jay realizes that he has accidentally stumbled into a mine zone. He should know better, seriously — Lloyd probably does not want to talk about teenage heartbreak right now. Or any time…soon, considering his last and only romantic excursion kind of…stabbed him in the back and got crushed by a building. Amongst other things.

“So!” Jay quickly says, trying to cut through the sudden awkwardness and turn the conversation to something better. “How is, uh, your life going, in that…area…?”

Never mind, Jay’s mind screeches at him. Abort, abort, this is going somewhere worse—! Maybe if he’s lucky the vampire will just come attack them now. That would probably go better.

Lloyd’s expression screws up, like Jay’s forced him to eat a lemon, or a ghost pepper, or like, swallow pure Venomari venom. “You mean my love life?” he spits, as if the word love is a personal insult.

“Not necessarily,” Jay says quickly. “I mean, no, but also…yes?”

“Nonexistent as usual, which is probably the best I can hope for,” Lloyd mutters, kicking at the ground.

Jay bites his cheek in sympathy. His poor baby brother. His voice finally stops cracking and he immediately decides to swear off love for life.

“Look,” Jay says tentatively, feeling like he should at least try to impart some wisdom on his kid brother. “Have you thought about like, I dunno, trying to meet new people? Just like, you know, being open to, uh, the idea of trusting someone…like that?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd grinds his teeth. “I’ve also thought about getting ‘love is a joke’ tattooed on my wrist as a nice reminder because that’s about how well it tends to go for me.”

Jay cringes. “Aha,” he breathes. That is — that is bad. Yikes, that’s…bad bad, maybe they should book a therapist. One of these days. Probably sooner than later, going by that statement.

Lloyd sighs, suddenly deflating. “I dunno, Jay. I just…maybe someday? I don’t really wanna think about it.” The edge of his mouth twists wistfully. “It’d be nice to just be a kid again, so I could stuff my face with candy instead.”

“Hey,” Jay says, elbowing him. “Who says you can’t stuff your face with candy now? We can totally hit up the store on the way home, you know. Zane can’t stop us if he’s not here.”

Lloyd cracks a grin, and Jay is infinitely pleased with himself. “After we catch the werewolf?” Lloyd asks.

Jay glares at him. “After we catch the vampire, and I prove all you heathens wrong,” he grinds out. Lloyd snickers.

“You’re fighting a losing—"

A piercing scream rings out from the streets below, and Lloyd and Jay jolt to their feet in well-experienced unison. Jay sweeps his eyes across the street below, his head whipping widely back and forth as he tries to spot—

“There!” Lloyd calls, already sliding down the fire escape. Jay follows his arm, and spots a disheveled man now crumpled in the street, other partygoers crowding around him. Lloyd’s hand is pointing just beyond, though, locked on the shadowed, dark figure fleeing into the alleyway.

Jay grins viciously at him. Lloyd grins back.

Normally, they’d have Zane at their backs, insisting on safety and such nonsense, but tonight it’s just Lloyd and Jay, who gold-medal at being an awful combination of adrenaline junkies. So by the time they’ve finished hurling themselves off the building and surfing down a couple of unfortunate clotheslines, they land in perfect synch just behind the fleeing figure. They immediately break into a sprint, following their quarry down the dark alleyways and gaining rapidly.

One of the few perks to being the smallest on the team — Jay and Lloyd are fast.

The figure jolts, finally realizing it’s being pursued, and suddenly takes a hard left. Jay yelps as he almost overbalances, his momentum nearly toppling him before Lloyd catches his arm, yanking him upright. They follow where the figure’s fled into an abandoned tunnel, one of the ones Jay recognizes leads to the sewer.

“Why in here?!” he gasps between breathes, as their feet splash through dirty rainwater the deeper they go. Ugh, he hates these tunnels — they’re too small and close and dark.

Lloyd doesn’t grace him with a reply, simply lifting his hand up in an eerie, makeshift green flashlight that lights up the tunnels around them.

“They went that way!” He hurls the bright globe of energy down the tunnel, throwing green shadows up all around, and illuminating their prey far ahead.

Darn it, Jay curses to himself. He forgot vampires are supposed to be fast, too. They need a way better plan then just running after it.

“Trap, we need a trap,” Jay pants. “What do they do in Scooby-Doo to catch the vampire?”

Lloyd glances at him incredulously as he runs beside him, his hair dyed a white-green in the eerie light where it bounces around his head. “Scooby-Doo?!” he exclaims. “There aren’t any vampires in Scooby-Doo!”

“Uh, yeah there are,” Jay argues, ducking under a rusted pipe. He almost has to pause to swipe his own hair out of the way before he gets blinded by falling curls. Mental note, book a haircut later. “Remember that movie with the bands and stuff?”

“Oh. Right,” Lloyd huffs, sliding through a puddle of water. “Forgot about that. Don’t they die or something?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you! Come up with a plan, you’re leader!”

“Not right now, I’m not!”

“You can’t do that — you’re our designated team captain, live up to your role!”

“Only in big crisis situations!”

“This is a crisis!”

“Fine! Here’s me leading — I order you to come up with a plan.”

“Oh for — what kind of Green Ninja even are you, huh?”

“Oh yeah, static for brai—agh!”

Their argument is cut short as the floor suddenly decides to take the day off, and drops neatly out from beneath their feet. Jay screams, Lloyd shrieking beside him as they both go tumbling down the sloping sewer tunnel, sliding through broken rock and upturned stone. The sharp slope finally evens out, leaving them to roll to a graceless stop in a heap of limbs and freezing rainwater.

“Ew,” Jay scowls, swiping at his hair as he kneels, supporting himself on one hand. “Sewers are the worst.”

“Ge’off me,” Lloyd wheezes, hitting his shoulder. Jay belatedly realizes that he’s got one elbow and a knee digging into Lloyd’s middle, and pulls back quickly.

“Whoops,” he says, cheerfully. “Hey, no broken bones, at least!”

Lloyd just makes a face, straightening his hoodie. He pushes himself to his feet, offering a hand to Jay and hauling him up. Jay brings a crackle of lightning up in his fingers, squinting around the tunnel they’ve fallen into. Lloyd finally remembers to pull out their actual flashlight, and shines it warily around the tunnel, lighting up the old, molding stone around them.

“D’you think they fell, too?” Lloyd questions, taking a hesitant step forward as he brandishes the flashlight like a weapon.

Jay shrugs. “Vampires aren’t normally clumsy,” he says, starting down the tunnel. “But who knows.”

Lloyd pauses for a moment, reluctant, then quickly hurries to catch up, falling into step beside him.

“Ninja aren’t normally clumsy either,” he huffs.

Jay snorts. “Have you seen us?”

Lloyd eyes him. “I control your training schedule, you know.”

“A heinous abuse of power which never should have been given to you,” Jay sniffs.

Lloyd’s eyes narrow. “I’ll stick you on stair sprints. Endless. Stair sprints.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jay retorts. “You’re too chicken to do that. Too soft.”

“I am not!” Lloyd says, offended. “I’ll make you run a gazillion stair sprints, watch me.”

“Oh yeah? Whatcha gonna do when I start tearing up on you, Mr. Marshmallow Heart?”

“My heart is not a marshmallow,” Lloyd grinds out. “It’s—"

“More like cotton candy,” Jay nods. “‘Cause you hit it with one tear and it melts all over the place.”

“I will trip you face-first into sewer water,” Lloyd threatens. “And stop using candy metaphors. I’m starving, and you won’t let me eat the garlic bread.”

“That’s ‘cause we need it for the vampire!” Jay huffs.

“Werewolf.”

Jay throws his hands up.  “Do you need glasses or something? Because tell me, please, if that looked anything like a were—"

Jay cuts off abruptly as he and Lloyd freeze. Directly across from them, a mere ten feet away in the connecting tunnel, the hooded figure they’ve been chasing freezes as well. For a beat, the three stare at each other, the only sound the steady drip-drip of the sewer tunnels around them.

Then—

“It’s the vampire! Grab it!” Jay yells.

He and Lloyd dart forward just as the vampire makes to run, turning for the tunnel. Jay side-steps, using the wall to push himself up and flip neatly over the vampire’s head, landing in the tunnel before them and neatly cutting them off. “Gotcha,” he grins.

The vampire’s eyes widen from beneath their hood, and they backtrack, only to nearly run into Lloyd, who points the flashlight threateningly at them.

“Stand down,” he orders. Jay rolls his eyes. Oh, now he decides to sound like a leader.

The vampire makes a hissing noise of frustration, shaking their head. Lloyd goes to move forward, a familiar green glinting at the edges of his fingertips—

When the vampire suddenly snaps into action, rushing at Lloyd. Before Jay can blink, they snap a leg up to kick the flashlight from Lloyd’s grasp, snag him with their forearm, bare two glinting teeth, and—

Snap. Lloyd gasps sharply, his eyes going wide as the vampire bites right into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Jay shrieks. “Lloy—!”

His scream cuts off, trailing into a gaping wheeze.

Jay is not entirely sure what — no, he’s not sure why what happen next happens. Maybe Lloyd panics. Maybe he forgets he’s a god-powered elemental with the capability of blasting people to heck with his hands for a second. Maybe both his Oni and dragon instincts decide to suddenly kick in and overpower the human. Or maybe he’s just so ticked at getting bit in the neck that his childish side comes out with a vengeance.

Either way, not even half a second after the vampire bites him, Lloyd snaps out his own too-sharp teeth and bites right back, firmly chomping down on the forearm pinning him in place.

The vampire gives a muffled scream, releasing Lloyd as they stumble backward, frantically clutching their arm. Jay takes this chance to send a bright bolt of lightning after them, just barely missing as they turn and flee, skittering away down the tunnels. Any other time Jay would give chase, but he’s got a slightly more pressing concern right now, and by that he means a big fat bad concern, because his brother is currently sporting a bleeding neck and trying to hack his own lung up.

“Oh god, the vampire bit you, Lloyd, the vampire bit you,” Jay babbles frantically, dancing around Lloyd as he doubles over, coughing and spitting frantically.

“—freaking — gross—"

“But —but then you bit the vampire,” Jay pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “So does that like — negate it?”

“—need hand sanitizer in m’a mouth—"

“Or does the vampire turn into an Oni?” Jay rubs his head. “Wait, wait no — you both swap, because you bit each other, so—"

“—tastes like battery acid—"

“Either way your neck is bleeding and why didn’t you just use your powers!” Jay shrieks at him.

“I panicked, okay?!” Lloyd cries in defense, wiping his mouth as he sticks his tongue out, clearly trying to rid himself of the taste. “Ugh — gimme that garlic bread, this is awful—"

“No way,” Jay snatches his bag away. “We definitely need it now.” His eyes narrow down on the two sluggishly bleeding marks on Lloyd’s neck, that he should really be patching up, actually, but first—

“Besides, garlic could be toxic for you right now! Since you might be turning into a…a vampire.”

Lloyd turns two smoldering, angry red eyes on him, and Jay swallows. Oh FSM, he’s already turning into a vampire, his eyes are red—

Oh wait, right, Lloyd’s eyes are red anyways.

“I am not turning into a vampire!” Lloyd hisses. He winces, clapping a hand over his neck. “I probably have like, rabies or something though,” he says, half-panicked.

“I don’t think vampires have rabies,” Jay tries to assure him, finally shaking himself into action, pulling his jacket off and pressing one of the sleeves against Lloyd’s bleeding neck. Lloyd jerks away on instinct, before letting Jay examine it.

“I can’t turn into a vampire,” Lloyd says, an edge of fear in his voice. “Kai’ll kill me if I turn into a vampire.”

“That’s your main concern?” Jay exclaims, swiping blood away — the bite doesn’t look too deep, and it seems like it won’t need stitches, or anything. He suddenly pauses, considering Lloyd’s words. “Okay, I will admit you have a valid point there,” he concedes.

Lloyd nods tightly, then makes a face before spitting again.

“So gross.”

Jay watches him, then speaks up hesitantly. “I mean…you have to admit that it’s definitely a vampire now, right, haha? Like, not to say I told you so, but—”

Lloyd turns his head, ever so slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits as he does.

“I will kill you.”

“Duly noted.”

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

In a noble sacrifice of true brotherly love, Jay lets Lloyd get his weird mutant blood all over his hoodie as he uses it as a makeshift bandage.

“Rude,” Lloyd mutters, sounding wounded.

“Weird mutant blood is cool,” Jay assures him. “You Oni-dragon-hybrid, you.”

“I don’t even get any of the cool stuff, like shapeshifting or wings.”

“Yeah, that is a pretty lame tradeoff,” Jay admits. He pats his hoodie where it’s wrapped around Lloyd’s neck once more, nodding. “There. We’ll just…dump an entire bottle of sanitizer on it when we get home.”

“Can’t wait,” Lloyd sighs. His eyebrows furrow into determination. “After we catch this thing, though. It’s personal now.”

“Agreed,” Jay says. “But we definitely need a plan this time, ‘cause like, the biting thing worked, but it worst-case-scenario worked, you know? We need something a little less primitive, like, say, um…”

“Like this?”

Jay turns to Lloyd where he’s bent over one of the canal drains. He lifts the object he’s fished out, revealing a soaked but intact fishing net, likely abandoned from one of the boats.

A grin spreads across Jay’s face. “I have a plan now,” he says.

“Good,” Lloyd breathes in relief.

“You’re bait.”

Relief successfully obliterated. “Wait—"

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

Jay’s wristwatch glows a dim 3:30 in the morning by the time their vampire finally takes the bait.

Said bait is very put out at being bait, granted, and is doing a frankly awful job at it, if anyone asked him, but he supposes that’s the best he can ask out of Lloyd when he’s been denying him their garlic bread the whole night.

“Oh no,” Lloyd intones dully, kicking through the tunnel water half-heartedly. “I’ve lost my way, whatever am I going to do with all this money in my wallet.”

“Boo,” Jay hisses at him, where he’s perched atop of a broken sewer pipe. Lloyd pauses his melodramatics to glare at him.

“I’d like to see you do better.”

“Oh no, you’re a much better damsel in distress than I am,” Jay assures him.

Lloyd looks furious. “Listen—"

He might’ve finished, but then the vampire jumps him from the shadows, and they both go tumbling as Lloyd’s voice turns to a shriek.

“Don’t die!” Jay hollers as he jumps down onto the vampire, startling a shriek out of them as he desperately tries to yank them off of Lloyd. “Roll, roll, get out of teeth range!”

“I’m trying!” Lloyd yelps, twisting himself free from the vampire’s grasp. The vampire makes to grab him, but Jay is already pouncing, tossing the net out so they run smack into it and go flailing to the floor, twisting themselves further and further into the rope webbing.

“Oh, thank FSM,” Lloyd mutters into the ground, where he’s yet to move. Jay ignores him, giving a cheer of triumph as he finishes knotting off the net.

“We got it!” he gasps, stepping back and surveying their struggling captive. “We caught the vampire!” He turns to Lloyd, grinning brightly in victory.

“Everyone else is gonna eat their words.” Lloyd nods, and Jay holds his hand out, slapping it against Lloyd’s before knocking their fists together.

Who’s stupid now, Kai? he thinks triumphantly.

Striding forward, he places his hands on his hips, smirking down at the vampire where it writhes against the net they’ve caught it in. He bends over, yanking their hood down.

“No use struggling. We got you now, you malevolent creature of the ni — ight, wait.” Jay blinks rapidly, staring at their quarry. “You’re….not a vampire?”

“No, you ssstupid human.”

Oh. Oh. Jay is incredibly, massively, thoroughly disappointed to realize that the figure on the ground glaring daggers at him, is not, in fact, a vampire. Not unless vampires come in Serpentine flavors.

“A Serpentine?” Lloyd blinks rapidly, looking as colossally disappointed as Jay is. “Aw man, we both lose, then.”

“A weird Serpentine,” Jay frowns, leaning closer. “This one’s got hair. Why do you have hair?”

The Serpentine — who is a she, from the looks of it — rolls her eyes. “I’m part human,” she hisses. “Ssso I do not look like other Ssserpentine. You humansss are just ssstupid enough to think I am a vampire.”

Jay opens his mouth, then shuts it. “Ah,” he says. He then brightens, glancing at Lloyd.  “Oh hey, you have that in common, then! Lloyd’s a freaky mutant anomaly of nature, just like you.”

“Hey!” Lloyd exclaims, looking offended. “A freaky mutant anomaly?”

“I mean it in love, Lloyd.”

“Would you let me out of thissss infuriating net.”

“Uh, yeah, no can do, pal,” Jay replies to the furious Serpentine. “We aren’t letting you off the hook just ‘cause you told us what you were. You’ve been running around and biting people in the neck and stealing their wallets.”

“You bit me,” Lloyd accuses, glaring hotly at her.

“You bit me back,” the Serpentine snarls at him.

“You bit me first!”

“Guys, guys, it’s not a contest,” Jay laughs, a little nervously. “Please. Calm your mutant anomaly selves.”

Lloyd looks as if he’s going to smack him — which he probably should, all honesty, Jay’s been pushing him — but the Serpentine just frowns.

“How issss he one?” she scoffs at Lloyd. “He looksss like a normal human. Maybe with rabiesss.”

Lloyd looks incredibly offended. “Like you can talk.” He shakes his head, sighing. “I’m…part Oni. And dragon. A bit.”

The Serpentine's mouth drops open, and the color leeches from her face. “O-Oni?” She stammers. She looks at the hastily bandaged wound on her arm in alarm. “Did you poissson me?”

“Wha—no!” Lloyd exclaims. “Oni aren’t poisonous!”

He pauses. So do Jay and the Serpentine, leaving the tunnel in silence for a beat.

“I don’t….think?” He turns to Jay, eyebrows furrowed in question.

Jay shrugs. He’s not the one with a bunch of inhuman relatives. “I mean, she hasn’t gone all, y’know — grey-skinned, purple-eyed, turned-to-stone, so?”

This does nothing whatsoever to quell the look of fear on the face of— Jay frowns. “Hey, what’s your name, by the way?”

“What, ssso you can tell the copsss?” their Serpentine hisses dully.

“Well, you’re a criminal, so,” Jay shrugs. “But look at it this way — I won’t call you Elvira Vampira, Terror of the Night, the whole way back instead.”

The Serpentine rolls her eyes, but she does look mildly threatened at being called Vampira for the rest of the evening.

“My name is Sssiri,” she finally admits, looking put out.

“Siri?” Lloyd blinks. “Like the phone voice?”

The Serpentine makes a face as if he’s called her the scum of the earth instead. “I hate that ssstupid company,” she hisses. “And their ssstupid phone voicesss. I hate them.”

“That’s nice,” Jay tells her. He exhales, placing his hands on his hips. He glances at Lloyd, who looks every bit as tired.

“Time to drag her to the police?”

“Time to drag her to the police,” Lloyd sighs, sounding disappointed, if not a bit vindictive.

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

The cops are nice, at least, and the guy whose wallet got snatched thanks them profusely, so the night doesn’t end up being a total bust. Everyone looks pretty relieved that there isn’t an actual vampire running around, though, which Jay feels a little resentful at, because he’s losing a bet here.

“Hey, cheer up,” Lloyd tells him, elbowing him lightly. “At least no one ever has to know about it.”

“True,” Jay admits. He gives a sigh of melancholy, watching as the cops lead a put-out Siri into the car. He glances at Lloyd, then grins wickedly.

“Hey!” he calls quickly, waving at Siri. He slaps a hand on Lloyd’s shoulder, shaking him. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you? Because this guy here is a hundred percent single and looking to ack—"

Jay’s idea is immediately torpedoed by Lloyd viciously throttling him in front of the entire crime unit.

“Jay what the heck!” he whisper-shrieks, sounding on the verge of an aneurism.

“I’m trying — to get you — back in the game—" Jay croaks out.

“With a neck-biting criminal?!”

“I wouldn’t be oppossssed,” Siri remarks, cocking her head as she studies Lloyd.

Lloyd goes an odd purple-scarlet color, then immediately turns on heel, marching away and looking not a little bit like his father storming off to destroy a village.

“He’ll call you!” Jay mouths at Siri, before hurrying after Lloyd. “Well, I’d call that a mild success, at least.”

“I am not calling her,” Lloyd grinds out, as he stomps down the street.

“Oh, obviously,” Jay says. He snickers. “Can you imagine Kai’s reaction, though? He’d blow five blood vessels at once.”

Lloyd remains stubbornly stoic, glaring forward. Jay winces. Oops, crossed a line. Still too sensitive. Maybe he can try again in like…a year.

“Hey, on the bright side,” Jay tries. “We can eat the rest of the garlic bread now?”

Lloyd’s pace slows. Jay holds out half of the buttery loaf they have left. Lloyd eyes him for a second, but Jay can see his resolve quickly dying. Lloyd finally snatches it, sighing.

“Tha’ is a bright side,” he says, through a mouthful.

“Garlic bread solves half y’er problems,” Jay nods through his own bite, pleased to find that it’s still good, even if cold.

They walk in silence for a minute, quietly chewing at the rest of the bread. Then Lloyd speaks up.

“Like….can you imagine being a real vampire though? And you couldn’t eat garlic bread?”

“Oh yeah, that would suck.”

“Seriously. I wonder if it’s maybe like, a lactose intolerance thing, where they can have a little bit before breaking into vampire hives or something?”

“Or maybe it’s like a peanut allergy thing, where their throats swell up and they have to use like, vampire Epipens.”

“If I was a vampire, I’d risk it either way.”

“Oh yeah, same. Totally worth it.”

“Totally.”

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

The thing people tend to overlook about Jay is that, despite how loud he can be — and yeah, he’s admitting it, he can be a big enough person to recognize that he can get a bit worked-up sometimes — anyways, despite how everyone seems to think Jay has one default mode, he is, in fact, one of the best people on the team at sneaking. It’s one of the perks of being small — he’s learned to be light enough on his feet that even Zane can’t pick him up. And everyone expects him to come in all excited and loud anyways, so Jay’s got that advantage. No one expects him to be quiet.

And it is, of course, a trait he’s dutifully passed on to his little brother, who already has experience from sneaking around Darkley’s and lurking in Serpentine tombs, so by the time the alarm is an hour away from going off, Lloyd and Jay are safely back in bed, snoring quietly with the others, who are none the wiser.

Granted, Jay’s got the worst eye-bags ever in the morning, and Lloyd’s running a record for how long he can get around without actually opening his eyes — but Cole doesn’t say anything, and Zane isn’t looking at them suspiciously, so voila! They are off the hook.

Jay supposes he has the usual array of night terrors to thank for that. Always a good cover for sleeplessness, those.

He does have to drag Lloyd to the bathroom first so they can fix his gi collar high enough to hide the rather incriminating bite marks. Jay doesn’t even want to think about explaining those, because any plausible excuses he can come up with for them are just more likely to make Kai barbecue Jay on the spot.

“Good to see you this morning,” Cole tells him pointedly, as he joins the team around the breakfast table. Jay resists the urge to shoot him a gesture, and grabs for the coffee pot instead.

“Did you sleep alright?” Kai is asking Lloyd from across him, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Jay can’t really blame him, seeing as Lloyd keeps falling asleep in his cereal, dark circles vivid beneath his eyes.

“Jus’ tired,” Lloyd yawns. “Didn’t sleep that well."

Kai pats him lightly on the shoulder, looking sympathetic. “Take a nap or something later,” he tells him. “For my sake.”

Lloyd nods, and Jay leans back in his seat, sipping contentedly at his coffee. As he said, no one suspects a thing. All’s well that ends well.

And then Zane turns the radio on.

“—the neck-biting thief was caught early this morning by the Ninjago City Police, with the aid of two accomplices—”

Jay goes pale.

“Huh, isn’t that what you guys were talking about last night?” Nya remarks.

Jay and Lloyd look at each other, their eyes wide. In a desperate grab for survival, Jay dives for the radio, fully prepared to hit it with a lightning bolt if it means turning it off before—

“—special thanks, of course, to the green and blue ninja, looking out for us as always.”

Jay finally smacks the radio off, plunging the kitchen into silence. There is a long, ominous pause of utter dread. Kai slowly turns to look at Lloyd.

“You went after them—"

“We didn’t!” Lloyd says quickly. “That’s not what we were doing!”

“Oh yeah?” Kai says, and uh oh, that’s a scary look. “You’d better have a heck of an excuse, then.”

“We do, we have a really good excuse,” Jay defends quickly. “We were out there for something way more important.”

“Oh?” Cole says, looking close to blowing a gasket. “And what was that, exactly?”

“Well,” Jay says, looking Kai dead in the eye. “We were trying to get Lloyd a hot date.”

Then, before anyone can react, Jay grabs a sputtering Lloyd by the hand and runs.

#answered #my fic #i forGOT how long this one was gndjfgk

[thewhumperinwhite]

ATTD: The Wolf Pup, Without His Pack (2)

previous // masterlist

@whump-cravings @favwhumpstuff @whumpitywhumpwhump

TW for: minor whumpee (nonhuman); nonhuman whumpee; use of it pronouns; implied parental neglect/Bad Parenting In General; referenced parental death.

----

Old Cruci hated humans.

Usually it was hard to see what Old Cruci was feeling. Old Cruci said things like “I have sworn on my life to protect you” and “Your coat is dirty; clean it” in the same tone of voice. Saren had never seen Old Cruci smile, and even his frown was often hard to see—just a twitch down at the corner of his mouth, and up in the middle of one of his eyebrows. The only time, really, that Saren could tell what Cruci was thinking was when he spoke of humans.

“They are like flies,” Cruci said once, when Saren had asked him too many times. His lip curled up, to show his pointed teeth, and his nose wrinkled, like he was smelling something bad. “They breed like flies, and die like flies. One is easily swatted, but more are always coming. They eat dead flesh and carry disease.” Then he met Saren’s eyes—Saren froze, right down to his marrow, for Cruci had never looked at him like that before—and narrowed his violet eyes. “You have seen flies, pup. Then you need never see a human. One is as good as the other. Do not ask of this again.”

That had made Saren relax, a little. Old Cruci said “do not ask of this again” often enough that it was no longer frightening. In fact, it might be that Cruci said “do not ask of this again” more often than he said anything else, at least to Saren.

Saren had reasons to hate humans, too. He was small when the Betrayer slew the Great Wolf, and burned the old Den to the ground. He never met the man himself. But Saren remembered the Great Wolf—remembered the Great Wolf’s dimpled smile and bright easy laugh; remembered clinging to the Great Wolf’s back as they ran through the trees, faster than lightning; remembered riding on the Great Wolf’s shoulders and the smell of the Great Wolf’s pelt when he carried Saren, half asleep, to bed. Saren knew what humans had taken from the Wolves, and what the Betrayer had taken from him, as well.

But Saren remembered the Great Wolf, and he knew that his father would not wish him to hate a people he had never seen.

So he didn’t ask Old Cruci where the humans lived, or whether he could go, and see them for himself. Cruci was not his father; Cruci could not decide who Saren would hate. And, anyway, Cruci had said himself that Saren was not to ask him of humans again.

Saren didn’t realize until after the iron-tipped arrow had torn into his shoulder that since he had not told Cruci where he was going, all the promises in the world would not let Old Cruci come and save him, now.

The human den was like nothing Saren had ever seen before—huge and labyrinthine, a thousand times more than the caves around the Wolf Den, which he had thought himself so clever for mastering. And Old Cruci was right about at least one thing: there were too many humans. He must have seen a hundred of them, by now, and more every time he turned a corner, and at least a dozen carrying weapons, and running after him now, and shouting in a language he did not understand.

Saren was a Wolf, on of Those That Chase, he should have been able to leave all these men in their clanging armor behind in an instant. But the arrow was tipped in iron, and his shoulder still burned, even though he had pulled it out, and now his feet were clumsy and slow, and he could not stop even long enough to pull his pelt back around him and be a proper Wolf again. And he was entirely lost, now, with no idea which way was back to the gate, or even where the wall was; and he couldn’t scale it now, not before they could all reload their bows, and—

There was a human in the middle of the road. Saren barreled into it at full speed, landing on the dirt in a heap, then scrambled to gather up his pelt and turned, ran through the first open door he saw.

The building was empty, thank all Fathers. There were boxes, made of wood, scattered around, mainly empty, though a few had straw or bits of canvas or ceramic in them. Saren found one, tipped over on its side, that was just bigger than himself—in this shape, anyway, which was a little smaller—and folded himself into it. He pulled his pelt around his shoulders, wanting to be in his own shape again—to have his proper teeth and claws at least—but the box was too small; there was no room to sink into his pelt and change back.

Outside, a harsh voice barked an order Saren didn’t understand. A softer voice followed it. Saren curled tightly in on himself and covered his head with both hands, tucked his face into his pelt.

As though that would help. He was the son of the Great Wolf, and ought to rise to meet them. Even this many humans would not have overwhelmed his father—the Betrayer had done it only through lies and trickery. Old Cruci would see this many humans and roll his eyes and burn them all to ash.

The humans clattered in their armor, yelling again.

At least Old Cruci wasn’t here to see him cry, he thought.

It was strangely quiet, then, for a little two long. The box was very small; Saren had the mad thought that humans must have been cruel after all, to leave him here to get cramp before they took his head and put it on their coat of arms.

Then the building’s door creaked quietly open, and Saren heard the faint noise of bare feet on the packed-earth floor.

He still didn’t understand the voice that called out. But it was quiet, soft with dry-rusted edges; not very like the soldiers’ terrifying barks at all.

Then, after a moment, the same voice cleared its throat, and called softly, “Little Demon? Are you here?”

Saren had understood not one word since he had come to the humans’ den, but this was clear as day. He jumped, a little, and tapped his head lightly against the box, and then its lid slid free and slapped loudly against the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust, which made Saren cough.

Saren froze.

There was a pause, and then the bare foot steps approached, light and slow. Saren tried to fold himself even further into the box, but there was nowhere left to go. He wrapped his pelt around his shoulders, and bared his teeth, ready to bite.

The human knelt in front of Saren’s box. It did not step as close as he had feared. There was room to run past it, even, if he dared.

Saren stared at it.

It wasn’t the littlest human he had seen—right at the beginning, when he was clinging to the top of the wall around the human den, he had seen two humans littler than him, colored like Cruci with black hair and brown skin, heads bent together, laughing. This human was taller, and older—though not much, Saren reminded himself, since humans aged so much like flies—and colored different, with messy yellow hair cropped short, and pale pinkish skin, torn and red in places. It was taller, but a thousand times thinner, swimming in spun-cloth clothes far to big for its narrow sharp-boned frame.

Its pale skeleton’s face went soft the moment it could see Saren in the darkness. A sword hung at its hip, but the hand it held out toward Saren was empty.

“Hello, little one,” the human said softly, and smiled.

----

The demon, visible mainly as a pair of shiny cat-eyes, stared out of the crate at the boy called Will.

“…you speak human,” it said after a moment. Will almost laughed.

It was a child’s voice, clear enough. And it had looked like a child, out on the street. And it had left a little trail of blood inside this empty storefront. Will could just see the shape of it, now, curled with its knees to its chest, like a child hiding in a closet.

The thought of it made his chest ache.

“Here, little one,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “Isn’t that box a little small for you?”

The demon narrowed its cat-pupiled eyes very slightly, and said nothing.

“The guards are off away, for now,” Will told it. “I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

The demon stared at him, and leaned forward a little out of its tightly-curled position. Light from the empty windows landed on a lock of storm-gray hair; it seemed to be wearing a cloak of matching gray fur around its shoulders.

“Why?” it said, half accusing and half curious.

“You’re a child,” Will said, before he could think better of it. “And they hurt you, didn’t they?”

The demon crept further out of the crate, in order to give Will a deeply skeptical look.

“I am not a child,” it said, sounding less insulted and more—like it thought Will might be deeply stupid. “I am a Wolf. And only barely littler than you, any—oh!”

When it tried to put weight on its left arm, it winced badly, clutching at its shoulder. Will moved forward immediately, without thinking; the wolf moved quickly back, baring its teeth—but so clearly frightened, rather than angry, that Will did not even move back, only raised his hands, to show that they were empty.

“I won’t hurt you, little wolf,” he said softly. “I—"

(Another, smaller voice, saying: “You Promise?”

And himself, on his knees again, smiling with bruised lips: “I Promise.”)

The demon was staring at him, tilting its head slightly. Will had no idea what his face had been doing. He swallowed hard, and remembered how to smile with a little effort.

“I—” His voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat, flushing. “You have my word.”

The demon studied him with open curiosity. It opened its mouth, its small fangs just visible.

“Captain!—Look, there’s a whole trail of blood here, it must be—”

The first guard’s voice was high and excited; the best-armored guard, who must have been the captain, did not sound angry either, though Will had no doubt that part would come.

“What on earth’s the meaning of this, boy?” the guard captain said.

He was standing in the storefront’s doorway, his hand resting idly on his sword, gaping at Will. He hadn’t even really seen the demon yet; it was already disappearing into the crate.

There were a dozen guards on the street, now, wondering why their captain had stopped in the doorway, when there were children to kill inside.

Will felt his hand drop to the hilt of his sword, without entirely deciding it should do so.

“There must be a back door,” he said softly, his eyes still on the guard captain. “Find it, and stick to the back alleys. There’s an inn two streets down; stay out of sight, until you see a man come out, wearing a green shirt, like this one.”

“What the hell are you doing?” the guard captain said, just now beginning to raise his voice.

Will got carefully to his feet. He heard the wolf-child gasp, behind him, but put his back to it.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Will said, coldly, and drew his sword.

#all those that dance #whump #original whump #fantasy whump #minor whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #death of a parent

[zukos-tsungi-horn]

Rating: G

Summary:  Zuko doesn't want to look like Ozai. After he botches his own haircut, Katara has a unique solution.  Soft Zutara hurt/comfort/fluff oneshot, set 4 years post-canon

Word Count: 3499

XXX

His fingers tremble against the hilt of his dagger.  His other hand is braced against the sink, where long black strands stand out starkly against the white marble.  He should turn the faucet, wash them down the drain, like he wishes he could wash away this impulsive, rash, stupid decision.

At least Uncle is away, visiting the Southern Water Tribe on the Fire Nation’s behalf.  If he were here, he would know exactly why Zuko had taken the knife to his long hair.  Of course, it won’t grow back fast enough to hide.  Agni, it won’t grow back fast enough for him to wear his crown.  How is he supposed to attend the council meeting tomorrow?  What will his advisors think when they see his hair chopped short and uneven?

He knows what they’ll think.  He looks like—he looks like Azula, in those moments before their last Agni Kai.

He looks mad.

A mirthless laugh escapes his lips as he looks up to meet his reflection.

“Better mad than…”

He watches his face break, and looks away from his own weakness.

Better mad than a copy of my father.

His reflection is his own.  The resemblance to Ozai can never quite be erased—it’s chiseled into his nose, his chin, the flecks of brown in his gold eyes.  But with his hair cropped above his shoulders again, it’s less overwhelming.

He peels his fingers from the sink to brush his scar.  That should have been enough of a mark to separate himself from his father.  

But when Azula’s wide eyes looked at him...

“This was stupid.  I’m not… I’m not Ozai,” he whispers.  

He knows this.  He’s been running the Fire Nation for four years now.  His people respect him.  The world respects him.

But he can’t forget the look in his sister’s eyes yesterday, when she took her first steps outside the rehabilitation center.  When she saw him in his full Fire Lord regalia for the first time, his crown secured tightly in his topknot.

When she broke for just a moment, and thought he was her father.

Water drips from his eyes into the sink, trailing down to wet the clumps of cut hair clogging the drain.  He’s being stupid.  For all he knows, Azula said that just to get under his skin.  She’s said worse things when he’s visited her in the center.  But he really thought she was ready.  The doctors said she wasn’t seeing things anymore…

But even if her moment of weakness was a hallucination, the reflected glimpses Zuko caught from his right eye weren’t.  At least, he’s fairly sure.

He’ll know if he keeps seeing them now, he supposes.

He’s still trying to gather the strength to clean the sink—and the floor; he had more hair than he’d realized—when a knock at the bedroom door startles him.  An undignified, strangled sound escapes his throat.

“Go away!”  He shouts at whoever it is.  He’d specifically asked his attendants not to disturb him when he turned in early for the night.  An early rest was supposed to calm his irrational thoughts.  

Instead, he’d caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the dagger had been in his hand faster than he could think.

And now he’s here, hunched over the sink, shame and weakness etched into the sharp curve of his shoulders.  Some of his cut hair clings to the fabric of his nightrobe, settles in his hood.  No one should see the Fire Lord like this.

“Hey, I didn’t come all the way from the South Pole just to get yelled at,” an unmistakable voice filters through the thick wooden door.  His eyes widen, snapping up to meet his reflection.  

Maybe he really is going crazy.  There’s no way.

More to confirm his sanity than anything else, he rushes out of the bathroom, crosses the bedroom in a few long strides.  Flings open the door before he can talk himself out of it, before he can imagine what she’ll think if she really is there.

And there she is.  Katara, standing taller than he remembers in a newer incarnation of her old blue tunic. Her long hair is braided down her back, and her lips are pursed in a narrow frown that softens at the sight of him.

“Zuko?”  She speaks first, because he’s still too busy staring.  Two years of letters are nothing compared to actually seeing her face.  She’s always been beautiful, but now—

He winces.  Now he remembers exactly how pathetic he looks.

“Are you… are you alright?”  Her brows curve upwards in concern.

He’s not sure any amount of lying will convince her.  If she can read his worries between this lines in his letters, she’s sure to see it in his disheveled appearance.

“What are you doing here?”  He gasps out.

“Surprising my best friend, I thought,” she retorts before shaking her head.  “Sorry.  Uncle Iroh told me you’d want to see me, but if you don’t—”

“That’s not what I meant.”  He shakes his head quickly, sending loose strands of hair fluttering to the ground.  He’ll need to brush the chopped ends out if he doesn’t want to shed like Appa for the next few days.  “I just… you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

She smirks in a way that’s very unfair to someone who’s already questioning his lucidity.  

“That’s what makes it a surprise, silly.”

“Right.”  He rubs the back of his neck.  Sheds some more.  He knows she’s seen him worse—Agni, she’s seen him in his old half-bald phoenix plume—but still he wishes he’d had time to prepare for her.  Maybe it would have strengthened him long enough to weather that brief moment of weakness.

“You never answered my question, either,” she says quietly.  Her hand reaches for his shoulder, brushing black strands from his sleeping robes, and he flushes at the contact.  It’s been too long since he’s seen his friends if a simple touch like that feels foreign.  

(Foreign, and wonderful, and if she’s a hallucination, she sure is a detailed one.)

“I… what?”  He blinks.

She sighs heavily.  Whatever she was asking, that was apparently the wrong answer.

“I asked if you were alright, but I’m going to take that as a no.  You’ve been holding out on me.”

Oh.  He must have missed that while she she was brushing him off.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says anyway.  He just might have lost all coherent thought when he met with Azula earlier today, or right before he took the dagger to his hair, or when he first saw Katara.  Regardless, he doesn’t want her to worry.

She looks him up and down, an appraising expression on her face.  It’s too late to stop her from worrying, then.

“I didn’t just wake you up, did I?  Your hair is still damp.”

“I’ve been awake,” he grumbles, but feels grateful she only points out that his hair is damp, not that it’s… frankly, a complete wreck.

“Well, if you’re not going to bed now… would it be alright if I come in?”

He isn’t used to the amount of hesitance in her voice.  

“Of course.”  They’ve just been standing in his doorway, where anyone passing by could see.  Not that many people would be passing by this time of night, in this wing of the palace.  The only other visitor he would expect would be Uncle, and apparently he’s sent Katara in his place.  Odd, but Zuko supposes he can hear about his trip over morning tea.  

(And he won’t complain about delaying his explanations for his hair a little longer.)

There’s nowhere to sit except on his bed.  Maybe he should have thought that through, but thinking things through is clearly impossible today.  He perches on the edge of the mattress, nodding his head for her to do the same.  She leaves a small gap between them.  He knows that shouldn’t disappoint him, but it does all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, running a hand through his too-short-just-right hair.  “I’m really glad you’re here.  Honest.  I just haven’t been… it’s been a rough day,” he admits quietly.  There’d never been much point in lying to her.  “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Zuko,” she says quietly.  Her hand rests on the soft duvet, fingers inching closer to his, but not touching.  “It’s times like this when I need to see you.”

“What?  So you can heal me if I hurt myself?”  He asks dryly.  Come to think of it, the back of his neck stings.  Maybe he did nick the skin there.

“No—I mean, I would, of course, but—spirits, I’m your friend.  Do you really think I wouldn’t want to be here for you?”

She has a point.  It would be an insult to her compassion to push her away now.

And he doesn’t want to.  

“Sorry,” he mumbles.  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Of course you didn’t.”  She lets out a breath, a half-laugh, and slips her pinkie over his.  The touch is so light it might be an accident, but it still grounds him.

She’s here.  She’s real.

“Azula thought I was Ozai,” he blurts out.  His gaze tears away from their brushing fingers, to the fist clenched in his lap.  “She was supposed to be released from the rehabilitation center today, and I swear she’s lucid now, and… it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”  Her hand finally squeezes his.  It’s like that one action draws out his tension, siphons it away.  “You’re worried she’s right.  That you look like your father.”

He flinches at hearing her say it out loud.  She’s always been able to see right through him, but it’s still better than having to explain it himself.

“I don’t want to be anything like him.  I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder every time I pass a mirror, thinking he’s—thinking he’s there.”  He winces.  

Stupid.  Pathetic.  All the ways Ozai used to make him feel… apparently still does make him feel. 

She just nods, though, as if that’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

“The haircut will help.  It suits you better, anyway.”

He turns to stone when her fingers comb through the jagged ends.  She must realize it, because she pulls away.

“Sorry.  I just—saw some bits still stuck in there.”  She blushes.

“I don’t mind,” he croaks out, throat suddenly dry.  He clears it with a cough.  “Actually, would you… would you mind fixing it up for me?  I couldn’t see the back very well.”  Not that he’d been really looking when he hacked it off.  

“I’d love to.” 

He feels like a little kid again, sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed after providing Katara with the necessary supplies.  Her bare feet swing down on either side of him, bracketing his shoulders.

“Hold still,” she says when he squirms, “or you’ll be getting a taste of stinky waterbender feet.”  She wiggles her toes next to his face, and he laughs.

“Better than stinky earthbender feet.”  

He’ll never forget waking up with Toph’s feet in his face, demanding that he carry her on his back.  It was what he deserved after burning her soles that one time, but she still reeked.  He was half convinced she smeared them with mud beforehand just to mess with him.

Katara goes silent.  Was he joke that bad?  Or maybe she’s just realizing how much of a lost cause his hair is.  

“Katara?”  He asks.

“Sorry.”  She starts brushing out his hair.  Each stroke sweeps away some of the worries crowding his mind.  “I was just thinking… it’s been a while since I heard you laugh.”

It’s been a while since he has laughed.  Katara and his friends always brought out the best in him.

His eyes slide shut as she combs away the snipped remnants.  He shouldn’t get used to this.  She’s just doing him a favor, that’s all.

(Even if she did want to touch his hair more often, she can’t.  She won’t be staying in the Fire Nation long.)

(She never does.)

Scissors snip in his blind spot, right next to his bad ear.  He suppresses a flinch.  The one nice thing about keeping long hair was that he didn’t need anything sharp near the scarred half of his face.

“Your hair is so soft,” Katara says enviously.  “Is there some kind of secret washing regimen for Fire Lords?”

“I just use whatever my attendants set out for me.”  That probably sounds spoiled, doesn’t it?  It’s not like the palace servants will allow him to go out with his hair unwashed.

Agni, even they are going to kill him if Katara can’t get his hair under control.

“Well I’m stealing it.”

He grins at that, though he should be intimidated.  It’s hard enough to resist touching Katara’s hair as it is.  Any softer, and it’ll practically be a magnet pulling him towards her.

Bits of hair fall on his shoulders, litter the red towel spread beneath him.  He’s surprised she’s found that much to cut.  He doesn’t have a mirror right now, so he can’t check to see how it looks.  He’ll just have to trust her.

Luckily, he’s still used to that.

“Thank you, Katara.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.  I might still give you a warrior’s wolftail by accident.”

He smiles, picturing it.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.  The looks on the council’s faces would be priceless.”

She laughs.  “You could start a new trend.  Bring Water Tribe fashion to the big city.”

He’d like to bring more of the Water Tribe here than just that.  But he knows he can’t ask Katara to stay.  He’d said it right all those years ago: she rises with the moon, and he rises with the sun.  They share the sky for just long enough to catch glimpses of her, before she disappears back to the bottom of the world.

He’s spent too long in the theater scrolls again, if he’s waxing this poetic.  Better turn his thoughts to more practical matters.

“Would a wolftail be able to hold up my crown?”

“Theoretically,” she says between snips.  He doesn’t flinch at them anymore.  “But, I mean… were you being serious?”

He blushes, suddenly unsure.  After all, he’s not a Water Tribe warrior.

“If I’m allowed to,” he admits quietly.  “I don’t know what the rules are, if it’s like a phoenix plume, or if I have to be judged worthy to—”

A loud snip, and a chunk of his hair falls to the ground.  She curses under her breath; it almost makes him laugh.  She’d never been one to curse when they’d traveled together.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice.  I cut this part too short; I’m not sure anything else will work now.  I’m so sorry.”

He risks a glance over his shoulder.  She’s biting her lip, glaring down at her scissors like they should glue his hair back together.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Katara.  You really couldn’t make it any worse.”

“I could’ve made you bald.”

This time he does laugh.  “Well, you didn’t.  But even if you did, I wouldn’t be upset.  No one could say I look like Ozai anymore.”

Her brow creases in pity.  It’s not what he wanted—he’d been trying to reassure her.  

She reaches down to brush his remaining bangs away from his face.  The touch shocks through his system like ice.

“You’re nothing like him,” she says softly.  “I wish I could make you see that.”

His lips won’t move to speak.  Some incoherent noise might have passed through them, but Katara doesn’t point it out.  She just combs his hair back, and removes the tail of her own braid to bind his hair at the back of his skull.

“Almost done.”

He has to face her for this last part, where she shears away the hair along the sides of his head, above his ears. It’s difficult to look anywhere besides her blue eyes.  He tries to, though; he doesn’t want her to feel him staring.

“Is this weird?”  She asks, her hands steady as she sends bits of hair fluttering down to his shoulders.

He almost shrugs before realizing it might mess her up.  “Yujin—one of my attendants—usually cuts my hair for me.  She’s great, but… I like this too,” he admits.  “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you, but that’s not what I meant.”  She smirks.

“Then—what did you mean?”  His brow furrows.

“You’re kneeling.”  Her eyes flicker down to his legs, which are tucked beneath him.  “I just meant, since you’re the Fire Lord, you probably don’t do this much.”

“How else were you supposed to reach my head?”

She pulls the shears back and laughs.  When her eyes open again, they’re soft as water.

“You haven’t changed.  I didn’t think you had, from your letters, but it’s still good to see.”

“Thank you?”

“That is a compliment, I promise.”  She smiles, coming her fingers through the ends of his new wolftail.  It feels thicker and stubbier than a phoenix plume, and a little itchy on the sides, where his hair is much shorter now.

Hasn’t he changed?  He never felt like he was going this crazy before.  But strangely… after sitting here with her, he finds some of his worries aren’t as loud.  Maybe it’s that he can’t see long strands of black hanging in the corners of his vision.  Maybe it’s some kind of waterbending healing she worked in while his eyes were shut.  Regardless, a new energy fills him as he accepts her hand and rises to his feet.

“Come on.  Let’s make sure you like the Water Tribe look.  If not, we can always do you up like an Air Nomad.”

He winces.  “I don’t think I could pull off a shaved head as well as Aang.”

“I’m pretty sure you could pull off anything,” she mutters.

“What was that?”

Her eyes widen, and he has to hide a smirk, even if he knows it’s not true.  He sure didn’t pull off the shaved phoenix plume.  But it’s still flattering that she thinks he could.

“Let’s just get you to a mirror.”

She drags him to the corner of his room, where a gold-rimmed standing mirror reflects their forms.  Even trusting that she did a fine job, he finds himself afraid to look at his face.  It took him years to be okay with seeing his reflection at all, to not flinch at the wrinkled red skin on his left side.  Lately, it’s the unmarred side that causes more problems.

But he does look up.  And he looks… nothing like he expected.

A wolftail lies closer to the back of the head, unlike how a phoenix plume would sprout from the middle.  And this wolftail in particular is barely long enough to stay in Katara’s hair tie.  His black hair sprouts up like a tiny circle of grass.  The ridiculousness of it almost makes him laugh.

“You like it?”  She asks when she catches him smiling.

“I love it.”  His hair might look a little silly, but he’s not lying.

Now, instead of thinking of Ozai when he sees his reflection, he’ll think of her.

“Thank you so much, Katara.”

He folds her in a hug.  By the time he worries about it being too much, she’s already squeezing him back, burying her face into the crook of his neck.  The scent of her hair wafts up to him, salty and sweet.  Why did she ever want to borrow his hair products?  Hers feels soft as a turtleduck against his cheek.

“I’m always here for you, you know.  Next time, ask me before you go swinging your knife around, alright?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says carefully, “but you’re not always here.  And I don’t expect you to be.  You have family, and friends, and obligations…”

“Zuko.”  She tugs on the collar of his robe until he looks down at her.  “You’re one of my friends.  So for now, get used to it.”

He blinks.  His heart picks up a stuttering rhythm, one he hasn’t felt since the day he lay in the palace courtyard, pulsing with lightning.

“You—you’re staying?”

“I’ve already talked it over with Uncle.  He said there are some rivers that have dried up, and I might be able to help divert water to towns that need it.  Besides, the South Pole has so many waterbenders now, I was starting to feel redundant.”

She’s staying.  At least for a little while, she’s staying.

He hugs her again.  He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

“Looks like I was missed after all,” she laughs.

He smiles against the top of her head.

“Always.” 

XXX

The next morning, he arrives at the council meeting with a crown in his wolftail, and a waterbender’s palm in his hand.

#zutara #zuko #katara #atla #atla fic #fic tag #tali writes #yeah its been 84 years #found this half-written in my google docs and decided to finish it lol

[kiara-carrera]

leah and jj + hugging while walking for the touches ask game?

season 2 spoilers for everything up to the bonfire episode (where this it set)! this is both canon and not canon because i will in fact adjust all of my ideas at least seventy-four times whoops ... we’re also gonna ignore the fact that the hug while walking lasts exactly one line, a true blink and you miss it kind of nonsense. is this well written? no, but that’s not my strong suit anyways.

18. hugging while walking: leah + jj

“I’m just saying — I don’t trust her. And I really don’t think we should be leaving John B alone right now, especially with her.”

Around them, the annual bonfire was in full swing. Music was blaring, drinks sloshing out of solo cups and dripping down the arms of kids too slow on a shotgunned can, bodies clustered in the middle as friends danced and chatted the night away. The bonfire was like a Boneyard party — neutral ground where Pogues and Kooks could (mostly) coexist for a night of getting shit faced and making terrible decisions.

Instead of being up in the mix, Leah found herself off to the side, a frown on her face as she watched John B get yanked into a conversation with a girl from their school — Yvonne, a junior like them, and also someone John B had gotten fairly familiar with the previous year, before dads began disappearing at sea, gold cropped up in wells, and mysteries and murder landed on their doorsteps.

Even if the relationship (marriage?) between John B and Sarah hadn’t just fucking exploded — okay, wait, maybe that wasn’t the right word to use all things considered. Either way, she would have been having the exact same reaction. Because like most of the people John B and JJ had gotten involved with over the years, Leah couldn’t fucking stand the sight of her.

JJ snorted from beside her, watching on as Leah glared across the party where John B had all but been wrangled into a conversation with Yvonne. “Remind me what your problem with her is again?”

Her head snapped towards him, finally breaking her one-sided glare session, regarding JJ as if he’d suddenly grown another five heads. “You’re kidding, right? Do you not remember how fucking exhausting she was when John B was doing ... whatever the fuck that thing he had with her last year was?”

“He was banging her,” JJ said bluntly, laughing when Leah wrinkled her nose. “And no, I don’t.”

“Figures, because you’d always run off with Pope and leave me alone with them. Like, she was fine at first until she started getting super weird and territorial over him with me, which was fucking weird because they weren’t even dating and also newsflash — I was so not trying to steal John B from her. It’s John B. I’d rather eat a bar of soap.”

“John B can handle himself,” JJ told her, taking a sip from his drink. He’d already had half a beer that he’d failed to shotgun and had scored a solo cup from some kid in their year. “He’s probably going to be bitching about missing Sarah to her the whole time anyways, and I know I’m not spending my night babysitting him with you.”

Leah raised an eyebrow at him, reaching out to snatch his drink from his hand. She grinned when he made a noise of protest when she took a small sip. Grimacing at the taste, she told him, “This tastes like lighter fluid, first of all. And who said you had to hang out with me tonight?”

Another grin broke out on her lips, watching as his eyebrows knitted in confusion at her words. There was just the tiniest hint of a frown that she might have missed if she hadn’t been watching him as closely as she was or if the flickering lights of the bonfire hadn’t casted a decent amount of light to where they were standing.

She wasn’t expecting him to turn it around on her though. 

His confusion disappeared at the drop of a hat, a somewhat cocky expression tugging at the corner of his lips as he replied, “Figured you wouldn’t be complaining about that.”

Embarrassed heat crawled up her neck at his words, eyes narrowing at him. Leah wasn’t sure why she expected JJ to not be a teasing dick about everything — perhaps it was the way he’d been far to eager to put his mouth on hers the other day that made her think they were on the same page.

Apparently not.

Everything was just weird. Between the kiss the night Rafe and Barry crashed John B and Sarah’s welcome home party and everything that had happened between then and now it was just ... it was like her world had been thrown off-kilter. They’d barely talked about it. Every conversation either got ruined, interrupted, or ended in a kiss. She wasn’t complaining about the third one, but it felt entirely too vulnerable to not know where she stood.

Did she like JJ? Yes. Did JJ like her? ...Wildly undetermined. On the one hand, he definitely liked the physicality of it all. But there was still that horrid little voice in the back of her mind that worried. Worried because he’d never actually been in a serious relationship, had never looked for one. Worried that she’d divulged too much too soon and that he was trying simply for the sake of their friendship.

She’d already seen the way Kiara and Pope had fractured. She didn’t exactly want to be the star of the sequel.

It was already hard enough accepting that her feelings for JJ were far beyond anything platonic. It was hard having to go around knowing what it felt like to have his mouth on hers, his hand tangled in her hair as she tasted weed and Natural Light on his lips. It was hard enough to know that there was something there, but not knowing what that something was.

He’d told her to stop putting words in his mouth, to stop jumping to conclusions about how he was feeling, but what the fuck was she supposed to do when it seemed like this was all just some weird way to pass time?

It was just her luck that she was shit at feelings like this and that she just had to go fall for her friend who was quite possibly worse than her.

And now he was fucking teasing her. Yup, saying shit to him was starting to look more and more like a colossal fucking mistake.

“You’re a dick,” she muttered to him, cheeks burning as she turned to go find Kie or Pope.

Leah made it all but two feet before two familiar arms wrapped around her waist, JJ doing his best to prevent her from going any further.

“Lee Lee,” he whined in her ear. “C’mon, it was a joke.”

“Must have forgot to laugh,” she replied, beer sloshing around the cup in her hands as she tried to keep moving. But his arms were wrapped around her in a bear hug, his boots shuffling in the dirt behind her converse.

“Jesus,” he muttered, finally tugging her to a complete halt, groaning in annoyance a little as she refused to turn around to face him. But she’d stopped trying to move forward, still wearing a frown as he released her and circled around her to be face to face once again. “Done pouting now?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I’m gonna shove you into the bonfire.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not really into that, but thanks.”

Another flush of heat, this more out of annoyance than anything else, rose to her cheeks. “Can you be serious for like five seconds and stop making it your night’s goal to annoy me?”

The seriousness of her tone made his smile falter just a little bit. “Oh, c’mon, it was a joke. I wanna hang with you tonight, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t see me standing around anyone else, do you?” He glanced around, as if trying to prove his rhetorical point.

The tiniest, most traitorous of a laugh escaped her, but she quickly doubled back with a semi forced frown. “Too late, your friendship privileges have been provoked for the night.”

“What about macking privileges?”

The frown? Gone. Eyes? A little wide. Heart? Well, she was lucky her ribcage was there to keep it from popping out of her chest like a fucking cartoon.

A little flustered, she told him, “Funny, JJ, should consider being a comedian.”

“Not joking.” His tone was as serious as his words, more serious than he tended to be, especially at a party which surprised her, but it was the next thing he did that really caught her attention.

Leah knew that JJ was annoying when it came to getting what he wanted, but nothing really could have prepared her for the way his hands pulled on her arms, tugging her close to him, closer than she had any right to be as his friend.

Leah knew that no one at the bonfire around them was playing a lick of attention to them — the Pogues had been a hot commodity for all of two minutes when they’d arrived, a bit of attention of the newly freed John B, but that spectacle had gone stale all too quickly. And yet, her heart didn’t seem to care because there was something daunting, exciting about him treating her like this in public.

She knew from experience that JJ was nonchalant about PDA, making out and dancing with people at parties before with not a care in the world. His standing close to her and tugging him into her like he was some fictional pretty boy starring in a cheesy teen rom com shouldn’t have made her feel as special as it did but this was just different.

It was him and it was her and there were so many things about this situation that seemed like they’d only ever exist in vague daydreams. It seemed like there shouldn’t have been a universe where he’d look at her like the way he was right now, with anything more than friendship.

“We can even ditch,” JJ told her with a grin, eyes sparkling just a bit in the firelight. His hands slipped from her arms to her hips smoothly, like being nonchalant about this kind of shit came all too naturally to him. “Me, you, and the lighter fluid.”

She was certain that he could see her sour mood diminish embarrassingly quick as she asked, “Oh really? To do what, exactly?”

“That all depends on how you wanna spend your time tonight,” JJ answered, giving her one of his easy, mischievous smiles, that fucking smile that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

Leah wasn’t sure how long she’d cared for him like this. Maybe it had only been a few days, maybe since Midsummers, or hell, maybe it had been forever, her subconscious just waiting for that perfect moment for it to click that her joking I hate you’s were laced with something else, something more.

“Know a good place, too,” he added, gesturing his head towards the tree line past the wall, into the woods where most people only vacated to for hookups, which definitely didn’t go over her head.

“If you’re taking me to where you take all your bonfire party hook ups to, I’ll pass,” Leah remarked dryly. She didn’t intend the words to come out slightly bitter, and she thought she passed them off as joking as she could, but she couldn’t ignore the twist in her chest at the thought.

Before all of this, she wouldn’t have even batted an eye at JJ possibly having secret bonfire hookup spots, but now? Now the thought made a ball of lead form in her stomach.

“I mean I took Pope there once when I didn’t want to share my good weed with anyone.”

This time, she didn’t try to hide the laughter that bubbled over her lips. “Oh, perfect, I get to see where you wander off with Pope, wonderful.”

“So you’re in?”

She pretended to ponder it for a moment, but it was clear to just about anyone — especially JJ who knew her better than anyone in the world — that she’d had the answer sitting on her tongue. “I guess I could spare you a few minutes.”

JJ grinned at her, once again shooting her that fucking smile and she wasn’t sure if it was that or the way he replied with, “That’s my girl!” made her feel like she could fucking conquer the fucking world, off-kilter or not.

#asks #touch prompts #mayson #claryxjackson

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

Amazing race or Modern P&P?

Amazing Race - So, uh, this has been sitting in my Google docs for over a year. It’s never going to get written, so I’m gonna post all of it.

The first day of the race is the hottest day of the year in London. Brienne said goodbye to her dad, making sure he knew where all of the production office phone numbers were, in case he needed to get in touch with her. “I’ll be fine, love.” He said and kissed her on the cheek. “Have a lovely time.” They’d exchanged a long hug in the entryway, guilt clawing at her chest, before she swung her backpack onto her shoulders and walked out to where the scheduled car waited for her. 

The Race had been a popular show in the States for over a decade. With ratings dropping, the producers had decided to partner with media companies across the world and open the competition to participants worldwide. Instead of having competitors audition for the show in pairs, or “teams” as the producers called them, this season was also different because everyone auditioned individually. 

Once Brienne learned she was going to be on the show, she received an email which included fact sheets on all the other participants. Contestants were supposed to look at all the profiles and narrow down their choice for a teammate to three or four people. On the first day of shooting--today--they would have a chance to meet, interview, and pick their teammates. She was dreading that bit. Despite her size and strength, she’d always been picked last for team sports in school, and she could do without being retraumatized by it as an adult. She’d been diligent about doing her research on the other participants and stuck her top three list in her back pocket.

The car takes her all the way to the north side of Tower Bridge, where Brienne has instructions to get out and walk across. Her driver wishes her luck and hands her a bottle of water as she loads on her pack. She’s going to be a sweaty mess before she even arrives at the start. 

Reminding herself of her yoga breathing, Brienne stares out at the slow moving water of the Thames for a few seconds before she starts her walk across. She has to dodge around tourists, her pack gets jostled as people pass, and Brienne starts to understand why the producers asked them to do this. It’s good training for the rest of the race. She knows they will be traveling through tight spaces with their backpacks and probably in hotter conditions than London’s. Once she reaches the south end of the bridge, she can see people in purple Race shirts. “Hi!” One of them greets as she approaches. “You must be Brienne Tarth?”  

She can feel her adrenaline kick in and all she wants is to do this. To get started. The young woman gives Brienne instructions, but she’s barely listening. At the bottom of the stairs of the bridge, someone else wearing a Race shirt directs her to the right. 

Brienne blinks, trying to take in the scene. There’s a small park, which is blocked off for filming, and she can understand why they picked it, as it’s nestled between City Hall and Tower Bridge. Not to mention that on the other side of the Thames is the Tower of London and a view of a few of the modern skyscrapers added to London’s skyline in the last few years. “Brienne?” she hears a familiar voice and looks up to see Catelyn Stark striding towards her, her long auburn hair piled up on her head in a messy, but elegant bun. Catelyn was half the reason she was here at all. “We’re starting to gather all the contestants so we can start filming you choosing your partners.” 

The older woman gestures for someone and a minute later, a young woman with a slightly upturned nose and glittering brown eyes is standing in front of Brienne, dotting her face with a makeup brush. “You have lovely skin,” the young girl tells her. “Just taking away some of that shine for camera.” 

Surveying her fellow contestants is a surreal feeling. She recognizes them all, due to the producers’ email, and her own time spent narrowing down a top three list. Brienne has to wonder if the others did as much research on her as she has on them. Her gaze continues around the circle until she spots him. 

He is somehow even more beautiful than his pictures. His golden hair glitters brightly in the sunlight. He’s cut it since casting, it’s cropped closer now, but it doesn’t make him look any less attractive. There’s a slight smile on his face, as if all this is entertaining more than anything, and he keeps raising his eyebrows when anyone meets his gaze. He hasn’t noticed her staring. Yet. 

The strangest thing about him is while most people are dressed in athletic wear, he’s wearing a white button up shirt. Anyone else might look out of place, like they’re wearing their father’s suit, but he has the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tanned forearms, and he looks relaxed. She hates him for it because she feels as if she’s about to lose her breakfast. 

He folds his arms across his chest and she can see the swell of his bicep through his shirt. Seriously, fuck him. 

Except he had the best resume by far. He had grown up splitting time between Spain, Denmark, and the United States, so he had knowledge of several languages. Had played all variety of sports his whole life, although he preferred lacrosse and football. He’d even played in a professional league, but when he injured his right knee, he’d had to give up any burgeoning professional career. 

She knows she’s probably not even on his radar, so she’ll have to approach him quickly once the producers give them permission. Cameras and crew seem to be circling around, so perhaps it’s time. Brienne feels her gut tightening with nerves. Catelyn comes to the middle of their circle, a clipboard under her arm, and makes a short welcome speech. “Okay, once I step out of the circle, a horn will sound, and you are free to approach each other to choose your team.” She tosses a wink at Brienne and then the horn buzzes. 

She’s taken all of a single step when she notices Jaime striding towards her. “Hi, I’m Jaime.” He smiles and she expects two rows of dazzling white teeth, but she notices a couple of his bottom ones are crooked. It makes him all the more appealing, somehow, knowing someone who looks like him has flaws. He extends a hand, shaking hers. 

“Uh, hello, yes, I know. From the producers’ email?” She stutters, eyes averted. He’s too pretty to look at for too long. She takes a breath, steadying herself. “Anyway, I’m Brienne.” 

“Hello, Brienne. So why should you be my teammate?” 

Now she looks him levelly in the eye. “I’m strong.” He crooks an eyebrow up at his, perhaps impressed by her candor. “I’ve done sports for most of my life. Fencing, football, rowing. I came in fourth at Olympics qualifying three years ago.”

“Brava,” he says, slightly snidely, but pushes on. “Any languages?”

“Italian. A little Greek.” When this earns her another surprised look from Jaime, she explains, “My father is a classics professor.” She is about to ask why she should pick him, even though she’s mostly had her mind made up about him for weeks, when another contestant, a slim girl with long brown hair curled carefully, comes over to Jaime and touches him on the arm. 

“Hi, I’m Margaery.”

“Uh, hi,” Jaime says, a little distractedly, and Brienne can understand why. Unlike most of the other women here, who are wearing tank tops and leggings, Margaery is wearing only a sports bra, her midriff bare, showing off her tiny waist. Not to mention her sports bra appears to be a push-up one--Brienne didn’t even know they made those, but of course they do--because her breasts have an amazing amount of cleavage for someone so petite. Jaime can barely keep his eyes on her face. She lets out a sigh, realizing her top pick for teammate all too easily has fallen for the nearest pretty thing. But before she can step away to talk to her second choice, Jaime manages to tear himself away from the young woman long enough to tell her, “It was nice to meet you, Brienne.”

Maybe hope isn’t lost after all. 

When the twenty minutes are up, they all stand in a circle again and announce their top choices. There are some complicated rules about what happens if multiple people pick the same person, but they’re fair rules, so Brienne is fine with it. She’s too busy trying not to freak out that she didn’t plan this strategically enough, because now it’s obvious to her that everyone will want Jaime as a partner, and she should have selected someone else as her first choice. But it seems too late to change it now. She’d spoken with her second and third choice and they’re both lovely, but they’re not Jaime. To her, he was the only partner who could match her athletically, thus giving them the best chance of winning the grand prize: a million dollars.

Her heart hammers in her chest. The announcement is alphabetical, so it means she probably has to go first, except the cameraman is setting up in front of someone else. Addam. Oh thank god.

Another cameraman approaches her, but she barely has time to think about it, because Addam is already announcing his pick. “Margaery.” Margaery’s eyes widen, but she covers quickly, smiling prettily and giving him a small wave.

“Brienne,” the cameraman whispers, prompting her. “Jaime,” she says solemnly. He smiles politely and nods at her, his expression giving nothing away about how he feels. A couple other people pick him as well and they’re not even through the first half of the alphabet yet. It doesn’t really matter, she tells herself. It’s over. Jaime will pick Margaery and Margaery will pick him. 

She’s so caught up in her thoughts she’s barely paying attention when the cameraman finally focuses on Jaime. He flashes that million watt smile and says, Margaery. “Brienne.” 

What? She opens her eyes--she hadn’t even realized they were closed--and stares at him, mouth half open. Oh god, she is an idiot. He lets out a small laugh and winks at her.

#jaime x brienne #amazing race au #team oathkeeper #WIP meme

[love-and-anarchy-au]

Love & Anarchy: Chapter 16

happy wednesday, loves! i’m officially on holidays yeeeyyy! now i’ll have much more time for writing so you shall expect three chapters a week, ocasionally ;) having said that, i have nothing else to say xd im having such weird feelings bout everything, so im not able to explain anything bout this chapter lol. hope you enjoy this small chapter <3

REMEMBER THIS AU HAPPENS IN THE SAME UNIVERSE THAT THIS ONE

Find out what this AU is about here

Masterlist

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @dawniebb @obsidianfr3sk @nodrianbcyes @everyone-has-a-nightmare @magykaldealings @nobellrenaissance @cerenoya @cassin-the-assasin @cindersnightmare

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Words

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Part 2: A teen named Ace Artino

16 years old Alec

    “Ready?”

    “Always.”

    They interlocked their elbows and walked through the streets,without knowing where they were going, as humanity itself.

    The streets of Gatlon City were narrow, at least the ones that were secondary. The avenues, however, weren't very wide either. They were wet concrete roads, populated by metallic and noisy animals, like the city itself. Gatlon City was a living being from which columns of smoke and putrid smells rose every day. The buildings were modern, as they had been built on top of old buildings; public transport was rampant and the bases of the constructions, ninety percent of the time, were small bars. Alexandra and Alec loved bars hidden in alleys or, better, underground bars. Alexandra was one of the few people who knew where those bars were, thanks to her spiders.

    Alexandra was anarchic. She drank beer, vodka, even whiskey, despite being only fifteen years old (she said that the rate of alcoholism in minors was much higher in Latin America and that she was no point of comparison). At the time, she was wearing a pair of leather shoes and a black cotton suit, which was huge because, like most of her clothes, it had belonged to one of her mother's clients before it belonged to her. Her eyes were perfectly eyelined and her lips were covered in a blood-red gloss. Her bull-like nose piercing was a signature touch of hers, along with her cherry lollipops, honey eyes, close-cropped hair, and out-of-control laugh.

    Alexandra was gorgeous.

    Almost opposite to Julieta.

    But identical to her.

    They  both were brave like nobody else.

    And that was what Alec admired the most.

    Still, Alexandra dressed the way she dressed to provoke people. She liked to blow things up, people included. She dressed extremely formal for PE or wore her low-cut dresses when they went to school, which had a strict dress code (that's why Alexandra lived in detention). Regardless, her style always embraced punk and grunge, which she loved the most in the world.

     “Where are we going?” Alec asked, though he was aware that not even Alexandra was sure of the answer.

     “To the unknown,” she replied. “To the future.”

     Alexandra squeezed Alec's elbow tightly and began to run, like she never ran in PE classes. People looked at them, judged them as they passed; they were just another couple of drunk teenagers in love. However, Alec didn't drink and Alexandra wasn’t drunk yet, so part of the people's judgment was wrong.

   As always.

   Alec laughed heartily, for no other reason than the fact he was happy to be alive, to be together with  a human being like that, to be able to love someone with such intensity and to be loved too. He was wanted , he was loved, he was, he was, he was. He could love, he could wish, he could be himself with others, especially with the girl who ran beside him because he knew  she would never lie to him and that she knew him and he knew her and she was...

    “You are pure light, Alessandra Onitraze,” Alec whispered in Alexandra's ear, when they pulled into an alley to refill for their laughter.

    Alexandra drew a semi-suppressed smile, her lips were posing strangely, making them look like a pout, although Alec knew that was her most genuine smile.

    “Ti amo anch'io, Alec Artino,” Alexandra replied, also in a powerful whisper. Alexandra wrapped her arms around Alec's neck, placed her hands under his skull (to support it) and kissed the boy's lips without warning, passionately. Alec didn't move, didn't say anything; they had never kissed in their entire relationship, because Alec wasn't ready, and even though he thought he was ready at the time, it was a lie. His lips rejected Alexandra's as positives rejected positives, and negatives rejected negatives. However, he let Alexandra kiss his lips, without pain nor glory.

    Alexandra pulled her lips away from Alec's.

    “I’m-I’m...sorry,” Alexandra apologized, her chin up, her eyes ashamed.

    “It’s okay, but please don’t do it again” Alec said, a bit embarrassed because he felt like he shouldn’t feel like that and there he was, asking for his girlfriend not to kiss him. Alexandra’s smile disappeared slowly, and her expression became uncomfortable, guilty.

    “Come on,” she said, when she walked away from Alec and the alley. “I know a good place to drink and chat properly.”

    Alec nodded and followed his beloved's path through the streets of Gatlon City. That weird feeling of putting boundaries went away when they arrived at the place Alexandra had guided them. The night was alive, alive, alive. They were alive, alive, alive. Alec couldn't believe that he existed, that he was loved, that he could love.

     It seemed like a dream, one that Alec didn't want to end.

     But it would have to end, eventually.

                                                                -

    “Where have you been?”

    David blushed.

    It was past  two in the morning. Alec was sitting, his white shirt unbuttoned and a cup of cold coffee in his hand (he had made it when he got to the apartment and had not even taken a sip from it). Alec was sitting in the starkest gloom, fraying and analyzing the memories of that night (all the drinks Alexandra drank, all the times Alexandra apologized, all the repulsion that being kissed generated in him, the family-size pizza they ate, the lump in his throat that prevented him from eating most of dinner, the awkward silences between them, Alexandra’s visible guilt among them). Just when Alec was mesmerized, fiddling with his hair and stirring the coffee automatically with a spoon, the boy heard the sound of tin keys hitting the lock, and the door opened to make way for his older brother, David.

    David was dressed very smartly, and not in his usual dusty or beige colors. He had even combed his hair to the side. Alec arched an eyebrow, dismissive but disinterested. He took a sip of the iced coffee and suppressed a grimace at how disgusting the coffee was as his gaze swept his brother's unusual appearance.

    Since they had moved to Gatlon, they had drifted apart on astronomical levels, with the occasional approach consisting of a 'hello', 'good night' or 'good morning'. David had his friends, his job, his life. Alec had his friends, who were his life, and nothing else. Although David had tried to get close to Alec  again, and vice versa, they were never ever there for each other when they needed it the most.

    Never.

    And that generated very deep marks, the kind that are indelible and are marked with fire and ink in the depths of the soul, the kind that eat away at you until you eat all your love for the other person and leave only memories impregnated with resentment.

    They did not have a good relationship, after everything that had happened.

    Anyways...

    “I met someone,” David replied, hanging his jacket (his father's, actually) on the coat rack near the door, which had been pulled from a trash can. Alec remembered once delusionally asking his father for that same jacket and earning himself a beating. Those kinds of memories were as sweet as his coffee.

    He also wanted to dump them down the drain.

    “Who?” Alec insisted, bordering on impatience. Alec wasn't sure why he was so irritated. Maybe because he felt bad about not wanting to kiss his girlfriend. Perhaps because he loved her too much and was afraid of letting her down. Maybe because his brother was a selfish jerk. Maybe he was just angry because he wanted to be. Maybe his powers needed to explode and were manifesting in him that way.

    He wanted to grunt.

    He wanted to scream.

    He wanted to explode.

    Why had his damn brother had to come back?

    “Her name’s Tala Bulan,” David said, flatly. His voice sounded like a syrup jar about to overflow. A smile never used in front of Alec, spread across his older brother's face.

    Disgusting.

    Alec sighed, exasperated. One voice in his head was asking him to calm down, the other was encouraging him to explode. Alec came to a halt, his heart pounding like a bomb. He went into the kitchen, which was two steps from the grimy chair, and leaned against the wooden counter next to the sink, with his back to his brother.

    “That’s all that you have to say? Will you ever give details, David?” Alec complained, following the advice of that harsh and insistent voice; but then he listened to the soft and loving voice to reconsider and affirm: “Whatever, I don't care and it's not my business.”

    “Are you dating someone, brother?” David asked, genuine confusion dripping from his voice. He was more lost than humanity itself.

    Alec snorted and responded with tons of sarcasm. If he was already run out of patience for no apparent reason, his brother had exhausted the reserves he didn't know he had.

    His coffee cup smashed on the metal of the sink, just because of his mind and his fury. How could a person be so self-centered, so distracted, so…?

    Agh!

    “Of course not, I just like to go out late at night on my own and dressed in my best clothes. Of course I'm not seeing anyone!” Alec replied, spitting out the words, throwing them like knives. He left the mug there, not bothering to clean the ceramic pieces and headed for his room, a time bomb on his chest.

     David nodded. He was as capable of recognizing that he was an idiot as he was of recognizing sarcasm when he heard it. In other words, he was completely incapable.

     Alec huffed, pissed off, and stomped the floor, a highly unseemly act of him. In the sink, Alec sensed the remains of the cup and smashed it further, making sure to produce an awful noise. David didn't even flinch, just looked for another cup in the cupboard. Alec growled audibly, he was furious and didn't know why, he was furious and he needed to break something else.

     What is wrong with me? Is it because of Alexandra? he asked himself.

     I don't know.

     Alec screamed, frustrated by the answer he had been given, and fell to his knees to the ground, frantically tugging at his wavy hair. He pulled out a couple of hairs and his vision clouded with a smoldering darkness like embers, spreading like black ink, threatening to reach his mind and corrupt it. That danger caused by Alec himself, added to the fury that was already splitting his soul, ignited the trigger of the boy's powers.

     Once again, the building at Drain Way and Southwest 435, shook, as it has shaken since the Artinos moved there. The floor tilted to one side and the other, the walls moved as if they were made of jelly, the chair bounced as if the floor were a trampoline and the only thing that was still inside the shaking, was Alec himself, who kept his eyes closed.

     “Alec!” exclaimed David, now alarmed and (moderately) aware of what was happening to his brother. He approached him  with difficulty and knelt to rest one of his hands on his shoulder, trying to help him. It was helpful, as it brought him back to reality, stopping the shaking and leaving the hammering of his heart as the only noise.

     Calm down, calm down, calm down.

     Alec took one, two, three, ten deep breaths until he was mostly calm. He opened his eyes, plunged into his brother's, and tried not to drown. He swallowed hard, looked away, and said nothing. He squatted uncomfortably, clasped his palms close to his face and closed his eyes again, searching for wisdom.

      What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?

      The answer was not visible in his mind, so perhaps it was not the right question. He felt how David gave him space, left him alone, and went back to his business. The visible problem (the shaking) was already solved and that was what mattered to his brother, not if Alec had already found what he was looking for. The boy rephrased the question, made it more demanding.

      What must I do?

      The answer showed itself before Alec's consciousness, as if drawn by his telekinesis.

      He shall speak to Alexandra.

#love & anarchy au #love & anarchy #ace anarchy's backstory #a teen named ace artino #alec artino #ace anarchy #alexandra onitraze #david artino #renegades #before renegades #renegades trilogy #renegades au #renegades fandom #marissa meyer #my au #au #fic #writer #writer on tumblr #read

[quirkzone]

Chasing Your Heart

ShinKami Week Day 6: Hurt/Comfort

@shinkami-shipweek

__

Denki meticulously crops a picture of himself and Hitoshi to set as his new phone background. They’d actually been able to work a job together the past week and Denki is still giddy about it. He smiles softly as he looks over Hitoshi’s face. Somber and tired. But there’s a little amusement there, too. It’s always in his eyes.

“Kami, seriously?” Mina asks, face appearing over his shoulder and making him jump. He nearly throws his phone across the room and glares at her, holding it close to his chest. 

“What the hell, Mina?” he asks, trying to calm his heart as he turns in his chair to face her. She stands up and pops her hip out with a pout. Sero and Kirishima loom just a few feet back, watching him. Sero looks amused, but Kirishima just looks worried. 

“You’ve been in love with Shinsou since first year,” she says. Which is true. He can’t exactly deny that, but he doesn’t react, raising an eyebrow. Waiting. She throws her hands up in the air with a sigh. “It’s been ten years, Kami! You can’t pine like this forever. You’re just hurting yourself at this point.” 

Denki pinches the bridge of his nose. He wants to tell them. He’s wanted to tell people for years, but he knows what Hitoshi’s life is like. What is work is like. He’s not going to throw him into the spotlight like that. Not with the squad’s agency getting so much attention since Bakugou became the #2 hero. Still, the silver ring hanging around his neck gets heavier. He wants to reach for it, but he refrains. Instead he laughs, smiling just a little too wide.

“Mina, I appreciate it, but I really--” he starts, but Kirishima steps forward. His eyes are so sympathetic and it makes Denki’s stomach twist. 

“We’re worried about you, dude.” He gently places a hand on Denki’s shoulder, which Denki doesn’t shake off, even though he really just wants to get out of his conversation as quickly as possible. He chuckles, trying desperately to lighten the mood as his smile shrinks a little.

“And I get that. I really, really do.” 

“Do you?” Sero asks, looking far less amused now. They all look so sympathetic and for just a second he wishes that his friends cared a little less. Just so that they wouldn’t spend so much time worrying about him. “We just want you to be happy. And...it doesn’t seem like you are.” 

Denki’s smile turns soft and genuine as he slumps his shoulders and shakes his head. 

“No, I’m happy,” he says. All three of them look like they want to refute that, but he turns back to them. “I really am. I swear. Right now...this is just for the best.” 

“What’s for the best?” Kirishima asks. Denki sees Bakugou enter the room, take one look at the group and roll his eyes as he waits by the door. Denki bites the inside of his cheek. Hitoshi will probably be annoyed at him, but he speaks anyway. 

“I’ve...already told him how I feel,” he says. Not technically a lie. He tells Hitoshi how he feels every day. Mina’s eyes widen, leaping forward to grab Denki’s shoulders and shake him. 

“Seriously?” she asks, shaking him faster. “And you didn’t tell us?”

Denki shakes his head, looking to the side. 

“It’s...complicated,” he says. Bakugou scoffs from the door and Denki tries very hard not to flinch. 

“What does that mean?” Sero asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Denki really needs to get out of this conversation, but he knows it’s been coming for months. Years, even. Denki sighs. 

“It’s just...not a good time,” he says. “Hi--Shinsou’s underground and I don’t want to throw him into the spotlight. It would be really hard for him to work if his quirk becomes common knowledge.” At least that’s the truth. Sero frowns as Mina glares. 

“Did he tell you that?” she asks. Denki shakes his head. 

“No! He didn’t say that, I...made the decision on my own,” he says. “I love him. And I can wait for him.” 

“So you’re just putting your life on hold until he decides he’s ready?” Sero asks. Denki’s really messing this up. He shakes his head again. 

“It’s not like that!” 

Kirishima, Sero, and Mina start talking at the same time and it’s not until Bakugou grabs him by the arm and yanks him out of the room that he realizes he doesn’t know what any of them said. Bakugou looks him up and down before rolling his eyes, coming to a stop by the front doors of the agency. 

“You know that you’re the only one who cares about keeping your relationship a secret, right?” he asks. Denki frowns. The others didn’t follow them, so he deflates, leaning back against the wall and reaching up to clutch at his wedding ring, hanging on a chain around his neck. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Eyebags is only playing along with this secret marriage shit because you want it. You get that, right?” 

“I’m doing this for Hitoshi.” 

“Yeah, but he didn’t ask you to.” 

“You don’t get it, Kacchan.” 

Bakugou slams his fist on the wall beside Denki’s head and he jumps, meeting Bakugou’s bright eyes. He’s angry, but he also looks worried. Denki tries not to think about it. Too many people are worried, too many people are upset and it's his fault.

“Then explain it to me.” 

“Hitoshi spent his whole life wanting to be a hero and being told that he couldn’t,” Denki says. Bakugou narrows his eyes, losing patience. “He’s establishing himself and he’s a good hero.” 

“He can’t be a good hero and be publicly married to you?” Bakugou snaps and Denki shrinks. 

“I’m...too public. All his work as an underground hero would be set back because of me. And I won’t let that happen.” 

Bakugou growls, fist tightening beside Denki’s head. 

“This is gonna bite you in the ass, Pikachu.” 

“I appreciate your unwavering support, Kacchan,” Denki says, slipping away from Bakugou and stepping out the front doors. He’d changed into civilian clothes before his impromptu interrogation, but he left his jacket when Bakugou dragged him out of the room. He shivers. It’s not freezing, but the autumn breeze this late at night isn’t pleasant. He crosses his arms and picks up his pace. 

Bakugou is the only one who knows that he and Hitoshi have been together since high school. He was their witness when they got married five years ago, too. Hitoshi had been skeptical, but Denki knows how good he is at keeping secrets. The only other people who know are Hitoshi’s parents. And his sister. If those parents happen to be two of their teachers from high school, well, Denki’s had a decade to come to terms with Aizawa being his father-in-law.

He shakes his head, walking faster. He just wants to be home.

continue on AO3

#kamishin #shinkami #shinkamiweek2020 #kaminari denki #shinsou hitoshi #my writing #fanfic #bnha #mha #hurt/comfort #blood #violence #major character injury #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #jdwrites #bakugou katsuki #ashido mina #sero hanta #kirishima eijirou