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heyidkyay · 10 months

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I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twenty-Seven

A/n: Hey! 27's here, sorry for the long wait, took a break whilst on holiday and then I lost all motivation. But here it is and so full of fluff and stuff too! I'm not sure where this'll lead in truth, if it even will, but I'm grateful to everyone who's shown the series some love! Hope you like the update:) No warnings on this one I think, only mention is that there may be some more terrible Spanish written in here, so I apologise beforehand to all fluent speakers, I'm sorry! Also we're starting with a Matty pov, which will then switch and stay in the first person, enjoy! X

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Masterlist

—MATTY’S POV—

He was stood in the doorway, see. Just watching, observing the way she carefully moved about the bedroom, lost in her own head as she typically was most days. He could visibly see the cogs ticking about in there, the endless train of thought she’d plopped herself down on. But she puttered about still, getting ready for, well, God only know’s what. But he had an inkling.

She glanced up at him through the mirror she had sat on the dresser and he flashed her a squinted smile, arms folded across his chest, body propped up against the door's frame.

“Gonna stand there all afternoon, creep?” She teased.

Matty rolled his eyes and moved across the floor to join her, eyes flitting briefly over the makeup she had laying about. “Might do, got a problem with that?”

She chuckled and shook her head faintly in return, fiddling with a necklace she couldn’t quite clasp with her cast still on.

“Here, lemme.” Matty motioned towards her and grasped the thin silver chain from her hands before pivoting her back around, the two of them facing the mirror now. He spoke quietly as he looped it over her head and around her neck, tinkering with the clasp, “So where you off to then?”

Those lovely eyes of hers fluttered downwards and he caught the slight quirk of a smile in the glass. He had to hide his own.

“Just out with George.” She admitted softly and looked up at him again then, as though she wanted to read his reaction to it.

He really had to dim his grin now, instead opting to fiddle with the finicky clasp of the necklace she’d had since forever, because it seemed he’d been correct in his hidden assumption.

Not that it’d been much of a secret though, fucking surprised that half of Tenerife hadn’t heard the pair of them roaring at each other late last night. But he figured that they'd somehow needed that, to air out forgotten wounds and make anew. Probably still had a long way to go though- and he’d very much be watching George’s every move along the way- but he was glad for the change in direction. It’d been a long time coming.

He hummed and let the necklace fall around her collar once he'd caught the latch, before pushing her hair forward and dropping his chin to rest atop her shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror, “You nervous?”

She released a shaky sort of breath around a sweet smile, fingers coming up to play with the tiny hummingbird the necklace held. “Why’d you ask that?”

He shrugged a single shoulder and smirked at her in the reflection, throwing an arm around her too for good measure. “Good thing, nerves. Make you feel like you’re living, innit? Like you’re doing something right.”

Her eyes narrowed but she was still smiling at him, even as she released the chain to childishly flick the side of his head, “Maybe, but you’re making them worse right now.”

Matty only laughed and pulled away when she walked over to where she had a couple shoes lying about. “How? I’m just bein’ nice!” He retorted in defence, “And besides, we both know you could probably dye his pubes bright orange and he’d say thank you. Sad how in love the kid is with you.”

She rolled her eyes at him with a slight scoff, deciding to ignore him and instead ask, “What do you reckon then, trainers or sandals?”

Flopping down onto the already made bed, Matty hummed as he looked between the pair, “Where’re you headed?”

“Not a hundred percent, out to eat maybe?”

Matty kissed his teeth in thought, “G will probably plan something a bit more than that. Go with the trainers, just in case.” There was a wrinkle between her brows even as she went along with his choice and he withheld a heavy sigh, “Or just go with whatever you think’s best, ey?” Women!

“Nah, ’s not that. Just...” She fiddled with her shoelace, but Matty knew better than to offer to help her with them these days, easier to just let her do it at her own pace. And he knew that now, same way he knew he’d have to go about awaiting on a prolonged answer. She sighed quietly to herself after a minute, having finally collected the right words, he assumed. “I don’t know, made it sound like it’s a date or summat.”

Now it was his turn to fucking frown. “What, is it not then?” He prodded as he propped himself up onto his hands to look over at her.

She shrugged, all timid-like and just not her. “Dunno.”

Matty dragged his tongue across the inside of cheek and under his bottom lip before he huffed loudly and jumped up off the bed, her head snapped up towards him as he did.

“Where’re you goin’?” She questioned him, but he reckoned she already had a feeling- they’d both known each other far too long to not.

“To fucking ask the twat.”

“Matty, don’t you dare!” He heard her call out just as passed over the threshold, heard her continue to repeat herself too before she stumbled out onto the landing to chase after him. But he didn’t care, muttering about how he’d have to ‘smash fuckin’ heads together to make people see sense these days’ and 'forced into doing bloody everything around here’.

“Matty!” She repeated in a hissing sort of tone from somewhere behind him, but he was already barreling into George’s room without knocking or a care to level his bandmate with a put-upon glare.

“Right!” He proclaimed outright, catching the attention of said idiot messing about with his hair nervously in the mirror, “G, mate, is this a date you’re taking our Birdie out on today or not? ‘Cause if we could just settle this whole thing now then I reckon we’d all be able to go about things a bit easier, no?”

His blunt tone and question had George faltering in utter surprise and then glancing between himself and the girl, wearing only one shoe, stood in his doorway looking just as sheepish as him. Matty rose both brows at the pair and let out a heaving sigh when neither spoke a word.

“Fucks sake. George!” He demanded and was finally gifted the attention he so deserved- these two, a right pair of muppets.

George fish-mouthed for a split second, alarmed eyes darting between them both, but he nodded as he swallowed thickly. “Yeah, um yes. At least, I'm hoping.”

Matty flew his hands up praisingly, “Thank fuck!” He exclaimed and then turned towards the other nuisance in his life, “Right, now B, you down for this date or are you gonna crush the poor knob’s heart?”

The girl snorted and Matty noted that a faint flush stained her cheeks as she dipped her head, but she was still smirking over at the giant idiot stood in the corner, a shoe dangling from her hand.

Matty grinned at the both of them and then moved to leave the room, “Good! Right! Glad we got that debacle all cleared up. What would you lot do without me, hey?” He shot her a sly wink as he passed by, feeling very smug if he did say so himself, and just hoped that the two of them could cope for another couple of hours without him.

—

It was strange, this void we were sitting in. Quiet. Nervous really, but not the bad sort. Just this buzzing energy that surrounded the both of us in the backseat of this cab together.

George kept shooting me quick glances, almost afraid to linger but unable to hold his stare ahead. It was making me all jittery, the kind of feeling most tended to get when you were with someone new and you were excited to see where it would head. But G and I, we’d never had that the first go around. He'd been a stranger, a part of the band, a friend next, and then we were together.

It sounded simple, wording it like that, though it'd been anything but.

Still, this buzz was sweet and palpable. It had a hold on my breath, as well as my mind. It was fucking thrilling.

“¿Lleva usted mucho tiempo en España?” The cab driver questioned, breaking the silence that had only been ebbed by the low hum of the radio and the outside traffic. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and I smiled.

“A mí más que a él, pero sólo durante unas semanas.” I replied, gaze drifting towards George for a moment when I felt his eyes on me, I was glad when he didn’t glance away again. “¿Desde cuándo es taxista?”

The cabby hadn’t known much English when he’d pulled up outside of the villa, so there had been evident relief written into the quirk of his smile when I'd realised and answered him in Spanish. He’d been trying though throughout the drive, for George’s sake I realised, who had gifted the man his phone once we'd entered so that I’d be none the wiser of our destination.

“Uh, few years.” The driver answered me as he pulled out of another side street. “Siete y medio?”

I hummed around another smile, “Seven years is a long time! You enjoy it?”

He nodded, flashing me an understanding grin. “Sí, sí! Mucha gente maravillosa.”

“¿Muchas historias que contar?”

He laughed in retort, flicking the indicator downwards. “Many secrets, too.” He indulged.

George was wearing this bemused smile beside me, eyes squinted as they travelled between the driver and myself, but he seemed content enough to just sit and listen in on our conversation.

“Like what?” I questioned the man, leaning in a little closer in my seat in hopes that he’d divulge a bit more.

I was pleased when he did, went on to tell me a few myriads about the travellers he’d picked up on drives, as well as a few of the familiar locals. One man had brought along his pet parrot, though it hadn’t been caged, just stationed on his arm, and the guy had said nothing more about it. Only spoke a few words about where he was headed and then spent the rest of the journey whispering to the bird, his eyes almost crazy. Our driver had said that it’d put him on edge but he hadn’t been able to help his hysteric laughter once he’d finally dropped the passenger off at some banana boat rental place.

Another, was with this older woman. He’d thought nothing much of this blonde who'd climbed into his cab outside of a bar one night, figured she was just headed home from meeting with friends or family, but it'd been nothing of the sort. Instead she’d asked to be dropped off outside of this crappy, rundown hotel on the edge of town and said she was meeting up with a ‘client’. In the shortened version of his story, she’d actually been a prostitute and had many a story of her own to tell him on the way over, having been in the game nearly twenty years. One involved the time she’d had to hide an eight ball of coke where the sun didn’t shine. She’d then gone on to offer to show him exactly she she’d done it in the back of his cab, but he’d been too shocked to speak. Even so, the woman had still flashed him her arsehole before getting out and paying her tab.

I was chuckling away to myself as the driver finished up with his latest tale. I'd been a translator of sorts for both him and George, who was now unable to help his laughter too it seemed, all of us pleasantly pleased by the joyful atmosphere that'd been created. So lost in our conversation that I was honestly surprised when the car rolled to a stop on the side of the road, so slowly I’d barely even noticed until the man had turned back to face us.

"Sin embargo, a pesar de lo divertidas que fueron esas personas, creo que este viaje fue uno de mis favoritos." The cabbie smiled, his eyes kind.

I murmured a repeat of what he’d said to George and the drummer mimicked the warm words back to the man, claiming to feel a similar way. I believed him, too, G had been all over the world, probably met more cab drivers than anyone else I’d ever met, but the expression he wore then was too genuine to be anything other.

“Ustedes dos han sido encantadores de conducir,” The man acknowledged, glancing between us. “Thank you for listening, yes?”

I gifted him a large grin as George and I steadily made for the door, “Thank you for telling us. Ha sido un placer conocerle.”

“Sí, y tú, querida.”

George handed him some euros through the driver’s side window and the man patted the back of his hand in thanks as he accepted the cash. “Muchas gracias. Mantenerse seguro y cuida de ella, ¿vale?” I heard the man say and George chuckled whilst nodding his assent.

“I’ll try. Thank you, man.”

And then the cab begun to pull away and George and I were left- hang on, where the hell had we been left?

“Where are we?” I asked the same man, squinting as I raised a hand over my face to shield my eyes from the hot sun, wanting to glance about. There wasn’t much surrounding us, just a single row of brightly coloured houses on a quiet little street littered with palms.

My gaze found him again when he failed to answer. He was stood across from me, still stuck in the same place he’d taken since having stepped out of the cab, now though he wore a cheeky smile. “Truth?”

I lingered on the term and then bit my lip, before nodding once.

George tucked his hands into the shorts he was wearing, blue they were, and had sunglasses atop his head that didn’t move even as he turned it to the left. “I have not a fucking clue.”

He started laughing when he saw the way my face instantly dropped.

“George. Be serious right now, ‘cause I swear to God.”

The idiot only continued to laugh, though it was practically a snicker now, as he glanced back at me. “I’m not gonna lie and say I know exactly where we are, that I could probably get us back to the villa if I really tried, but that’s not me, is it? So, what I will tell you, is that I paid Ross a stupid amount of money to find us a secluded enough beach so that we wouldn’t be bothered, and then drag some shit down here so that it’d be set up for when we arrived.”

I blinked at him. There must’ve been about a foot or two of distance separating us- seemingly planned- and so I found myself stepping off the curb to close it. George looked a little apprehensive the nearer I grew and I saw the way his shoulders hunched a tad as though he was expecting a slap or something of the sorts.

Instead, I simply stopped just shy of his nose, now toe to toe, and glanced up at him.

“How much we talking here?”

George exhaled an amused chuckle through his nose, “That’s what you choose to focus on?” I raised a brow and he relented. “A lot, because he’s a twat and I’m gone enough on you to do just about anything to make this day perfect. Yeah?”

I found myself withholding a very apparent smile upon hearing that, which only made him that more nervous, which entail then had him rambling to save himself.

“I know it’s stupid, yeah, but Ross, he’s smart, ain’t he? And I figured that he’d want this to be nice for us- for you, I mean. And Matty and Hann they’d’ve botched this right up if I'd've asked them. Like could you imagine? Ad would’ve had us on some fucking boat sailing off somewhere romantic, forgetting that you get motion sickness and I hate being stuck with fuck all to do- I mean, after all that water, what else is there, innit? Then Matt, he’d’ve either gone over the top with it all, or gotten a right laugh out of it. So, yeah, Ross had been my only option, really. And I knew I could trust him to tell me if I was playing a tit, if all this wouldn’t be something you’d want, but he didn’t and so, here we are.”

He forced a grin he obviously didn't feel and scratched at the jut of his jaw.

Giving in, I finally cracked that smile I’d been hiding and released an airy titter when his whole being relaxed.

“Where’s this beach then?” I questioned him, hands linked behind my back as I pushed myself up onto my tiptoes, glinting eyes finding his. He knocked his head one way and then rolled his lip together whilst watching me.

“Somewhere over there, I think.”

“Think?” I challenged with a small smirk, he hummed. “Reckon you can lead the way then?”

I inhaled at the way his eyes roamed the entirety of my face, like he was taking in every inch of it that he could. My head shot downwards when I felt his fingers graze the skin of my forearm, I let it drop from behind my back and swallowed when our hands slipped together.

“If you’ll let me.” Was all he said, and I nodded quietly before I let him lead us out and away from the road.

We travelled down a lengthy little alleyway slotted between a pair of tall houses, one terracotta, the other a pale yellow, and came across a slanted cliffside. It was there that we discovered a painted gate that led to a set of stone steps leading down, down, down onto a grassy verge that soon trailed into thick golden sand.

I’d kicked my shoes off the second I could and breathed in when my feet finally touched the warm sand. George’s hand never left mine all the while and together we waltzed down the length of the beach, murmuring to one another in the breeze whilst the sea washed away our footprints.

It was just after George had almost tried to trip me up and spin me further into the ocean that something up ahead caught my eye. A smoky trail that danced high in the sky and was coming from a small fire-pit that had been lit on the sand. I must’ve stopped pretty abruptly because George frowned at me before a smile graced his features.

“Cool, ain’t it? My idea that, just so you know, in case Ross tries to rob any of the credit.”

I blinked a couple times, taking in the scene set out before us, and then looked up at him. “You planned this?” I asked as he continued to lead me closer.

There’d been an oversized blanket spread out, held down by a couple rocks at either corner, it homed this wicker basket that sat in its centre. An old radio with an antenna as long as a Wolfhound’s tail perched by the flickering firelight too, practically as old as the song it sang.

“Sacrifice, really?” I pondered aloud, a happy smile limning my lips as I turned to glance over at George, who merely shrugged in turn.

“Figured everyone loves a bit of Elton.”

I chuckled, “And what’s in there?” I asked, gesturing over towards the basket.

“Food and some other shit.” George answered me. I shook my head and mimicked his stupid reply under my breath, earning myself a playful shove. “You know what I mean.”

“A picnic then? George Daniel who ever claimed you weren’t a cliche!”

“Piss off.” George laughed, “I can just chuck this all out you know, then all this effort gone will have gone to waste.”

I feigned a pout, “Poor Ross’ll be so disheartened.”

He narrowed his eyes at me then, done with all my needless teasing now it appeared, and I wailed in sudden surprise when he lifted me up off my feet and tossed me over his shoulder.

“George!”

“Nah, reckon I’ll keep the cliche picnic and nice little blanket I set out, let the radio play, and just sod you off instead. Sea’s big enough for you to get lost in and, if I remember rightly, you quite like to swim.”

“George, I swear!” I shouted through my laughter, thumping his arse with my one good hand. “Put me down, now!”

George paused just short of the shore for a second and hummed theatrically. “You willing to apologise then?”

I scowled and he must’ve sensed it, even with my head hanging just short of his hip, because his body moved with a chuckle.

“What was that, lovely? Can’t quite hear anything yet.”

I huffed, figuring a half-arsed apology was better than getting my cast wet. Because we both knew he'd do it. “Sorry for making fun of your picnic.”

“Come again, can’t hear you over the wonderful sound of the sea. These waves are something else, I tell you, you seeing ‘em too?”

George yelped when I pinched the back of his leg in retaliation and I laughed even as he treaded further into the water.

“I said sorry! I'm sorry! Now take me back, you giant prat!”

Thankfully he did and I was breathless when he placed me back down on the blanket.

“Alright there, Birdie?” He smirked at me and planted his hands on his hips whilst I flipped him off and staggered over to have a nose in the basket. He laughed as he followed behind me, “Come on, B. I was only messin’.”

I hummed and peered over at him when he settled down on the blanket too, “So was I. This is really nice, G. You didn’t have to, you know.”

He grew a little sheepish then I reckon, because he looked off into the horizon to hide his face from view. “Wish I could’ve done more in truth.”

I rolled my eyes but gasped when I caught sight of the batch of tiny chocolates tucked away in the very bottom of the basket. “How the fuck did you manage to find these this time of year?”

George chuckled at my childlike excitement upon finding the Mini Eggs and shuffled in closer to unwrap the packet I’d been struggling with. “Man of many talents me.”

I shook my head in disbelief and thanked him when he handed the chocolate eggs back to me. “No, really. I need to know ‘cause I want to take a stash of these back to England with me.”

I offered him up one but he just shook his head before leaning back on his elbows. “Can’t. Didn’t buy them here.” He told me, and I tilted my head in confusion. He shot me a brief smile before he wrinkled his nose. “Brought ‘em with me, didn’t I?”

My forehead pinched and I shuffled in place to bring my knee up to rest my arm on. “What do you mean, you find them at the terminal or something?”

George just shook his head, eyes grazing the shoreline. “Got drunk a couple of weeks before last Christmas. I mean, like off my head, couldn’t remember fuck all when I woke up, drunk. Right?” I hummed, waiting for him to continue on. “And well, a couple of days before Christmas finally rolled around, I got a knock at the door, didn’t I? Confused as to what the fuck it could possibly be, hadn’t ordered anything to the house, everything I had had gone straight to the studio, but I opened it up anyway, figuring it might’ve been from my dad or something, and was met with the sight of like, a 5kg bag of Mini Eggs”

I snorted, unable to help myself, and raised my hand to cover my mouth. “Why?” I couldn’t help but ask, and this was when he sort of shuttered.

I watched as George purse his lips before blowing out a large breath, still looking anywhere but me.

I forced out a small chuckle, “G? What, is it really that bad? Were the Mini Eggs just a cover for some sort of drug smuggle or something?”

George’s mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile. “Imagine... The Sun would have a right field day with that, wouldn’t they.”

I popped another egg into my mouth and allowed it to melt a tad before knuckling his shoulder, “Tell me.”

He sighed and then groaned as he shifted over onto his side. “Before we broke up, a bit before your birthday, I kept on thinking over and over about what to get you for it, yeah? And you’d complained about not having these things all year round, or something of the like. It wasn’t long after things had all gone to shit between us that I’d managed to drink myself stupid trying to escape my own head, just to stop thinking about how much I’d fucked up with you. But even the drink couldn’t help.”

He snorted quietly to himself, as though he was telling an inside joke only he knew about, fingertip grazing the pattern in the blanket beneath us. “Ended up ordering you the chocolates a year later anyway, didn’t I? Even pissed out of my head I can’t seem to ever escape you.”

I chewed away quietly to myself, not sure how to take his story in truth. It was difficult to swallow past the idea of him wasting away like that, drinking and doing whatever else just to get through, just to avoid me. I toyed with the sweet packet I held as I did. But ultimately decided to take it on the chin, make light of it. Because there was bound to be more tidbits like this shared from the both of us in the future, so why hold onto them and feel ashamed?

“So, all I’m hearing is that, somewhere back home, you’ve got a massive stash of Mini Eggs just waiting for me?”

George laughed, a breath of relief rippled out of him, “Sure. Well, not quite. Good portion of it's gone now-”

I cut him off with a hurt shout, “What do you mean, gone?”

“If you’d let me finish,” He went on to say, shaking his head at me playfully, but there was something behind his eyes that told me he was grateful for the out he’d been given. I waved a hand and gestured for him to hurry along. He rolled his eyes, not unkindly. “Christ. As I was saying, it’d been a couple days before Christmas, I was lonely and fucking depressed, wallowing away in Ross’s smelly flat most of the time, and they’d just been sat there, hadn't they? So I’d stuck on the Godfather-”

“One or two?”

He groaned, helpless to my ongoing interruptions. “Two, obviously.” And I hummed my quiet approval. “Any-fucking-way, I ended up just eating them as I watched the film.”

“Isn’t it like three and half hours long?”

“Are you gonna keep interrupting me every time I speak?”

“Might do.” I shrugged, fighting back a smile.

He released a breathy laugh, “Figured. But yeah, almost that long. So by the time it’d ended I could hardly bare to look at another fucking egg again. Had to have Ross come and take them from me and ended yucking up in his downstairs loo, which he wasn’t too happy about.”

I giggled then plucked another chocolate from the bag to hold out towards him, “Even now?” He grimaced and shoved my hand away. I laughed harder, “Come on, G. They’re so good!”

“No, go away.” He said, chuckling as he rolled onto his back to escape me.

I paused and had a thought hit me. Hastily I moved onto my knees to crawl over to where he was spread out, and he watched me with a furrowed brow, one hand tucked up behind him to cushion his head.

“So I suppose that means you won’t be up for a kiss then, yeah?” I provoked as I popped another chocolate into my mouth, practically towering over him now. I saw the way his throat bobbed around a swallow.

“I mean, that’s different, ain’t it?” He tried, squinting into the sun above me whilst I smirked, baring down on one of his angled knees.

“No, I don’t think it is.” I shook my head, and I was being very brave here with my next move, because I hardly even thought about it as I swung my left leg over his torso to settle over him, leaning in close, one hand fisted in the sand above his head. “‘Cause it must be the taste, yeah? That sets you off. I’d probably have to brush my teeth or something before you even thought about wanting to kiss me, right?”

I was playing him like a fiddle and we both knew it.

Almost cautiously his fingers came to brush against the skin of my outer thigh, I tried not to outwardly react but his touch alone set me alight.

“Could always see though, couldn’t we?” He defended and I glanced down to his lips, parted ever so lightly, a breath away from my own.

It was then that I sat back up and rolled off onto the blanket next to him like nothing had happened. “Best not risk it.” I quipped and the laugh I’d kept at bay upon seeing the face he'd made was forced out of me when he all but threw himself on top of me, grinning as he shook his head in utter disbelief.

“Why’re you so nasty to me, B?” He murmured into the tiny space that separated us once more. “Huh?” He pressured as he brushed his nose against mine, “When I’ve done all this too.”

I smiled, this small fond thing that sent him grinning, and wrapped my legs around his waist to keep him close. “I already said thank you for the picnic.”

“Did you?”

I hummed sweetly, and for the third time since George had flown out to see me, I kissed him.

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fakegingerrights · 9 days

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For all my friends I know IRL and those that want to enjoy a bit of my daily chaos, let me present to you:

OUT OF CONTEXT QUOTES FROM THE ASTRONOMY CLASSROOM

(Discussing why they need to recover your body in antarctica)

Teacher: - But anyways, death aside- (Goes into particle physics)

@renon4224: Hold up, what?

Teacher: Well if you die in antarctica your body will be dissected to find out why you died.

@renon4224: Then why aren’t we researching the sahara for the extreme heat?

Teacher: If you die in the sahara you will be eaten before we find you. NOW BACK TO THEORETICAL PHYSICS-

---

Ginger (During a test): Does Nano stand for nine zeros or nine decimal places?

Teacher: Shhhhhhhh

Ginger: But-

Teacher: Holds up nine fingers and nods

Ginger: …Helpful. Very helpful.

---

@endo-bunny: (Chilling in the room before she goes to class) Teacher, if you could be any kind of penguin what kind would you be?

Teacher: Hopefully a dead one, that sounds like a miserable existence.

---

Teacher: There is one shape that works in the arctic, and that is Round™. If the animal is not imitating a sphere, there is something wrong with it.

---

(Arguing about the shape of a galaxy)

@silnebula: Its a penguin! The general shape is a penguin!

Ginger: Its clearly a hummingbird!

@silnebula: No, that’s a penguin!

Ginger: @silnebula look at the breast. If your penguin is that skinny your penguin is dead.

---

Ginger: If you didn’t obsessively research spaghettification, what sort of childhood did you have?

@renon4224: My mom died.

---

Ginger: So basically, somebody gave the scientists crayons and we can’t take them away.

Teacher: …Yeah pretty much.

---

Ginger: (Discussing the Nice model) So basically, Jupiter and Saturn are fighting and Uranus and Neptune went and made a mess in the ball pit

Teacher: And probably lost their anonymous sibling forever along the way, yes. And then Jupiter started stealing all the toys and wouldn’t give them back.

---

Ginger: …Why does Jupiter look microwaved?

---

Teacher: Yeah that was a big contribution to WWII, the Soviet Union wanted the deepest hole and gave us the middle finger over this.

Ginger: 𝅘𝅥𝅮My hole’s bigger than yours is𝅘𝅥𝅮

---

Teacher: I don’t make the rules. If you don’t like them then topple the IAU’s dictatorship.

Class Clown: They can’t be dictators if they’re dead

@silnebula: NO.

---

Class Clown: But if you come to school sick you’ll get all the kids sick

Teacher: Didn’t you ever learn how to share?

---

Class Clown: Are you going to keep this out on the counter?

Teacher: Nobody has died from it yet. (It’s a small newton’s cradle.)

---

Teacher: Only two cars and three students were hit by the train while I was there.

Physics Student: …What?

Teacher: Sacrifices must be made to the observatory.

---

@renon4224: Actually, Hel is beautiful on one side

Ginger: And freezing cold on the other.

@renon4224: Isn’t that just the definition of a teenage girl?

---

Ginger: VENUS IS A PLANET! IT SHARES NOTHING BUT THE NAME WITH THE GOD

@renon4224: LOOK AT HOW HOT SHE IS THOUGH!

---

Ginger: Let’s justs steal metal from Venus’s atmosphere!

Teacher: There are better things to shield with than lead.

@renon4224: We can’t have children eating the spaceships.

---

@renon4224: How would you feel if you had to genetically modify your kids!

Smart Kid: That’s what orphans are for.

---

Principal: How’re we doing today?

@renon4224: Smart Kid wants to modify orphans and put them on mars.

Ginger: We’re turning the foster system into aliens.

---

Ginger: That’s why you build a ring out of the junk in orbit

Teacher: Ah yes. A space station made out of screwdrivers, bolts, and toilets.

@renon4224: How does a toilet end up in space?

Teacher: It fell off!

---

Ginger: If I had a nickel for every toilet orbiting the earth, I would have two nickels which isn’t a lot but it's still weird that it happened twice.

---

Teacher: The sand should be cool enough now to return the snake to it.

Ginger: Don’t cook the snake:

Teacher: Why?

@renon4224: Because it’s a beautiful creature!

Ginger: *At the same time* Because they don’t taste good.

---

Teacher: Yeah most chemists don’t consider Beryllium a metal, that’s an astronomy bias.

Ginger: Well does it taste like a metal?

Teacher: …No.

Ginger: Then its not a metal.

@renon4224: How many metals are you eating?!?

Ginger: …

Ginger: Yes.

---

Ginger: Teacher if you keep making us do math we’re gonna make you the next sacrifice to the nearest observatory.

Teacher: *Cackles*

--- Ginger: But chinchillas are cute!

Teacher: Not when they’re filled with flies and maggots. I found food and water and corpses when I came back.

---

Teacher: Chinchillas are just oversized cat food.

---

Teacher: *fumbles his goggles and knocks them across the desk twice, has a glass dish shatter from liquid nitrogen, and turns around just in time to watch the egg he flash froze shatter on the floor and get the still liquid yolk everywhere.*

Ginger: It is not your day, is it.

Teacher: Apparently not.

---

@renon4224: What does a spaghettified planet taste like?

Teacher: Rocks.

Ginger: Hey! That’s my question!

---

Teacher: I’m debating whether or not to inform a student’s parents on his possession or waiting for the second encounter to inform them that they need to call an exorcist.

Ginger: Anyone in our class?

Teacher: No. Sophomore, 6th period. His demons got to him and he was terrorizing his classmates.

Ginger: Huh. Usually he’s at least somewhat stable.

---

Ginger and @silnebula: Discussing Bob (Iputas)’s death in percy jackson and the sadness of it

Teacher: That is not what I think of when I hear the name Bob.

@silnebula: Well what do you think about?

Teacher: Pulls up a picture of mirror mask This?

Collective students: Shrieks and loud sounds of horror. WHAT IS THAT? W H A T I S T H A T?

---

Teacher: So I only have two people with notes today?

Ginger: What about me?

Teacher: You’re not a people, you’re a document.

---

Ginger: Vive la pluto! Make the solarsystem great again!

---

Teacher: There’s always a hole in the sun, that’s what it does.

---

Teacher: Just use Windows+shift+S

Ginger: …I use a mac.

Teacher: Well then your life is worthless.

---

Ginger: Is it ethical? No. But it's funny and you might learn something.

---

Teacher: And what causes magnetic fields in gas giants?

Ginger: … Spinning?

Teacher: Spinning what?

Ginger: … Left.

---

Teacher: I don’t do things with option keys. Options are evil.

---

@renon4224: Can we egg the IAU?

Ginger: … Field trip?

@renon4224: I was kidding-

Ginger: What are they gonna charge us with if they catch us? Biowarfare?

---

Teacher: The IAU is located in Geneva that seems like an expensive trip

Ginger: Oh even better we can break the Geneva convention while we’re there.

Ginger: All we need is a flamethrower.

@renon4224: Ginger we’re not raising Arsonists.

Ginger: (looking at the rest of the class) Too late.

---

Teacher: The last time I did a Kahoot it ended in three concussions and two broken chromebooks. It’s a bad idea.

---

Ginger: So if you had some bad experience with Kahoot but you haven’t said anything about… Jedi? Wait no-

Teacher: Yes, jedi. It was horrible, life alteringly bad experience.

Ginger: I MEANT JEAPORDY!

Teacher:... Also, yes. Bad experiences. Maybe one day I’ll tell you.

---

@renon4224: You had a bad experience with Jedi?

Teacher: Yes. It involved a scary lack of anaethetic. (he never did explain)

---

Ginger: Comments, questions, concerns?

Teacher: … possible institutionalization recommendations.

---

Ginger: (Acting out a scene from a book she read) If you’re going to kill someone, do it outside. Looking at you, (most likely person to murder.)

Ginger: Murders outside only. Got it.

Ginger: (Feigning concern for character change.) Or maybe no murders at all!?!

@silnebula: (Giggling uncontrollably at Ginger’s insanity.)

Teacher: That’s asking a lot.

---

(Person on a video makes a face)

Ginger: Eww. Don’t move your jaw like that.

@renon4224: Fix his face.

Teacher: So aside from the freak on tv-

---

@renon4224: Is Niel deGrass Tyson still alive?

Teacher: Yes.

@renon4224: … I can fix that.

---

Teacher: I have long suspected that if you put a camera on a scientist it warps their brain in unimaginable ways and strange ways.

---

Ginger: Teacher is a strange and eldritch being sent to punish us for our wicked ways.

@silnebula: … Is the punishment math?

Ginger: Probably. And bad grades.

---

Ginger: Why don’t we use the graph if it has more information?

Teacher: Because graphs scare people.

---

Ginger: What does a shrimp have to be depressed about? Did his wife leave him?

---

@renon4224: How does a star have blackbody radiation if its not black?

Ginger: (Exasperated snarling)

@renon4224: Don’t do that, it reminds me of the demon in the closet.

---

Teacher: Nope, all the technetium comes from a thorium cow in California and they milk the cow and get the technetium and send it to hospital.

---

@endo-bunny: Can I eat God?

Ginger: I like my God alive.

@endo-bunny: …I like my God scrambled.

---

Teacher: We ready for more math?

Ginger: I’m ready for a breakdown.

Teacher: Speaking of breakdown, Beryllium-

---

Ginger: Hand me a knife I have a dead guy to thrown down with on the steps of heaven

---

Ginger: Why are you cuddling the skeleton?

Teacher: Because its in my way.

@renon4224: Then move it?

Teacher: Its not that in the way yet.

---

Ginger: Retirement? I just did a report on retirement in JMG!

Teacher: But these ones you don’t have to save money for.

Ginger: What type of 401k does a Star get?

Teacher: Nuclear fusion.

---

Teacher: The sun is actually 40% brighter than it was when the earth was formed.

Ginger: Is that why I burn so easily? I’m a dinosaur?

Teacher: …… (Spraybottles)

---

Ginger: Imagine if aliens are watching us and just. Amused.

Ginger: “Why are the hairless apes screaming into the bottomless pit? Shhh, let them be curious.”

Ginger: “They’re making good progress! They’re a little unsteady, but so far they’ve made it to the edge of their back yard and have found Rocks!”

---

Teacher: When you get into the weirder theories for black holes, things get… strange.

Ginger: Eldritch gods?

Teacher: Yes.

---

Ginger: I want to become one with the fuzzball

@renon4224: We cannot feed the fuzzball with our bodies.

Ginger: I’ll feed the fuzzball with your body then sacrifice myself to the Fuzzball

@silnebula: I want to be sacrificed!

Class Clown: We can feed Smart Kid’s Orphans to the fuzzball.

@renon4224: No! We’re not feeding the orphans to the Fuzzball.

Class Clown: Who is gonna miss them? Their parents?

---

Teacher: If we get a turtle we can put the turtle corpse skeleton in there with it to traumatize it.

---

Teacher: I can fix the Geese’s weight, I have lead.

---

Physics Student: (Pointing at the list for future Zoology creatures) Gargoyles?

@renon4224: That’s for the kids who can’t be trusted around animals

Teacher: Their job is to polish it daily and sacrifice a pidgeon to it daily

@silnebula: Clean the alter of the gargoyle with a toothbrush.

---

@renon4224: If you get geese and goats in the classroom you can eat them when they die!

---

Teacher: Unfortunately, there is no law of conservation of pain. Just because you torture one thing does not mean the torture will come back to you.

@renon4224: …Therefore I can torture you, consequence free?

---

@renon4224: If you kill me to take a slice of my skin, its just carbohydrates

Ginger: Who says we have to kill you?

@renon4224: Well it wouldn’t be given willingly.

Ginger: We can obtain it unwillingly just as well without killing you.

Teacher: That’s what chloroform is for.

#gingerno #gingerwrites #renyno #endono #out of context quotes

9 notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 10 months

Text

Hurricanes / Hummingbirds: VI

Series Synopsis: As the years go by, you find that it is incredibly difficult to survive wars and fight storms, especially when the only thing you have by way of a cursed technique is the blessing of a tiny bird.

Chapter Synopsis: Your childhood is ended when you lose someone you never thought you would.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x Female Reader; slight Kento Nanami x Female Reader; slight Satoru Gojo × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.6k

Content Warnings: swearing, enemies/rivals to lovers, character death, canon-typical violence, angst, gore, original characters included

A/N: the only thing i like more than creating found families is destroying them

Winding your arm back, you threw a rock the size of your fist directly at Gojo. It slowed down in the field of his Infinity, and he plucked it out of the air with a wide grin.

“It looks like it’s working pretty well,” you said. A little less than a year after the events with the Star Plasma Vessel and Hinode’s death, in the heat of the late summer sun, Gojo had finally mastered his Infinity.

“Try your technique on me,” he said. “Let’s see if it can defend against that.”

“Sure,” you agreed readily. “Do you want me to just punch, or should I use the Sword of Syrinx?”

“Might as well use the sword. I know how attached to it you are. You probably couldn’t even take a shit without its help,” he said.

“Very funny,” you said, drawing your sword and activating your technique.

Would you like to use the Hummingbird’s Blessing?

You have been given the Speed of the Hummingbird!

You have been given the G-Force Resistance of the Hummingbird!

You have been given the Maneuverability of the Hummingbird!

As Gojo had worked to improve his control of the Infinity, you had pushed your mastery of your technique. It meant that you had spent much of your time in torpor, recovering energy spent from training too hard, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. You would not be caught off-guard again; you refused to let anyone else die the way Hinode had.

Cursed energy coursed through your veins as you appeared by the motionless Gojo, moving too fast for a normal person to quite comprehend, though it was still nowhere near the top speed you could reach with the Hummingbird’s Blessing active.

You have been given the Dive Power of the Hummingbird!

At the last moment, you used the power in your legs to jump into the air, twisting around so that you could imbue the Dive Power of the Hummingbird into your sword as you brought it down on Gojo. If your strike connected, it would have enough force behind it to not only cut through his entire body but also several feet of rock beneath him.

Just like the stone had, however, you grew impossibly slow as you reached Gojo, the sword almost reaching him but never quite making contact. Dropping to the ground with a thud, you cancelled the technique.

You will now enter the Torpor of the Hummingbird.

You swayed in place. Gojo turned off his Infinity so that you could hold onto his arm, your eyelids drooping as you entered torpor. The familiar blackness took over, but it was more like a blink, passing in a flash. Almost as soon as it came, it was gone again.

“How much time passed?” you said.

“Two minutes,” he said.

“Not bad!” you said.

“And my Infinity is working exactly as it should, even though I haven’t turned it off in so long that it should be completely burnt out by now,” he said.

“Nice,” you said, raising your hand for a high five. He slapped his palm against yours.

“I just have to get my Domain Expansion working without any kinks, and I should be good to exorcise any curse, no matter how powerful,” he said.

That was the crux of it. Satoru Gojo had become, in an unrivaled sense, the strongest. Where once at least Geto could be considered his equal, now, there was no one who could stand beside him, not in any way that mattered. There was not even anyone that could touch him, since his Infinity was all but constantly on.

“I’m sure it won’t be long,” you said as you began to walk towards the bathrooms. “You’ve been pretty quick with everything else. Even Yaga can’t shut up about it.”

Masamichi Yaga was the one who had picked you up when you had arrived in Tokyo. As well, he was the second year teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech, and a notoriously hard-to-impress man. He was the epitome of tough love, so the fact that he was extolling Gojo’s virtues was massively to your friend’s credit.

You no longer felt shy about referring to Gojo as such, as your friend. To be sure, you had not replaced Geto for him, and he had not replaced Haibara and Nanami for you, but it was true that in the past year, you both had become closer.

For him, it was probably because you were the only one who had the time to help him practice with his Infinity. You could not count the amount of things you had thrown at Gojo, the amount of tiny bruises you had caused to bloom on his fair skin nor the amount of minuscule cuts you had bandaged for him in the pursuit of keeping his Infinity automatically on at all times.

For you, it was the fact that he allowed you access to his family’s records. When you went back far enough, you had found one single mention of Hummingbird’s Blessing. Apparently, it was considered one of the great failures of the Gojo clan, as the single other sorcerer who had possessed it was supposed to marry into the family before her untimely death. The records never explained the technique, nor did they identify that sorcerer, so your research ended there, but the fact that the Gojos had coveted it meant that it was powerful enough.

In return for your help with his Infinity, Gojo agreed to aid you in developing Hummingbird’s Blessing, and now, you were companions; or, if not companions, then at minimum training partners. But training partners did not seem like a profound enough distinction for the easy camaraderie you two had developed, so if you ever needed to refer to him, it was only ever as friend.

“Unfortunately, I think this is where we’ll have to part,” Gojo said as you reached the bathrooms. “Unless…?”

“Get away,” you said, going to shove him but finding his Infinity blocking your attempt. He burst into laughter, wiggling his fingers in a wave as he ducked into the men’s bathroom, leaving you to roll your eyes and enter the women’s one.

The steam and the heat of the shower was good for your muscles, which were always a little sore after you used your technique, despite the restorative effects of the torpor. It was a reminder that when your technique was active, you were breaking natural laws. For the most part, your cursed energy and — if you were really pushing yourself — the Sword of Syrinx bore the brunt of the cost, but your muscles would never escape unscathed. It would be wrong if they did.

The first thing you did when you emerged from the shower was head towards the vending machines. You were in the mood to drink something, and there were some coins in the pocket of the sweatpants you had donned in favor of your uniform.

When you got there, you were met with Geto sitting on the bench and staring out the window in thought. Inserting the coins into the machine and punching in the code for the drink you wanted, you waited for it to fall down the slot and then reached in to pull it out. Popping it open, you sat down next to Geto, crossing your legs and taking a sip.

“If I asked you what you were thinking about, would you tell me?” you said. He flinched, turning to look at you in shock. There were heavy purple bags under his eyes, and his lips were cracked and dry, the hollows in his cheeks harsher than you had ever seen them. Frowning, you wondered when he had gotten like this. Or had he always been this way? You weren’t sure. You couldn’t quite picture how Geto had looked in the past anymore.

“I’m not thinking about anything,” he said. You offered him your drink; he accepted it, raising it to his lips and taking a swallow before returning it to you.

“Meditating, then?” you said.

“You could call it that,” he said. “Have you seen Satoru?”

“I was training with him earlier, and then we went to shower, so I’d assume he’s still busy with that. You know how long his routine takes him,” you said. Geto smiled, though it didn’t warm his eyes the way it used to.

“Of course,” he said.

“Did you need him for something?” you said.

“No, someone had come to talk to him, but they left already,” he said. You thought about inquiring further, but it wasn’t really your place, so you just finished off your drink, tossing the empty container in the trash can and sighing in satisfaction when it made it in.

“I should’ve joined a basketball team,” you said. “Oh, well. Sorcery is a fine second option.”

“Second option?” Geto said. “You mean, this isn’t what you really want to do?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye and chose not to respond. “You want a cola or something? I’ll pay.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m not that thirsty, and I’d be a terrible upperclassman if I made you pay for me.”

“Alright,” you said, standing and stretching your arms out, massaging your neck ruefully. “Man, this blows.”

“What happened?” he said.

“Just training and all. Using my technique leaves me achy for a bit,” you said. Geto’s shoulders slumped, and he rested his chin in his hands.

“Why do you even keep using it, then?” he said. You thought about it for a second. You could’ve said that it was for Hinode, or some other such altruistic reason, but that didn’t feel completely correct. It was certainly part of the explanation, but there was something else that you had not quite yet put your finger on.

“If I ever find out for sure, I’ll let you know,” you said. “But for the moment, I should get going. Nanami and Haibara are traveling pretty far for their mission tomorrow, so I want to spend some time with them before they leave.”

“You weren’t assigned to go with them?” Geto said.

“No, it’s just a grade 2 curse. The two of them will be enough to handle it,” you said.

“Right,” he said. “Of course, that makes sense. They’d leave their stronger sorcerers in reserve for when bigger problems arise.”

“When, not if? You seem pretty sure that something bigger will pop up,” you said.

“As long as non-sorcerers are around, leaking their negative emotions as cursed energy, something bigger will inevitably appear,” he said. You arched a brow.

“I didn’t know you were so interested in curse theory,” you said.

“It’s a recent development,” he said.

“Hm,” you said, furrowing your brow. “Well, don’t stay up too late reading, I guess. See you later!”

“See you,” he said, staying on the bench and watching as you walked away.

Once again alone, you mulled over the conversation. Why were you a sorcerer? There were a lot of possible answers. At first, it had been because there was nothing else left for you, but now you had enough control of your cursed energy that you could integrate back into normal society pretty seamlessly. Then, it had been out of tribute to Hinode’s memory, but you had saved enough lives by now that any debt you owed to your teacher had honestly been well paid off.

“Whatever,” you said to yourself as you reached Haibara’s room, which somewhere along the line had been designated as your official hangout spot. “He’s just going through his midlife crisis or something.”

As soon as you opened the door, Haibara was shoving a paper plate with a greasy slice of pizza on it at you. You accepted it and took your usual place on the beanbag he had next to his bed.

“You finally made it!” he said, sitting back down at his desk chair. Nanami, who was on the actual bed, continued to chew on his own slice of pizza, though he spared you a nod in greeting.

“Sorry, I was training with Gojo, and then I got caught up talking with Geto,” you said. “Did you know he’s into curse theory now?”

“He’s always been into technical stuff like that. Why are you surprised?” Haibara said.

“That’s true,” you said. “It’s probably nothing. Are you guys excited about your mission?”

“Excited isn’t the word I’d use for it, no,” Nanami said now that his plate was empty. You wordlessly offered him a napkin, which he used to wipe the oil off of his fingers gratefully.

“I’m excited! It’ll be fun to go somewhere new,” Haibara said. “I wish you could come, though, Y/N.”

Ever since you had begun to utilize Hummingbird’s Blessing in a meaningful way, you had stopped being assigned to missions with Haibara and Nanami. You were considered stronger than them now, often sent on missions by yourself or with older sorcerers such as Yaga. Occasionally, you would even accompany Geto, though that was rare. Although you didn’t use your technique unless you absolutely needed to, just the fact that you had it was enough to push you to a different level from the rest of your classmates.

“Me, too,” you said genuinely. You missed the days when you all had done everything together, when exorcising had been a game and all you wanted to do was make Hinode and the upperclassmen proud. But now, exorcising was a chore and Hinode was dead and you three would never be those kids again. “Let’s ask Yaga to get the higher ups to assign us on the next one together.”

Reminiscing was not a crime. Even if having all three of you on a mission would be excessive, it would still be fun, and you doubted the higher ups would be hugely against it if you promised to be quick.

“Sounds good,” Nanami said.

“Feeling nostalgic?” you said.

“As if. The mission will just be done that much faster if you come along, Y/N,” he said.

“And maybe with us supporting you, you won’t have to go into torpor!” Haibara said. He and Nanami were the ones most affected when you were in that state, staying by your bedside and refusing to do their schoolwork or go on missions until you woke up.

“Oh, speaking of which, I only went into it for two minutes after sparring with Gojo earlier,” you said.

“Really? That’s a major improvement,” Nanami said.

“Of course, my technique wasn’t active for that long, but it did give me an idea,” you said.

“What is it?” Haibara said. You shook your head.

“I’d have to test it out first, but that can be a thought for when you guys are back,” you said.

“Okay, sure,” Haibara said. “I forgot to ask earlier, but do you want us to bring you any souvenirs, Y/N?”

“Souvenirs? I can’t think of anything,” you said.

“Come on, there’s gotta be something you want!” he insisted.

“Give me a second to think about it,” you said, throwing away your empty paper plate.

“One,” he said cheekily. “Okay, that was a second!”

“You are so annoying,” you said. “Bring me back something from a convenience store.”

“You want convenience store snacks?” Haibara said. “That’s really it?”

“Wow, not as demanding as I was expecting,” Nanami said. “Considering what you make Gojo bring back for you…

“That’s because it’s Gojo,” you said. “I know he’s going to go out and do random stuff regardless, so I might as well get something out of it. But I don’t want you guys to waste your time and money on me when you wouldn’t otherwise. So, convenience store snacks will be enough to make me happy.”

“If you say so,” Haibara said. “And you’re fine with watching Sora while we’re gone?”

“No problem,” you said.

“I’d hire a dog sitter, but she really seems to like you,” he said. The dog he had adopted after yours and Hinode’s mission was a fixture at the school now, a friendly face that made the pain of sorcery easier to bear. She could usually be found either wandering the campus or playing with one of Yaga’s cursed puppets, which he readily allowed her to do, and even the most stoic of sorcerers would pet her as they passed through the school.

“Seriously, it’s fine,” you said. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind taking care of her for a bit.”

“You’re the best,” Haibara said.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Nanami said. “If we have to leave early tomorrow morning, we should get to bed.”

“Right, sorry to keep you guys up,” you said, standing and hugging them, first Haibara, then Nanami.

“Good night!” Haibara said.

“Good night,” Nanami echoed.

“Good night, both of you,” you said. “Good luck tomorrow!”

“Thanks!”

You woke up late the next day, the sun streaming into your room as you leisurely stretched before getting up and getting ready. You took your time — after all, classes were cancelled for the day, since there was no point in teaching to only one student.

After eating a nice breakfast of your own, you chatted with Ieri as you fed and brushed Haibara’s dog. It was one of the rare days that there was no one for her to heal, so she lit a cigarette and walked through campus with you and Sora for a bit.

The two of you didn’t talk about anything that deep, but that was what you liked about spending time with her. The weather, what books you were reading, your plans for the weekend, it was all entirely refreshing and normal. Being with Ieri was like being a regular girl, and you appreciated her for it.

After walking with Ieri, you went back to the dining hall and had lunch. Gojo was on a mission, and Ieri and Geto had to attend their afternoon classes, so you played fetch with Sora and then got your homework for the week done.

All in all, it was a lovely, peaceful day. You even did a face mask before showering, and the pain in your body subsided a little as you finally got the chance to relax for the first time in what seemed like ages.

The next few couple of days passed in the same way, but by the third day, unease began to creep in and soil the calm routine. Eventually you could not take it anymore; dropping the ball and apologizing to Sora, you shifted directions so that you were walking, then running, all of the way until you reached Yaga’s office.

“Why aren’t they back yet?” you said.

“I was just about to call you,” he said. “Satoru found them.”

“And?” you said. Yaga pursed his lips and averted his gaze, and the silence was enough of an answer, though it was one you refused to accept.

This was worse than it had been with Gojo. This was a million times worse. You covered your ears so that you didn’t hear Yaga’s explanation, filtering out whatever muffled words made it past the blockade — Haibara…first grade…too strong. You would not comprehend it.

Even Hinode’s death had been bearable. Even that you had survived. Not them, though, anyone but them, you could lose so many other people and make it but you could not bear to part with them. Not yet and not ever.

You slammed the door to the operating room open, narrowly missing being hit by a stool, which crashed into the wall and then bounced to the ground on its side. Geto was there, covering something — you wouldn’t look, you wouldn’t look — with cloth, and Nanami sat on another stool, leaning back, a towel blocking out his vision.

“Nanami,” you said. His jaw clenched at the sound of your voice, but he did not otherwise react. “Nanami, where’s Haibara?”

His hands balled into fists at his side. “Shut up.”

“Where is he?” you said, looking around, trying to figure out where the rambunctious boy was hiding. He did that, he liked to play jokes and pranks, so it wasn’t out of character for him to be messing around with you. Though this was not a particularly funny trick, and nobody around you was laughing. “Geto? Where is Haibara?”

Geto motioned towards the table. You shook your head. He placed a tentative hand on your shoulder, though it was trembling, like he could barely keep himself together.

“That’s not true,” you said. “Why would you say such a thing? Where is he really?”

“It ended up being a grade 1 curse,” Nanami said dully. “They said it was a grade 2, which was why we were sent on the mission without you. But that thing, it was some kind of a local god. We didn’t stand a chance.”

“You should rest now, Nanami,” Geto said. “Satoru will take care of it.”

“Can’t he just take care of everything from now on?” Nanami said before fishing around in his pocket, not even lifting the towel from his face before he tossed something in your general direction. Out of reflex, you reached up and caught it.

It was a small box, wrapped in paper. In the corner were three wide-eyed rabbits, and someone had taken a marker and drawn an arrow to the rabbits, writing us! next to it in a familiar scrawl.

“The convenience store snack you wanted. He picked it out himself. Said the rabbits on the packaging were cute,” Nanami said, abruptly standing and marching out of the room, leaving you and Geto alone with the cloth-covered corpse.

“Is that really him?” you said. He removed the hand which rested on your shoulder and stared at it like it held the answers to every one of his problems.

“Yes,” he said. You reached towards the fabric, and Geto did not try to stop you. Perhaps he knew that you would not believe it if you did not see it for yourself, or perhaps he also wanted to confirm it, like the face might’ve changed in the time it had taken for him to cover it up.

It had not. The face belonged to Haibara, there was no doubt about it, though it was blank and dark and bruised in a way you had never seen. He was so animated all of the time, so happy, that the waxy pallor of death was incongruent. His features had dropped into a frown, which was an expression he would never wear on his own, and there was a bloody streak on the fabric where his torso ended and his legs should’ve begun.

“Why?” you said. “Why did it happen like this? He didn’t deserve it. He was better than all of us. So why?”

Why was he dead and you weren’t?

Geto did not respond. You waited and waited, but he never said anything. He just stood there with you in silence, the two of you burning Haibara’s body into your minds, committing it to memory, the exact shade of his hair, the shape of his lips, the curve of his jaw. Then, he turned the lights off and pulled the cloth up over the corpse once again, patting you on the head and leaving you alone.

A few days later, he, too, was gone.

With both Geto and Haibara missing, something in the school changed irrevocably. Gojo didn’t joke around as much anymore. Nanami never smiled. Ieri went through even more cigarettes than usual. You did not leave your room for many days, and when you finally emerged, it was only because Yaga grew tired of caring for Haibara’s dog and someone had to do it.

“Come, Sora,” you said, whistling to call her to your side. She was whining and pawing at the door to Haibara’s empty room, though when you called her, she reluctantly came. None of you had dared to venture inside ever since that day, but every time you took her out on a walk, she begged to be let in. You didn’t fault her — nobody had told her that her owner was dead. She probably thought he just didn’t want her anymore.

Sometimes, you wished you could give Sora away. She was the only one that was still happy, and caring for a creature so reminiscent of Haibara every day was like ripping open the wound daily anew. And this wound, it was one that not even Ieri could heal. It was a wound you doubted would ever heal, so you should at least get rid of whatever kept opening it for you, but you could not do it. A few times, you had tried, going so far as having a manager drop you off in front of a shelter, but every attempt ended with you sitting on the curb and crying as you held her close to you; she, who was the last thing you had left of him.

You still hadn’t eaten the snack he had bought for you. Probably you never would. It sat on your shelf next to the Sword of Syrinx, collecting dust in its place of honor, the us! and the arrow growing faded with time but never erasing completely. The three rabbits still curled together, frozen in happiness, not knowing that one of their group had vanished forever and left the others shattered.

Nowadays, you and Nanami barely spoke. It was too hard, because every good memory you two had together was tied to Haibara, so beyond formalities and school-related business, you did not talk. The last real conversation you had had with him was right after Haibara’s funeral. You had sat together in front of the headstone, and then Nanami had told you he wished he had been the one to die. He said that Haibara would’ve known how to deal with everything afterwards better. You told him that that wasn’t true and that he was dealing with things fine. He told you to stop lying, so you didn’t say anything else. In such a way, you lost both of your best friends at the same time.

“Go play with Yaga now, alright?” you said to the dog, unclipping her leash and shooing her in the direction of his office. She bounded off willingly, tail wagging all the while, and once you were sure she was gone, you got in the car.

“When should I pick you up?” the manager said when you got out in front of a cafe.

“I’ll call for you,” you said. “But not for a while, so feel free to go back to the school in the meantime.”

He made to argue, but you slammed the car door shut in his face, so he had nothing to do but drive off, leaving you standing there by yourself, without even the Sword of Syrinx to accompany you. Digging into your bag and taking out the book you planned on reading, you stepped into the cafe, inhaling the smell of baked goods and coffee and pretending you were a different person. A person not blessed by a hummingbird. A person who had no one to grieve. That kind of a person.

“Will that be all, ma’am?” the barista said when you had finished telling her your order.

“Yes, thank you,” you said. “Oh, I left my purse at my seat! I’ll go grab it so that I can pay. I’ll be right back.”

Internally kicking yourself for being so careless with your things, you snatched your purse up, relieved it hadn’t been taken by someone else, and then you returned to the counter.

“How much will it be?” you asked, rummaging around for your credit card and then brandishing it in front of you as proof that you had money and hadn’t made up the lie about your purse to disguise the fact that you were broke.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.

“Ah, what?” you said. “I still want my order, though.”

“That man over there paid for you,” she said, pointing behind you. “He’s so handsome, isn’t he? You’re so lucky! If you go over and thank him, I’m sure he’ll definitely ask you out.”

“What?” you said, turning around to see who she was referring to. Your jaw dropped as you made eye contact with him, the wanted mass murderer, the infamous runaway sorcerer, the criminal at large himself.

“Here you go!” the barista said. You were barely aware of yourself taking what you had asked for, your body on autopilot and only regaining some semblance of control when you were face to face with him again.

“Geto,” you said. “What are you doing here? Why did you pay for me?”

“What kind of an upperclassman would I be if I let you pay for yourself while I’m around?” he said, motioning for you to sit across from him. You obliged without complaint.

“You left the school, so you’re not exactly my upperclassman anymore,” you said, crossing your arms, though not before taking a sip of the drink you had gotten.

“If that’s the case, then please call me Suguru,” he said.

“Fine, then. Suguru,” you said. “Let me ask again: what are you doing here?”

“I was in the mood for coffee,” he said, motioning towards his own cup. “For being monkeys, they know their beverages, wouldn’t you say?”

“Monkeys?” you said. He smiled lightly.

“Isn’t that what they are?” he said. “Non-sorcerers, I mean.”

“I see. So that’s how you think of things now,” you said. He was healthier than you had ever seen him. He could be described as happy, even, and you wondered if his new outlook had driven him to actually caring about the world around him, or at least about himself.

“Indeed,” he said.

“Is your plan to enslave all of them or something?” you said with a derisive snort. “Was that what drove your interest in curse theory?”

“I actually mean to kill them,” he said pleasantly. “And yes, it was.”

You gave him a minute, but he made no indication that he was joking. “You’re serious?”

“Certainly,” he said.

“Damn,” you said, shaking your head. “I hope you know that makes us enemies.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “Does that mean you’ll attack me now?”

You considered it before sighing and taking another swig of your drink. “Nope, not this time. It would be rude to attack the person that paid for my stuff.”

“I appreciate your politeness,” he said.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me that day, by the way,” you said. “Ever since Haibara died, it’s been hard to find a point in doing anything.”

This was an improvement. You could say his name without breaking down. Before, even that much made you burst into tears.

“I understand the feeling,” Suguru said.

“That’s how I passed the time. I would lie there and think about it — why was I even fighting? What was the point to being a sorcerer?” you said.

“Did you find an answer?” he said.

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I hadn’t. Actually, I wouldn’t have brought it up at all, but I promised I would tell you if I ever figured it out, and in the name of our old friendship, I’ll honor that promise,” you said.

“I don’t necessarily need to hear it anymore,” he said. “But if you want to tell me, I will listen.”

“There’s a lot of things I could say. I could tell you I’m doing it to protect people weaker than me, or that I want to save others because I could not save Haibara and Hinode. But, would it matter? Saving other people won’t bring those two back. It won’t change anything. It won’t lessen my sadness; if anything, it’ll only increase it, because nobody can save everyone,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said. “I’ll admit that I am a little curious now. If you’re not doing it to try and be a good person, then why?”

“I want to know,” you said. “There’s things I still can’t understand. Why does the Sword of Syrinx like me so much? Why was I born with an extinct technique? What…what is my reason for existing? I’m a person that has never belonged anywhere, not fully. The school is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a home, and it’s also the place I can most likely find answers to these questions, so until such a day comes that my curiosity has been satisfied, I’ll protect it.”

“And then what will you do?” he said.

“I suppose it depends on what those answers are,” you said with a shrug. “I don’t know yet.”

“Do you really think that the higher ups will help you with what you need?” he said. “You’re not as smart as I thought you were if that’s the case.”

“No, of course not. The higher ups help no one but themselves and the clans,” you said. “But…there is someone. There is someone who I’m meant to find, and they will definitely help me.”

“Who?” Geto said. You pushed your empty dishes towards him and smiled.

“I don’t know yet. I think I’ll recognize them when the time comes,” you said. “Anyways, thank you for the food. I’m sorry we’re on opposite sides now. I wish we could be friends still. Is that be possible?”

“I think it would be best for the both of us if I don’t answer that question,” he said with a soft, sad smile. It was about what I had expected, so I wasn’t even upset by it. I just had needed to ask him once before I gave up entirely. “Farewell, Y/N.”

“Farewell, Suguru. Let’s not meet again,” you said, not glancing backwards as you left the cafe.

Your wish came true — you never did see him again, at least not fully. The next time you both crossed paths, he was already dead.

#kashimo x reader #kashimo x you #kashimo x y/n #canon au #reader insert #hurricanes / hummingbirds #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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thescribeoflostmemories · 2 years

Text

The Sweet Fairy and The Bitter Fool; Pas De Deux

(Pierro x Ballerina! reader)

He looks like the type to enjoy Tchaikovsky music. Unedited

Tw: creep watching (just him looking at you too hard while dancing), him touching around (waist, thighs, hands, ect.). Huge ass age gap, Thinking a little too deep (aka imagination going off).

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

Alone you were in all your glory, twirling, prancing in the empty ballroom. It had been several months since you first visit Zapolyarny Palace. Pierro kept a close eye on you to make sure no foul play is afoot. The Fatui agent who was supposed to be stationed at your door ordered by your honorable knight while he's away, though somehow got rather ill yesterday. A painfully average employee who's lucky enough to receive your attention. You had other options until the other Harbingers were too busy with their work. The smile that plastered on your face only soured his mood, though to think the jester himself would rather watch the performance than to use his spare time wisely.

"Oh!" The director of the organization looked at your figure, dressed in a leotard and the short puffy skirt bounced whenever you moved. The outfit itself is a tease to no end, the way those tight fitting clothes hugged your form. Giving the sense of elegance and grace. Nothing but mockery from the voice of his pessimistic side. He's older, while you? You're still young, with a life ahead.

Your attention went to the phonograph that Capitano bought for you to listen to a Snezhnaya classic. You're rather fond of certain artists, it's obvious which music you would rather have. Given that your body would love to dance to it.

You have been gaining a bit of weight as of late. Though you had told Capitano to lessen your meal for the sake of some of your joys in life. It took a bit of convincing and feeding half of your meal to your bodyguard and personal maid since the service is too much.

Part of you is rather saddened that you couldn't fully express what the composer had written, it affected your performance.

Everything's an art with you. With how you'd carry yourself with such compassion, humility, purity even. Pierro truly believed that the will of the Tsaritsa must be done, so that people like you could live in the cryo archon's reign in the new world.

Soft and gentle music emitted from the record player. Little hops to twirls in sudden pause. The older gentleman had thought a little fairy played around the room instead. Your act is reminiscent of a fairy, a fairy so sweet to hide the hidden sorrows that you, the dancer that carried those emotions, had always wondered how artists could possibly grasp and convey each emotion so accurately.

Once you made a full turn and noticed Pierro by the door, you put a halt to the performance.

"P-pierro! My lord, g-greetings, I didn't expect to meet you here.." the thumps of your heart beat like a hummingbird's.

"Carry on little fairy, your ghostly admirers await for you to dance until not only fragile steps have ached but the wings as well. " Your eyebrows furrowed a bit when he said that, poor girl. The complex prose had muddled your thoughts!

"Aren't you a little uncomfortable watching from there? There are some seats available." Trying to be at least respectful to one of the Harbingers that allowed you to be under their care.

"Thank you, pardon the interruption." The Jester starts to step closer.

"Did that little dove fly in and entice you for a round of applause? " He asked, out of curiosity.

" Uh.. Well, Miss Sandrone and Miss Columbina have given me the opportunity to do this. " Replied, unsure of how to talk to him. The loud steps of his shoes echoed, which only intimidated a small thing like you. In contrast to your steps, his were like a team of mighty horses trained and bred for battle.

" Do you like it?" Returning the question. With no words to better fit it, he just nodded.

“I’m glad.” You gave a small smile, probably big enough for only a finger to enter. “Not everyone I used to know liked the idea of dancing. Most would call it unbecoming of a lady.” Oh, he can imagine alright. It would be more than enough to make a person go feral, especially with a precious little fairy like you. He got closer, lessening the space between you both.

"Do you want me to teach you some techniques? Well I don't know much, but I could try and teach you what I know." Your hand outstretched for him, it's a lot smaller than his own gloved covered hand.

With a bit of hesitance, he took yours. “Please tell me if you couldn’t keep up okay?”

Time has passed as none knows what time is. Pierro worked up a bit of sweat despite being in the region of icy tundra, while you had sweat dripping down your head glistening against the soft light, you remained calm and composed.

The dance continued onward, dipping your body down while your leg raised. There are times in the duet, where you had separated from him, he had to go after you. He never felt so young in his lifetime of misery and duty, chasing after a dame. Keeping you close to him for the majority of the session. Enjoying the most whenever he spun you around. But he is delighted when you go away from him only to run, and perch upon his shoulder. Like a trained little canary, letting out a melodious giggle.

Though in turn he too surprised you. The next time your body dips down, his hands quickly scooped you up, swaying your body until he held you over his shoulder. His strong hand on your belly, near your under breasts. He earned an astonished sound from your lips.

In the end Pierro himself had to let go of the sweet fairy, letting you twirl around. Like his own soul now twain. The warmth of your delicate hands, the feel of his hands on your body. He had wondered if you would willingly jump into his arms if the opportunity reveals itself that your initial protector no longer values a sweet little fairy like you. He had this inkling of hope that you would make him a selfish request.

He left, not wanting to stay anymore. He left just as quickly he accepted your bewitching spell placed upon him. Leaving you all confused and sad, thinking you have done something to upset him. You didn’t, it’s just that he has to take swift care of all those thoughts you gave him. Especially with those (color) lips of yours, to taste and use.

I swear I'm going feral while doing this ngl. Who knew that this old man could be attractive? I'm legit questioning my anime men preferences rn… 😂 Ey yo, ya’ll want me to make a part 2 for pierro? and plesse tell me if I use TW right. I just noticed nearly every one uses it.

#pierro #reader insert #pierro x reader #pierro x you #pierro x y/n #fatui pierro

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whatgaviiformes · 1 year

Text

Fic: G-forces

Another prompt fill! For @drileyf who asked for:

Thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the extra science help because I am not smart enough to write John. :D it’s all still my fault though

Post SkyHook - season 1, episode 11 Characters: John Tracy, Gordon Tracy Genre: Angst, Episode filler Words: 1.3K

John can still taste the metallic on his tongue. While his suit had taken the brunt of the G-forces in effort to keep his blood flow stable, it was designed with the flight from Thunderbird Three and the ascent via the space elevator in mind, plus a few extra safety features because it was designed by Brains. What it was not designed for was 25Gs of nauseating, tunnel-visioning, muscle-straining centrifugal force pressing on his all too human body. And helmetless as Scott on his first rescue, John had gotten a bloody nose from it.

He’s fine though. His ears stopped bleeding ages ago.

His heart hurts. It’s a pain that radiates out from his chest, and, yeah, he remembers clinically that it was normal for his heart to compensate to get the blood flowing efficiently through his body when under immense strain like that. Strain that, for the record, is far from normal. But there’s something different all together in the remnants of the hummingbird flutter under his skin – like its moving so fast he can’t even feel it past the intense ache that expands across his breast.

If he were a different man, he might believe that his heart had beat itself into oblivion and he was in some sort of demented version of what Hell might be – then again if it were Hell, maybe demented was par for the course. But no, he is a logical sort, and facts show his heart is still there somewhere past the pain. The monitor is telling him so. Plus he’s been through training enough – not for 25Gs - to know what residual heart stress feels like.

He's fine, though. Granted, there’s a fog over his brain, and his hands are cold – but these are all temporary things.

He wasn’t in danger. Much.

He’s ready to go home.

John’s fine with hospitals when he’s on the other end of a comm line telling them to expect rescuees inbound, less so when he’s the one needing care. The coffee is terrible - not that they’d give him any – and he hates the sludge of his brainwaves. He respects the people, those who are just as familiar with lack of sleep as his family of IR operatives, and with a similar vein of an immense desire to save others. Make a difference in the world.

His breath hitches when he thinks about, a laugh that quickly turns to a grimace. Veins. His feel like they’re pumping lead.

And there’s nothing to really look at in a hospital. The walls are too white for him, the smell too clean. He misses the rainbow of Five, because his home is not as colorless as one might think. She not just silver against the black of the void; even Virgil couldn’t argue the orange and green lines built into her glass panes, the array of holoscreens that held his charts and sensors and communications, the subtle shift of light in the stars he studied easier up above the atmosphere. And that’s without considering the massive planet outside his window, giant, bright. Blue so deep he could drown in it without ever touching water, and firm rock and earth freckled with a network of electricity that triggered the sparking of his own synapses. There were times John would look out from his home, at his home, and feel like he could hold all that was precious in his palm, align the overlap of her tectonic plates with his hands and hold her together where fault-lines met lifelines.

Fingers as frozen as they are, he glances down at his hands when they twitch, past the IV in his arm, past the band around his bony wrist and the print of his name and blood type, and there a familiar set of fingers curl into his hospital blankets, not touching his own, but close and barely out of reach with something holding them back from closing the last of the distance.

Probably respect for John, which means a lot because the hand belongs to his most tactile of siblings and he can feel the restraint radiating from the clenched knuckles. John blinks, and Gordon’s watching him, his eyes bright, but his expression knowing as he takes in his face and realizes John’s finally caught up with the fact he’s there.

“Where were you?” his aquanaut brother asks, the corner of smile quirking upward knowingly.

“Holding tectonic plates together.” John’s surprised by how lethargic his own voice sounds when he speaks, and maybe if he weren’t being medically drugged to all hell first, it would be poetic. He likes words, and also math, and poetry is really just mathematic words, so maybe he went into the wrong field. Fields, with an s.

“Maybe try to hold yourself together first, yeah?”

“FAB.” It’s instinct to respond with their code, though, John’s usually the one giving the suggestions and his brothers are the ones confirming said suggestions. “Why are you here?”

“My brother’s in the hospital,” Gordon answers dully. “I’m not sure where you expected me to be.”

It’s a valid question. John’s not sure the question came out right based on the way Gordon won’t meet his eyes. He just keeps looking down at his hands, still out of touching distance. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Gordon’s not looking at John, but he’s not looking at anything else either while describing the different rescues Alan and Scott and Virgil are all out performing. They can’t be there, so Gordon is.

And Gordon doesn’t do hospitals. But he’s here.

From G-forces to a different type of G-force – Gordon force. It comes with a side of sunlight and sarcasm usually. But he doesn’t look so happy at the moment.

“John.” Gordon’s knuckles are turning whiter than John’s sheets, and he looks uneasy as the name tumbles out. “What were you thinking?”

“Hmm?

“Do you know how far a human can freedive? No? It’s only sixty feet. Past that and you want to start wearing gear to handle the pressure below the water. I know they’re different, but Five spun and you hit twenty-five Gs. That’s more than four-thousand pounds of weight, John. It’s like if I went freediving ten-thousand feet below sea level. Do you know what that would’ve done to me?”

He knows. John’s trying not to think about it, but apparently the haze in his mind is making it impossible to push down the image of his younger brother’s body contorting under that kind of immense pressure and becoming crushed with the air violently pulled out of him.

“I can’t do the math that quickly,” he says quietly. “But you can.” Gordon’s ears turn red, and his smile turns flat, as he glares at John through a thick layer of hurt in his brown eyes. “You knew,” he accuses. “You knew all along and you continued to let it happen anyway.”

“It was a calculated risk,” John admits slowly.

“That’s the wrong answer.”

“What would you have had me do? Let them fall?”

“Not throw your life away, that’s for sure! Again, for the record,” Gordon growls. “Did you think about moving Five, or asking Eos to slow down the rotation, or maybe putting your helmet on first, ‘Scott’?”

None of those are bad ideas, and the truth is he’d been trying to get to his helmet, except…

“Everything just happened so fast.”

“I know that.” Gordon sighs deeply, visibly recenters himself with a shake of his head and tries again. “I know. But, John, this is the second time in a manner of weeks. I’m concerned about you.”

“Gordon,” he reaches for his hand and grasps it tight. Gordon’s hold is stiff with anger and surprise at first, but slowly his fingers relax, trembling, while John urges him to understand. “I’m not trying to put myself into harm’s way. If that’s what you mean. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Just…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t like seeing you here.”

“I don’t really like being here to be honest.”

Gordon shakes his head and smiles softly at him. “At least we can agree on that.”

#Gavii Scribit #ask box prompts #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #Post Skyhook #pshhh science who needs it #who needs gravity anyway #Thunderangst

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etherealestimation · 1 year

Text

you my friend just got an exceptionally quick lesson on time travel.

what.

it's 6:04. it was 6:43 2 minutes ago.

start making sense to me dude

you died. croaked. you're about to do it again. it's hard to describe but-

[sound of earthquake, confused hollering, (over fiber optic cable) furious typing]

[sound of bookshelf tipping over, terrified scream]

you my friend just got an exceptionally quick lesson on time travel.

what

it's 6:00. that's a bit better than last time.

start making sense to me dude

no time to explain. get to a doorway right now.

what

[sound of earthquake, brace against door, bookshelf, terrified scream continues for more than an hour.

a look out the window. outbuildings reduced to rubble. neighbor's house still standing. house still standing. status good.

6:40. in the distance. a small fire burns. checks phone and goes to call GE.

the call is struggling to connect. the dial tone plays six times, for one for each five second block out of time spent on the phone. an automated assistant answers.

6:42:31. a tree cracks at the roots. right through the roof. of the leftmost room on the top. skull split like a coconut.]

it's yesterday right now. 11pm. you're getting acclimated. it's hard I know. you're going to need to try harder though. you'll lose the L1 through L4 or 5, kinda depends on your pineal gland at this point.

what what the fuck could you possibly need at 11pm dude i'm asleep i've got that exam tomorrow

yeah but it'll be fine. don't worry. this is more important.

more important

ydax58v998bc4sjohvshfqyjz5vug6dcz900nemzbwhnfpphzzpufvykkpsiaid4ozmwxswmnytjj7rh3hl784n3gijperxgb2ea

huh

[phone rings. D-7d 10:10:31. in the lecture hall across from the courtyard. student excuses self out of class.]

why did you call me

i'm in a lecture man

this is pretty good. maybe even a lot better. you're still missing most of your L1-L4 but L5 is getting at least partly successfully backed up. we could probably train L1 before L4 if you wanted.

are you okay

since. okay that'll sound weird. take it seriously though. I need you to think happy thoughts about: winter, tortoise, pinewood scent.

i'm going to hang up i think seriously are you okay though

just keep thinking it okay. 7iru88cznpsygcutwnzhbhmgt0rrg97t8m8tl46fs6uo4efdt84i1atf92w2gtxjodm2z7fdyo0ap64imy7fptxioi0dio5p7bzb. d2c54fpm4kvu7z3jj6gum8weiwebi0urgkfl8coax5j7017btmv9go8o0hrr88gm7uwbu1fkj0iu1tbg3ea0j8z5at7bshrz59rb.

am i missing something

ding! check your phone!

[D-3y-3m-4d]

who are you

no time to explain. I need you to think sad thoughts about a japanese garden.

what what does that word mean to you

nothing. to you?

[D-2y-6m-28d]

we just met and this is gonna sound insane, but I need to ask when you last remember me from.

am I supposed to know how to answer that

hopefully!

[a long pause in the dark. the air is still and humid and thick.

two people behind a pizza hut. they're sharing the pizza.

D-2y-6m-27d. cars roll by.]

...$D

why do i kn

don't worry. can you remember the text you got on $D-3y-3m-4d. from a wrong number. sad thoughts about a japanese garden. do you remember that?

no?

shit. we're running out of space here. sad thoughts about the garden. the japanese garden. I never got this out of you but I know it's there.

[memories flood back. its strange sepia seeps across this brain. the shadow of his back. sweetness like a marshmallow candy. an unpleasant rotting on the back of one's tongue. the leather seats. the touch pressure of a cruel or dimwitted dentist trying to get thrown up on. like the other garden. hummingbirds take turns feeding from a fountain off a dirt road. grass pollen stains the air. lush watered green leaves a running water oasis on the back of this tanned grass plain.

the gardens]

i don't want to think of th

[quick flash. D-3y-3m-4d. 11:21:01.]

hey.

hey?

do i know you?

you will. what were you doing on $D-2y-6m-28d.

...i met you that can't be right dude what

good. good. how about $D.

i uh oh god

okay L4's all the way there I think. can you say precisely what happened on $D

[crying without sobbing.]

fine, we'll push that goal back a bit. but I think you got it so we can stop moving now.

[outright sobbing now. screaming no, no that didn't

it's not going to

it won't happen

it doesn't have to

if hasn't]

can I get you some water? this never gets any easier. I guarantee they're harder to experience than that.

who the fuck are you? what the fuck are you?

look you're not. you know what happened right?

nothing happened that's in the future that's not how time works

well you've got that wrong.

how did i do that

yeah

you thought about it. really hard. on a level that you're not used to think about anything. you remember that thought, it's the one you remember clear as day, but you're gonna have trouble parsing it because it's an emotion you've never felt before. you'll start to get a feel for it.

i think i still have to get to class.

it'll work itself out but you do. meet me here tomorrow.

[dreams. there are long streamers that hang off the back of a van which is filled with people. they dismount and fill an entire wall full of graffiti tags. they're passing out rattlecans of paint to passers by. the keys are lost. things go off the rails.

there's a boat just off the shoreline of a lake. two old men fish and watch carefully a pair of children, who also fish and look bored into the murky green waters of the reservoir.

in the gardens]

we don't have much time. I get like 5 minutes right?

my next class is actually in an hour i'm sorry i got cold feet i couldn't sleep last night at all i think i'm ready to believe you now

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catinc · 1 year

Text

$17 Bacon Dream

Going to the mall is one of my favorite activities. There's so much to do, like play the display games at the video game stores, buy funny gay pins and clothes from the emo stores, and pet the pets at the pet store.

That being said, I don't know how I got to this mall, and, in fact, I’m not even sure this is a mall I've ever been to before. At least from what I think was the entrance, it looked like I was in a night market. The only light in the place came from the various stores that were open which I think was supposed to be late. I don't remember any of the names, but if I did I don't think I could physically pronounce them. The entire place looked like an A.I. had tried to draw it, and as I took my first step “inside,” I didn't even see any escalators, even though the upstairs lights were on.

I wasn't hungry, but I remember deciding to head to the food court first, and I don't remember anything after I left either. Probably because I woke up. It took a Purgatory sentence to get there, but, like a starving hummingbird, I made it to a flower. Looking back, I should have been scared, but I remember walking up to the misplaces deli like it was a Quick Chicken. It was the most dimly lit store in the ‘mall,’ and the man working there looked like the bacon he sold came from his own belly, but I ordered anyway.

There were other people sitting at the counter that silently chuckled to themselves while I was doing this, but as soon as the deli clerk had gone behind those doors, they burst with laughter like an Atomic Bomb. Once they were done laughing, without giving me time to ask, they ridiculed me for having the gall to come here and order. They then went on to explain that all three of them had been waiting for much, much longer than it took to get here in the first place. The first one of them had even bothered to measure how long he had been there before the fat man started to joke with him.

With their tale, I decided to leave, though, it seemed that that was all I was allowed to do, was decide. There were no walls to keep me there that had been suddenly erected, invisible or otherwise. I still wasn’t hungry, despite the length of the path here being longer than the circumference of the sun. There was nothing physically holding me back from leaving, but I could not move my body to do so. The customers only laughed further at this.

The Deli man came back out, and I sat down. With nothing better to do, I attempted conversing with him. He was clearly under the same curse of boredom as I, even though, despite our lack of hunger, he should have been making our meals. I got to experience the comedy the First had described firsthand, and retorted with jokes of my own, none of which I remember.

After what felt longer than the trip here, the Second man got tired of the stand-up routine, and yelled at the bacon man for our food. The third man tried calming the second down, and the first suggested a game. I, the fourth, proposed the stakes, or steaks, if you will.

After a feeling I can only describe now as falling into a light sleep in a car, and being shook awake by a nearby train, it just so happened that I was in the middle of the game that I either forgot, or was never told the rules of. I remember thinking it was my turn only because everyone was staring at me with heavy expectation, but my own attention was taken up by the fact I had an unfamiliar card in my hand. I had many normal cards, such as the King, Queen, Jack and Joker, as well as select number cards, but in addition to those, I had a card that, for some reason, I knew was called ‘god,’ and it looked like one as well. I played the Jack I had in my hand, and, although there were both higher and lower cards in every suit, the money was passed to me, with a strange addition of quite a few $17 bills. Not only did the rules of the game confuse me, but so did the rules of this world.

After that round of cards, the Pig-Man shut the doors behind himself once more, and emerged holding a huge sack of delectable cubes. Once these cubes were dumped from the bag to the counter, the other customers shoved these cubes into bags they had not had before. Noticing I now had one, I did the same. We got up from our seats, and were finally allowed to leave the deli.

I walked a purgatory sentence back the direction I came from, none of the surroundings familiar, and had a panic attack at something I shouldn't have, given where I had just come from, and woke up.

Inform me if you notice any sepling or mistakes grammatical.

#my wrtitng #authors #i dont know what genre this would be #one time i dreamt #$17 bacon dream

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ellies-cycling-notes · 9 months

Text

Day 17: Findley State Park to Van Buren State Park

Distance Covered: 81.27 miles

Total Time (including rests): 7:10 (8:03am-3:13pm)

Time spent riding: 6:22

Average Speed: 12.8 mph

Apples Eaten: 4 (fuji - 7/10, fuji - 6/10, fuji - 7/10, fuji - 5/10)

Today's ride was another boring, yet alright, one. It was basically 80 miles straight West from one State Park to another, only going North or South to switch to less busy roads. The entire ride was on various state roads and side roads, most of which had rather good pavement. I made rather good time for a few reasons. There was the good pavement as mentioned, and then also I had a tailwind for most of the ride, and thirdly, this ride was really flat. I barely had to switch gears at all, and when I did, it was more likely to be because of a sudden change in wind making the ride too hard or too easy, rather than because of going up or down a hill. The weather was also really nice, barely getting above 70 Fahrenheit, and oftentimes cloudy for miles on end.

I stopped twice on the ride, once about half-way through, and once only 10 miles from my campsite. I wanted to not take that second stop at all, but I was getting really hungry and didn't want to hold off on lunch.

Today's ride's main focus was on conserving the battery on my phone. One of my power banks is dead, and I think I might have to use my laptop as a power bank to get my phone fully charged for tomorrow. Because of that, I took various measures on the ride to extend my phone's power. For one, the fewer number of stops meant I spent less time just sitting looking at my phone (of course, that didn't really matter in the end because it meant I arrived at my campsite earlier, and this would have more time reading stuff on my phone). I also kept my phone's brightness as low as I could, and even turned off my maps whenever I was about to be on a straightaway for several miles, only turning it back on again when I believed myself to be close to the next turn.

I saw a few interesting birds on today's ride. In addition to the normal ones, I also saw a peacock on a front porch, a vulture by a field, a bird I think was a hummingbird (it was moving too quickly for me to be sure), and what I think was pheasants in a yard. Apart from those, today's ride didn't really have anything that stood out, which is kinda what I expected, biking across rural Ohio.

Design Notes

Today's notes are probably going to be short (I don't actually know, I have a few key points that I wrote down during the ride, but most of the substance has yet to be written).

I've been thinking about character stats/ability scores. This train of thought comes from 2 places.

1) Yesterday's ruminations on Procedural Generation got me thinking about Characters, Inc. again, in which each character has 6 (maybe 5, I can't remember) stats that affect how well they do in a dungeon. I'll go more into detail later in this section, because I spent a lot of time specifically thinking about Characters, Inc.

2) I've been reading LitRPGs, which are a fantasy sub-genre where the fantasy world has game-like elements, often including ability scores.

Ability Scores

I understand the necessity of ability scores in games in order to simplify complex systems of the world, but there's always something about them that feels awkward. There's always too much overlap between certain abilities, or cases where it doesn't make much sense for you to automatically become better at multiple unrelated things. For example, bench pressing should increase your Strength, but in most games that would also increase your leg power, even though they're different muscles. With that being said, I do enjoy the use of ability scores as measures of characters that aren't directly controlled by players, because then those abilities end up being used in more broad stroke ways, and so it makes more sense. For example, if you have a character with high dexterity, you can't guarantee that they'll succeed at a certain parkour move, but if you give them an entire parkour course, they'll probably complete it more quickly than someone with a lower dexterity score. That brings me to my discussion of Characters, inc.

In Characters Inc, you the player send a party of characters out on a quest, and only receive the results of said quest. As such, this is the perfect place to make use of ability scores, as they can be used to broadly define a character's strengths. Here are the ability scores as I remember them in Characters, Inc. I will describe the ability and what it used to do, if I can remember, as well as what I would have them do if I was to remake the game.

Strength (STR) - Every quest in Characters, Inc has a hidden power level the party has to beat in order to complete the quest. STR contributes directly to meeting that power level. In addition, when distributing damage amongst the party, characters with more STR will have been targeted more by enemies, and so will receive a larger portion of the damage.

Agility (AGI) - I don't remember what this does in the original version of the game. If I was to remake it, it would have 2 main effects: it would influence how long it takes for a party to complete a quest, and it would act as a buffer relative to one's STR such that they are targeted less if they have high AGI.

Endurance (END) - Endurance directly impacts how much health a character has.

Toughness or Defense (TOU) - After getting assigned damage, TOU reduces the amount of damage that a character takes. If I remake the game, it might also increase the amount that the chosen character is targeted, because otherwise a high TOU character is useless without high STR.

Magic (MAG) - Similar to STR, this directly contributes to the power level of the quest. It also increases the chance the character is targeted, but at a much lower rate than STR. Thus, it pairs well with characters that have lower END or TOU.

Luck (LUCK) - Increase the rewards characters receive from the quest. Every quest has guaranteed rewards, but this stat increases the chance for additional gold and/or item rewards. In the original version, each character's luck was used independently to figure out additional gold and items, such that you could get at most +1 item per character. If I was to remake it, I'd probably have it that the character with the highest luck is taken as a base, and each other character's luck is added on to that, but not to the full amount.

That's all. There's no pics today, as the ride was rather bland and boring. Tomorrow I'm headed straight North to Ann Arbor. I hope the wind will've calmed down a bit by then, because I'd rather not ride 80+ miles with a headwind.

Previous -- Next

#blogpost

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icannotgetoverbirds · 2 years

Note

What bird(s) would you...

A. Keep as a pet, assuming you had the time and resources

B. Bring in a fight to the death to protect you (the other guy has a gun but not a bird)

C. Put a tiny camera on and use as a spy

D. Prank someone with. Who and how?

A. I've always wanted an African Grey parrot, as parrots are some of the more reasonable birds to keep, but if we're going for any kind of bird? Definitely a crow/raven/magpie or a kea. Tbh, I'd probably have a whole avian zoo if I could.

B. Cassowary. Those things are terrifying. The only problem at that point is keeping it from mauling me, too.

C. I want to say hummingbird since those are about as small as they get, but being realistic? Pigeons are pretty hardy, so those might be a better option. Plus, most people just don't pay attention to them.

D. I think I'd train a herd of emus to dismantle things to the best of their abilities and then sic them on somebody's car. I don't really have anyone I can think of that I'd like to prank that I don't also hate with too much of a burning passion to get into on a fun ask about birds, so no who.

I'm curious as to how you'd answer these questions, though!

#ask #byrd chirps

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griffintail · 3 years

Note

Philza with a friend who’s a winged hybrid like him, but instead of being a hybrid of a relatively small bird, such as a crow...his friend is an ALBATROSS hybrid. Imagine the wingspan this person would have, and how tall they’d have to be to accommodate those things!

Or, alternatively, what if Philza had a winged hybrid friend that was a HUMMING BIRD hybrid?? Imagine how tiny they’d be, and how much sugar they’d probably have to consume to zip and flit around all day??

I will readily admit that the reasoning behind this is cause I was watching The Rescuers Down Under, and there’s a line in that movie that goes “Alba- Albatross?! It’s a jumbo!”, and that’s one of my favorite lines in the movie. I can’t really explain WHY that’s my favorite line, it just is. Anyways, the size difference in bird species is always fun to imagine in terms of hybrids, and I wanted to see your take on it.

The Albatross and Humming Bird

Pairings: Platonic! Philza x GN! Reader

Warnings: Mention of Swords, Mentions of Fighting

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Albatross

(Y/N). Is fucking tall. Taller than Ranboo.

Their wings aren’t extremely large, they’re just long when they’re spread out so their height accommodates for that so their wings aren’t dragging on the ground.

People always used to question why Phil built his doorframes and ceilings so high up when even his children aren’t that tall, it’s because of (Y/N).

“Sup shorty?” (Y/N) grinned putting their hand on top of Phil’s head.

“I’ll make the ceiling lower.”

“You’re so mean to me!”

Being an albatross hybrid, (Y/N) can handle longer flights as an albatross can fly for days at a time without landing.

People often hire them to get what they need from far lands or to have them scout out things.

“Hey, we were thinking of maybe looting a Woodland mansion. You think you could scout one out for us?” Phil asked.

“Yeah. Sure. Just let me get a pack ready and I’ll head out.”

“Thanks.”

---

“(Y/N). I need acacia wood!” Tommy demanded.

“You going to pay me this time?”

When Phil hurts his wings, (Y/N) gets Techno to train them to be stronger.

After some time, (Y/N) takes Phil on day-long flights sometimes. They’d love to take him on longer ones, but their normal strength holding them back.

“Sorry, we couldn’t fly longer.” (Y/N) put Phil on the ground outside the base before landing next to him.

“It’s alright mate. Thanks for the flight.” He smiled.

“Of course, what are mates for?” They smiled back. “I got to give something to Techno, talk to you later.”

“Remember he doesn’t build ceiling as high!” He called.

“Right! Thanks!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hummingbird

(Y/N) is a lot shorter than everyone. Coming in at a whopping three feet. (Ninety-one centimeters)

People often think they’re a child at first glance. Once they realize they’re an adult, people tend to tease them, but the people on the SMP realized that was a bad idea fast.

“I wouldn’t keep doing that Quackity,” Phil warned but was smirking as (Y/N) crossed their arms at the sound of Quackity’s tone at them.

“But look at how cute they are, little cutie.” Quackity teased.

In an instant, (Y/N)’s sword was drawn and on his neck as their wings flittered a hundred miles. (One hundred and sixty kilometers). Safe to say they created a small breeze and terrified the hell out of Quackity at that moment.

(Y/N) never really slowed down. They were often flittering from task to task.

They were also a wonder when fighting. Not only did their height give them an advantage but their speed was incomparable. Techno had a hard time keeping up with them when it came to fighting!

Though, they tried to keep such things to a minimum as they needed a large supply of sugar for the fights.

“It’s extremely hard to keep a large-scale sugar cane farm running out here I hope you know.” Phil huffed as got sugar water for them as (Y/N) had managed to crash slightly from the lack of sugar after helping training their two new recruits in the Syndicate.

“Yeah, but you’ll always help me keep it running because you’re the beesst.” (Y/N) grinned at him, slightly loopy.

“Just drink idiot.”

The pair could be a terrifying force, but between making sure his friend kept their sugar consumption up and keep their speed down, some days Phil thought he was taking care of another child…

#philza x reader #mcyt reader insert #mcyt oneshots #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader

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salemwritesxx · 3 years

Text

a starry night | tanjiro

kamado tanjiro x male reader

↣ all characters are depicted as [18]+

request: Y/N (under 5'0") is a merman hashira (pretend it exists) and is in love with Tanjiro (5'3"). Y/N is able to be on land and water but constantly needs to be hydrated. Y/N invites Tanjiro to the beach and the two waltz under the stars with the sound of the waves behind them. Then they admit their feelings for each other and have a kiss. Then things escalate into spicy time (I'm giving you creative freedom since this is one of my first asks) 👀🔥

w.count: 1550

content warning: smaller reader – taller character, confession, fluff

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

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course, Y/n-san.”, Tanjiro said with his usually heart-warming smile on his lips once he turned towards you.

“Okay, then, is it okay if you wear this?”, you pulled out a silky scarf, “I want to surprise you.”, and as the gentle smile flitted across your lips, Tanjiro’s ruby eyes also softened as he nodded.

Whatever it might have been, he could probably smell it anyways, but, he didn’t want to tell you. Not when you looked so happy once you walked towards him; thus, he complied when you turned him around to blindfold him.

Taking Tanjiro’s calloused, scarred hand into your own, you then guided him the last few miles. Honestly, holding his hand alone made your heart flutter – it’s as if you were… more than just friends.

Kamado didn’t ask a question where you were going or what you had planned, instead, he waited patiently as to not ruining his surprise. Though, he also couldn’t really hide the slight warmth on his cheeks.

He was a little embarrassed. Tanjiro didn’t like his hands, knowing that they were very unpretty to look at and touch due to training so much, yet, you touched him – and you didn’t care. His heart was almost leaping out of his chest and it was such a small gesture, but who could really blame him? Kamado had been crushing on you for so long, so even the tiniest things made his heart flip.

“We’re almost there.”

“Ah? Okay. I wonder what you want to show me, Y/n-san.”, he said and tilted his head lightly, emphasizing his curiosity.

“It’s nothing fancy or anything, but I hope you will still like it.”, you didn’t directly answer him on purpose.

“Be careful, we are going down some stairs.”

The moment you warned him though, it was almost too late, his little “Huh?” cut off when he suddenly stepped into emptiness. Thankfully, due to your own training, you reacted so quickly that he didn’t even have time to really process what had happened, was he already pressed against your body protectively.

“Sorry! That was stupid of me, I should have warned you sooner. Are you okay?”, asking him with such a worried voice made his heart skip a beat again.

Tanjiro needed a moment to realize things; just for his cheeks to get all warm and red once he did realize that you were basically snuggled into his chest due to your arms being slung around him so he wouldn’t fall.

“Y/n-san… It’s okay. Nothing happened.”, he tried to gulp down the big lump in his throat, before you both separated again, this time walking more carefully.

Your own heart was however fluttering like a hummingbird, to think your knee-jerk reaction was to grab him was a little embarrassing. You were supposed to be a Hashira – a fearsome demon slayer, yet you were acting like a young boy in love.

“Okay, we’re almost there.”, you then said in a hushed voice to not disturb the quietness of the night too much, Tanjiro besides you just nodding.

Then, after a few moments, you stopped and Kamado could vividly smell the ocean and something burning, so he kind of knew what was coming, spoiling your surprise a little. Though, he still waited for you to open the knot of the scarf around his eyes.

As the silky material slipped from his face, he opened his ruby eyes, the scene in front of him making his heart quench instantly.

“What do you think?”

“I like it.”, was his immediate answer.

With the usual heart-warming smile on his lips, he looked around to really take in the scenery. The ocean was so big and endless, at least it seemed that way; the little nook you had guided him to was quite spacious and isolated from the rest of the beach, big rocks forming some sort of wall.

“Tanjiro?”, you reached out your hand when he turned to face.

“Hm?... Oh… Y/n-san…”, he barely whispered your name. His heart was jumping so vigorously in his chest when he took your hand once more and you pulled him closer.

“Tanjiro, don’t you think it’s time to drop the “san”?”, with a giggle, you tilted your head a little and looked up into his pretty, red face.

“Just call me Y/n.”

His tongue was tied and his throat dry – why though? Tanjiro didn’t really know… But your presence alone made him so weak that he could barely hold it together it seemed.

“O-Okay… Y/n-s- Y/n…”, he stammered a little, the color on his already rosy cheeks only intensifying. Saying your name without honorifics made him excited.

As he took your hand and you pulled him closer again, your small, yet strong body was pressed against his once more.

“Hey, look up.”, you whispered and without thinking twice about it, Tanjiro raised his head. His ruby eyes instantly sparkling – when was the last time he really focused on the beautiful night sky? Stars glistening in the dark, endless firmament.

Then, you started moving and Kamado followed you very instinctively at first as his eyes were still fixated on the twinkling above your heads.

“Y/n, it’s beautiful… Thank you for showing me.”, he grabbed your hands a little tighter, letting you lead him as you waltzed around the fireplaced, laughing and giggling.

Tanjiro’s laugh was truly beautiful and precious. It warmed your heart.

Though it wasn’t much different for Kamado himself, thinking his heart might jump out of his chest with how hard it was beating. Then, you surprised him however. A sudden gasp escaped his lips when you slipped (on purpose, but he didn’t know), and you both fell onto the sand besides the fireplace.

Tanjiro on top of you.

“Y/n! Ah, I’m sorry-“, he said shyly and tried to quickly scurry away, but you just flipped around, this time you on top.

“Tanjiro… Wanna know why I brought you here?”, hearing you speak so quietly, he couldn’t help but also barely breath an approved “Hm.” back, not wanting to disturb the crackling of the fireplace or the sound of the ocean waves.

Using your pointed and middle finger, you traveled up his chest, then the side of his neck until you stopped at his lips, Tanjiro shivering underneath you.

“For so long, I’ve been wanting to tell you something, but… I was always too scared. You know, we Hashira need to fight and train, there is not much time for things like… love.”

His ruby eyes widened, his lips trembled – cute.

“Y/n-“, but you interrupted him.

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same, but I can't hide it much longer, if I do, I feel like it will consume me… That’s why…”, you then leaned down, Kamado vividly twitching when you were so close to his ear, only for you to whisper, “I like you, Tanjiro. A lot.”

By the time those words spilled from your lips, his heart was thumping so wildly in his chest he thought he might die. You liked him. And when you raised your head to look at him, your e/c eyes were telling nothing but the truth – the deep love and appreciation you felt for him was real.

Tanjiro was overwhelmed, little tears welled up in his eyes. You thought you had done something irresponsible and stupid, thus wanting to jump up and apologize. But Kamado didn’t let you run away so easily.

With a strong grip, he slung his arms around you and pressed you into his chest, your ear placed right above his crazily beating heart and that’s when you knew as well.

“I like you too, Y/n.”

Hearing him whisper it also, however, was almost too much for you. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you buried your face into his chest so you wouldn’t let out any weird sounds of excitement.

Staring into the starry sky, Kamado still couldn’t believe what had just happened. Wiping away his tears, he suddenly was confronted with your eyes looking down on him yet again as you had risen. A rough, yet gentle hand on his cheek as you caressed him with your thumb.

“Tanjiro… May I… kiss you?”, you said quietly and at the end, barely breathed it, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. However, Tanjiro wanted it, he had dreamt about kissing you, about touching you and being touched.

So, he nodded.

“Yes…”

With a fluttering heart, you leaned down, watching as Tanjiro closed his shimmering ruby eyes, before you closed your own. Meeting his lips was like someone set of a firework within your chest.

Though was it nothing different for Kamado. All his dreams felt real, but nothing compared to the actual real feeling of tasting your lips. They moved so softly against his, he truly melted, his calloused hands gripping your clothes tightly or he thought he might get swept away.

Tanjiro never thought he could feel such happiness ever again, not after his whole family was annihilated and he had to train for so long for Nezuko. To be honest, he never believed in ever being truly happy again, that this emptiness in his heart could never be filled again. But he was wrong.

And he had never been any happier to be wrong about something.

------

@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

writer’s note: thanks for the request! also, no more banners, after the shitshow I am done with that, I fucking hate them now. once again as a reminder: spicy stuff will be added as a part two!

#salemswriting.#kamado tanjiro #tanjiro x male reader #kny x male reader #bottom tanjiro #tanjiro x you #confession #fluff

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imhereforbvcky · 3 years

Text

Watch Me Run - Part 16

Masterlist - Series Masterpage - Part 17

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader)

Chapter: You and Bucky pass the time together while the other Avengers try to get more information about the purpose of Loki's unexpected return to Earth.

Word Count: 3663

“So why do I need to talk to Gandalf if they’ve got Loki in custody?” You asked, far too casually, eyes resolutely fixed on your hands. It was a system you had of avoiding difficult conversations: burying them amid distractions and jokes. Just now you were deciding what to discard and whether Bucky was good enough at math to be counting cards. He probably was. Handsome, clever bastard.

Bucky sighed out a surge of frustration. With the conversation or the cards, you’d never have to know and that was the beauty of your system.

“Tony said they’ve got him locked down but he’s… difficult. Deceptive with a history of escaping,” Bucky explained, trying to be honest and not frightening. Not his strong suit. “Not just from Avengers’ custody. From Asgard, too. Natasha’s had success interrogating him once before, though.”

“Of course,” you chuckled. “She’s terrifying. I’d tell her everything.”

“We’re waiting for Strange’s parcel and they’re trying to figure out Loki’s end game and a way to contain him. Maybe contact his brother, I don’t know.”

“Thor. Who he escaped from before,” you surmised. Bucky shrugged. “So will I ever be safe?”

“I know this is hard,” he looked down at your hands,, wanted to hold them,, pull you to his chest and whisper comfort against your skin. Instead he lowered his voice, a whisper like a blade on ice. “But I’ll keep you safe. You’re my mission.”

“Right. I know that,” you shook your head, wishing you could shake the disappointment of being relegated to a mission objective when you’d begun to feel drawn by something stronger. And thus your method of jokes and distraction resurfaced. “We’re safe until there is a gin rummy murder tonight, because I’m 86.2% sure you’re cheating over there, Barnes.”

Bucky watched you over the top of his cards, grey eyes as guarded as the steel hull of a warship. It took a long time and your unyielding grin to soften the walls. The man was Fort Knox, after all, and it had been a mistake to challenge him. Even to save your dignity.

He wasn’t a spy, he was an assassin, and a good one. His training had taught him to take in every advantage, every opportunity, to read people, and predict. Bucky had always been good at cards. The math came easy to him. But now that he was himself and the soldier? He rarely lost a hand.

The softest chuckle rose through him like a flutter of hummingbird wings. It accompanied his easy grin that steadily grew as you fiddled with your cards from across the table. “Don’t need to cheat,” he said while you kept chewing on the edge of your thumbnail before picking at one of the cards. It was a tell – your tell – and Bucky had picked up on it by the second hand. You hadn’t won a game since.

Your eyes kept flicking up to his. He found a smile there most days now, even amid all the danger. Even in the uncertainty he found something bright and warm with you. It licked a flame up his spine every time. Sometimes he let himself succumb to it, become drowsy and content in the warmth of your smiles. Other times he shook his head and looked at his feet, or in this case his cards, wondering how in the hell life had lead him here and if it would ever stop taking such strange turns.

“Would you discard, already?” he asked sounding irritated, but he was grinning widely, eyes dancing over your face.

“Don’t rush me!” you scolded, finally drawing the same card you’d been fiddling with for the last two minutes.

He huffed, but somewhere along the way it had lost all its power. The sound, once again, rippled out of him like an airy chuckle and the grin grew wider.

He thought you must really be enjoying this because your motion to drop the card was excruciatingly slow. The ace taunted him now, one long drawn out invitation for trouble. As were you.

Finally, he’d had enough and snatched the card from your fingers.

“Hey!” you yelped.

“Gin,” he replied with a smug little lift of his eyebrow.

He laid his cards on the table and then reached for the Twinkie beside the deck.

“Not fair! What if I changed my mind on that discard! You cheated!”

“Come on,” he laughed you off, leaning back into the couch and fighting with the plastic wrap on the golden yellow snack. “You were just being a pain in the ass. As usual. And you lost. As usual.”

“You’re not a very gracious winner.”

He shrugged, simultaneously darting an eyebrow before taking a monstrously large bite of the Twinkie. “’Least I’m a winner,” he mumbled through his mouthful, smiling wide as he chewed. His eyes danced over the grin on your face and the fire in your eyes. He loved all the shads of you. Cool morning tired, bright afternoon mischief, night ablaze, heated as a hearth.

“You know what?” You rose to your feet and lunged over Bucky and the arm of the couch in one sweeping push, all fire and wrath and joy. “Assholes don’t deserve Twinkies!”

His laughter came easily this time, unreserved and full while you flailed across him unflinching in your quest for the last bite of gas station garbage food. These were the times, Bucky knew, that he was in the most danger. When he forgot to worry and forgot the mask of soldier and Avenger, when everything seemed just a breath away from a happy ending. And therefore the most vulnerable. When he curled up to kindness and warmth.

But he couldn’t bring himself to fight it off. Somehow it had become second nature to wrap his arm over your back, to hook his fingers over your waist so you wouldn’t fall. Just as you hadn’t thought twice about leaping over and stealing from a notorious assassin, from your defender.

He hadn’t thought twice about this closeness, not until your clambering knee made a particularly harsh landing, sending him hunching forward, knees jerking up with a groan. Tangled in his arms, extended over the couch, and with his Twinkie in hand, you froze.

“Oh!! Sorry!” you cringed, “Are you okay?”

Bucky grimaced but laughed, as you released his arm and curled, sitting on your feet to wait for his answer with worried hands clapped over your mouth. In your concern, you hadn’t even noticed your legs were tangled half in his lap, leaning over, closer than you’d ever been, eyes dancing over his features, anxious for his answer.

You didn’t notice, but Bucky did.

“’M fine,” he breathed, tight as a bow, unceasingly aware of his arm still wrapped around you. The awareness was like an electric shock, like a livewire running straight across his body. His fingers twitched, momentarily, subconsciously tightening his grip on your waist. His toes danced quietly against the floor, taking all the energy of his racing heart while his brain shouted to keep the fuck still.

Everything was amplified. The warmth of your body, even through your t-shirt, felt like fire against his palm. The soft hush of denim sliding against denim, and the gulp that had Bucky’s throat tightening in anticipation blocked out all other sound.

“’Kay.” Your own voice was just as soft, just as breathless. Your hands fell from your face to his chest because, this close, there was nowhere else and nothing else but him. “That’s good.”

Bucky didn’t take his eyes off of yours, didn’t move a single muscle except to curl his arm between you and bring the last bite of Twinkie to his mouth. In a moment it was gone. He sat beneath your gaze, half glare half laughter, chewing, unblinking, still holding you, holding back both a laugh and the urge to kiss you.

“Jerk.”

Bucky did laugh then. He wondered if that word, jerk, would ever sound like an insult to him. His eyes were wide when you leaned forward, he could barely think enough to move when your lips met his. His heart thundered against his ribs when you pulled back slightly, looking, waiting for a reaction, for a sign that he wanted this as much as you did.

A fraction of a second was all it took. His arm, lazily curled around your back, turned to a fierce grip the second before he surged forward, taking a second kiss.

He moved with a slow, savoring sort of urgency. Like he was afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he let go, like you might slip through his fingers.

You were gentle in return, all ease and warmth, sinking your whole body against his, taking comfort from the sure and solid unyielding strength of his body, his presence and attention.

Your open palms slid over his muscled chest, fingertips dancing up the sides of his neck, skin prickling against the light scruff of his jaw. He was all texture: rough edges and sharp lines, with something burning hot at the center that ignited a path right to the core of you.

When he pulled away, breath still tickling across your lips, you chuckled at the sweet smell of vanilla frosting. You’d never been in so much danger, and yet you never wanted to move.

“You sure you’ve got enough hands in there?” Tony asked. Orange safety glasses tipped down on his nose to meet Steve’s eye. Dancing brown met clear blue for only a moment. Distraction and urgency drove Tony back to the hum of the welding iron. A mistake. A minuscule smirk dashed across Steve’s lips, sharp and wicked. A ghost of the true figure glimmering beneath: Loki.

Tony had already turned back to his project. Sparks reflected like falling stars on his glasses. Molten steel burned orange, almost white, against the frame Tony crafted to house Loki’s sceptre. The ocean blue gem at its center called a vague threat to any who witnessed it.

“We’ve got it covered,” Steve answered with a tight, confident nod. “Your hands are full anyway.”

Natasha frowned slightly, barely a tweak at the corners of her mouth. Interrogating Loki seemed to her like an all-hands-on-deck initiative. But no one had asked her. As ever, she would have to keep her cards and her concerns close to the chest. So she leveled wary green eyes on one sauntering Asgardian prize.

Once inside the cold blank room, she took a firm stance at the door. If Loki was a coiling snake, prepared to bite, and if Steve was a boot waiting to drop, Natasha was the blade that would kill. Smooth, sharp lines, swift as an angry swallow, she moved into place and waited. She would make careful cuts at the scales until she found soft underbelly, and the meat of the monster.

Her wary green eyes followed as Steve spun a chair to face her. Loki slithered into it with nothing more to defend him than a smirk. It was plenty.

“Back for another dance, spider? ” he asked coolly.

She shrugged one shoulder, as if she were half-interested instead of wholly engaged in the careful coordinated step of this interrogation. “Worked before. I got what we needed.”

“Hmm. Too little too late, if I recall. The Hulk nearly killed you and a fleet of Shield agents.”

“And yet you’re the one in shackles. Again. No scepter and still no Tesseract.” Steve sat closer but allowed Natasha to guide the questioning.

“Only a matter of time.” The grin that had so far been taunting, like a cat playing with a dead mouse, now turned manic. His eyes glittered with knowledge and his teeth gleamed with avarice.

Natasha marked the change and its cause: time.

“Why do you want to take the stones?” Natasha cut to the chase.

The smirk dimmed from Loki’s face. It soured and twisted to a scowl. Disdain, fear, guilt, anger, each one flashed hot as liquid gold in his eyes. Natasha noted this, too.

“So no one else can,” he sneered.

“Like who? Us? SHIELD?”

“You,” Loki scoffed. “You are as children – weak, fragile, ignorant of what you possess. You play at war while Titans gather at your gate.”

“That’s not an answer.” Natasha’s eyes were narrow, observant.

Another smirk, knowing and smug. “It is an answer. And you prove me right by failing to recognize it. Release me and the stones, and your planet may be spared his madness. We all may be.”

“Who’s?”

“The Mad Titan.”

Steve turned to Natasha with a frown and a raised brow. A question. Her lips turned briefly and she gave a decided but minute shake of her head, no. She had no knowledge of this. She hated not knowing, hated surprises. She worked hard to know the whispers of the world. Missing something so big set her on edge.

Similarly, Loki’s frustration grew at the exchange, the ignorance. “You will die! All of you. You haven’t the slightest idea what you are dealing with and it nearly burst through your door years ago in New York!”

“You brought the Chitauri army to New York.” Natasha spoke calmly, but her eyes burned. “We closed the portal. We took your scepter and the Tesseract and you should be in a cell on Asgard. So who is it we should really be worried about here?”

“You still can’t see it,” he laughed, shaking his head at her. “You had all three in your hands and still, you have done nothing! Nothing on your primitive planet will stop him. Not you, Agent. Or your shield, Captain. Not your iron suits or your magician’s cheap tricks. Your world is woefully unprepared to defend the power it holds.”

Steve rose to his feet. “You have no idea what we’re prepared to do to protect th—“

“You cannot even properly wield the stones, much less protect them from what’s coming.”

“What is coming?” Nat asked, calm again, arms crossed, sharp edges, slicing at the armor.

“Decimation.” His eyes locked on hers, unflinching and sure. There was something like a threat to his voice, more akin to a promise but laden with fear. “On a scale you cannot fathom.”

“How?”

“With a snap of his fingers.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed on him. More riddles. If his word could be trusted, he gave away much. She wondered, though, what he gained from them in this exchange. No conversation is one-sided. Not even an interrogation.

“Half the universe will cease to exist,” he explained. “Half of all life, gone from your planet, from Asgard, Jotunheim, Nowhere, every corner of the universe. And he’ll call himself a savior. He’ll destroy it all and demand thanks for it.”

“And what? You’re the only one who can stop him?”

A shallow sigh passed Loki's thin lips. He sank back into the seat, and chewed his lip before raising his eyes to her again.

“Do you know, Thanos made a bargain with me before, when I last came to Midgard. He promised me dominion over whatever remained when the Decimation ends. I had just lost Asgard and he exploited my ambition for a throne of my own. I wanted to prove myself when I’d been set aside and cast from my home.” Dark strands swayed as he shook his head, a bitter set to his thin mouth. “My father made war and sacrifice. I am a prince raised by an enemy, a son of conquest and subjugation. I know sacrifice and I won’t cower before it. Thanos knew that. And he will remember it now, when I take the stones he seeks. So to answer your question, Alianovna: yes, I might be the only one capable of doing what must be done.”

Natasha scoffed, leaning back. Every once in a great while, her anger swelled stronger than reason, deeper than her training, and bigger than her pride.

“How are you any different?” She snapped. “How many have you killed to stop him? And how many more?”

He shook his head and that smile again played dark in his bright blue eyes. The kind of smile that made her spine prickle. Like a cat playing with a mouse.

Natasha rarely felt like anything but a predator; feeling like prey made her lash out.

“How many ranks of men will you sacrifice in the fight? How many armies, Captain?” he asked coolly, leaning back in the chair, before turning his attention back to Natasha. “You’re not so foolish as to think your hands clean. Not any of you… Avengers.” He spat the word like a vile poison. “I can stop Thanos because unlike you I can see that blood must spill and I won’t hesitate to do what must be done. There is not a single life on this planet I would not risk to keep those stones out of Thanos’ hands.”

“So that’s your plan?” Steve scowled. “Mow through as many people as you need to until somebody stops you?”

“Until I get what I came for,” Loki corrected. “What’s yours? I don’t think you have one. How will you keep one infinity stone safe? Three?” he scoffed.

Natasha shifted then. The question had plagued her since she walked out of the Kamar-Taj. Knowledge was power but it was also a burden.

She had stayed here too long. Rather than learning, she was giving away her own knowledge now. With every uncomfortable shift, every angrily hissed question, she told him what was most important to her, to the team. Having lost control of the interrogation, she turned to leave.

“It will burn her, you know,” Loki called and she froze, hand on the barely opened door. “It’s said that another stone nearly turned 5 Guardians together to ash. We both know she cannot claim such power alone and untrained. Your entire world is a powder keg and that woman is holding a lit match. Tell me where to find her. I only want the stone. I can keep this planet out of the fight.”

She paused for a long moment, eyes locked on the door handle. Morality and self-preservation ever at war within the abused, the powerful, the just.

“We don’t trade lives.”

Loki sighed. He had not hoped to reason with the Avengers. They were all heart. Thundering, bleeding, sympathetic heart. It would get them killed one day, he expected.

It nearly got Natasha killed this day.

As she pulled the door to leave, Steve stepped behind her. An inhumanly swift hand dove for the gun at her thigh, drew and cocked it in one clean motion. Of course, the focus it took Loki to move faster than the spy at the door meant he could no longer project the image of himself in the chair. The illusion vanished in a shimmer of green and gold. So too, did the illusion he’d been projecting over himself of Captain America.

She spun, wide eyed and slammed the heel of her hand into his wrist, knocking the gun loose just as he dislodged the clip. As the gun went sailing, only one round remained in the chamber. Loki would rather not fire it. It would certainly ruin his game of stealth and accelerate his need of escape before he had gleaned all the information he’d come for.

Natasha rammed her elbow into his throat and he reeled back. She was on him in a moment, thrusting her knee to his chest. He stumbled to the floor while she reached for a tiny metal disk – a widow’s bite. But this time, he was faster.

He’d already conjured a thin black dagger and as she reached for the disk, he thrust the razor thin point through leather, skin and muscle, deep into her side. She gasped when he withdrew it quickly. A punctured a lung by the thin, hissing sound of it.

She tumbled sideways off of him. The silver disk, still in her fingers slammed onto his arm. It sent a ripple of electric agony through his spine, deep into spamming muscle. His entire body seized. A feral growl ripped up his throat, tearing, clawing, biting for control.

Finally he dragged his fingers to the disk as she reached the gun in the far corner of the room. Warm blood dripped off his skin where he tore the disk away. Not nearly as much as what gushed over the fingers she clutched to her side. She raised the gun, and he projected. Four copies of Steve Rogers split across the room, lunging for her. Her eyes danced, trying to pin down the correct one for her single shot.

She chose wrong. The correct mimicry of Steve, the only other corporeal body in the room had waited. He picked up the discarded firearm, now empty. And brought it down with unforgiving force against soft temple.

Loki brushed back a sweep of blonde hair, maintaining the projection. He allowed himself a scowl down at the crumpled form beside him.

He had learned much from this interview, though there was still work to be done here in enemy territory. Speed would be essential now. Two bodies in two rooms where he was meant to be... It wouldn’t be long before the others discovered his trickery.

Still it was worth it. He had learned the Avengers’ limits. They had confirmed they would not, in the end, have the force of will to prevent total Decimation. It was down to him. This, truly, was his purpose.

“I gave you Thanos’ secrets…” he breathed, still catching his breath as he drew to his feet and dragged open the door. “Time to reveal your own.”

He straightened his spine far beyond the lithe curve he usually took. Back to the complete vision of an American soldier.

A perfect mimicry of Steve Rogers strode out of the interrogation room. The door closed with a heavy leaden thud and the electronic whir-click of a lock.

Part 17 >>

#bucky x reader #bodyguard bucky #bucky x reader infinity stone #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader fluff #avengers fanfiction #wmr 16

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egoludes · 3 years

Text

let me come home: two.

Summary: After years at a dead-end job shouldering everyone’s expectations for you but your own, you’re finally free to be whoever you want, go wherever you want. That is, until a series of unfortunate events strand you in Amber’s End, where the sheriff – and notoriously unmated pack alpha – decides to take you in.

Pairings: alpha!Steve Rogers x omega!Reader; side alpha!Bucky Barnes x beta!Sam Wilson

Notes: Wowowow - I don’t even want to count how many months it’s been, but we are finally back in business! I can’t thank you all enough for the love you showed on the first chapter of this and I am beyond excited to share this and hear what you think. Big reminder from the last chapter that parts one and two are all about setting the stage for Steve and our lovely reader. So, this is more or less 5k of more background. But, I really loved introducing Bucky, Sam, and Nat (Bucky especially because he’s going to be huge here!) and hope you enjoy them too. Especially my Heat Wave readers - mechanic!Bucky returns! And I promise parts three and four will be extra juicy to make up for it. Divider credit goes to @writeyourmindaway!

Chapter warnings: Werewolf AU, A/B/O dynamics, incredibly basic knowledge of cars that is probably incorrect

The drive to Steve’s home is short: five minutes from the diner to the base of a wooded hill, another ten to reach the peak. You follow him up a slanted stretch of road with eyes trained on his tail lights, but there are moments when your gaze strays. Sunset lingers on either side of you, framing the forest in a pretty glow. The blend of deep orange and soft pink is hard to look away from, even when you know you should be focused elsewhere, and you make your way to the top in that dizzying in-between.

When you finally come to a stop, it’s on a patch of paved road - a welcome change to the gravel before it - in front of a large wooden cabin. Behind you, the town’s spread out in a panorama, spanning for what feels like an eternity. You can see everything from here: the humble spread of Main Street; the blues and greens of the Hummingbird; and finally, the mountains, majestic and steady beyond that.

It’s the perfect place for the pack’s alpha to be and, coincidentally, has been the home of Rogers alphas for three generations now.

That lived in feel is the first thing you notice when you make it inside. The structure is sturdy, hasn’t so much as gnarled over the years. The decor, on the other hand, is dated. Doilies on some surfaces and beer coasters on others, there are hints of Steve and the alphas who came before him throughout. Still, it’s cozy, and you say as much in an appreciative hum as you pull your bag off your shoulder.

The first floor is all open space, and you can see most of it from your spot in the foyer. It doesn’t take long for Steve to situate you - sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, and master bedroom — before leading you towards the stairs. The walls along the staircase are full of memory; pictures of him and his loved ones that catch your eye as you ascend. You don’t have time to linger now, but make a point to look them over before you go. He’s piqued your interest too much not to be a little nosy.

The second floor, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as wide as the first. There are three doors in the whole hallway, two on either side with the third directly in front of you. He identifies each as the guest room, the storage room, and a study in that order, though he’s careful to call out that no one’s used the study in a long time.

There’s a story there, you’re sure, but any interest in it leaves when Steve presses the guest bedroom door open. The bed inside is too big for the room, one side even touching the walls. And like the rest of the house, it’s decorated in a way that reminds you of your grandmother; a quaintness that’s endearing on a man like Steve. But, as out of place as things might be, there’s an undeniable comfort walking into that room. Steve smiles when he smells it on you -- that cinnamon-sweet rise of contentment as you sink down on the bed at his behest.

“It’s a short tour,” he admits, leaning against the doorjamb, “but this is about it. You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry again tonight or before you go tomorrow. I’m usually up early, so in case I don’t see you, enjoy the rest of your trip. Take care of yourself.”

It’s new to you, how easily people can offer such genuine acts of care. He hardly knows you, yet there’s no doubt that he means what he says. The thought of it makes you return that thoughtful smile. “Thank you, Steve - you’re seriously a lifesaver.”

With a final smile, he leaves you to it, shutting the door behind him.

At the click, you settle further into the bed, toeing your shoes off and sifting through your bag for house clothes and a towel. Your travels so far have been an adventure, to say the least. Just a few months ago, you’d been working a stressful entry-level job on Wall Street. Pressed skirts, sharp teeth, the days were full of routine, but not the kind that’s pleasant. Everything was uncertainty and fleeting gratification as you competed, day after day, for a seat at the table.

Add to that the constant nagging from your family to find a mate — the endless string of blind dates, the passive-aggressive mentions of other friends’ announcements; it’s a wonder you’d endured it all as long as you had.

The decision to quit had been a long time coming. The decision to leave was a whim - the first you’d had in a long time. It was freeing to even be able to make the choice and the lack of commitment only grew more intoxicating from there. You feel freer, less suffocated, and so does your wolf — it’s a change you’d desperately needed.

That feeling is what follows you into the shower as you wash away the day, and back to bed in your loose pjs. As you settle in, you have to stop yourself from sighing out loud. The mattress is as tender as a cloud, molding to your body at every point, and after weeks of motel beds (and the back of your Jeep), you fall headfirst into that comfort. Sleep comes fast and stays put.

----

When you wake in the morning, the world is quiet. It’s a long way from New York’s chaos and you bask in it, eagerly at that. The sun filtering in through the window above you leaves kaleidoscope patterns on the sheets. Your hand moves to trace them for a bit, thumb to fractured color, until you’re awake enough to focus your ear to the house.

Like outside, Steve’s cabin is tranquil, not even a hint of the alpha’s presence. Given his warning the night before, it isn’t surprising, but you’re still a little disappointed. You’d hoped to repay him for his kindness somehow — maybe with breakfast, or whatever change you could spare. But, you’ll settle for what you can get: you make a mental note to try and catch him at his office before you leave town.

Weeks on the road have made your morning routine as efficient as it gets. So once you’re completely up, you’re out the door not long after, a slice of buttered toast between your teeth to get your system going. You find your car where you left it at the end of Steve’s drive and you approach with a bounce in your step, all thanks to the night of comfortable sleep.

Maybe you ought to grab Steve a fruit basket before you stop by.

You’re racking your memory of Main Street for bakeries or something close when you settle into the driver’s seat. But, gratitude towards Steve quickly becomes the last thing on your mind when you try to start your Jeep and get nothing but a grinding sound. It isn’t promising, but you try it again, only to get even less response before the car dies altogether.

You groan out loud, head dropping to the steering wheel while your shoulders sink in defeat. It was inevitable, really - it’s been years since you inherited the car from your older sister and it was only through a slew of band-aid fixes that it made it this far.

Still, the timing can’t be any worse; you don’t have a schedule to meet, but it isn’t much of a road trip if you can’t make it on the road. You fish your cell out of your jacket pocket, hoping that your service has somehow improved between last night and this morning. But, you only have a couple bars - finicky connection at best - so, you head back into Steve’s home where you’re certain you’d noticed a landline.

When you find it, you also come across a phone book --- not the newest edition, but recent enough. The list of mechanics in the area isn’t long, so you thumb in the first number you see. The phone rings only twice before someone picks up.

“Barnes Garage?”

“Hi,” you start, perking up at the quick answer, “I just tried to start my car and it’s not working. It made this weird sound at first, then when I tried again, it just died.”

The man on the other end hums and you can hear paper rustling in the background like he’s taking notes. “Alright, we can send someone out right now to tow you in and take a look - what’s your address?”

“I don’t...actually know,” you admit, face hot from embarrassment when he goes silent. You must sound ridiculous. “I’m not from around here, so I’m just staying with someone. I’m not sure about the address.”

A chuckle rises from him that eases your shame just a bit. “Alrighty. Well, it’s a small town — tell me who you’re stayin’ with and I’m sure between the three of us here, we’ll know where to find ‘em.”

There’s a part of you that’s skeptical of that; but for a town so small and a pack so close-knit, maybe it’s possible. “Uh, sure. I stayed with Steve Rogers — the sheriff?”

The line goes silent again, this time so prolonged you think the call dropped. Then, the mechanic speaks up and you can almost swear he’s smiling. “No shit. I know exactly where that is, I can be there in fifteen? Maybe twenty? That work for you?”

“Well, I won’t be going anywhere, so that works perfectly.”

----

The mechanic manages the trip in ten, when you glance out the window at the sound of an engine to see a dark blue tow truck stalking up Steve’s driveway. You come out to greet it just as the man driving climbs out and nearly gasp. He’s as handsome as Steve had been: piercing blue eyes, an angled, stubble-lined face, and deep brown hair gathered at his nape. There’s something familiar about him you can’t seem to place, but it’s out of sight and out of mind when he closes the distance with a wide smile. “Well, hi there -- ‘m Bucky. Spoke to you on the phone.” You give him your name, to which he nods. “So, I’ll get your car down to the shop and we’ll take a look, see if we can’t fix you up today. You wanna come with me, or you staying at Stevi -- uh, Steve’s for the day?”

You shake your head . “Nah, I can come with - I was planning to head out of town today anyway, so I’m hoping I can just head out from your garage.”

“Hop on in then.”

The ride with Bucky is surprisingly warm. He’s not exactly talkative, but he’s engaging; asking questions where he needs to, humming out his interest when he doesn’t. You get so settled into the flow of quiet radio and chatter that you don’t realize you’ve made it to his shop until the truck comes to a full stop.

Barnes Garage sits at the corner of some of Amber’s End’s quieter streets. The large lot outside has a few cars parked with a path between them for new ones to be driven into the workshop. Bucky’s pulled your Jeep right into that path, though he’s stopped halfway between the curb and the garage building. “It’ll take me maybe a half hour to really dig in --- you can stick around or explore, it’s up to you, but I’ll let you out here.”

You climb out with a nod, thanking him before nodding towards the streets behind you. “I’ll probably head out - grab a few more things before I go. See you in thirty?”

For the second time in as many days, you’re exploring Main Street, this time with an eye out for the stores you didn’t visit the day before. There aren’t many, to be frank, so after the first few, you take to stopping in on some of the people you’ve met already. They seem surprised to see you again, but take advantage of your presence to tell you more about themselves, the town, their wares.

You realize quickly that none of the stories about Amber’s End really do it justice. It’s quainter than what you’re used to, sure, but there’s so much history there. It’s romantic almost - like the first turn of an old book or light filtering into a tea shop.

You think you’ll miss it when you leave, even if just for a little while.

When you get back to the shop, you’re a few souvenirs richer and have something nice to give Steve on your way out of town as well. Bucky is sitting at a computer - the model recognizably old but reliable like the rest of the town. He perks up at the sight of you, already waving before you make it all the way in the door and pull your scarf from around your face. “So,” he starts, walking to your car with a hand under his chin. “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”

You grimace. “Ok --- good news first.”

“Well, I know what’s wrong with the car. The starter motor,” he taps a finger on the hood over the spot where the part lives, “is out. Completely done. But, we can get a part delivered here to get you back on the road.”

“Okay,” you eye him suspiciously. “Then, what’s the bad news?”

“Lookin’ at the places we get our parts from, they’re all outta stock for the model you’ve got. The soonest the part could be here is in a month, and even that might be generous with all the storms lately.” As if pre-empting your shock, he hands over an invoice to confirm it.

Seeing it written out, plain as day, makes you grimace. Staying anywhere for a whole month (or more) had never been in the cards; but, there’s no way you can afford a new car either - you were just barely making it through with the money you’ve budgeted as is. You take a long, hard look at the estimate Bucky’s handed you before taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “Okay,” you start slowly, “so how does this work? If I decide to wait for the part.”

He gestures to the door behind you that leads to the lot from earlier. “We have a reserve lot - it’s where we keep all the cars that are waiting on a part for service. I’d keep your car here - free of charge - until the part comes, then we fix ‘er up. You’d pay for the part now and the fix later, when we call you to make sure it all looks good.”

You nod, glancing up from the sheet briefly before looking back at the part expense. It isn’t bad in the grand scheme of things - certainly cheaper than a used car that’ll just give up on you in a few months anyway. But, it will be a good chunk of what you’d set aside for your trip and if you’re staying put for the month, there’s no way you can afford to do it without really settling in. Job and all. “Okay - let’s do it.”

“Sounds good.” Bucky’s eyes are full of sympathy as he watches you; from what little you’d told him in the ride over, being stuck in one place is the last thing you wanted right now. “You want me to get you to Steve? He’ll have some good ideas for what you can do next.”

The nervous knots that’ve been building since the conversation started uncoil some at the mention of the other Alpha, though you try your best to ignore it with another nod to Bucky. “That would be great.”

----

The sheriff’s station is small but busy when you walk in. Bucky trails ahead of you, walking with purpose that surprises you. At first, you chalk it up to the town being so small — maybe there’s an open door policy for the residents. But, then you notice the way deputies and junior deputies let him by without even batting an eye. The ones who do simply nod, offering a smile while Bucky walks right past them and reception into Steve’s open office door.

“Buck?” You can hear ahead of him. “What are you doing here..?” It dawns on you then that they must know each other; intimately, judging by the nickname and the pure ease that Bucky has as he maneuvers the station.

You hesitate to interrupt their moment, but Bucky’s response to Steve’s question is to angle himself so you can be seen from behind him. That’s when Steve notices you and you wave with a sheepish smile. “He brought me, actually - my car’s broken down and I don’t think I’ll be able to leave for a bit. I wanted to make sure you knew before you came home and found me still there…”

Your presence brings Steve to his feet and you notice that he’s in his sheriff’s uniform for the first time. Somehow, he seems more comfortable in it than the casual wear you’ve seen him in so far, but there’s no denying that he looks just as good. “Hey -- you don’t have to worry about that, I wouldn’t just kick you out. I’m sorry to hear about the car, though - anything I can do to help?”

“Unless there’s a way the local sheriff’s office can put a little muscle on an auto-parts dealer,” you tease, drawing a snort from Bucky beside you, “I think I’m okay. I’m hoping we can talk more about where I should stay when you get back, though?”

“Sounds good to me.”

With your big news out in the open, you turn on your heel to leave, but pause as another thought strikes you. “Actually, one thing I could use some help with: know of anyone hiring?”

Steve’s face turns pensively and you can see his mind working for an answer. “Not that I can think of, no…,” he offers, a little remorse in his tone, “but you know what? Most places are willin’ if you know who to talk to. How about Bucky take you around? See what you find?”

After giving his instructions to a suspiciously enthusiastic Bucky, Steve turns his attention back to you. You expect to see pity, but there’s nothing there but genuine concern. You feel a little warmth from it, like you’re protected just by standing in front of him, and wonder if this is how everyone in his pack must feel. “I’ll be back late today, so you can feel free to eat without me. Bucky will take care of you until then and help you talk to some folks about a job. You call me if you need me.” He brandishes a business card from a holder on his desk and pencils his cell number on the back before handing it over. “If you’re still awake when I get in, we can talk about your living situation. Otherwise, settle in for one more night and we��ll talk in the morning.”

----

Over the rest of the day, Bucky takes you to a few shops with vacancies: pharmacy, market, the doctor’s office. Nothing seems to strike a chord for you, though, and you start to grow dejected, anticipating yet another job you have to work out of necessity.

Then, Bucky pulls into the gravel lot of a tavern.

Widow’s Den is the name carved in large wooden blocks over the front door, and despite the afternoon hour, there are a few cars parked in front of it. When you duck inside, a group of older men and women sit, talking over beers.

A tall, broad man is working the bar, his laughter booming over a pop song you haven’t heard in years. Beside you, Bucky beams, scent thickening at the sight, and you realize quickly that this must be the person behind the ring on his left hand and the soft pink mark on the right side of his neck. His mate. It’s adorable to see — this charismatic alpha unraveled at one glimpse of the man he loves.

“Babe,” Bucky chimes for the bartender’s attention as you approach the bartop. Not that he needs to, though; it’s obvious in the way his scent spikes that he’s long since noticed Bucky’s presence and you nearly coo at that too. “Nat in the back?”

“Yeah,” he responds, not looking your way yet as he finishes pouring a drink. “Doing inventory, I think.” Once the drink’s delivered, he offers his full attention and that’s when he notices you. “Who’s this?”

Bucky grins, smile taking on a boyish quality as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “New girl, looking for a job. Her car’s in the shop with me now, so she’s staying with our lovely sheriff until it gets fixed up.”

The bartender’s intrigue is immediate, eyes widening before he grins slyly — as if privy to a secret you’re not — and folds arms over his chest. The pose accentuates the corded muscle along his arms and chest and you have to stop yourself from sighing. Is there anyone in this town that isn’t woefully in shape? “You’re kiddin'. With Steve?” You have more questions than you know what to do with, but there’s no time to think about asking one when his hand is thrust your way. “Well, then, nice to meet you, girlie. I’m Sam.”

The smile he offers you is welcoming, and you forget about the odd focus on your staying with Steve (it isn’t even official yet!) to accept his hand. When you share your name in return, the smile widens and he tips his head towards the stretch of hallway by the other end of the bar. “Head on back to talk to Nat -- Bucky can show you the way.”

The brunet rests a hand to your back, pausing only to give Sam a quick kiss over the bar before he takes you towards the back hallway. The vibe in this half of the building is noticeably different. Homey, like the staircase at Steve’s cabin. You recognize many of the same faces in these pictures as the ones back at Steve’s. Bucky’s against Sam’s shoulder, Steve head and shoulders over the rest. There are a few where he’s even bare faced, looking eons younger than he does now, but not a smidgen less intense, and you work out easily that they’ve all been friends for some time, maybe even since puphood.

It’s admirable to you, maybe even enviable too. You have friends from that age as well, but the unforgiving pace of city life had made it hard to stay close. The smiles in the bar’s pictures, in comparison, speak to nothing but growing bonds, year after year.

You can’t help but smile too.

“This way.” Bucky’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and into a half-cracked doorway. The room is cluttered, stacked with boxes and bottles. And in the center of the chaos is a woman with striking red hair, pulled up and out of her face. Her aura holds a candle to Steve’s; far-reaching, imposing, and immediate. There’s no mistaking her as anything but an Alpha, and when her eyes leave the clipboard she’s holding to focus on you instead, you struggle against the instinctive need to bow into yourself. But, years of Wall Street’s brutal pace (that cares very little for rank) steel you. You see something akin to amusement flash in her eyes when you meet her gaze head-on.

“What did I tell you about bringing in strays, James?” Her tone is level, but the words have no real bite. You look up at Bucky warily still, who reassures you with a little smile.

“This one’s not a stray --- not really, anyway.” He loops an arm around your shoulder again and you can tell the familiarity intrigues Nat. “She’s new in town - staying for a month or two until I can get her car squared up, so we’re hopin’ to find her a place to work.”

“Just a couple? That’s not a long time --- I mean, by the time you get settled in, you’re gonna be out of here.” A valid concern; one that the other shop owners had shared when Bucky told them your predicament. There isn’t much you can say to ease the worry, but it turns out you don’t have to. Nat turns the rest of the way to set her scrutinizing gaze on you properly and the look compels you to stay put; almost as if you’re presenting yourself to her. A stretch of silence sets in and the longer it goes, the more convinced you are that she’s about to reject you outright. Then, she clicks her tongue. “Hm. We don’t need much right now, but I could throw you a couple bucks if you want to help us bus tables or something. This is the only spot to really drink in town, so we could always use the help on busy nights.”

You’re so relieved you could kiss her, but you don’t need superhuman instinct to know that would not go well. You settle instead for a wide smile, the sort that’s contagious to the Alphas in the room who start beaming with you. “That would work for me!”

“Good,” she grins, setting her clipboard aside to cross her arms, “now to celebrate our new arrival.”

----

You spend the rest of the day at Widow’s Den, getting to know Sam, Bucky, and Natasha over glasses of their best liquor. They confirm your suspicion that they’ve known each other for some time: Steve and Bucky are lifelong friends, brought together by a schoolyard fight started by a Steve who wasn’t even half the other boys’ heights. Meanwhile, Sam and Natasha came into the fray during high school years, transfers from their deep South and Russian hometowns respectively. But, they folded into the fabric of the boyhood duo easily and had been a foursome ever since.

You still don’t know where Sam and Bucky’s relationship turned romantic, but there’s an ease there that makes you guess it has been a while. Natasha, like you, is unmarked, but it’s rare for Alphas to do that anyway. You’re curious to learn more about her in particular.

As time moves on, the bar fills more and more and you get a glimpse of what your life will be like for the next few weeks. The crowd is certainly diverse - people of all ages filing in with friends or on their own. In an odd way, there’s two bars existing in one - young and old, energetic chatter and introspective talk.

By the time you leave, you’re a little tipsy and Bucky guides you out with a hand on your back. So far, you haven’t come across any other omega in their circle, and you wonder if his constant touch is a result of that instinct to protect you. The conversation on the ride back to Steve’s flows more freely now that you’ve spent so much time together and when he drops you off, he surprises you with an offer for a hug. When he glimpses that surprise, he laughs. “None of that now - you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on, so we’re friends, sweetheart.”

You laugh and step into his arms - you suppose he’s right.

----

It’s near one in the morning when Steve finally comes home. His midnight patrol had been as uneventful as usual ---- a blessing, he thinks, considering how distracted he’d been during the run. His wolf is restless, agitated by the thought of this new omega being around longer than expected. He found his thoughts trailing to her during his time in the woods, particularly as he passed the quarry he’d found her in, and there was an eagerness to find out how the rest of the day with Bucky had gone.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. His friend, dear as he is, can be a handful, even for him.

When he comes in, he’s shocked to find you still awake in the living room, a mug of what smells like herbal tea in your hand as you flip through a book from his shelf. You look up at him from the book, a dopey smile to your face, and that’s when the other, underlying smell on you hits. Alcohol --- something woody that’s familiar. He guesses Bucky must’ve taken you to Widow’s Den, which would explain why you’re still up at this time.

“Hey,” he speaks up, nodding at you, “couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, book forgotten as you cradle your tea with your other hand. “It’s been a busy night - still a bit wired!”

Fair, he thinks. “Tell me about it - did it go well with Buck?”

You start to ramble about the day - the places you tried, the time at Widow’s Den, the offer from Nat you ultimately accepted. He tries not to tense too visibly, but he can’t hide the way his scent sharpens the way it often does when an Alpha is on edge. He can see the impact it has on you instantly; the way your excitement slows and your eyes dart to try and pick out what caused it.

He reassures you - or does his best to - with a smile, urging you on. He won’t explain this yet, but the crowd at Widow’s Den can be rowdy when they want to be, especially when they’re from out of town. Nat and Sam will show you the ropes --- and step in where they have to --- so you’ll be in good hands; but he wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t worry. You’re the newest wolf in town now --- a part of his pack, even if just for a short while.

When you’re done recapping the day, his smile grows, the gesture deliberately wide to make up for his worry catching you off-guard. “Well, I’m glad to hear it went well - Nat and Sam are good people, they’ll take care of you.”

“I believe it.” You pause, running a finger along the rim of your mug. “Which reminds me, I… I don’t have to stay here. Once I start working, I think I’ll be able to check in at the Hummingbird, see if that room’s opened up.”

Steve gives you the same stern look from the diner and you almost giggle at the sight. It’s hard to see the same intimidating alpha now that you’ve heard a little about him from his friends. “Come on - what kind of pack leader would I be if I kicked you out now?” He stands from the couch, eyes -- and stomach -- starting to turn towards the kitchen. “I won’t stop you if you prefer the motel, of course, but the offer to stay here will be open until your car’s ready to go.”

“Are you sure...?”

His stern face softens, giving way to another smile. “Positive - don’t worry about it, okay?”

After the last twenty four hours, it’s hard to doubt his capacity for kindness, but reassurance is always appreciated. You thank him one last time as he stalks into the kitchen, wishing you a good night, and when your tea is finished, you pad up to the guest bedroom with your chest feeling as warm as your tummy.

As you finally doze, it’s with a head full of excitement; like a kid the night before a field trip. You didn’t expect it, sure, but you’re ready, anticipant, for the start of your life for the next two months.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #alpha!steve rogers x reader #mcu x reader #werewolf!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfic #werewolf!steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction

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rugbypolycule · 3 years

Text

take your hand in mine

pairing: itadori yuuji x fushigoro megumi

characters: itadori yuuji, fushigoro megumi, kugisaki nobara, fushiguro tsumiki (mentioned), fushiguro toji (mentioned), gojo satoru (mentioned)

rating: general audiences, no warnings apply

words: 1968

summary: yuuji is half-decent at painting his nails for a beginner. megumi is absolutely smitten and gets pulled along for the ride. they're both in love and clueless.

or: an intimacy fic where yuuji paints megumi's nails. because those boys deserve some quiet time.

ao3 link

Itadori Yuuji isn’t someone who gets embarrassed easily. He rarely pays attention to the opinions of others, and not for a lack of caring. He has such a strong sense of self, such an unwavering faith in his own mind that criticism often flies right over his head. On anyone else, the trait would far too-closely resemble arrogance – even self-centeredness. The pink-haired boy, however, is too gentle, too empathetic and kind. His steady confidence shines in a bright halo that threatens to overwhelm even those with the strongest defenses.

In simpler, more candid terms, Fushigoro Megumi feels like he can’t breathe when Yuuji smiles. If he were more honest with himself, he’d recognise that his feelings of breathlessness aren’t reserved for Yuuji’s full-watt smile. The truth is that around Yuuji, Megumi’s lungs work overtime. He is almost constantly filled with this restless sort of energy, the urge to act. It makes his fingers itch and his pulse lurch to his throat.

It’s a cool day. It had been overcast for a while, the clouds heavy with an oncoming storm so strong it could almost be tasted. Yuuji loves days like these. The feeling of his hair standing on end, the thickness of the air around him, the velvety grey of the sky. It is the sort of day that makes you want to stay inside with lights dimmed and quiet music playing.

Yuuji finds himself in this exact position, scrolling through Pinterest on his laptop. Ever since meeting Megumi and Nobara, he had discovered a newfound love for fashion. He loved bright colours and stark geometric patterns and shiny skin and lips. It felt fresh and energising. He loved the attention to detail that went into putting together a full outfit – the studded belts, sheer scarves, painted nails.

Yuuji loved the look of nail polish. He could wear his dark uniform and still bring colour into his life, and for cheap. Plus, going shopping with Nobara was always a fun experience. She had picked out a bright purple shade for Yuuji, but he had his eyes on a bottle bursting with golden yellow. He bought them both at her loud insistence. They ate sushi that day. It was nice.

Now Yuuji sits on his bed, yellow bottle in slightly trembling hand. His nervous anticipation doesn’t come from fear that people would think he looked weird or strange; he is more worried about messing up the application and look messy, about which Nobara often complained. The concern quickly dissipates, though, making way for Yuuji’s quiet excitement as he opens the bottle.

The breaking of the seal causes a wave of fumes to fill his room. Yuuji’s nose tickles. He sneezes a few times, coming dangerously close to spilling the yellow paint everywhere. Thankfully, his reflexes are stronger than his body’s averse reaction. He slowly lifts the brush out of the bottle, taking care to wipe off the excess varnish just as Nobara had told him. With a slightly steadier hand, he begins painting his left index finger. He moves on to the next, then the next, then his right hand (which is considerably more difficult and why didn’t Nobara say anything about that?) Though he was unpracticed, he didn’t make a huge mess like he thought he would. Save for a few yellow-tinged cuticles, he had done a pretty decent job.

For a while, Yuuji just sits back and admires his work. Nobara had told him to wait no less than 15 minutes before even thinking about using his hands. Yuuji lasts 5 minutes before looking for a cooking video to pass the time. Nothing was smudged, and Yuuji quite happily sits through more than a few videos before the smell of the nail polish becomes too much for him. It had been plenty of time now, so he doesn’t worry about messing up his nails as he opens the door to his room.

He stops short as he finds Megumi on the other side of it.

If anyone asked, Megumi was just walking past Yuuji’s room for no reason. In fact, he was only going to get water, and had to pass by Yuuji’s room in order to get to the common area. The reason he stopped at his classmate’s door at all was simply to ponder the possibility of getting a snack. There was no other motive behind it.

Sadly, all his excuses do nothing to hide his deer-in-headlights expression. Before he can open his mouth in order to deny being there on purpose, a hand is thrust towards his face. Megumi flinches back in a sort of surprised confusion before realising that Yuuji has yellow fingernails.

“Do you like them?” asks Yuuji, grinning at Megumi like an expectant puppy.

Oh. There’s that hummingbird thrum in his bones again. The rapid movement of blood that makes his head light and his breath shallow. Yuuji is beautiful.

“Yeah,” Megumi tries to answer. It’s at times like these, when he’s lost for words and doesn’t know how to move his face to seem genuine, that he really appreciates Yuuji’s personality. Almost anyone else would have thought Megumi disinterested, or worse judgemental because of his monotone and lacklustre response. Thankfully, Yuuji just huffs out a laugh.

“You don’t have to sound so excited about it, Fushiguro.” He rolls his eyes, still grinning, arm still extended. “I thought you would’ve appreciated it more.”

Megumi softly bats his hand away. “I don’t ‘not appreciate it’, Itadori. It’s cool. I’m just… thinking about how it probably wouldn’t suit me.”

Megumi gets whacked on the shoulder. “Hey!” He complains as Yuuji pulls him into his room and sits him down on the bed. The nail polish smell, not having quite left the room yet, makes Megumi’s nose wrinkle up. Yuuji lets out a giggle that sounds like sunshine on skin.

“What are you doing?” Megumi almost whines as Yuuji rummages around in his closet. Yuuji turns to face him, pulling a plastic bag out with him with a flourish. His smile hasn’t left his face yet, and Megumi feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Won’t suit you? We’ll see about that,” says Yuuji, confident as always.

Megumi tries not to splutter. “Well. Yellow isn’t really my colour, Itadori.” He says his name too softly, like he always does. He tenses up and hopes Yuuji doesn’t notice.

To his almost-disappointment, Yuuji doesn’t react. Instead, he pulls out a bottle of purple nail polish and throws it towards the bed, a way too smug look on his face. Megumi wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

“Nobara got me to buy two,” he almost sing-songs, “so now you have to let me paint yours!”

In another reality, there is a Megumi that rips his gaze away from those brown eyes and mumbles something about Yuuji not making any sense. He leaves the room with his heart intact, and goes and eats ice cream with a spoon with his wolves in the dark.

Instead, he tries desperately to stay quiet, to suppress a gasp as Yuuji grabs his hand to inspect it. Megumi blames the tightness in his ribs on his binder and toughs it out. Except Yuuji’s hand is so warm and impossibly soft and that idiot shuffles close enough that their thighs are touching and it’s all. A lot.

Yuuji is still just cradling Megumi’s hand in both his own, turning it over and staring for so long it’s as if he’s trying to commit the skin to memory. The air is still thick with an oncoming storm, but now a tentative intimacy mingles amongst the electrified atoms. Megumi doesn’t dare move or speak, as if the universe will punish him by way of Yuuji letting go of his hand. He chooses rather to count each of Yuuji’s eyelashes, watch his nostrils flare as he breathes out in quiet concentration.

“You have really pretty fingers.” Yuuji murmurs, completely unaware of how devastating it is to Megumi’s heart.

Having been abandoned by his father, not knowing his mother, and his sister being in a coma, Megumi hasn’t been a close acquaintance to touch. Hell, even when his sister wasn’t confined to a hospital bed, he was too prickly and stubborn to receive hugs most of the time. Somewhere not-so-deep down, Megumi craves touch. Sometimes, he stares at the ceiling and wonders what it could feel like to be close to someone that didn’t involve the rigidity of training or the annoyance of Gojo’s hair ruffles. To feel warm and fuzzy and for it to be because of someone else’s hands.

Yuuji’s touch, combined with his soft words of praise, are a dream come true. Megumi can only cough awkwardly and watch as Yuuji starts to coat his short nails in purple. Yuuji’s tongue is almost the same colour as his hair, and it sticks slightly out of his mouth as he works. At some point Yuuji had turned that low music back on: a steady and slow lo–fi that does nothing to calm Megumi’s racing heart.

Yuuji keeps slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth on the back of Megumi’s hand as he glides the brush against his fingernails. It’s in all ways comforting as it is maddening, and Megumi does not expect the quiet, “you take such good care of your hands,” when it comes.

Yuuji chooses that exact moment to look into Megumi’s eyes. His face is so open and earnest and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep looking back without leaning forward into his space and just…

Megumi lets out a shaky breath. “Really? Thank you,” he replies, trying to sound as casual as possible with his pulse constricting in his jaw. His mouth feels dry.

Yuuji moves swiftly onto his other hand until all that’s left is his pinky. Not wanting to repeat the slight smudges he had accidentally painted onto Megumi’s left pinky, Yuuji pulls this last finger closer to his face, his breath fanning against it and sending shivers up Megumi’s whole arm. He finishes painting the nail quickly and carefully, but doesn’t put down Megumi’s hand.

Megumi can’t help the soft gasp he lets out as he feels a feather-light kiss pressed to his wrist. It’s as if his blood sings. They observe each other quietly for several moments – taking one another in, willing the silence to never break. Yuuji eventually pulls his face away from his work, now admiring the job.

“All finished.” Yuuji’s voice isn’t loud, but it fills the room. Megumi moves on the bed, beginning to pull his hand away. Yuuji drops his wrist in favour of grabbing Megumi’s waist with both hands, eyes almost panicked.

“You can’t leave yet!” His voice doesn’t raise above the volume of the music, but his words are emphatic. Megumi is trembling in his grasp. “You have to let them dry. And since I spent all that time painting your nails for you, it’s only fair that you stay here with me while you wait.”

Megumi is about to protest, knowing his limits are close to being reached. His face is burning hot and surely visible from the mere distance Yuuji sits away. He feels fit to burst.

The sky does before he has the chance.

The first clap of thunder sounds outside, and a pitter pattering of rain begins to thrum against the window. Megumi resigns himself to this still fume-filled room. He lies down on the bed next to Itadori Yuuji, feeling everything. He doesn’t answer when Yuuji asks if he wants to watch something, nor does he pay attention to whatever the pink-haired boy pulls up on YouTube for them.

Instead, Megumi exists in a content closeness to his friend, counting his eyelashes, and feeling the heat of Yuuji’s hands on his waist.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #itadori yuji #itadori yuuji #itafushi #megumi x yuuji #megumi x yuji #fushiguro megumi #i sure hope someone likes this!#elliot writes jjk

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