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qrrieterisunnq · 2 days

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Accidents - Jack Hughes

jack!hughes x amara!james

SUMMARY: Six situations when Amara thinks she made a bad impression on the Hughes family and one when they tell her, she’s the missing puzzle that missed in their family

WARNINGS: anxiety, crying, fluff, Amara’s clumsiness, comforting Jack, unedited

ORD COUNT: 7,32K

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I worked on this for a really long time and I just hope you'll like it!

PART OF STRAWBERRY GIRL AU

strawberry girl masterlist

— 1. SHE FALLS FROM THE STAIRS

The rays of the sun that managed to pass through the blinds are now falling on her boyfriend's face. He looks so peaceful, lying here in his bed in the lake house, surrounded by his family, his loved ones. She has noticed he is more relaxed than he was during the season.

Amara knows pretty well how much stress is pressed on him. Jack is the type of person, who always blames himself for the team's losses. She knows him well, and when he was out with an upper-body injury she saw how hard he took that his team was really bad on it.

Now, he is lying next to her, his features relaxed and softened, she hadn’t seen him like this in many months. Smiling she traces her finger across his cheeks, down his jaw, and to his neck, where she stops, resting her hand here.

“You know I can feel you staring?” his raspy morning voice touches her ears. A small smile tugged at his lips as her fingers danced on the skin of his neck.

“I know, I’m just admiring your handsome face.” She whispers, placing soft kisses on his chest.

“Yeah?” he whispers out, his eyes still closed. He tightens his grip on her, pulling her more onto him. “You think I’m handsome?”

“Why else would I be with you?” she says teasingly, a grin forming on her lips as she watches him open one eye, to look at her, immediately closing it because of the sun.

“Oh, I thought you were with me because of my hockey career and money.” He chuckles teasingly, tickling her sides gently.

“Yeah, that too,” she laughs pinching his cheek. “But you're hot and I wanted to prove to myself, and actually to others, that someone like me can have a hot guy.”

“You, know, you can have every guy you want,” he whispers, kissing her forehead. “You’re hot. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. You’re kind to everyone, even though you don’t like them. And the way you’re with kids, every kid loves you so much. And when you help retirees cross the crosswalk, I don't understand how such an angel can exist on earth.” A loving smile resting on his lips.

“We should get up,” she rolls off from him after a few minutes just staring at each other. “Everyone is probably awake, it's 8:50.” You murmur as you slip out of bed, walking over to the closet to get out her red bikini and Jack’s shirt with his baseball shorts.

Jack sits on the edge of the bed watching her dress up. A slap lands on her right ass cheek when she’s putting on the bikini bottom.

“Mine.” He growls, kneading her ass.

“Yours.” She slaps his hands away, throwing his shirt and shorts on him.

“Hurry up, I’m hungry!” she says as she walks over to the bathroom, to wash her face and make her skincare routine.

Jack chuckles to himself, as he watches Amara walk in the bathroom, her hips swaying, causing a groan left his lips.

“Little tease.” He mumbles to himself shaking his head as he pulls the shirt over his head, a smile never leaving his lips. He doesn’t understand, how he manages to be loved by this amazing woman. With a smile, he walks over to the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe as he watches Amara sway her hips and hum a song under her nose. “Looking amazing, Berry!” watching her bend over the sink, as she washed her face from the cleanser.

“Thank you.” She grins up at him, water dripping from her face.

“Okay, I’m going down, okay,” Jack smiled at her, caressing her back. “When you’re done, come, I’ll make you a plate with food.”

“Thank you, baby.” A grateful smile lingers on her lips as she watches his back as he leaves his room.

As soon as she’s done with her skincare routine, she gets on the shirt and shorts she prepared earlier, takes her phone from the nightstand, and makes her way out of the room.

Looking down at her phone, she starts stepping down the stairs, chuckling over a message she just received on Tumblr, from one of her friends. Not careful enough, she trips over her leg. Her eyes grew wide, when she saw the stairs in front of her face, falling straight on them. She yelps in pain, as she rolls down the stairs.

“Amara!” Jack's eyes widen in horror as he sees his girlfriend falling down the stairs. He gets from the chair abruptly, causing it to fall with a thud, but he doesn’t care as he runs to her, dropping to his knees, and immediately pulling her in him. “What happened?” he asks her, but she doesn’t answer tears rolling down her cheeks her eyes closed shut. “Are you hurt?” She slowly shakes her head but winces in pain.

“Her knees.” Luke points to her blooded knees while he’s sitting next to her looking for other injuries.

“I’m coming for the first Aid kit,” Ellen says, rushing over to the kitchen, Jim following right behind her.

“Baby, look at me!” Jack let out desperately. He needs to see she’s okay. “Please.” He begs, caressing her cheek. She turns at him, her eyes red from the tears and her lips turned into a frown.

“My legs hurt.” She cries out, hiding her face in Jack’s chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” he sighs kissing the top of her head. “We’ll clean it up, and it’ll be alright, okay, love?” He coos her kissing her tears away. She nods her head, taking in a deep breath.

“So, ebfarfasing.” She mumbles in his chest, inhaling his scent.

“What?” Jack looks at Amara confused.

“We’re here!” Ellen shouts dropping to her knees next to Amara. “This will hurt a little honey!” sadness in her voice while she pulls out disinfection and cotton squares and plaster with spiderman. They all laugh at that. “Okay, this will sting a little bit.” She pours a little of the disinfection on the cotton square, carefully placing it on Amara’s blooded knees.

“Ow!” she winces, gripping Jack and Quinn’s hands hard.

“It’ll be okay, love,” Jack says painfully. He hates seeing his girl in pain. He is used to her clumsiness, but something like this has never happened, till today. Every time something was about to happen, he was there to catch her before she fell, he was there to catch the thing, that was about to break, or other things. This time, he wasn’t here, and that made him sick. “Just a minute.”

Amara leans into his chest, biting hard on her lower lip, when Ellen puts more disinfection on her wounds.

“Almost done, Ara!” Ellen announced sticking out her hand for Jim to place the plasters in. She places a clean square on the wound, which is then covered with a plaster. “There you go!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” Amara says politely, wiping her tears away.

“No need, honey.” Ellen pats her tight, she stands up, with Jim's help, not that she needs any help, and takes the first aid kit with her to the kitchen.

“Luke, Quinn, please leave us alone for a minute. We’ll come to the breakfast in a minute,” Jack asks them, a concerned look on his face. He needs to know what happened, that she fell.

“Yeah, sure.” Quinn nods, he stands up, dragging Luke away.

“Amara, what happened?” Jack slightly caresses her legs, turning her around so he can see her facial expressions.

“I—I uhm…I wasn’t paying attention. I was on my phone, laughing over one message and my leg slipped or something, and then I was down.” A nervous laugh leaves her mouth, as she looks at him from under her lashes.

“Berry, you have to be more careful,” a sigh left his mouth just when he placed his hands on her tights. “I’m not here all the time to save you.”

“I know, it’s just hard with my personality and everything.” Guilt was written over her face, her eyes never leaving his.

There is comfortable silence between the two of them, as they stare into each other's eyes, when Amara’s eyes widen and she hides her head in her hands, groaning. “This is so embarrassing,” tears forming in her eyes. “They’ll think I'm completely stupid and can't even walk down the stairs.” One tear slipped over the edge rolling down her cheek.

“Oh, no baby, they won’t,” Jack wipes the tear away giving her a reassuring look. “They already love you, and they know you have ADHD. I know it wasn’t my place to tell them, but mom asked me about you a lot, and my brothers follow you on Instagram and know about it, so…” he trails off, smiling lovingly at her.

“No, that’s okay, I get it.” She kissed his lips quickly and rested his forehead on his. “And thank you.” You smile at him softly, looking deep into his blue eyes.

— 2. SHE ACCIDENTALLY DROPS THE BOTTLE OF WINE

Sitting by the bonfire at the lake house with the Hughes family and the guys' friends is so comforting and calming for Amara. She’s snuggled in Jack’s arms, her eyes slightly closed as she breathes in his comforting scent and silently listens to their conversation.

She feels Jack drawing small patterns on her bare tight, as his chest moves with his beautiful laughter. A small smile tugged at her lips at the sound of his laughter. He pulls her more into him his chin resting on her shoulder, and his hands slide down on her ass holding her close to him.

“Do we have another beer?” Trevor asks, causing Amara’s eyes to shoot open. She straightens her back, rubbing her eyes. Jack shoots Trevor an unpleasant glare, that he woke her up.

“Yeah, it’s in the fridge,” Luke mumbles his eyes glutted to his phone as he’s hurriedly texting to someone. “I’ll get it, I want one too anyway.”

“No, you stay, I’ll get it!” Amara says quickly, trying to stand up from Jack’s lap. However, he pulls her back shaking his head.

“You ain’t going anywhere.” He mumbles in her ear, placing a soft kiss on her neck.

“No, it’s okay! I’m tired, so I’ll go to sleep after that.” smiling at him, she kisses his lips and stands up. Slowly she makes her way into the house yawning.

Jack’s eyes are pinned on her back, watching her walk inside. Her hips sway slightly, and Jack’s shirt she’s wearing ends right below her ass, causing his cock to twitch in his shorts. He shook his head, throwing his thought to the back of his mind, his eyes moving to Trevor who’s smirking at him.

“What?” Jack asks him, brows furrowed in v shape, trying to search for some explanation in his eyes.

“Just, she’s kinda…” he starts waving his hands in the air, causing Jack's brows to furrow even more, as he waits for him to finish his sentence. “Unique, I guess. But I like her, she’s funny, smart, and hot, so,” a wide smile resting on Trevor’s lips as he watched Jack’s expression soften. He likes the way he’s around Amara. He’s a completely new person. Good person. He’s laughing so much more often than he was before her, he’s shining with love and happiness, which makes Trevor so happy. He likes this new him.

“Thank you, Z,” he nods his head, relief written all over his face. He’s glad that his best friend likes her because she means the world to him. “Means a lot, that you like her.”

“I know, J. I’m glad you’re happy and in love.”

“That was cheesy, Trevor,” Jack laughs just like the rest of the guys, who were listening to them. “Even for you.”

“Oh, shut up, you asshole! I was confessing my feelings and you just had to make fun of me!” Trevor pouts his lips, causing the guys to laugh even more. While the guys are laughing, Amara is getting out the beers from the fridge on the counter, so she can take them out. She pulls out a wine bottle, to get out the rest of the beers, but when she wants to put it on the counter, the bottle slips down, shattering into a million pieces.

Amara immediately gets down, tears forming in her eyes at her clumsiness, as she starts picking up the pieces of glass. Her eyes snap up when she hears some footsteps running down the stairs and inside the house, cutting her palm. The first who find her are Jim and Ellen, who when she sees Amara sitting on the floor, her palm covered in blood while she’s still trying to collect the glass, run over to her, to get her on her feet, throwing the glass in her palms in the trash.

In a few seconds, the guys are inside too, Jack’s eyes wide in panic. What doesn’t help him, is the sight of Amara’s bloody hand.

“What happened, dear?” Ellen asks her in a steady whisper tone, to calm her down.

“I—I uhm… I went to get the beers for the boys, and I had to take the wine bottle out, to the last two, but… uhm… but the bottle slipped from the counter and fell down,” she whispers tears running down her cheeks, as Ellen, washes her hand from the blood to see the cut. “I’m so sorry, I’ll buy you a new—“ Ellen stops her, shaking her head.

“No need, darling. Things happen. I don’t care about the wine, I didn’t even like this one,” she chuckles, looking into Amara’s eyes. She let out a quiet laugh, wiping the tears from her face with her good hand. “Okay, it’s not deep, so I just put a plaster on it and I’m sure it’ll be fine in a few days.” Ellen caresses her arm, getting the plasters. At that moment, Jack makes his way to Amara, his hands taking hold of hers.

“You okay, love?”

“Yeah,” she nods, looking down at the floor. The boys already cleaned it, throwing the glass in the trash. “I’m sorry,” she sighs dropping her head down. “I’m just embarrassing you, in front of your family and friends.”

“Don’t,” he shook his head. “You’re not embarrassing me. And even if you were. I don’t care,” he lifts her chin upward, so he can see her eyes. “I love you, the way you are. And that won’t change, berry.” He leans in kissing her forehead but backs up when his mom comes with the first aid kit.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes.” She says the same phrase a second time during those two weeks.

“No need, Amara.” She caresses your cheek, sending her a comforting smile. She looks around, trying to find her boy, but instead, she’s met with weird faces from everyone in the room except from Jack and Ellen.

Exactly what she thought. Everyone thinks she’s not enough for Jack and is just embarrassing him.

With head hung low she bid goodnight to everyone, ignoring Jack's look, she kissed his cheek quickly, walking to his room.

“Really, thanks, guys, you couldn't make it more obvious.” Jack shook his head, running up the stairs to his room.

“What did we do?” Luke looks around at his mom, a confused look on his face.

“You were staring, Luke. I thought you knew how she was when you knew her longer than the boys…” Ellen sighs, as she makes her way past the boys and Jim to their room, so she can go back to her sleep.

“I still don’t get it.” Luke sighs, leaning his back on the counter and looking at the boys and his dad.

“She was embarrassed, Luke, and you kept staring at her,” Quinn says, pouring water in a glass. “And I may not know her long, but I can see how hard she tries to get along with us, and how hard she wants us to like her,” He drinks up the water, heading slowly to the stairs. “Anyway, I’m tired, I'm gonna call it a day.” He says waving to them and making his way up to his room. When he walks past Jack's door, he stops to find out what's going on.

“Baby!” Jack’s voice is full of nervosity and fear. “No, stop! I said it before, and I tell it now. I don’t care if my friends or my family don’t like you. I love you the way you are.” Quinn can hear the love in Jack’s voice as he speaks to her. Also, he can hear the fear of losing the love of his life.

“No, Jack. One day, you’ll realize, just like your family and friends, that I’m not enough for you. And you’ll leave me.” Amara sobs, her voice is shaky and quiet.

“Fuck!” Quinn curses, his head hanging low. He can’t let this happen. He sees in Jack’s eyes how much he loves Amara. The way he always catches her, when she’s about to fall, or when he has his hand on her lower back when she’s balancing on the edge of the curb or on the edge of the outdoor fireplace.

“No, I won’t! Baby, you have to trust me! I love you with everything I have in my heart,” Quin can hear Amara’s sobs, which are slowly stopping. “I love you so much, my berry. So fucking much!” the tears are now hearable in Jack’s voice too.

“I love you too.” She chokes on her words. Jack can’t keep his hands off of her. He brings her into his embrace, peppering her face with kisses.

“I love you, I love you, I love you!” he mumbles after every kiss he plants on her face, making a laugh escape her lips. “I swear to god, if you ever say something like this again, I might die!” he whispers against her lips as he kisses her gently.

— 3. SHE ALMOST DROWNS HERSELF IN THE LAKE

“MOM!” Luke yells when he gets on the boat, running towards you and his parents.

“What is it, Luke?” she sighs, looking up at him from her phone.

“Nothing.” He grins earning a smack from his dad on the back of his head. “Ow, what was that for?” he looks at Jim offended, scratching the back of his head.

“For being an asshole.” Jim grins at him.

“Amara, tell ‘em I’m not an asshole!” he looks at Amara, sitting next to her, pulling her in a hug, getting her all wet.

“Luke! You’re an asshole!” she squeaks, trying to get out of his hold. “Get off of me!” she laughs, smacking his bare chest when he doesn’t leave her.

“No! Not until you tell them I’m not an asshole!” he says, laughing with her when he tries to tickle her.

“Okay! Okay! You’re not an asshole!” she says between her laughs as she tries to get from his hold. Jim and Ellen watch them with a happy sparkle in their eyes. They like how’s Amara with their boys, they can see Luke’s smile whenever Amara acts like his older sister. Or the smile on Quinn’s face when she makes fun of herself just to make Jack laugh. But the most important thing they love about her is the way she loves Jack.

Ellen nudges Jim’s arm pointing her chin towards Jack, who is watching Amara and Luke with a big smile on his face.

“I like her.” She whispers in his ear, kissing his cheek lightly. Jim turns his head so he can look her in the eyes.

“Yeah, I like her too. She’s a bit clumsy and all but I guess that’s the ADHD.” He smiles back at her kissing her lips.

“Oh, come on! There are kids on the boat!” Quinn starts, gagging fakely at the interaction of his parents.

“Oh, shut up Quinn!” Jim shoots him a playful smirk, showing him a middle finger. Amara looks at Jim, laughing at his smirk together with Elen.

“Okay. Stop it, you two! Quinn, go cool yourself!” Elen points her hand to the lake with a playful smile on her lips. Luke lets out a snort, his arms still around her waist. He likes to be in her presence. “And you don’t laugh! You’re going too!” she looks over at Luke who is looking at her offended a gasp leaving his mouth. Ellen sends him a playful glare, ushering him to go into the lake.

“Luke stands up and starts walking after Quinn, but he turns around with a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. She raises your brow in confusion straightening herself. It’s only when he’s a few steps from her that she realizes what he’s thinking about.

“No, Luke!” she shook her head, trying to back more in the couch, she was sitting on. “Don’t you dare,” Amara’s voice is shaky from the fear of Luke throwing her to the lake. “I swear to God, Luke Warren Hughes! If you throw me in the lake I will—“ she yells out when Luke throws her over his shoulder, runs to the edge of the boat, and jumps in the lake.

She can feel the cold water on her skin as Luke jumps with her in the lake. His body weight drags her further into the deep, panic filling her eyes, when she sees him swimming up on the surface.

When the boys, hear the water splashing, they laugh, because the last thing they can see is Luke’s head, but when Jack looks over to the boat, expecting his girl standing on the edge, watching Luke jump in, panic fills his eyes. Not that she’s not standing here, but his parents are standing there, worry in their eyes, when Luke emerges from the water, and they don’t see Amara.

“Mom!” Ellen’s head whips in the direction of her middle son, seeing the panic and worry in his eyes. She takes in a sharp breath, no need for words, Jack swims over to where is Luke looking for Amara.

Quinn, who’s watching his brother in confusion, looks around noticing that Amara is missing. He lets out a curse, dipping his head underwater, swimming in the deep to find her. In a matter of few seconds, the rest of the boys are swimming towards them helping to find Amara.

The first to see her is Quinn. Immediately he swims to her, his eyes fill with panic when he sees Amara waving her hands in an attempt to get herself up. As soon as he’s shoulder-length away from Amara, he immediately grabs her hand and pulls her to his chest. Amara wraps her arms around his neck and legs around his waist clinging onto him for her dear life, as he swims with her to the surface. Amara’s coughs fill the area as soon as they get out from under the water. She gasped for air, her eyes teary from the lack of air she had.

“I’ve got you!” Quinn says in her ear, his hand on her head as he swims with her to the boat with Jack hot on his tail. When Quinn gets to the back of the boat, Jim and Ellen are already there, helping him to sit Amara on the edge. Ellen wraps her in a towel, to dry her and get her warm.

“Berry!” Jack whimper out hopping up on the boat, wrapping his arms around her. A worry in his eyes still lingers as he looks for any injury on his girl. The boys had already gathered around, worry in their eyes when they saw her teary eyes. “A—are you o—okay?” a shaky voice leaves his mouth, his eyes glued on Amara. She looks at him, nodding her head and leaning on him.

“Thank you, Quinn.” Her voice is hoarse from the coughing.

“Yeah, thanks Q.” Jack whispered, his eyes holding so much gratitude. Quinn nods his head, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Okay, guys! I think it’s time to head home!” Ellen announces urging the boys to get out of the water.

“Amara…I—I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” Luke’s voice is quiet and full of regret for doing so.

“It’s okay, Lu,” she smiles at him, extending her hand towards him. He puts his in hers and she pulls him closer in a hug. His head resting on her collarbone due to him being still in the water. “You didn’t know.” She caresses his cheek pressing a tender kiss to his forehead.

“Go dry yourself, Luke!” Jack sends him a smile, patting his shoulder.

“Yeah, ‘m going!” he hung his head low as he jumped up on the boat walking over to Ellen for a towel.

“You, okay, my Berry?” Jack asks as soon as Luke leaves. Amara turns to him nodding her head soft smile resting on her lips.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she sighs resting her head on his shoulder. “But I just made a scene, again.” She sighs looking in the distance.

“No, you didn’t. Nothing happened.” He ensures her and kisses the crown of her head. “It’s not your fault, Berry! If it’s anyone's, it's Luke’s.”

— 4. SHE STARTS LAUGHING WITH COKE IN HER MOUTH

“Okay! Quinn truth or dare?” Trevor asks, his voice hooded by the alcohol running in his system. He’s sitting opposite Amara and Jack. Her legs are swung over Jack’s tights as he draws small patterns on her skin right below where her shorts end.

“Truth,” Quinn says as he sips from his beer, she looks at him, chuckling at his bored expression.

“Oh, you’re boring!” he shakes his head. “Okay so,” he trails off, trying to figure out what to ask him. A mischievous smirk forms on his lips as he asks, “If you had to choose what position would you do for the rest of your life, which one it would be?” he smirks, knowing damn well Quinn hates talking about his personal life.

He let out a sigh shaking his head at his questions. “Probably doggy style but her chest pressed in the bed,” He grins when he sees the surprised looks on the guys' faces. They didn’t actually expect for him to answer it. “Berry, truth or dare?” he looks over at Amara, completely ignoring Trevor’s gaze.

“Dare,” she says confidently, a grin on her lips thanks to the few shots she already had. Quinn’s lips quirked up at her confidence, but he knew her really well and even though she had some alcohol running through her veins, she was still the shy and insecure Amara he got to know a few weeks ago.

“Okay, then I want you to drink a whole Coke can in ten seconds.” He smirks at her. It is slightly impossible for her to make it, but he doesn’t want to give her some inappropriate dare. He wanted her to have five minutes in heaven with Jack, but he knew she wouldn’t be comfortable with that one.

“That’s an easy one,” she shakes her head, looking over at Cole who's handing her the can. “Thanks.” She smiles at him and cracks open the can.

“Okay! I’m starting the countdown,” Trevor grins at her showing her the countdown on the phone. “Three, two, one, and now!”

Amara puts the can to her lips and begins to drink quickly as the boys count down. It's almost over when Trevor yells that it's over and falls off his chair, making everyone including Amara laugh.

That is the moment when Amara realizes that she has still the coke in her mouth. Her eyes grew wide when she felt the Coke running up her nose as she laughed again, splashing the Coke all over Trevor’s shirt. Everyone grows quiet as they watch Amara. Tears spring up in her eyes as she starts apologizing.

“I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t…” she shakes her head slowly standing from her seat. “Excuse me.” She stutters out, running inside the house and up the stairs to Jack’s room.

She feels so stupid.

There is no way Jack’s friends would like her after this.

She made a complete fool of herself. This whole summer, she’s just doing everything to make his friends and family think she’s not enough for him.

She sat herself down on his bed, looking at her Coke-stained shirt. The tears she’s been holding in finally fall over the edge rolling down her cheeks.

She hangs her head low, looking down at her hands in her lap, thinking about what a fool she made of herself. How could she start laughing with a mouth full of Coke? It wouldn’t be the worst thing if she ended up laughing, the worst thing was that the Coke squirted from her nose. She reaches for the napkins that are on the nightstand so she can blow that coke out of her nose.

“Berry? Can I come in?” Jack says from behind his door, his head leaning on the door and his eyes closed. He hates the feeling he has in his chest. The feeling of helplessness of not knowing how to help his girl to feel better or not stupid.

“Yeah,” she hums looking up at him as soon as he steps into the room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Hey, it’s okay!” he sits next to her pulling her to his side. “No one is mad at you,” He shakes his head searching for her eyes. “Hey, look at me!” he places his fingers under her chin raising her head so he can look him in the eyes. “The same would probably happen to them too, okay. Really no one is mad at you.” She smiles at her kissing her forehead.

— 5. SHE AND JACK HAD AN ARGUMENT

“Baby I sw—“ Jack is cut off by Amara’s scoff that leaves her lips.

“No! I saw the looks on their faces every time I did something embarrassing. The look on your dad's face when I fell down the stairs, or the look on the guys’ faces when I accidentally dropped the wine bottle the same goes with the lake two weeks ago and the Coke too!” Amara yells at him, her hands in the air as she’s pacing around his room.

“But that wasn’t because they think you’re embarrassing yourself! They were just in shock and didn’t know what to say!” he exclaims throwing his arms in the air. “Fuck! Amara, they love you, okay!!” his hands run through his hair as he looks up at Amara who’s still pacing over the room. “And even if they don’t. I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” He stands from his sitting position and walks over to her, his hands grabbing hers and pulling her in his chest. “I love you no matter what.”

Amara pulls herself away from him shaking her head. “Well, you shouldn’t. I know I’m not enough for you. Look at me!” she scoffs shaking her head, tears now running down her cheeks.

“Baby–” Ellen who’s just walking past Jack’s room has to stop in her way because the hurt and sadness in his voice made her curious about what’s happening.

“I’m fat, I have ADHD and I’m not even popular. You should date someone on your level. A gorgeous blond slim girl, with tons of followers and a lot of money.” Ellen can hear Amara’s loud crying voice. She quickly made her way down to where are the other boys sitting, their heads turned towards the stairs and the worry written on their faces confirmed to Ellen, that something serious was probably going on.

“What’s going on?” she looks at Quinn who is closer to the stairs and probably heard everything.

“They…uhm…I’m not sure but I think it’s because of us,” he mumbled, his hand running along his jaw. “Amara is convinced, we don’t like her, because of the accidents that happened to her during the last few weeks so—” their heads turn towards the stairs when they hear a door slamming and then loud steps. Watching the stairs, they see Amara with red eyes, as she stomps down the stairs. She stops on her steps when she sees the guys and Ellen sitting there, and all their attention is on her. She quickly wipes her tears and jolts when she hears the door close again.

“I—I'm so sorry,” she whispers under her nose and runs out of the house when she hears Jack’s steps.

“Berry!” he shouts after her as he runs down the stairs.

“Jack, what happened?” Ellen asks when he stops on the stairs looking for his girl.

“We uhm…we fought, I guess?” he sighs running his hands through his hair his eyes searching the place for his girl until they find her, sitting on the couch at the back of their house. “I—I don’t know what it was. She just started to talk about how you don’t like her because she has ADHD and that I should date someone that is on the same level as me and…” tears now forming in his eyes. “I—I told her I love her, but she—” he shakes his head, a quiet sob leaving his mouth. “Mom—” he chokes on his words, looking at his mom. Ellen quickly looks towards the four boys sitting on the couch, pleading them to leave her and Jack alone.

“Honey, breathe,” she takes his hands in his and leads him towards the couch. Ellen sighs, her eyes focused on his middle son. “Okay, now listen to me,” she takes his cheeks in her palms forcing him lightly to look at her, his eyes red from the tears. Seeing his son like this breaks her heart, but she knows what Amara’s going through, and that breaks her heart even more. “Amara is afraid, you’ll leave her for someone better than her. And I know you won’t, but even I had these insecurities when I and dad were dating,” she smiles at him, wiping away the tears. Briefly, she looks over at Amara, finding her sitting next to Quinn, who has a reassuring arm around her as he’s telling something to her.

Amara’s head is resting against Quinn’s shoulder, she’s listening to Quinn’s words. “I know it’s hard, Ara. I’ve been in this situation too, but you have to trust Jack, that he loves you. And I can tell he’s head over heels for you.” Quinn wiggles his brow at her, earning a giggle from her. “And I can see how much you love him. Don’t let the fear ruin your relationship with J.”

“Thank you, Quinn. I uhm… I know I probably didn't make the best impression, with all the things I have done, but I uhm, really appreciate you.” She smiles up at him, her eyes shining with something Quinn can’t name, but he likes the way the warm feeling runs through his chest, knowing he probably saved his brother’s relationship.

— 6. SHE GOT HER PERIOD EARLIER

It is the first week of August, which means Amara has to leave in two weeks, to prepare herself for her the university which won’t start until two weeks after she comes home, but she needs time to buy her things and make her calendar.

But right now, she’s lying with Ellen on the blanket on a boat, while the boys are in the water, jumping from the boat and just messing around.

She’s feeling the hot sun on her skin with the water droplets that fall on her when the boys are around them. She turns her head when she hears Ellen moving next to her.

“Want a drink, Ara?” she asks her, a smile on her lips as she adjusts her bikini.

“Yeas please.” Amara sends her big toothy smile, earning a chuckle from Ellen. During the few weeks she spent with Jack’s family, she felt wanted and loved, especially by Jack’s parents, which is something she has never experienced.

Her parents were acting cold to her, when they found, out their perfect daughter have ADHD. They never came to her recitals or any important events she had in school or now in university.

“Ara,” Ellen calls for her, a soft smile on her lips, but her brows are furrowed.

“Something happened?” Amara looks at her, moving on her forearms, so she isn’t lying when she speaks with Jack’s mom.

“Uh… uhm nothing, just,” she looks around, making sure, none of the boys is around. “You got your period sweetie.” She points slightly at the wet red spot on the blanket.

“Oh my god,” Amara whispers. She immediately sits, looking around herself, if anyone saw. “I-I am so sorry. They weren’t supposed to come until Sunday, so-so I thought,” she rambles out, reaching for her tower to cover herself.

“Hey, it’s okay! This can happen to everyone,” she says calmly, walking over to the box where is clothes. “Here, try these on. I never wore them and I think you’ll look stunning in them,” Ellen hands Amara a pair of blue bikini swims. “Go change! I’ll wait here, make sure no one sees you, and change the blanket. And I don’t know if you use tampons or pads, but I have both here.”

“Thank you.” Amara smiles up at Ellen with appreciation in her eyes.

“You change?” Jack asks an hour later when the boys finally get out of the water.

“Yeah, uhm. My cramps came earlier than I thought, and your mom had spread a pair of swims so I borrowed them for today.” She whispers, embarrassment written all over her face.

“Oh,” he nods looking over at his mom and sending her smile. “Well, you look good in them,” he tickles her side as he sits next to her, pulling her closer to his side. “And don’t worry about the period thing. Mom is happy that you are here. She always wanted a daughter and she is beyond happy to have you here.” He kisses the side of her head as he speaks to her.

“But still, it's so embarrassing.” She mumbles again, shoving her face in the crock of his head.

“No, it’s not, berry. This can happen to everyone. And what I remember when I was younger. This happened to my mom too, many times. It’s completely normal.”

“What are you? A specialist on women's problems?” you chuckle in his neck, planting small kisses here and there.

“Sure I am. You don’t know I was supposed to be born as a girl? But then this thing,” he points to his groin. “Happened. But you know him really well.”

— +1. THE MISSING PIECE OF PUZZLE

It is Amara’s last full day, in the lake house. Her plane is taking off tomorrow early in the morning. She’s excited to go home, first because she just wants her quiet apartment for a while, and second, she’ll finally see her little fluffy baby, Esmeralda. Jack will drive her to the airport, seeing her off, but will fly there a week after her, just to give her some time alone.

Right now, she’s sitting on the couch, in the backyard Ellen is sitting next to her with a book in her hands, Quinn and Jim are standing in front of the grill, doing some food, and Jack and Luke are playing football.

Amara’s eyes are glutted on her shirtless boyfriend, who runs around the yard while Luke is chasing him. She’s so happy to be there with him, his family, and his friends. Unfortunately, they had to leave two days ago to spend time with their families and prepare for the upcoming season.

“Watch out!” you don't realize what's going on until a football ball hits her in the face.

“Ow,” she whines, dropping her face in her hands. “Fuck,” she whimpers, tears rolling down her cheeks, probably from the shock and bit from the pain.

“Oh, my god, Amara, honey!” Ellen, gasps, dropping her book and scooting closer to her to look at her face.

“Baby! Fuck! You okay?”

“Ara! I’m so fucking sorry!” Jack and Luke yell at the same time, as they run to them.

“I-It’s okay,” Amara let out in a shaky voice “Just, hurts a little,” she put down your hands, spotting Jack and Luke still running towards her. Ellen gasps and stands up from her seat as she looks at Amara, she looks at her. “W-what?”

“Oh my god, baby! You are bleeding!” Jack shouts out of breath, as he kneels in front of Amara. Ellen sends him a glare, shakes her head, and walks inside the house.

“I-I’m so sorry, Ara!” Luke sighs, the guilt in his voice is clear to her ears. Amara looks at her other side, almost screaming from surprise when she sees Quinn and Jim looking at her, worry written all over their faces.

“It's okay, it doesn't hurt that much,” she sends Luke a smile, reassuring him, when she looks back at him. However, the expression on his face tells her, he isn’t sure about it. She extends her hand towards him, waiting for him to grab it. “It’s okay, Lu. I promise, it’s just a small cut, I’ll live with that.” she squeezes his hand, waiting for him to say or do something.

“Okay.”

After a while, Amara’s cheek is cleaned and treated, and they all are sitting around the table with food on their plates. Jack is sitting next to his girl, his hand on her tight, as he talks with his brothers.

Amara’s eyes run over the table enjoying the atmosphere they have here. All her childhood she wished that her family would be like this. They were, until she was five, and the doctors told her and her parents she had ADHD. That was the moment everything in their family changed.

“Ara,” Ellen’s voice makes Amara turn her head at her, a soft smile on her lips.

“Yeah?”

“We just want to thank you, that you are taking care of our boy! And how glad we are you could have spent the summer here with us!” she smiles widely at her, completely catching Amara off guard.

“Oh it’s more like, he’s taking care of me.” You giggle drawing the attention of the three brothers to you.

“Yeah, but you are here for him, so we are here for you! And I’m really glad I could’ve met you. You are like the daughter I’ve never had.” Ellen reaches his hand towards Amara, she places her hand in Ellen, squeezing it slightly, tears pricking in her eyes at Ellen’s kind words.

“You truly are an amazing person, Berry! And I’m a little jealous of Jack!” Quinn smiles at him, the tips of his ears are red when everyone looks at him with shock. He never was the type of person who would express his emotions.

“Yeah, Quinn’s right! You are the most amazing girl I have ever met! I really enjoyed the summer with you!” the tears that were in her eyes were sliding down her cheeks. Jack who’s sitting next to her, is smiling widely, his arm now around her shoulders as he pulls her into him.

“T-Thank you! It means a lot to me that you uhm, that you like me,” she whispers, taking in a deep breath. “Uhm, I-I really enjoyed the time here.”

“Yeah! We did too. You are the missing piece of the puzzle that we missed.” This time is Jim the one who speaks, his word sends another wave of tears to Amara’s eyes. Impulsively she stands up from her seat, walking over to Jim to give him a tight hug. “Thank you.” Jim smiles tightening his arms around her.

#jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #strawberry x jack hughes #strawberry!girl au #berry x jack hughes #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nj devils #nhl hockey #amara x jack 🍓#amara!james #jh86

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itsmealaiah · 2 days

Text

"cigarettes during sex"

TW: smoking, profanity, arguing, soft sex, missionary, smoking during sex, lung damage (stay away kids), AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, p in v sex, angst, praising

Request: Can you do where tom and the reader get into an argument and hours later the reader wakes up and sees tom on the balcony smoking tom sees her and grabs the reader and fucks her while he is smoking a cigarette

Rating: mdni, mature themes ahead!

WC: 1.5k holy ghits and shiggles

"It is not my fucking fault you are a fucking bitch!"

Tom yelled harshly, his hands rising above his head as your eyes flared with anger. "Me?! you're the one who can't fucking to stop going near women, even when you have a fucking girlfriend, who has always been there for you!" You fought back, pushing a finger against his chest.

"Everytime, you seem to be clinging to those women, those snot-nosed, desperate blondes whose boobs are almost all the way out of their tiny little dresses. I'm sick of it tom" you snarled, and he laughed harshly.

"They always cling onto me! I'm a famous guitarist, for gods sake! What do you expect me to do?!" Your eyes began to water, but you didn't break the eye contact, staring right back at him in anger and sadness.

"Push them away! Let them know you have a fucking girlfriend who is at home, sitting and waiting for you everyday, being the perfect little housewife" Your voice broke on the last word, and you began to cry.

"Am I that terrible, that you have to hang around all those girls? That you have to sit and laugh at their jokes, while I don't even know? Am I that bad of a girlfriend to you?" You accused him, tears spilling from your cheeks like a waterfall.

His eyes widened, and he tried to take your hand. "honey, n-no" he said shakily, his brown pupils begging for you to forgive him, but this wasn't like the other times. He had broken down your trust enough, you weren't even sure he wasn't fucking those slutty whores on tour.

"it's not enough this time" you sighed, wiping your tears and gazing up at the ceiling. "i've told you so many times to stop, and you haven't. where do you think that leaves me?" his heart was breaking, the one thing in his life he loved the most was seemingly slipping through his grasp, all because he couldn't keep his hands off the girls met in those clubs.

He felt so bad for you, you really were loyal to him. You barely went out anywhere without him by your side, and you never dared to even wrap an arm around another man, which he adored you for.

"I'm sleeping on the couch tonight" you proclaimed, and his heart dropped. "Yo-you don't have to do that, honey, please. just sleep with me" he begged once more, grabbing your hands in a desperate attempt to convince you. "Wouldn't you rather be with those sluts? They obviously seem to be more important to you than me" Your words stung, each one a dagger to his heart as the reality of the situation settled in. He had fucked up, big time, bigger than ever.

You pushed past him, going into the hallway closet and grabbing a cover and pillows, putting them onto the couch. His hand gripped your shoulder, and you shrugged it off.

He began to cry softly, and made his way up to the bedroom you shared, grabbing a pack, and walking out to the balcony in shame. He held his head in his hands, and sobbed, his shoulders slumped and shaking. He slowly took out his lighter, and began to smoke a cig, tears still running down his face. He inhaled the smoke, and let it blow out of his mouth, his lips now swollen and wet.

A few hours went by, and your resolve had given up. You missed tom, even though what he done was very, very wrong, you never stopped loving him. He made you feel secure, safe even. You slowly approached the bed, lying on your sound with a gentle thump, burying your head into the pillows. Tom was still out on the balcony, the sliding door closed. He didn't notice you as you gazed at him deeply, trying to see him more clearly.

He looked like he was crying as the smoke encompassed his face. You slowly rose from the bed, and opened the glass door gently. He turned his head, his eyes immediately beginning to water. His hands held out for you, and you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his head, stroking his hair gently as he sobbed into your waist, the cigarette far away from your midsection. You pulled his face away gently, your fingers gripping his chin as his eyes burned into yours. "c'mon" you mumbled, and dragged him to the bed, his frame lazily lying on top of yours.

He kissed your lips softly, the cig stomped out. You kissed back, feeling the wetness of his face meet your own. You held his head tightly, holding it down to meet yours. Your eyes were squeezed shut, giving your all into the kiss as a "sorry", even though tom should've been the one.

He began to nip at your neck, his hands caressing your body slowly, rubbing up and down your waist as you moaned. He bit against your sensitive spot, and you felt yourself getting wetter underneath him. His arms guided yours upwards, and he slowly took off your shirt, leaving you in your thin bra. He kissed between your boobs, causing you to let out a strangled whine. "shh honey, just let me take care of you, let me show you how much i love you, it's the least i can do" he looked into your eyes, kissing your breast through your bra, gently rolling the other between his fingers. You nodded weakly, and he smiled, pulling down the clothing on the breast he was sucking, now swirling his tongue around the areole as you gasped.

He was going to make this as gentle as possible, like make up sex. You deserved it, for how he had treated you. His arms wrapped around your back, unclipping your bra, your nipples now fully exposed to him. He began to lick on the other, swallowing it in his mouth as your eyes reeled.

"oh-" you whimpered. He knew truly how to pleasure you. His mouth left your hardened breast, and he stood up, lighting a cigarette. He quickly stripped his clothes off after, and lay back down on top of you. The smoke blew into your face as you scrunched your nose. He laughed softly, and put the blunt into your face. "smoke this honey, okay?" you were hesitant, still deciding as he tore down your shorts and panties. He softly gave himself a couple pumps, his mouth opening in pleasure.

He slowly guided himself in, being careful as not to be too rough. His hands held your hips as he pushed in, watching your cunt take him, your walls gripping him. The smoke of the cig left your mouth in short blow, only minimal huffs coming out as the pleasure built up. He began to thrust slowly, the bottom of his dick coming in and out as he made sure you adjusted to his size.

He moaned, and started to thrust a little harder, the cigarette nearly falling out of your mouth as your lips parted in pure pleasure. Tom quickly pushed it back in, and his grip on your waist returned, his hips meeting your own. He groaned, but his pace remained the same, too scared to hurt you even more. He watched your face contort from the bliss, eyes squeezing shut as you brought your hand up to your lips, holding the cigarette. "you're so pretty, fuck" he mumbled, taking away the cig and kissing your lips, the taste still sitting in your mouth, embedding his own, but he didn't care.

"harder" you moaned against his mouth, as he cocked an eyebrow. "you sure baby?" he asked for confirmation, and you nodded. He slowly pulled all of him out, before viciously sliding back in. He slowly crushed the cigarette with his hand, more focused on you then the potential burn on his soft skin. His balls slapped harshly against your ass as you moaned loudly, the feeling completely encompassing you.

"rig-right there!" you squealed as he hit your gummy spot, now only hitting that area as you screamed, legs wrapping around his waist, letting him hit deeper inside you, your walls now less tight. His head buried itself into the crook of your neck, biting at the skin. He left dark, purple marks on your once clean skin, not letting up on his assault against your spot. "clos-close!" you stuttered, feeling your legs began to tremble on his waist. "you can cum baby" you moaned loudly, releasing on him as he soon came after, and he brought his head up.

He grabbed some tissues from the bedside table, wiping the spilling liquids off you, and he pecked your lips. "from now on, i swear on my goddamned life, i will never go near those groupies again" he promised, hugging you tightly until you drifted off to sleep.

He kissed your forehead, and rest his head atop it, sleep overtaking his body minutes after you. "never" he mumbled.

Taglist: @madzandmore @20doozers @itsangelll @tomssexdoll @laylasbunbunny

Taglist 2:@billslittlewhore @brooke-tomsschlampe @ballhair @charliesgoodboy @tokio-motel

Taglist 3: @tomsonlyslut @kqulitzlvr @ccbunnv @billsdolliest

Requests are open! keep sending them in!

Comment on masterlist post to be tagged!

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #bill kaulitz #tokiohotel #tokio hotel fanfic #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel x y/n #tokio hotel x you #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz imagines #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #itsmealaiah

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foreveralbon · 3 days

Note

congratulations on the 500!!! i love your works so much

DESSERT! end your day with something a little self-indulgent, like a short fic (~1k) inspired by any of these [ one two three four five ] prompts!

⇴ ^^ "um, so, what do you think we should do?" "i'm not sure. i'll always follow your lead though." with ollie? (if you don't write for him, you could do it with charles)!

TRUTH, DARE, SPIN BOTTLES - OB3

in which a silly little game turns your friendship into something a bit more (or so your friends think) prompt: “um, so, what do you think we should do?” “i’m not sure. i’ll always follow your lead though.” content warnings: drinking (ollie and reader are not underage but ollie drinks apple juice) a/n: thank you and wonderful choice nonnie! i hope you enjoy <3

In hindsight, perhaps saying yes to playing Seven Minutes in Heaven was a stupid idea.

The beer bottle has landed on you four times now, and Ollie’s gotten away with one. Each time, you’ve opted out by taking a shot, much to the dismay of your would-be partner.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is more than delighted by the disappointed looks on their faces, sending a sly grin your way with every shot you take.

He nurses a cup of apple juice instead, cautious of his diet during the F2 season.

“You have to stop being boring and play,” your best friend fusses eventually after your fifth shot. “We’re here to have fun.”

You just roll your eyes. It’s a conversation you’ve had with her many times; how you’re too boring and need to get out more, get laid even. Truthfully, it’d all end if you just told her about Ollie, but the sneaking around is far too fun to reveal your relationship so early.

“You know what, yoir turn again,” Paul calls to you. “You can’t drink this time.”

“Boo.” You reach over and twist the Corona bottle, watching with bated breath as it spins round and round. Eventually, it slows to stop, the neck pointed directly to Ollie. You exhale deeply, sending a quick thank you to the universe before standing up to go to the room. Ollie follows quickly behind you.

“Don’t get any ideas, kids,” your best friend sings.

“Isn’t that what the whole point of the game?” You joke as you step inside the room.

Once you’re sure the door is locked behind you, you whirl around to face Ollie. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, love,” he grins. “Having fun?”

Ollie presses one tentative kiss against your lips, silently asking your permission to take it further. You respond by fisting his hoodie and tugging him closer, kissing him deeply.

You’ve only been in the company of your friends for a few hours now, and you’ve shied away from Ollie’s touch because of their presence. But even an evening is far too long to stay away from him.

Eventually, your moment together is interrupted by a sharp bang against the door, followed by a loud groan from your best friend.

“Are they actually making out in there?”

“What else would they be doing?” You can hear Arthur rolling his eyes just from his tone, followed by a sharp ow as your best friend gives him a whack for his attitude.

“I don’t know, talking?”

It's when Arthur says it that you finally pull away from Ollie. Shiny, pink lipgloss is pressed around his mouth and the ends of your hair have been tousled by his wild fingers. You quickly swipe the lipgloss off his lips and comb your hair to look somewhat presentable again.

“C’mon, love,” he whispers. “Let’s get out.”

You turn the handle and step out into the hallway to find Kimi, Paul, Arthur and your best friend standing around the door. The rest of your friend group is still sat on the tiled floor, chatting and laughing away, oblivious to the commotion going on.

Your best friend jumps up at the sight of you, takes in your poorly-combed through hair and flushed cheeks. Her eyes dart between you and Ollie before gasping, “Oh my god, you were totally making out in there.”

You’re quick to protest. “No!”

“Yes!”

“No,” Arthur says in disbelief. His brows are furrowed in disbelief and his mouth hangs open as he stares at Ollie. “No.”

Then Kimi, having found out about your relationship weeks ago, blurts out, “They’re not dating.”

She pauses to give Kimi an incredulous look. “No one said that they were. What do you mean by that?”

Kimi’s eyes widen and he sputters to get a response out. “Well, you know-”

Your friend practically pounces on the boy, claws ready to pry an answer from him.

It doesn’t take long for your friends to become distracted - Kimi is waving his hands animatedly in his defence while she watches him with a glare. Arthur and Paul try to talk them down, with a meagre, “Guys, maybe we should just ask them,” but it’s clear no one’s listening to them.

When you’re sure you’ve been forgotten about, you lean towards Ollie, your shoulder brushing against the soft cotton of his hoodie. “Should we leave?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles. He reaches for your hand, and together you quietly shuffle away. They continue their banter and you make it to the front door without a single one of them noticing. Ollie quickly unlocks the door, ushering you out onto the porch. He steps out right after you, leaving the door open wide enough to still hear their arguing.

And so, you and Ollie listen to the chaos as it unfolds. His hand barely muffles the sound of his laughter and giggles threaten to spill from your pursed lips.

“They’re just friends!” Kimi exclaims.

“Friends don’t make out like that.” Your best friend’s voice is panicked, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that she’s certainly spiralling.

“They do when it’s Ollie Bearman. Have you seen him?”

At that, Ollie lets out a bite of laughter. He leans down, tall frame forever hovering above yours, to whisper, "So, what do you think we should do?"

You turn back to face him, eyes bright with mischief. "What do you think, Ollie?"

"I'm not sure. I'll always follow your lead though."

"I think... that we should head out of here. Froyo?"

Ollie's face stretches into a wide grin, and he kisses you. Two short pecks that have Paul stopping short in his tracks when he passes the front door, cracked open wide enough that he can see exactly what you and your boyfriend are up to. His eyes dart back and forth, mouth agape as he points an accusing finger in your direction. "I fucking knew it! You're dating!"

"Shh! Keep your voice down, Paul," you urge. You beckon for him to come closer.

He moves onto the porch, allowing the door to quietly click shut behind him. “How long?”

“Four months now,” Ollie says.

Paul groans. “Does this mean I have to cover for you now while you two sneak off?”

“Well, you see…” Ollie laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

He bits his lip in contemplation, before shaking his head with resignation. “Okay. Go.”

You squeal, lunging towards him for a quick hug. “Thank you so much. You have no idea.”

Inside, the arguing has quieted down into low chatter, but you can hear Kimi’s loud laughter and your friend’s protesting drawing closer to the front of the house. Paul pauses against the door. “Have fun.” And then the door shuts behind him and he’s saying loudly, “No, I haven’t seen them. They probably left ages ago.”

Ollie beams down at you, excitement marked all over his face. “So what do you say, love? Froyo?”

—

come join the celebration!! or read some of my normal stuff

@demvnsriot @disneyprincemuke @lipringlrh @33-81 @hiireadstuff @queen-aria-things @namgification let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

#ᯓ⭒ liyah’s 500 follower celly #ᯐ 🍡 dessert!#ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman fanfic #ollie bearman imagine #ollie bearman fluff #platonically ->#paul aron x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 2 imagine #formula 2 x reader

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stevie-petey · 1 day

Text

at arm's length

You fixed his hair and made a face in the mirror, just to get him to laugh, and you smiled when it worked. “I think you look handsome.” “Yeah, sure.” Steve pushed you away, though his arm stayed loosely wrapped around your side. He had always somehow done this, holding you at arm’s length with a possessiveness to it. You would come to learn that the possessiveness never really goes away. Not in the way either of you may wish for it to during nights two years from tonight.

Summary: you and steve found each other when you were eleven; he's held you at an arm's length ever since, suffocating you

Rating: general, suggestive themes

Warnings: toxic relationship, heavy angst, allusions to sex, some stancy, fem!reader, use of y/n, not proofread so pls be kind

Words: 2.9k

Before you swing in: where did this come from ? no clue ! this is pure angst though, no happy ending, all just heartbreak and a very toxic steve. beware. prepare. have fun !

Neither of you know how it started.

You aren’t sure when you allowed the lines to be crossed. Steve isn’t sure when he realized he wanted to cross them.

One night he had simply wanted to crawl through your window.

And, one night, you let him.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you always whisper against his skin in between highs and desperation.

“I know,” he always kisses the patch of skin just below your ear before encasing you, silencing you.

You’re not sure if he kisses the patch of skin as a promise or as an apology. For what he’s putting you through, for the ignored glances in school, for the way his body stills when someone says your name when he’s around, for the way you always see it.

Afterwards, Steve never stays long. He picks up his clothes as the quiet in your room overwhelms him. He feels your eyes follow him in the dark as he gets dressed and you remain in your bed, sprawled out wanting, waiting, mourning.

There’s never any malice or anger in your eyes when you watch him, and sometimes Steve resents you for it. He wishes you’d make it easier for him to leave.

Instead you always watch him with interest, a slight glint in your eye as if you know more than he does; Steve wants to mold a crease between your brows and turn your mouth down with his fingers so that your face isn’t as angelic and understanding.

“Drive safe.”

Your whispered words are the final blow to the thin wall of glass Steve hides behind. You wish him a safe journey home every time he drives to your house to climb through your window and take more from you than he deserves.

He hates it.

He hates you.

Yet every night Steve crawls through your window.

And every night you let him in.

–

No one knows how it started.

Your friendship with Steve Harrington was an oddity within Hawkins.

One day the two of you sat down together during lunch in the sixth grade, and the entire middle school cafeteria went quiet. Everyone had stared at you and whispered, wondering who you were and why you were sitting with someone above your rank, someone who ran with kids like Tommy Hagan.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you had mumbled to Steve, tugging at your sweater with an insecurity you can only feel when you’re eleven.

“I know.” Steve hadn't seemed to feel this same sense of insecurity at eleven as he popped a french fry into his mouth with a shrug, uncaring. “But who cares?”

You remember looking down at your food, embarrassed and unsure about it all. You’d been standing at your locker merely minutes ago as you looked around helplessly, lost in the school your mom had promised you’d enjoy this time.

Then Steve had found you.

He had been on his way to the lunch room, late to meet up with his friends, when he had seen you. He will always remember the way you’d been holding yourself, then. You were drawn in, looking around the empty hallways with a wonder in your eyes, despite your obvious fear, that Steve had never seen before in someone his age.

Steve couldn’t help himself.

He had asked if you were lost and the way your eyes widened at his question made something within him stir. He watched as a blush spread across your cheeks, shy and nervous, and Steve knew then and there that he couldn’t ever leave you alone. There was something in your eyes, in the way you had looked at him in that moment with that same wonder that had made Steve stop in the first place.

Soon enough everyone in Hawkins Middle watched as your friendship unfolded.

It was innocent enough, almost imperceptible to those who weren’t paying attention, but everyone knew.

Steve was never outwardly friendly with you following your first day meeting him, although he was inseparable from you in his own ways. He would walk you to your classes and always sat a few seats behind you so that he could keep an eye on you. Everyone saw how his eyes never left you.

You never asked why Steve wouldn’t include you with the rest of his friends. He never introduced you to them, yet he made you promise that if they ever said anything to you that you’d tell him. You promised him, swore to him that you would, and the promise seemed to calm something within Steve.

“Why?” You had asked him afterwards, not understanding why it seemed so important to Steve that you’d tell him if his friends were ever mean to you.

“Because you’re my friend.” He stood by your locker as he waited for you to gather your books. People walked past the two of you, whispering as they always did, but he had learned how to ignore them.

You remember frowning, feeling a pit forming in your stomach at his words. “But they’re your friends, too.”

“No, they’re not.” Steve scoffed at you and shoved his hands into his jean pockets.

“But you’re always with them.”

He looked down at his scuffed sneakers, then. “They follow me around. I don’t mind it that much, my dad says it makes boys look cool.”

“Your dad?”

Steve will never understand why he had told you about his dad that day, but he would come to learn that you always somehow made him weak against the things that darkened his mind; how you were always the one he confessed to.

“Can we go to class now?”

“Sorry,” you grabbed the last of your books and closed your locker. You smiled at Steve, you will always remember how hard you had tried to calm him down, make him comfortable around you, and you will always remember how you had placed your hand on his arm. “Let’s go to class.”

Steve flinched at your touch, and you would come to learn that touches weren’t something he was accustomed to; how it would be because of you that he learned what it feels like to be warmed by someone’s fingertips.

–

Steve isn’t sure when he became King Steve.

He thinks it was sometime during his freshman year of high school when he shot up a few inches during the summer and grew his hair long.

It had been your idea, growing his hair out, because you knew he liked it when you played with it.

“I look like a douche, Y/N.” Steve groaned when he had looked in your mirror. Sometime between sixth and seventh grade, he had started going to your house after school and on the weekend. He claimed it was because your mom was always nice to him, but deep down you knew it was because he enjoyed having you to himself.

You fixed his hair and made a face in the mirror, just to get him to laugh, and you smiled when it worked. “I think you look handsome.”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve pushed you away, though his arm stayed loosely wrapped around your side. He had always somehow done this, holding you at arm’s length with a possessiveness to it.

You would come to learn that the possessiveness never really goes away. Not in the way either of you may wish for it to during nights two years from tonight.

But two years ago you leaned into the arm that still held onto you and played with the hair that had only grown long because of you. “I mean it, you know.”

Steve’s eyes met yours in the mirror, and he saw the wonder there again, though now that you were both fifteen with a shared history, the wonder was now accompanied by a fondness that Steve couldn’t bear himself to look into for long. He loved your eyes, he loved the way you looked at him, but it always burned.

Thick silence had started to crawl in between you two, then.

Steve had grown a few inches and his jawline had sharpened and his skin evened out. One day, before your very eyes, he had stopped looking like the eleven year old boy who found you in the hallway. As you stared at him in the mirror that night, you realized just how beautiful he had become, and somehow, even then, you knew that this beauty would strangle you.

The silence had started to grip your neck, so you cleared your throat and tried to pretend that nothing had changed, even though everything had changed in that moment. “It’s late, your parents will want you home soon.”

“They probably don’t even notice I’m gone right now, Y/N.” The moment had been broken and Steve now felt the same fury that had been building within him ever since he was eight. The anger threatened to spill over, but Steve had come to learn that his anger only scared you, so instead he had tried to find another way to quiet the waves within his mind. “I have a better idea.”

“Is that so?”

“I spend the night.” Steve winked at you, he knew that you sensed his brewing anger, and he desperately wanted to reassure you that he wouldn’t ruin this.

You froze, as if you knew even then that this would be a shift within your dynamic with him. You called Steve your best friend at this point, and while he never said so out loud, you were his best friend, too. At school, you didn’t have many friends, but Steve had now become surrounded by both boys and girls, all vying for his attention, and though he still never introduced you to them, you knew even then that you were the most important person in his life.

As your eyes met Steve’s in the mirror once more, for a moment you could see the eleven year old boy again, and he’s the reason you say yes.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you reminded Steve for the tenth time that night as you looked over at your door to make sure it was locked. Your mom would’ve killed you if she had ever found out Steve never left.

“I know.” Steve crawled into bed next to you and collapsed with a huff. He wrapped his arms around you and you were weak against him.

You’ve always been weak against him.

–

You’re not sure when you first lost Steve to Nancy Wheeler.

They met when you were all in middle school, and yet somehow she hadn’t caught his eye until you were juniors and she was a sophomore.

He had dated other girls before, but none had been like Nancy; she was the only one who truly caught his eye.

You watched as he became infatuated with her. It happened slowly, and then all at once. He stopped walking you to class, stopped sitting a few seats behind you, stopped asking to spend the night.

Steve still saw the wonder in your eyes, though. He still saw the fondness that burned his skin and ground into his bones. He saw your eyes in Nancy’s, and it infuriated him. He loved the girl, he knew he did, but somehow you were always there.

Even after you stopped asking to see him, to sit in his car and drive, to be his best friend again.

Somehow, you were always there. You were always there, long after you stopped calling yourself Steve Harrington’s best friend and he stopped feeling the need to miss you.

Then, one night, when Steve had been on his way to pick Nancy up to go see a movie, he drove past you sitting on a park bench with someone’s arms thrown over your shoulders. He remembers feeling the wind being knocked out of him at the sight, he remembers the possessiveness that clawed so deeply into his chest that he had been afraid for a moment that he was dying.

He doesn’t remember changing lanes and parking there in front of you.

He doesn’t remember the way your face fell when you saw him.

He doesn’t remember the way the guy who had been wrapped around you stood up, asked who Steve was and why he was bothering you.

All Steve remembers is that he no longer saw the fondness in your eyes when you looked at him. The wonder had been gone.

“Y/N?” His voice hadn’t sounded like his own. Your name hadn’t left his lips in months; it felt like exhaling after breaking an oath.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you had shaken your head at him, somehow knowing Steve’s feelings before he did. He would come to learn that you had always known his feelings for you, long before he was ever able to figure them out himself. You looked at the guy next to you, your date for the night, and shook your head again. “Not here. Not right now.”

“I know.” But Steve hadn’t known anything. If someone had asked, then, what his name was, all he would’ve been able to answer with was yours. He was yours. “I… I know.”

“I think you should leave, buddy.” The guy you’d been with said, and Steve remembers now that his name had been Jamie. He had been on the soccer team, someone he had once shared a drink with at some stupid party last year.

Steve cleared his throat and avoided your eyes. You knew too much. You knew too much and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to you until then. “Have a good night.”

And then he was gone.

Steve broke up with Nancy a week later.

You never saw Jamie after that night.

–

Neither of you know how it started.

But you know how it will end.

Steve doesn’t, but you don’t blame him.

He sneaks in through your window most nights and takes from you what you’ve always been willing to give him; it’s how your relationship has always been, and yet you’d give him everything and more if he asked you to.

Steve kisses you and holds you at arm’s length and tugs you back in every time.

You always allow yourself to be pulled in.

One night Steve crawls through your window and reeks of alcohol. He trips over himself as he enters, his hair a mess, still grown the length you once suggested to him, and his jean jacket hangs loosely from his thin frame.

“Steve?” You rush towards him and help him through your window, holding your breath as you do so.

He leans heavily against you and slurs his words. “‘M here.”

“You’re here.” You confirm for him, setting him gently against your bed. As he stares at your ceiling with blurred eyes from the alcohol, you start removing his jacket and shoes. He’s not going home tonight in this state, you know his dad will only send him back here again anyways.

“Always here,” he slurs again, rolling his head to the side as he does his best to look at you. He squints, studying your side profile and it takes everything within you to not face him. You busy yourself with his clothes, giving yourself something to distract yourself with. He frowns, even in his drunken state he can read you so well. “Always… here.”

“You are always here,” you untie his shoes and place them against your wall. “It’s late, Steve. Let’s go to bed, okay?”

“No,” he now tries to fight against you. Words float through his mind, in a haze of letters and sentence fragments, and vaguely there’s something there that he knows he has to say. Some grand epiphany in between his sixth and seventh beer tonight. “I wanna–I wanna talk.”

You freeze.

He sees your discomfort and feels something break within him. He tries desperately to grasp at the words within his mind. “Here. It’s… You’re here.”

“I live here, Steve.” You’re not sure what he’s trying to tell you, but you know that if he keeps talking, he’ll ruin the last remaining line that tethers you to him. “Please, just close your eyes and sleep–”

“You’re always here.” His voice has strength to it now, as if the confession has sobered him up. His eyes are now focused, though his mind is still a haze of everything he hasn’t told you. His movements are still slow, his breath still reeks, and he knows that this isn’t what you deserve. “W-why?”

You close your eyes.

You’ve always known how this would end.

“We can talk in the morning.” You try to appease him, now gently crawling over him so that you can lay his drunken state to rest. “How about you just hold me tonight, okay?”

Steve is gone again, now lost in the alcohol he’s consumed once more, and your offer of him being able to hold you is all he can focus on now. Exhaustion washes over him and he wraps his arms around you, distantly he thinks he remembers someone else doing this to you once. The thought makes him hold onto you tighter, though he thinks that this isn’t fair to you.

Lips close to your ear, he whispers, “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

“I know,” you close your eyes again, scared he’ll see the tears within them.

Neither of you know how it started.

The undoing of whatever you had started long before either one of you truly knew what it was.

One day you were both eleven and Steve had been drawn towards the naivety within you that he never had himself.

Tonight, you’re both seventeen and the naivety is gone, and as the alcohol burns through Steve’s system, he knows it’s because of him.

You’ve always known how this would end.

Steve has only realized it tonight.

⌑ writing masterlist

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem #angst #m's writing #dont ask where this came from idek #its sad and very toxic #boooo steve #might do a follow up on this #a part 2 if ya will #this was heavily inspired by normal people btw

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katsu28 · 2 days

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hi Kait! congrats!! ☕️ "Why are you mad?” “I’m not mad, I just think you can choose better people to kiss.” with bradley bradshaw please!! ily

thank you! this is unbelievably late so i apologize but you know what the french say! soo la voo, or whatever (that's from tiktok, french tumblr girlies (gn) pls don't come for me)

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x roommate!reader (2k)

“I had a really nice time tonight, Jake.”

“Yeah?” Jake smiled, letting your joined hands swing between the two of you as he walked you to your front door. “Me too.”

“We should do this again sometime.” Was it too bold of you, asking for a second date when you were only moments away from the end of your first? Probably. But Jake was nice and charming and made you feel special all night.

“Can I kiss you right now?”

Your smile grew even bigger at his words. Of course you wanted this very sweet, very handsome man to kiss you. You were hoping he’d do it this whole night. “Please.”

Jake slid a hand around the back of your neck, bringing you closer and closer until your lips connected. The kiss was everything you’d hoped it would be, but before either of you could deepen it, you faintly heard the sound of the locks unlatching from inside your apartment. Before you could warn Jake, the door swung open with a gust of wind.

“Well hello there, you crazy kids!”

You fought the urge to scream at your roommate’s smug as shit voice, pulling away from Jake with what you hoped was an extremely venomous glare aimed at Bradley. The smile on his face matched his tone of voice, shit eating and absolutely enjoying it.

“Rooster.” Jake nodded awkwardly. He stepped back like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, rubbing at the back of his neck. He avoided Bradley’s gaze, looking to you for any ounce of comfort you could provide, but there was little you could do when Bradley got like this.

You’d been living with Bradley Bradshaw coming up on a year now, and for the most part it had been smooth sailing. He was a great roommate and tidy to a fault, always keeping his space neat and the shared space even neater. You probably had the Navy to thank for that. In addition to that Navy instilled tidiness, as a person he was kind and funny and a little bit of a dork, but you loved that about him.

Something you didn’t quite love about him, however, was the way he acted whenever you went on dates.

You couldn’t even really call it jealousy because you’d never been together—not that you hadn’t thought of it occasionally. With someone as perfect of a person as Bradley, the thought was bound to cross your mind sometime. It wasn’t quite territorial, but definitely more than him just looking out for you.

“Hangman.” Bradley responded coolly. He mirrored Jake’s crossed arms, leaning against the door frame. “Getting back a little late, aren’t we?”

“Shut up.” You said, words a near hiss through a tight smile. You turned back to Jake, splaying a hand across his chest. “Ignore him.”

“He can’t ignore me, he’s standing on my doorstep.”

“Bradley, I swear to god—”

Jake patted your hand, giving it a squeeze before stepping away. “No it’s fine, I can take a hint. I’ll be on my way.”

“Okay.” You sighed, trying hard not to sound too defeated. “Text me when you get home?” Jake nodded, but judging by how quickly he walked back to his car, it was safe to say there would be no second date. You stormed into the apartment without waiting for Jake to drive away, shouldering past a madly grinning Bradley with a frustrated huff.

“You’re an asshole, Bradshaw.” You scowled, throwing your sweater at him. He dodged it easily, tossing it across the back of the couch with a snort.

“I don’t like him!”

“He’s from your squadron. He’s your friend.” You deadpanned, raising a brow. “You’re the one who introduced us to each other, and now you don’t like him?”

“I don’t like him for you.” He corrected himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “He used to be a playboy, you know that, right? I don’t want him playing with your feelings!”

You whirled around on your heel, fixing him to the spot with a glare. “Then why did you set me up with him?”

Bradley’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, like he was searching for any excuse to answer your question. He could say he just wanted to help. He could say a whole lot of completely bullshit things, anything but the real reason. Bradley couldn’t give an honest answer to your question, not without exposing his own feelings for you. So he just shrugged, letting his hands slap against his thighs helplessly.

“Don’t act like you did me any favors, Bradley. I don’t know what you have to gain from messing with my love life, but however funny you think you are, you’re not. So just stop it, please.”

“Y/N, I—”

“I’m gonna head to bed. See you in the morning.”

You left him behind at that, hurrying to your bedroom before he could get in another word.

-------

Bradley’s knuckles rapped against your door, echoing through the empty hall.

He wasn’t used to you being upset with him (not that he didn’t deserve it this time, because he definitely did). There was usually some sort of noise coming from your room, whether it was music or the show you were binging, or even just you having a conversation with yourself in the confines of your own space. Things that annoyed him a little at first, but soon grew to love about you.

The silence right now felt weird. Foreign. Just another sign that he’d massively fucked up.

“Hey. It’s me.” No answer. He knocked again, a little more insistent this time. “I’m sorry for being a dick.” Still no answer. “C’mon, Y/N. I hate it when we fight. And I really am sorry. Feel free to open the door and kick me in the nuts or something.”

The door swung open with a creak, and Bradley squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation for a foot to the nether regions that thankfully never came. He cracked one eye open to see you retreating over to your bed.

You’d changed into your pajamas in the time that it took him to formulate an apology in his head. Showered too, judging by the whiff of your citrusy shampoo he got when he came to settle at the edge of your mattress.

“Thanks. For not actually kicking me in the nuts.”

“I was thinking about it.”

“I deserve it.”

“You do. You were petty earlier, Bradley. Kinda mean too.”

He bobbed his head quickly, agreeing. “I was. And I’m sorry.”

“You set me up with Jake only to sabotage any chance of a relationship with him. And you can’t even tell me why.”

“It doesn’t matter why.” Bradley blurted. He cleared his throat, composing himself despite the disbelieving look you threw his way. “I know it was wrong of me to do what I did, but Hangman wasn’t right for you.”

“That’s none of your business though!” You said shrilly, rising from your seat with anger. You all but stormed across the room, putting enough distance between Bradley and yourself so you wouldn’t feel tempted to strangle him. He was being impossible and way out of line. “My love life—who I date, who I like, it’s none of your business!”

Bradley was growing angry too, but not at you. At himself, for letting his feelings for you get to this point. “It is! It is my business when I know there’s someone better out there for you. Someone who understands you and supports you and loves you—who would never even think about treating you like anything less than the amazing person you are.”

“You’re not making any sense. Why do you even care so much?”

“Of course I care! I care about you, Y/N, you know that!”

“I know you do, but that’s not—” You let out a frustrated huff. “Why are you so mad?” You exclaimed, genuinely exasperated at the way he was acting.

“I’m not mad.” Bradley scoffed. “I just think you can choose better people to kiss.”

“Like who, Bradley? Who’s this someone better you keep talking about?”

“Me.” He said simply. It was blunt—maybe a little too much so, but maybe it was necessary. Dancing around the fact hadn’t done any good, so maybe this unexpected approach would give a different result. A better one.

All your anger dissipated in a flash, replaced with hurt. He had to be kidding. This had to be some sort of fucked up joke, because there was no way Bradley Bradshaw had feelings for you. Not in the same way you felt about him. “Bradley, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be.” He insisted, shaking his head. “I mean it. I saw you from the side window, him walking you up to the step, and when I saw him kiss you, I just—there was this feeling…like I’d been kicked in the chest. And when I see you, every morning, every night, every day, I feel like I—”

“Stop.” You whispered, barely audible. Bradley’s voice died mid-sentence, brows knitting together at the sight of your seemingly pained expression. “What are you doing? What do you want from me, Bradley?”

“I want you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. All I still want.”

You didn’t reply for a scarily long time, and when you did, your voice shook. “If you cared about me like you say you do, you wouldn’t have done what you did earlier.”

Bradley’s stomach dropped, tendrils of guilt creeping their way up the back of his neck like vines. He hadn’t even thought of it that way. He’d been so preoccupied with his feelings, he hadn’t even stopped to consider yours. From your perspective, Bradley was doing this all out of spite. (Which wasn’t at all true, but things weren’t looking too good for him.)

“It was stupid. A mistake, I know. One I’ll try my damndest to amend.” He insisted, reaching out with a reassuring hand on top of yours.

The moment his hand touched you, you stiffened. Didn’t pull away, didn’t retreat like you’d been burned, but it had the same effect. Oh, he’d definitely fucked up. You’d never reacted to him like that before, never had any reason to. Now you did, and the reason for it was entirely his own doing.

“I think you should leave.”

“...The apartment?”

Your shoulders crept up to your ears, dropping in a haphazard shrug. “No. I don’t know, just—let me be alone right now?”

He murmured out a soft okay, rising from his seat. He knew when to leave things be. Or he did now, at least.

What he really wanted to do was to reach out as he passed you, to hold your hand or brush along your cheek or something, anything, to make you understand that he hadn’t told you to hurt you. But he didn’t, because he knew it would only make things worse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I—yeah, I’m just…sorry.”

You didn’t respond, just kept your eyes trained on your socked feet like they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. It made his guilt grow a thousandfold. He lingered at the threshold of the room a moment, hoping you’d garner one last glance at him and see just how sorry he was.

You didn’t.

Bradley let the door click shut behind him on his way out. He let out the biggest, heaving sigh, letting his head tip down towards his chest, because seriously, he was such an asshole.

He’d never been good at the whole “talking about his feelings” thing, and it was clearly showing, bleeding into his words and actions as if it were some sort of excuse for him to be acting the way he did.

He hated how it made you feel like he was trying to sabotage your love life. It had never been his intention, but intentions didn’t matter in this situation.

How could he even begin to try and make this better? Would you even let him have the chance?

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#kait's 2k!#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw angst

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starsomens · 2 days

Note

We LOVE dad Noah here!

How about ummm, oh! A quick lil bubble of Noah going with reader and Eden to get her ears pierced? I know my parents took me as a baby maybe like 8-9 months? Ik some people have feelings about it but I personally am happy there did!

Anyway thank you start love you❤️❤️

A/N: omg so cute!! I know my mom had my ears pierced when I was around 6 to 7 months or so. Maybe a little bit younger, but my dad was definitely very upset I was crying when it happened.😭😭

Noah was holding Eden in his lap and bouncing his knee. The month old, simply just enjoying being held by her father. Noah was internally freaking out about her ears being pierced. Of course you’re both OK with her. Having earrings and logically speaking doing it now will be better for her since she won’t remember the pain. Either way it was a quick pinch and should be over in just 10 minutes.

However, on the way over to the establishment started to freak out a little bit. Knowing that the piercing would make her cry. So no he was giving options about waiting until next week or trying to find a place that numb her ear and pierce it instead.

But you were reassuring him that she would be fine and she wouldn’t even remember it after five minutes. So now you had a pouty husband to try and comfort while he was waiting in the chair as the employee was readying the needle and earrings. Of course Noah being who he was for his princess got her only the nicest and highest quality earing and piercer. Making sure to look into reviews on how they are with kids.

"Alright are we ready?" the young girl asked. Her bright smile such a contrast to her piercings and tattoos. She was just lovely to speak with as she explained the process "Alright dad, we're going to try and pierce her ears nice and quick. So I'll need to you to hold her head and make sure she doesn't move,"

Noah take the deep breath while he faces his large hand on Eden small head. Her face still not knowing what is to come and knows how was jumping out of his chest. The piercer mark a single dot on each of her loans sure that they both look even before she grabbed the needle gun. Aligning the tip of the needle on her earlobe, she says,

“ oh right, we’re gonna try to make this really fast really quick so once I’m done with this year, I’m moving right to the second one,” she reiterates she had said before “ ready? 1…..2…..3,”

And in the blink of an eye, the gun clicks as appears through her ear. It takes a second for Eden to react actually, trying to understand what had just happened as her lips starts to pout. Her little nose sniffling as a wine, and a cry starts to escape her lips. Noah’s heart broke hearing her starts to cry.

On top of that he was the one holding her head in place so that she wouldn’t move and all he wanted to do was to comfort her. And at the same time he’s never felt more rage towards someone who essentially he was paying to do this

The piercer quickly moves to the other side and pierces her ear quickly. “ Okay she’s all done, no more. I’m sorry princess” she gives an apologetic look to Noah and Eden we all know it does is turn Eden into him and comfort her. He had his signature mug shot face very upset. His baby was uncomfortable and hurting.

No one stand up from the sea, and he walks around the room, bouncing her to try and calm her down. His large hand no longer holding your head in place, but caressing the soft hair on her head as his lips kiss her forehead.

“I’m so sorry baby. I know Mommy so mean for letting the lady do that” he whispers to her and all you could do was go at him as he blamed you partially for it. Luckily you both know was Eden’s main source of calm and comfort. Now you moved to the front desk to pay for the service, eden has calmed down and her crush were reduced to small sniffles as she sucked on her finger to also calm her down.

While your card was being charged, you take a look at her earring and you were very happy with the service. She did great in Eden seem to be dealing with him much better than you had anticipated. On the other hand was still very upset.

“Babe why are you still pouting? She’s just fine”

“ Because look at her face, her nose is all red and look at her cheeks. Her eyes are red and watery still” no it was very emotional when it came to his precious little princess. He couldn’t blame him since he felt the same way. But you knew that the pain for this was temporary and she wouldn’t remember it at all by the next day. Just like when you had taken her to the doctor to get her shot after she was born.

While you walk to the car hand-in-hand, no scene to forgive you a bit more as Eden returns to her normal self. As he put her into the car seat, he takes a look at her earrings and tilts his head a bit.

“Look at my princess. Did daddy get you was pretty earrings?” he uses his baby voice with her. “Looking so beautiful, just like Mama”

He then turned to you planted a kiss on your nose. As he closes the door, he opens the passenger door for you to get into

“Oh? I thought it was my fault for letting the mean, lady pierce her ears,” you pouted at him as he crossed your arms, reiterating his own words back to him

“ maybe it wasn’t completely your fault you were right she did calm down after a while. And I guess…. You’re right she won’t remember it later on in life.”

You take a hold of his jaw gently and shake his head slightly “AWWHH look at my man admitting that he’s wrong,”

“Wrong? No, I did not say I was wrong. I still think that piercer was a bitch for making her cry,”

“Noah that’s her job, Eden was going to cry either way!” You giggle as you climb into the car

“Yeah yeah, I won’t leave a bad review” he chuckled closing the door

“Noah don’t you dare!” your muffled voice, comes from inside the car as he rounds the front and gets into the driver seat. He completely ignores what you say turns to Eden and put his hand into her car seat and tickles her little belly

“Now who wants ice cream?!” Wanting to reward her for being such a brave girl

“ oh yeah, that’s right just change the subject,” crossing your arms

“ keep that attitude up and I’ll make sure to use my ice cream for something else” he smirks at you as he turns on the car and scans your body from top to bottom

“…..fine I want my usual order and you better know it or you won’t be using your ice cream for anything” she knew what you were talking about you hear Eden giggle in the back of the car

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#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #dad Noah Sebastian #noahsebastian #badomens #bad omens band #bad omens fanfiction #star’s anons✨#dad noah has be in a deadly chokehold #noah as a dad

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twost3ps · 2 days

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Since ya doing au and made Emily Michael and Adam's daughter what about an au where Charlie is Lucifer and Adam's daughter just curious how that would come out of your artistic mind. Love ur art is PEAK bro

AWWW thank you so much!!!! AUSGEHYSGEUSGSUWBSBS

But totes I’ve had thought of this b4. Thank you for giving this prompt so I had an excuse to draw and write it out!!!

An au where Adam and Lucifer are Charlie’s dad… umm well there are a couple of ways this could go….

But the first that comes to mind is the one where Adam falls with Lucifer and they have Charlie. Idk if either Lucifer seahorses it and has the baby or if Adam is the one that carries. Idk first man sure, but yk maybe god was like: hey idk what genitals to slap on this guy so let’s do both and gave him both. When Lilith’s gender was determined, it was a flip of a coin. Adam could have just been the mother if it landed on the other side lol. Or maybe if he falls, god strips him of his title as a man, like Lilith, and swaps his genitals. So basically intersex Adam.

Either way, silly girl Charlie, here ya go! (I don't draw her enough)

Even as Adam's kid, I don't actually think Charlie changes all that much. Personality wise, at least. She is very much like her dad lucifur- a silly lovable dreamer- but some of Adam still leaks through, obviously. She's definitely a mommy's girl, and in this case, I'd like to think Adam is the mom figure. So instead of taking liliths more regal and more elegant choices of fashion and way of goinh, she takes on more of a punk and grunge look with a mix of her original style and a bit more agression.

For her looks I think she'd have dirty blonde hair and it would be short (it's my preference, lol), and her clothes are a bit more... punk? She dresses much more losely imo , def because of Adam. She keeps her horns out for the fun of it and her emo face still kinda stays with her, especially after Adam praising her for her look when she was in that phase. She does some sick eyeliner and eyshadow. She HAS to play an instrument so she knows the bass and strangly enough the keytar. I also think she's a bit chubbier because she maybe shared her dad's appetite idk.

But overall, she is still a sweet girl with a dream to help sinners. She's just way more assertive and quick tempered.

I won't lie, I got inspired by one of my friends' relationships with her dad and both lovingly insult each other to death. They talk about how much they "hate" eachother, but everyone clearly understands that both would die for one another for sure, especially Adam.

He may say something like. "Oh Charlie? Yeah if it were up to me I'd sell her for a new guitar" right infront of her but she's laughing so hard as Adam holds her close in a side hug because she knows he's joking.

Idk how to explain it but ifkyk, they lovingly talk bad about eachother but somehow it makes you understand that they really do love eachother as parent and child.

As for Adam and Lucifurs relationship, I genuinely dunno. I kinda want them to be a bit strained because even after the fall, Adam is still loyal to heaven. He's not lilith, who wants freedom - Adam likes security, and even if rule under heaven is restrictive, atleast hes safe. Charlie, to Adam, is one of the only good things that ever came out of the fall, and he would fall again and again just so she could be his. Like Lilith, Charlie is mainly parented by Adam, but it's because Charlie was the only shining light Adam had down in hell. Overtime Adam and Lucifur possibly heal and truly get together, but when Charlie was really young, they were not an item at all.

Then there are other options of Charlie being Lucifur and Adam's baby-

Charlie is born under an angel Adam and fallen lucifur and Adam decides to take Charlie and raise her in heaven

Adam is in no way related to Charlie, but one way or meets her and kinda just adopts her. Lucifur doesn't know why but Adam stakes claim ig

There are more potential ones but I'm not really a writer or an idea maker lol. IM NOT THAT CREATINVE SJVDEHBSBS But I think that this is just a great concept lolol a bit harder to work with than the secret royal family stuff but still fun to think about overall

I might come back to this one day o3o

#hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel #adamsapple #adam hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x adam #lucifer hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #hazbin charlie

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five-and-dimes · 15 hours

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Your Eyes Slay Me Suddenly

Finally get to share my fic for the Spring Exchange! I got assigned @im-not-corrupted, and it's my first time writing a knight au, but I'm really happy with how t turned out, so I hope you like it too! <3

AO3

If you had asked Sir Robert Gadling just a few years ago, he would have told you that he had no plans of settling in any kingdom. Ever since the loss of his dear Eleanor, he had found himself most content in traveling. A sword for hire making his way through the lands, throwing himself into new adventures before inevitably moving on. He escorted nobles and adventurers, he protected priceless treasures, he fought in tournaments for gold and glory, and then he carried on. Each new place brought their own unique experiences and joys, but none so great as to convince him to stay.

Then he entered the kingdom of the Endless.

He had heard rumors of the turmoil the kingdom had gone through in recent times. One of their main allies and trade partners had been brought low by their king’s death and near fatal wounding of the only prince, leaving the prince’s consort to struggle to hold the land together. The loss of protection and major imports left the Endless kingdom vulnerable, and they fell into a period of famine and darkness. However, a few years later saw one of the princes staging a coup, exiling the king and queen as well as a few other members of the royal family, taking the throne for himself.

And King Morpheus brought the realm back to prosperity.

Hob found the land intriguing in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The landscape was lush and vibrant, the kingdom built within the forest as opposed to clearing it away, and even the homes of the lower class were adorned with intricate artwork carved into the door and window frames. When he made his way into a boisterous tavern, he was greeted as though he was coming home, not a newcomer. As the ale flowed, he had tried to learn more about the history of the realm, especially the years when the crown had been taken. What he learned was that, for all the drama that a grab for power like that must have been, to those outside the palace, it had all been very quiet.

“Went to bed one night the same as ever. Next day we woke up, and there was an assembly being called,” An older man explained, leaning heavily on the table, “Standing on the balcony like some angel of death, there was King Morpheus, wearing the crown.” He shook his head, lost in the memory of his astonishment, “The King and Queen have so many kids I never could keep track of ‘em. But I coulda sworn that one was dead,” he shrugged, taking another long swig of his ale, “Guess I was wrong.”

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Hob was more eager than ever to join an upcoming tournament. As always he enjoyed buddying up with the kingdom’s knights, sharing tales of his travels, learning more about the land he was visiting, placing bets and engaging in friendly banter. He was excited to join the festivities, and to get a closer look at the mysterious king.

As he entered the arena, looking up to the stands, he understood why his drinking companion had called the king an angel. King Morpheus was a spot of darkness amongst the colors of the crowd. The royals and advisors sitting beside him wore rich, deep colored fabrics that shone in the sunlight, but the king himself was garbed all in black. His robes flowed around him, draping over his form and concealing his figure. His collar was buttoned up his neck all the way to his chin, and gloves covered his hands where they lay primly in his lap. Long black hair was braided elegantly and made his face look even paler, as though he had never seen the sun before. The gold circlet with ruby accents on his head was the only color Hob could make out on his figure.

He was beautiful.

Hob was never one to deny his ego, and he always aimed to impress when he competed, but on this day he forgot about the crowd. There was only one person he hoped to impress with each swing of his weapon or shot of his bow. The days of the tournament passed, and he couldn’t help but glance up up up to the King after each success, hoping desperately to be noticed. And his pride clearly paid off, because when the tournament ended, as Hob collected his winnings and made his way towards the feast, he was approached by an elegant figure. Her waistcoat was perfectly tailored and a deep purple which made her dark skin seem to glow. But her poise and demeanor gave away her station far more than the richness of her clothing. Delicate spectacles sat on the bridge of her nose, and her posture was proud and sure, looking down on Hob without seeming to look down on him.

“You performed very admirably, Sir…” she stated, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Robert Gadling,” he bowed in greeting, grinning.

“You are new to these parts, yes?”

“Aye, I am a traveler.”

“Just passing through, then?”

“Unless I am given a reason to stay.”

She gave him a reason.

The King had in fact noticed him, had been pleased by his performance, and was looking to grow the order of knights protecting the castle grounds. Though a few years had passed, he was still new enough to the throne to be vulnerable to attempts to usurp him. And he wanted Hob to join. Hob had no intention of turning down an opportunity to be closer to the dark shadow of a king.

It did not occur to him until much later that he hadn’t even needed to think about it before deciding to settle here, in the Endless Kingdom. He moved onto the castle grounds, and he kneeled before King Morpheus and swore an oath, and the king looked down at him with glittering eyes. Hob felt like a madman for all the things he wanted, but he felt a little less mad when, before the season even had a chance to change, he was selected as the King’s personal guard.

“If I may ask,” Hob could not help but inquire, standing watch as the King worked in his study, “Why me? There must be knights whom you are more familiar with.” He was one of the newest in the order, and yet it was he who stood at the king’s side.

The King barely glanced at him, continuing his elegant penmanship, “I am interested.”

“In me?” Hob felt his traitorous heart flutter.

Here, King Morpheus did look at him, something sly and mischievous in his eyes, “In your experience.” Slowly and deliberately, he put his quill down, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap, “Tell me, sir Gadling,” Hob shivered every time he heard his name on those lips, “of your travels. Tell me of your life.”

And, well. Hob would never deny a command from his king.

Although he would not deny… editing, occasionally. Never lying, of course, he wouldn’t dare. But he saw no harm in skipping the less flattering parts- the years lost to drinking his grief away, the times he tripped over his own feet learning to charge in heavy armor- and only slightly embellishing his victories. Morpheus always listened with rapt attention, as though Hob’s tales were the most interesting things he had ever heard. Perhaps, Hob considered, they were.

“It seems you have always been a capable warrior, Sir Gadling,” Morpheus smiled as he delicately ate his breakfast, Hob leaning against the wall beside him as he finished the most recent recounting of his exploits.

“Had to learn fast,” he grinned, “Some of us have to get roughed up if we want to keep you royals so soft and pretty.”

At first, he thinks he has said something wrong, because Morpheus’ head snaps up to look at him, eyes sharp and calculating. But a moment later, his body softens, like an exhale, and there is a pleased smile on his face, and Hob knows that he has said something right.

“I do not remember that part of your oath,” he says teasingly, “a vow to keep me soft and pretty.”

“It was unspoken,” Hob replies immediately, “Took one look at you and knew a delicate thing like you needed a skilled sword and shield at your side.”

“And it seems I chose well,” he sits up a little straighter, almost preening, “I trust a knight of your strength and… stature,” Hob felt his cheeks warm as Morpheus blatantly looked him up and down, “will have no trouble protecting my integrity.”

“With my life, my lord,” he gives a half bow, and when their eyes meet he is certain that something is there.

It became a regular part of their time together, after that. Time passes with Hob telling his stories, and Morpheus fluttering his eyelashes at what a rough and adventurous life he’s led, and Hob gently teasing about the soft and cushioned life he’s led. The contrast between them was exhilarating, and each time the king leaned into it was a bolt of excitement to Hob’s bloodstream. If Hob had his way, King Morpheus would never have to lift a finger. As he accompanied him through the castle, from his chambers to the throne room to the dining hall and back again, he opened every door for him with a deep bow. He would lift the king’s fork to his lips if allowed.

Morpheus does not seem to mind. For all that he is known as a stoic and cold king to those outside of the palace, each day Hob sees his little smiles, and the laughter in his eyes as Hob bends over backwards for him.

On this day, Hob thinks he might be the first knight tasked to pick blackberries for his king. Morpheus sits on a stone bench in the shade of the garden as Hob diligently fills a bowl with the ripe fruit, occasionally glancing back to see Morpheus’ warm, amused smile.

“It would be a shame to stain such finary,” he had claimed, eyes crinkling slightly in restrained mirth, turning to show off the glimmer within the fabric of his clothes.

“Oh of course,” Hob teased in return, “We wouldn’t want our precious king to get his hands dirty.” He bowed, taking the king’s gloved hand to kiss his knuckles. His skin was covered by such fine leather, he could only imagine how butter soft the skin beneath it must be.

King Morpheus smirked down at him, “You earn your keep well, my knight.”

“Anything to be kept by you,” he winked.

The only response is a silent huff of laughter, but Hob cherishes it all the same. As he stands, he holds a berry out between his fingers, “Perhaps you should test them. Make sure they are up to your standards.”

His eyelashes flutter, a coy smile on his lips as he leans forward, and Hob may have started it but he was unprepared for the feeling of his king’s mouth wrapping around his fingers, plucking the fruit from his hand before pulling back with a soft swipe of his tongue. Hob feels himself shudder as Morpheus hums in pleasure.

“Yes,” he purrs, “delightful.”

“Is that so?” Hob feels his heart beating wildly in his chest, but he feels confident and daring as he leans in closer, “Perhaps I should get a taste myself.” He thinks that no fruit on earth would compare to being able to lick the taste from Morpheus’ lips.

But he will never know if he is right. Before he has a chance, he lays his hand on Morpheus’ waist, only to have his wrist gripped tightly and torn away.

“Do not-” The hissed words are cut off so abruptly that Hob can hear the click of Morpheus’ teeth as his mouth snaps shut. His eyes are steely, stepping back to put himself out of Hob’s reach. It is so far and away from any interaction they have had before that Hob feels as though he has whiplash.

There is a moment's pause where Morpheus seems to be waiting for him to speak, and it is only then that Hob remembers their respective ranks, “I apologize, my liege,” he bows deeply, the formality feeling wrong. This is not who they are to each other. Or so he thought.

He glances up just in time to catch the way Morpheus’ throat bobs as he swallows thickly, “I have been away from my work long enough. Deliver what you have harvested to the kitchens and then rejoin me in my study.” He leaves no room for a response, turning on his heels and stalking away, heedless of the fact that they are not meant to be separated this way. Hob’s job is to watch over him. But, after watching his king’s back disappear back into the castle, he does as he is told.

His thoughts are a storm as he passes the fruit off to the kitchen staff, dragging his feet to delay his return to Morpheus’ side. King Morpheus has always been vocal about fighting tradition- about making a better realm, even if it meant going against the “old ways”- and Hob had, foolishly perhaps, assumed that meant that Morpheus would not be against marrying outside his station.

Apparently he was wrong.

Arriving outside the study door, Hob feels his heart burn. With rejection, yes, and grief, certainly, but also with anger. Anger at the king’s hypocrisy, his arrogance and conceit, to think so lowly of Hob as to toy with his feelings and then snub his touch. As though Hob’s hands would somehow taint his royal figure.

Well, Hob refused to be ashamed. He was proud of his rank and status, he was proud of his life, and no man or king would make him feel lesser. So when he walked into the room, he held his head high, and kept his eyes cold.

Morpheus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but did not say anything.

The weeks following are tense. At first, Morpheus seemed to try to restart their flirtatious banter, but Hob refused to engage. He was not a toy for the king to play with as he pleased and then shove away when he got too bold. In another kingdom, Hob thinks he might have been executed for the glare he sent the lord’s way. But Morpheus only sighed and looked away, and eventually stopped trying. Their days were now filled with tense silences as they walked together.

Hob is seriously considering leaving Morpheus’ order to continue his travels on the day the assassination attempt happens. He is overseeing a trial between two nobles, something about one of them infringing on the other's land, Hob hadn’t really been paying attention. In hindsight, the two seem more amicable with each other than one would expect for a dispute to reach the point of coming before the king, but at the time Hob had just been grateful that it was a quiet day.

“My King, I have some evidence that I believe may sway you in my favor,” one of them announced.

Morpheus, with varying success, did try to keep from being too far above his people. As such, it was not unusual for him to stand and approach the noble when he gestured him forward, presumably to show or explain something to win his case. Hob, as usual, is only a step behind him. It is because of that that he catches the glint of metal in the noble’s hand within his robe.

With a wordless cry, Hob lunges forward, shoving Morpheus roughly to the ground to step in front of him. There is a loud clang as the noble’s dagger connects with Hob’s gauntlet. His eyes are wide at Hob’s speed, and he has no time to react before Hob’s fist makes contact with his nose, blood spraying as he collapses. Around them, the rest of the knights in the room rush into action, restraining both nobles and sweeping the room for any hidden danger.

With the threat so swiftly taken care of, Hob is free to look down at where the king was sprawled, dark fabric pooling around him as he pushes himself up, dark hair concealing half his face. They look at each other, the adrenalin of the moment still rushing through both of them.

“Are you alright, my liege?” Hob asks softly, holding a hand out.

Morpheus nods slowly, taking his hand and allowing Hob to pull him to his feet, “I am. Thanks to you.”

As they stand, hands still clasped for a moment longer than necessary, Hob realizes that he has missed Morpheus. Perhaps he cannot have everything that he wants so desperately. But if this is all he can have, well. At least he can have this.

“Of course,” he smirks, “I did swear to keep you soft and pretty, remember?”

He means it as an olive branch, a remembered joke between them to show that they can still be more than simply knight and king, even if they cannot be more. He does not mean to make Morpheus’ eyes fill with tears.

“Yes,” his voice cracks, “Of course.”

Hob is not given a chance to respond- not that he knows how to respond at all- before the king is turning away, calling for his advisor, Lady Lucienne, the one who had first approached Hob about his position within the court. The two convene quietly for a moment before Morpheus orders the knights present, including Hob, to take the two traitors away to be questioned and search the grounds for any other suspects.

It feels wrong to leave the king’s side. Hob feels a desperate need to watch over him, to keep him safe and protected, to wipe away the tears that look so perilously close to falling. But he has been given his orders, and the king and lady are already moving to sequester themselves somewhere private to discuss what to do with the situation. So, with one last look back, he goes to fulfill his duty.

Hours later, when the palace is confidently secure and the traitors are under lock and key, Hob feels no less anxious to be at his king’s side. He was told to return to his own quarters, to rest for the night, and he did try at first, setting his armor aside and laying in bed to try to calm the burning in his heart. But there is no rest to be found here, and soon he finds himself walking purposefully through the halls in his casual clothing, a decision he only regrets when he finds himself faced unexpectedly with the king’s advisor.

Lady Lucienne is exiting the room just as he approaches the king’s chambers. Still half in the doorway, she raises an eyebrow at the clearly off-duty knight before her, and Hob freezes, feeling like a child caught stealing sweets.

“Sir Gadling,” she greets cooly, “I did not expect to see you so late. I thought you were resting,” she raised an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“Yes, m’lady,” he bows his head, but tries to continue awkwardly, “I simply could not rest, and wished to check to ensure the king was well after the attack today.”

“He is well,” she answers shortly, “so you may-“

“Lucienne,” a deep voice calls out from within the room, “he may enter.”

Frowning, Lucienne gives Hob a quick narrow-eyed look before re-entering the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the knight alone in the hallway. He waits awkwardly as a hushed conversation happens behind the door. Finally, Lucienne emerges once more, still eying him warily, but opening the door wider to allow him entry into the king’s chamber. As he enters, he is surprised when she exits, closing the door again to leave him alone in the room with Morpheus.

The room is grand, as expected for a king, and Morpheus sits primly on the edge of the large, ornate bed in the center. He is no longer wearing the extravagant, heavy garb that he dons in public. His current night robe, while as dark and elegant as all of his attire, is also thinner and more lightweight. It is also… revealing. The silky fabric contrasts sharply with his pale, nearly white skin, and for the first time, Hob is granted the sight of his king’s forearms, his neck, the jut of his collar bones, his calves. And with it, he is granted the sight of countless scars.

Dark, rough scar tissue circles both his wrists like bracelets, a matching ring around his neck. There are some marks that Hob recognizes as blade wounds, and others that he thinks might be burns. They criss-cross over each other and dip below his robe, suggesting that what he is seeing is only a fraction of what exists. All of the marks look old. It does not make them look any less painful.

Hob feels his mouth open, the breath rushing out of him as though he has been struck. He can tell, he knows, that the scars are old enough to have been made long before Hob ever met Morpheus. Still, he feels a strange sense of failure. As though it is his fault for not meeting Morpheus in time to protect him.

When he finally raises his gaze, he finds Morpheus looking at him, patiently waiting for Hob to finish his inspection. Hob opens his mouth, but cannot find any words that might soften whatever is happening right now.

Finally, Morpheus speaks, “Once, I was a prince. And now, I am a king.” His voice holds the gravity of an execution, and the sorrow of bowing his own neck beneath the blade, “But there was a time, in between, when I was neither.”

Hob takes another shaking step into the room. There is something dreamlike in the situation, an anticipation, a feeling of falling. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Morpheus turns his eyes forward to stare at one of the large landscape paintings he’d commissioned from a local artist, “I was sixteen when I was taken,” he states plainly, as though his words don’t gut Hob to the core, “It was… easy. For them to steal me away. Far too easy, even for an unloved spare like myself. As if it had been allowed.” He pauses, but keeps his face carefully smooth and neutral, “I still do not know for certain. Whether I was stolen or given away.” His next words are spoken more to himself than to Hob, “Perhaps it does not matter.”

Everything in Hob wants to move closer, to hold his king and shield him with his body, as though the past was an arrow aimed for his heart that Hob could stand in the way of. And yet, he feels frozen. Feet rooted to the ground by a pain so great even his strong and stoic king cannot keep it from his voice.

“When my blindfold was removed, I found myself brought before King Burgess.”

And now, Hob gasps, a too-loud inhale in the heavy tension of the room. Morpheus looks at him, his body stiff and his face still carefully empty.

Hob feels like he can’t breathe, “How…” his voice cracks desperately, “How long were you there?” He might be making a mistake by asking, by speaking at all during this tale, but he has to know. He has to.

“I was kept as a secret treasure for ten years,” Morpheus reveals bluntly. “I escaped my imprisonment roughly six years ago.”

The timeline stretches before Hob’s eyes, and he wants to weep.

“I was there,” Hob exhales in horror. Morpheus’ blinks, eyes blank and not understanding. “I… Ten years ago, I…” his throat feels like it is closing, but he forces the words out, “Burgess’ kingdom was one of the first I traveled to after I lost Eleanor. I was raised in the land neighboring it. I was there for nearly a year, drinking and fighting and participating in tournaments to distract myself from grief. I was offered a place in his court but I. Declined.” He takes half a step back, and then a full step forward when he sees the way the motion makes his king’s face fall. “I was right there,” he whispers.

“I doubt you could have done much,” Morpheus replied, turning his face to look at the wall again, “I was not flaunted before his people, or even the rest of his court. Only a select few knew of my presence beneath his castle. He…” his voice trailed off, and his eyes glimmered as tears began to well. But he stubbornly blinked them back, “It does not matter,” he says again, even softer.

Hob wants to scream that it does matter, of course it matters. But his king looks so wounded right now, and it has nothing to do with the scars. So for now he waits, and lets Morpheus tell him no more than what he is ready to share.

“Eventually,” he continues, his voice steady once more, “the prince’s consort grew pitying. I am sure when he released me he expected me to simply run. But I had more than earned my right to vengeance.” His hands clenched into fists in his lap, “Burgess was almost too easy. He had grown old and careless. He was not so powerful as he thought himself when I was in chains. I spared his son the killing blow only out of gratitude to his consort.”

The stories of the fall of the Burgess Kingdom make much more sense now, with this information, and even the decline of the Endless kingdom who had for so long been allies with them.

“It took me some time to return to my home kingdom. I was weak, and needed to heal and regain my strength. I also gathered allies. Lady Lucienne, Sir Matthew, among others. My family was not expecting my return, and so it was easy to claim the throne for myself. My parents I exiled, along with their supporters. My siblings I allowed the freedom to do as they wished. And what they wished was to leave.”

A few of the king’s siblings had visited in Hob’s time at his side, but never for long. Hob ached at the pain he saw now. The pain of being abandoned so quickly after his return.

“And a few years later…” Morpheus’ gaze was heavy as he looked at Hob once more, “a traveling knight competed in a tournament, and caught my eye.”

Hob still remembers that day so vividly, the dark shadow of the king, the way he was too far for Hob to see his eyes and yet he fantasized about them looking at him. His heart swells in his chest to know that they were. And now he is here, stepping towards his king, his friend, the man he has stood beside for nearly two years now, and he cannot help but ask, “Why did you not tell me this before?”

When Morpheus sighs, it is heavy, and Hob thinks that a lesser man would have crumpled under the weight of the despair in that single breath.

“The parts of me that appeal to you…” he explains slowly, “being… soft. And pretty, and delicate, and pure…” he keeps his head high and shoulders back and it does not make him look any less ashamed, “they are all a fantasy. The reality is that I have long been. Damaged. And sullied.” Almost unconsciously, he brought one hand up to clutch at his robe, holding it closed just a little tighter, “Perhaps it was cruel of me to deceive you in such a way, but our games… brought me comfort. I could pretend, even if just for the briefest times, that it was true. That I was someone you could want.”

Eyes fluttering closed, he sighed, “I thought. If I could have nothing else. I could at least have that.”

His voice is so even, despite how soft it has grown, barely audible in the expansive room. He speaks as though reciting history- something that has already passed and cannot be altered. A tragedy that cannot be changed.

When Hob moves towards him, it is barely conscious. It is like floating down a river, like gravity, a force of nature that perhaps he could fight against if he wanted to. But he does not want to. And so he moves to his king and he kneels, and he did not know it was possible, but it feels even more right now than it has every time he has kneeled before. Morpheus looks at him, the slightest furrow in his brow, confused, surprised, strangely lost. Hob takes his hand, as he has countless times before, and for the first time feels the rough calluses on his fingers. He kisses his knuckles, and his lips brush his bare skin for the very first time. Morpheus gasps, silent, and Hob would have missed it had his eyes not been fixed on his king’s face.

And then he continues. He brings his lips to the ring of scar tissue around his bony wrist, kissing first the outside, then the inside, leaning forward to continue kissing up his arm. There is a part of him that is appalled at his daring- this is his king, he has no right to take such liberties. But there is a much larger part that is desperate to prove him wrong. He has sworn an oath to protect this man. In this moment, he wants to protect him from his own expectations.

And so he pushes himself up, still holding Morpheus’ hand as his lips trail over the landscape of texture across his skin. He kisses over the fabric of his robe, not pushing it aside, not asking Morpheus to reveal any more than he already has. He stands until he is, like blasphemy, looming over his king, leaning down to kiss along the rope of scarring along his neck. He feels, more than hears, the way Morpheus gasps as his lips caress his skin.

“No game could compare to the reality of you,” Hob breathes against his skin, letting his tongue lightly trace the texture of him, “You do not need to pretend that you are wanted.” Leaning back, he finds his king staring at him with wide, watery eyes, and Hob allows himself a moment to sweep his gaze down his figure in appreciation, “Look at you,” he whispers, “Look at how much you’ve survived.”

He brings his free hand up to cup Morpheus’ cheek, and his king still looks disbelieving, and so what can he do but lean in and kiss him. When their lips meet, it feels like the inevitability of dawn after a long dark night, like everything was meant to lead them here. They move their lips together slowly, softly, until the taste of salt blooms between them. Hob pulls back, and Morpheus drifts after him, tears streaming down his face. And for all that he has been through, he looks at Hob as though this, this love and wanting, is what will finally undo him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hob kisses the tears from his cheeks, even as Morpheus shakes his head.

“I am not.”

Hob tuts softly, “You are.”

Feeling emboldened by his love, by a love he now understands is returned, he pushes gently at Morpheus’ shoulder, guiding him down to lay on the soft, rich fabric of his bed. Morpheus’ eyes are wide when he moves to straddle him, but he does not push him away. His hands hover over his hips hesitantly, and that is the moment Hob stops worrying about this being his king. Right now, this is just Morpheus, who has been torn apart, and pieced himself back together, and pushed Hob away because he was so certain he would not be wanted as he is. And Hob wants him, and so there is nothing more important than leaning down to kiss every inch of exposed skin.

“You are so strong,” Hob whispers, pressing his lips to the rough skin of his neck again, “but you have protected yourself for long enough. Let me, now.”

“Hob,” Morpheus’ voice is breathless, his hands finally come to clutch at his tunic, “I…”

“I have sworn an oath to you, my king,” he kisses the burns along his collar bones, “And I would swear another to you, my friend,” he kisses the raised scars on his chest, “and yet another for you, my love.”

Slowly he kisses down to his stomach, where he feels Morpheus tense and shudder even through his robe. Morpheus is breathing heavily beneath him, gasps and sobs and moans as Hob touches him all over. He tugs at Hob’s tunic and Hob obliges, tugging it over his head and reveling in the way Morpheus stares up at him, his tears slowing and his throat bobbing as he swallows at the sight of Hob’s muscled chest, his body hair broken up by ropes of scars from his years of knighthood.

Hob takes Morpheus’ hand, calluses caressing calluses, and leans down to settle his weight on top of him. He pressed their chests together, pale and scarred against tan and scarred. “See?” Hob whispered against his ear, “We match.”

Morpheus’ breath hitches, and his hand clings tighter to Hob’s. He does not let go for the rest of the night, even after they have finished their gentle rutting and have both stained the insides of their clothes. He allows Hob to use his own shirt to clean them both, and to wipe his tears away, and to curl around him beneath the covers, but he does not let go.

In the dark, Hob kisses each of his fingers, “Would that I could protect you from the things that have already happened,” he whispers, “But I swear to you, my beautiful Morpheus, that no new scars shall adorn your skin while I am here to prevent it.”

He feels fresh tears fall against his skin, and he knows it will take time for Morpheus to truly believe his words. Hob will slowly reveal the parts of his past that he had edited out, and Morpheus will do the same, and eventually they will lay together with no fabric between them, and Morpheus will still cry at the kindness and the love and the want in Hob’s eyes, and that will be okay. For now, they sleep in the safety of each other's arms.

And in the morning, Hob will help Morpheus dress, kissing up his body as he buttons his robe until he is once more fully covered, kissing his lips as he fastens the last button.

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #spring exchange #knight au

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honeipie · 1 day

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Hi love! I love your works and writing style so-so much! May I please request Bakugou falling in love with a weak and sick fem!reader that is bound to hospital bed because of her disease (she can walk but she is too weak to do so). They could meet at the hospital while she still had strength to walk. Basically, he falls in love with her watching her wither away.My heart is craving angst and some soft Bakugou💔It's okay if you can't write it. Anyway, thank you!!! Sending you lots of love 🩷🩷

THE PROMISE

katsuki x fem!sickreader

synopsis: katsuki fell in love with you, but all good things must come to an end

author note: my first writing request i will treasure this forever!

cw: sick reader, the sickness is not specific, mentions of dying

“thank you for coming dynamite! the kids will be excited to see you here!” a woman in scrubs bowed in thanks, which katsuki only grunted at.

“don’t have to bow or anything, but you’re welcome” katsuki dipped his head a bit as a sign of respect. the woman held her clipboard with a smile.

“well aren’t you humble? come on now, the kids are right this way”

the nurse led him through a pair of doors that were decorated with stickers and kids names from top to bottom.

katsuki had decided that he would spend his volunteer days at the local hospital. it was either that or wearing a hairnet at the local soup kitchen. telling kids about some of his battles and even doing a damn craft if he had to.

now he had thought the doors were colorful, but the room was something else. children’s drawings were hung up all over the ceiling being held together by small clothespins and wire. there were shelves of toys and stuffed animals across just one wall, and a playmat for a safe area to have fun in.

though there were no kids on the playmat letting their imaginations run wild with dolls. neither were there at the easel’s painting a new picture to hang up.

they were all sitting at the table enthralled with something in front of them. katsuki was about to get their attention before he heard your voice.

“and then they came in contact with the evil king. he sat on top of his throne which towered above the hero and the princess”

“why’d he make his throne so high up?” one of the kids asked eyebrows scrunched together.

“because the king thought he was better than everyone. thought everyone was small compared to him, but that’s not the right mindset to have” the child nodded in understanding which allowed you to go on “then the king yelled out to the two-“ you looked up finally noticing the pro hero staring into your soul. your next words stopped in your throat at his presence.

blinking your eyes you gained your composure again sending the kids a smile “the king yelled out you’re gonna have to wait until next week to find out” all the the kids screamed ‘no!’ collectively, disappointed that their story time was being cut short. all you could do was laugh as they all gathered near your legs begging you to continue the story.

“i don’t think you’ll want to hear any more of the story when you see the special guest" all of the kids immediately turned around at your words now noticing the big pro hero that had been lingering behind them.

"dynamite!" they all screamed and went over to him as fast as they could. he was now being bombarded with questions and stories about himself.

"guys c'mon! let him breathe" you walked over giving him a smile "sorry, they're just really excited"

katsuki shook his head at your words "it's fine. better then damn villains attacking me-"

"he said a bad word! y/n he said a bad word!" the kids started feeding off of each other's energy until it turned into a full on shouting match.

"i heard it everyone don't worry, but dynamite is an adult so he's allowed to say the bad words" you gently tugged the kids away from dynamite so he could collect himself. some part in you hoped he had something planned, but he just seemed to stand there awkwardly. this was nothing like the hot-headed hero you saw on the television. he shifted his weight from one foot to the other looking at the kids, then up at you again. catching the memo you nodded.

"why don't we all introduce ourselves to dynamite, yeah? go find a seat and then we can start"

he watched as all of the kids followed your instructions without further push back. katsuki sent a subtle nod your way in which you returned "right this way dynamite"

you led him over to the chair you were sitting in "you can sit right here then we can go over names" katsuki sat down in the chair, but had to scoot up to the edge of it. between his hero suit and wide hips fitting in the chair simply wasn't going to happen.

for the next hour you directed as the kids introduced themselves and were able to ask the hero questions. katsuki answered most of the kids questions, well the one's that weren't 'do you have a girlfriend?' or 'why do you look mad all the time?'. your personal favorite being 'why do you sweat so much?'. as soon as it came out of the kid's mouth you burst out in laughter.

dynamite rolled his eyes not even looking at you "glad you found that funny"

"sorry! just- just wasn't expecting that"

by the time the last question was answered it was time for them to go back to their individual rooms "everybody say thank you to dynamite!"

"thank you dynamite!" they yelled out before filing out of the room one by one. there was a smile on your face as you turned to clean up but immediately jumped at the sight of the pro hero that was now particularly close to you.

"hi!" it came out in such a high pitch you had to clear your throat to make sure you were alright "thanks for spending time with the kids. they really enjoyed it i could tell"

"good"

his empty response only left you more confused. blinking away the confusion you put back on that polite smile of yours "well i'm just going to go clean" you stepped away from him walking over to the table. you had gotten the bright idea that each kid should make colorful nametags and give them to the pro hero.

"what was i doing wrong?" he asked quickly, but you still caught it.

"excuse me?"

"what was i doing wrong? cause some of the kids were looking at me like i was stupid when you walked in"

a smile crept onto your lips hearing his words. the katsuki bakugo asking for feedback.

"well i know you're a blunt man, so let me be blunt with you. when you walked in you kinda looked stupid. like you just got shocked by lightning and couldn't move. correct me if i'm wrong. that's probably because you don't have much experience with kids"

he scratched his chin a light stubble growing on his chin. he hasn't had much time to shave "i don't"

you could tell that there was more that he wanted to say, but couldn't bring himself to say it. taking one of the pencil boxes you slid it back into place "if you wanted to visit again. i could teach you some of the things i've learned along the years. i could take you on a walk around the hospital" his eyes stayed glues to the floor making you just a bit nervous "i didn't want to assume but the kids really had fun. plus i know they would love if you came back"

taking his fingers off of his chin he looked up. there was no way the paparazzi was catching him in a hairnet "okay, let’s go, show me around the hospital"

you raised your eyebrow at his swift demands and stepped aside to show him the mess on the table "i know you're some popular pro hero, but here? you're a volunteer. so what we're going to is clean this place up. then we'll see about that walk" you went over and gave him a pat on the shoulder "welcome to the team"

the next two months went by pretty quickly. he would come to hang out with the kids and you'd help him with how to interact with them and setting up activities. and after all the festivities were over you would take him on walks around the hospital.

this was the third month he had come, and you were showing him the gardens. the two of you had established your own kind of relationship with each other built on respect. he even let you call him bakugo now.

"sometimes i like to bring the kids out here and teach them all about the plants and how to garden. they don't like it because they're learning though. they like it because they're big dirtballs and love to play in the flowerbeds"

this made katsuki let out a stiff chuckle. he would take this to his grave, but he was genuinely enjoying the time that he volunteered here. his manager didn't have to threaten him with late night shifts just to blindly pick up volunteer hours anymore. there was some sort of fulfillment he got out of hearing the kids call "mr. dynamite" when they had a question. or when they laughed so hard their tiny stomach's hurt just because he called them "little brats". he watched as you went to sit down on a nearby bench going to make sure that the flowers next to them had been watered recently.

plus, he didn't mind spending alone time with you either.

he sat down next to you moving his focus over to your hands "you know a damn lot about this hospital. how long you been a volunteer?"

you stilled at his question, and he was one to notice details. you pulled your hands away from the flowers going to face him "i actually don't volunteer. i'm a patient" you didn't like people asking questions, so you prepared a speech every time someone asked "i don't know what illness i have. doctors have been running tests for years and they still can't seem to understand. at random times i'll just get things like flareups, or my body will become absolutely exhausted out of nowhere. there’s other symptoms too, but i don’t want to bore you with the details. they won't let me go because it's like every time i walk out of the walls of this hospital something bad happens and i need to go right back to bed rest"

katsuki did something that a lot of people who asked about your sickness didn't know how to do. he listened. he was attentive and never let his eyes leave your face as you explained.

"i've been in and out of here since i was a kid. that's why i know the hospital and the workers so well. that nurse that brought you in the first day? she was just my nurse years ago, but now she's head of the pediatric floor"

it was all coming together now. the way you showed him the most secluded hallways. how you knew what times they would be doing building wide activities. and he was finally making sense of your words that you had told him on his first day.

"you have to know the hospital to really understand the kids. i know it sounds stupid, but this is their home, and some people can't understand that. most of these kids spend more time in the hospital than they do in their own house. so know this hospital. have enough respect for them to at least try and understand what they're going through"

you had felt so deeply about this because you had gone through the same exact thing, and you weren't going to have someone mistreat these kids.

“cool”

your eyebrows raised at his response.

“cool? i just told you about my lifelong sickness and you’re gonna say cool?”

“well whaddya want me to say? you want me to treat you like a fucking dying plant?”

“no”

“then i’m going to say cool and we can move the hell on”

“wow! is the number two hero dynamite really being a sweetheart?”

with one hand he gave you a playful shove “fuck off” he mumbled taking that arm and letting it rest behind you on the bench “and call me katsuki”

as the months pass, katsuki grows more comfortable with the children, and with you. he decided that he should come more frequently. once every month turned into every two weeks. then those two weeks turning into one. the two of you never really defined the relationship. you didn’t need to. all that you needed to know was he cared for you, and you him.

it only took one week to change everything.

katsuki walked onto the children’s floor heading into the room. all of the kids were doing their centers, but you were nowhere to be found. he saw the nurse though, helping one of the children with a computer game. when he walked over he ruffled the hair on top of the kids head “sup brat. mrs. harada, ‘s y/n here?”

mrs. harada’s expression grew soft. she placed a hand on the child’s shoulder letting them know she’d be right back. gently she grabbed katsuki’s forearm and walked him to a corner of the room.

“y/n relapsed. it was a two days after you came to volunteer. she was fine, about to head out from cleaning then just collapsed”

katsuki felt his blood running cold. how the hell could this happen? he just saw you. you were just fine.

why didn’t you call him?

mrs. harada placed a gentle hand on his shoulder “i’m sorry. i know you two are close, and i'm sure you don’t know how to feel. i can tell you her room number so you can see her. i’ll step in for both of you today” she smiled writing it on a sticky note and handed it to him. he gave her a nod then went to storm out “bakugo” she called out to get his attention “i understand you might be feeling betrayed, and you’re allowed to feel that way, but y/n is feeling a lot at the moment. she finally thought she was getting better and- and here we are. so please go easy on her”

katsuki thanked her, then headed out the door.

he walked through the hospital on a mission. he didn't stop to greet anyone or take autographs. the only time that he stopped was when he saw your room number.

the door was cracked open, but he couldn't see you from the angle where he was.

it was strange.

katsuki has trained for more hours than he could count. he had been facing villain's since he was at least fourteen years old. he had been through a whole damn war for crying out loud. and yet, as he stood there he felt a weight he had never felt before.

you glanced up seeing katsuki walk through the door. your heart started beating faster as soon as you saw him. even if you tried to put up a facade about it, your heart monitor gave everything away.

“you found me”

“ ‘s not like you gave me any other choice”

you watched as he stood in the doorway. hand stuffed in the pockets of his sweats. you had recommended that he didn't wear his hero suit since it would probably get uncomfortable after a while.

"katsuki you can come in-"

"why didn't you tell me as soon as it happened?"

"it's complicated"

"then fucking explain it to me" he stared at you his face unmoving.

"fine" you sat up wincing slightly at the pain shooting up your spine. katsuki almost faltered seeing your face contort from the pain "I don't know why I didn't tell you okay? The thought crossed my mind about a thousand times, but I just couldn't do it" a shaky sigh left your body and you tried to fight back the tears "there's just a lot going on.. and- and-"

the door clicked softly behind him, but you hadn't noticed. katsuki had made his way next to your bed and was already climbing in beside you. the bed let out a groan because of the added weight. he wrapped one arm around you and wiped your tears with the other. his thumb had a rough texture from all the explosions they've let out throughout the years. but they were gentle for you, and only you.

"you don't gotta say anymore. i've got you"

you leaned onto his shoulder letting the dam of your emotions break onto him. tears ran down your face, but you let them flow this time.

so you cried, and you cried, and you cried and cried and cried.

and katsuki let you.

it had been a while before you could compose yourself again. the room was filled with comfortable silence and the occasional snuffle from you.

"do you feel better?" he asked turned his head to face you.

"yeah.. 'm sorry you had to deal with that"

"don't fuckin' apologize for crying"

you chuckled at his words going to grab a tissue to wipe any excess. he tilted his head some analyzing a spot on your face closely.

"you got somethin' right.. there" he swiped a piece of tissue that had gotten stuck on your face.

you faced him getting a better look from up close. blond hair stuffed under a black baseball cap. bags under his eyes from all of his night shifts.

katsuki couldn't handle you looking at him like that. eyes still puffy from crying. your tongue running over your lips.

fuck it.

katsuki's hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck. he pulled you close as gently as he could. your foreheads touched before anything else.

"you don't want to kiss me. my face is disgusting" you whispered making him laugh, genuinely laugh.

"i've seen some disgusting shit and this isn't one of them"

you smiled before closing the distance between the two of you. there was a nice contrast to the kiss. between the roughness of his palm on your neck and his soft lips pressed against yours.

you could stay this way forever.

katsuki sneakily moved his tongue over your lips and pulled away. he made a face shaking his head "salty as shit"

"shut up!" you pushed him playfully making the both of you fall into laughter.

you and katsuki went on like this for months. constant visits, playful kisses, and when he was tired from patrol, he'd even let you read to him until he fell asleep.

but with the good, also came the bad.

your body had been getting weaker throughout the months. it came to the point where you couldn't get out of the bed unless you had help. katsuki had offered to take you on walks by putting you in the wheelchair, but you always refused. that is until you got the news.

"kats" you said causing him to lift his head from your shoulder "i wanna go on a walk"

he was confused at first. the sudden request to do something that you never wanted to was strange. though he didn't ask any questions as he went to get your things set up.

katsuki wrapped his arms around your torso lifting you up to be placed in the wheelchair. he had studied how the nurses did this thousands of times. you were embarrassed that he had to do this for you, but he'd do them a million times over it if meant walking with you.

there were no questions asked on where you wanted to go, you both knew.

katsuki pulled your wheelchair right next to the bench, but ended up putting you in his lap. you leaned against his shoulder looking at the cherry blossoms.

"when i die-"

"y/n don't start with that shit. you're not gonna die. you're gonna come back from this"

your one hand weakly played with the hair on the back of his head "we all die kats. it's okay if i talk about it"

"yeah, but you're talking about dying soon"

with a sad look in your eyes you watched his eyes follow the falling blossoms.

"can you at least promise me something then?"

"yeah"

"when i die, take care of the kids for me. you're so good with them and i don't trust just anybody handling it up there"

katsuki's eyes stayed glued to the trees in front of him.

"I can do that"

"and also-"

"idiot you said one promise!"

"hey! i'm dying i can make as many promises as i want" you smiled weakly at your own joke, but he didn't think it was too funny.

"promise to take care of yourself"

you saw his throat bob up and down at your words.

"you take care of so many other people and don't make time for yourself. learn how to rest kats. i can't have you dying either okay?" you placed a soft kiss on his cheek for good measure "you promise?"

katsuki rubbed one of his hands up and down your arm. a slow, shuddering breath leaving his mouth.

"i promise"

knowing that he would be okay you could finally rest, forever.

#honeipie #anime #bnha x reader #mha #writing #x reader #bnha bakugou #fanfics #katsuki #bakugou katsuki #anon ask #anonymous #angst #katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo mha

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lordprettyflackotara · 14 hours

Text

breath away || chris sturniolo & colby brock

SMUT. 18+. MINORS DNI. this is fluffy smut ngl to you guys. no actual sex sorry :( to my beloved readers: yes there will be a part two. yes i also have a spin off concept with sam & matt. writers block has been a BIG BITCH you guys. hope everyone’s summer is going well. enjoy!!

Parties were not your scene by any means.

You were new to the Youtube community or the whole ‘content creator’ thing. A career you thoroughly enjoyed, but was not built for the weak. You tended to be more of a recluse than a social butterfly. Tara Yummy was the first creator to attempt to befriend you, her attempt successful. Your collab broke the internet, Tara ecstatic for you. The two of you became quick friends, spending copious amounts of time together.

Your friendship and trust in her is what led you to this party, the blinding purple lights enough to give you a headache. You felt like a lost puppy, awkwardly trailing behind Tara as she introduced you to people. You knew she didn’t mind, but you felt out of place. Your head was spinning, meeting so many people in such a short amount of time. The place was huge, seas of people at every turn. Once Tara had circled back to Jake, you cleared your throat.

“I’m gonna go use the restroom i’ll be back,” You say, halfway telling the truth. You needed a moment to breathe, a moment to think. “Take the elevator down to the fourth floor, that’s the cleanest one,” Tara suggested, the two of you going your separate ways. You squeezed through the obnoxious couples making out, wheezling your way through the crowd. You almost tripped over your heels as you reached the elevator, two familiar faces waiting for it as well.

“Going up?”

Colby Brock. Handsome. Tall. Older. You were sure you had met him before. But where? You didn’t have time to think about it, realizing you needed to answer the question. “Down actually, fourth floor,” You replied, awkwardly standing beside him. The building Tara had booked for this party was insanely tall. You didn’t even want to think about how many floors this building actually had.

“You guys are lucky, i’m stuck going to the twelfth to try to find Nick.”

Chris Sturniolo. One of three triplets. Outgoing. Handsome. Charismatic. Tara would be freaking out for you right now if she saw this was the line up for your elevator ride. “Yeah I think Sam’s on the fourth floor trying to find his ex, i’m trying to find him and stop him,” Colby sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. You weren’t sure what to say, the dinging of the elevator snapping you back to life.

Chris gestured for you to enter first. “After you m’lady,” He said, causing you to shyly smile. You walked in, pressing the four button and leaning against the back wall of the elevator. Your feet were killing you, the heels you borrowed from Tara promising an inability to walk in the morning. Colby strolled in, Chris following behind him. He pressed the button for twelve, the three of you briefly standing in silence. The boys stood on opposite sides of the elevator, all of you facing each other.

“You and Sam just went to the Lizzie Borden house again right?” Chris asked. Colby smiled, his blue eyes addicting to look at. “Yeah, we felt like revisiting it alone. It’s such an interesting story,” He replied. Chris nodded, readjusting his backwards hat.

“Matt’s obsessed with that case, he thinks that-”

You could faintly hear both of the boys talking, your hearing dulling as the elevator slowly began to move. The stained yellow lights were off putting, the space suddenly seeming a lot smaller than it did when you entered. Your eyes flickered to the row of buttons, numbers one through thirty listed on the panels. Jesus fucking Christ. The elevator felt insanely small, the walls feeling like they could close in and squeeze you to death at any moment. You knew this was irrational, a fear you had developed when you were a kid.

You swallowed, your mouth running dry. Your eyes squeezed shut, the unsettling jolt of the elevator coming to a stop ensuing. You waited to hear the familiar ding of the elevator, followed by the sound of the doors opening, but you didn’t. You opened your eyes, the boys conversation long discarded as they stared at the elevator doors. “Is it supposed to do that?” Chris asked. If you weren’t so afraid you would’ve rolled your eyes. Colby approached the row of buttons, pressing the one to open the metal doors.

Nothing happened, the elevator appearing frozen between the ninth and eighth floor. You could see the digital number stuck, your heart beginning to race. Your ears began to ring, your eyes seeing Colby and Chris’s lips move with no words coming out. You leaned back against the metal railing, bracing yourself from falling over. You felt an unsettling dizziness wash over you, your gaze glued to the dirty elevator floor. What had you gotten yourself into? What if you died in here? What if the cord snapped on this old ass box and you all fell to your tragic deaths? What if-

“Hey! Are you okay?”

You blinked a few times, Colby’s large hands grasping your shoulders. He was shaking you, your vision faintly seeing stars as you looked up at him. His and Chris’s faces were full of concern, looking down at you. You nodded, swallowing. “She doesn’t look so good dude,” Chris commented. Colby elbowed him, before returning his attention back to you. “We’re gonna be okay, alright? Chris is gonna call somebody,” Colby said. Chris took the hint, whipping out his cell phone and beginning to make calls.

Colby’s blue orbs studied your face. “What’s wrong?” He asked softly. You were struggling to find the words, your mouth running dry. “Claustrophobic,” You sputtered out. Colby brushed a few stray hairs out of your face, tucking them behind your ear. “It’s gonna be okay,” He reassured, turning to Chris. Chris angrily shoved his phone in his pocket. “I have zero fucking cell service in here,” He sighed. Colby took out his own phone, his touch straying from yours.

Oddly enough you missed his touch, his hands on your shoulders providing comfort. “Chris she’s claustrophobic, I need to try to get help, can you talk to her?” Colby asked. He was aggressively typing away on his phone, trying to achieve one bar of cell service. Chris nodded. The boy before you was maybe your age, maybe a bit younger. You could never tell. “Hi ma,” He greeted. You gave a small wave, before your hand resumed its grip on the railing. Your knuckles were borderline turning white, Chris not failing to notice.

“Hey hey it’s alright, what can I do?” Chris asked, alarmed. You couldn’t find the right words, your eyes flickering around the elevator. It was so small, the walls threatening to close in every extra second you three spent hanging by a cord. You felt two hands softly cup your face, your gaze landing on their owner. Chris stood before you, his hands soft to the touch as his thumb grazed your cheek. “You’re okay,” He whispered. The strangers words were comforting, your breathing beginning to slow back down to a normal rate.

Chris had decent knowledge of anxiety, even if it wasn’t the claustrophobic kind. He knew the in’s and out’s of how to help Matt calm down. But you? You were just a pretty girl he was locked in an elevator with. Sure he knew your name, who didn’t? But your personality? Your ticks? How to calm you down? He didn’t know any of that. All he could truly speculate, was that you seemed to respond well to physical touch. He cleared his throat, the sound of Colby talking into his phone bouncing off of the small walls.

“Can I hold you? Is that alright?”

You nodded, murmuring an agreement. You weren’t sure what to expect, your cheeks beginning to turn bright pink. Chris’s hands strayed from your face, much to your dismay. He gently guided your hand to release the railing, sliding in behind you. Your back was pressed to his chest, his slender arms wrapped around your waist. “If you need to grab something, grab me. Don’t hurt yourself,” Chris mumbled. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his touch comforting. You felt tense for a moment, having a stranger so close to you. You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself as you decided to focus on Colby.

The brunette finally turned around. “I managed to call Sam. They’re looking into the elevator but they don’t know when it’s gonna be fixed,” Colby sighed. You tried to refrain from looking scared, ultimately failing as Colby walked over to you. “Hey it’s okay. What can we do to distract you?” He asked. Noting you were comfortable with Chris touching you he cupped your face, looking down at you with concern. Your mind was swarming with a thousand thoughts, ones of fear, terror, more fear, more terror. But you then remembered why you were there in the first place: Tara fucking Yummy.

And what would Tara fucking Yummy do if she was trapped in an elevator with two insanely hot guys?

“Kiss me,” You whispered. Chris turned his head to look at you, brushing your hair away from your shoulder. Colby’s eyes widened, as if he didn’t believe he heard you correctly.

“What?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

Colby slowly leaned down, his lips almost touching yours. His eyes flickered to yours for reassurance, before flickering back down to your lips. He closed the gap between you, pressing himself against you. Colby Brock tasted sweeter than you expected him to, the faintest taste of oranges crossing your tastebuds. You involuntarily bucked your hips between the two boys, your ass rubbing against Chris’s shaft. He took the hint, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your collarbone. You softly groaned in Colby’s mouth, grabbing handfuls of his shirt.

You briefly pulled away, heat rushing to your cheeks as you met Colby’s gaze. “Oh my God i’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me. I-” You began rambling, unable to stop the words from spilling out. Colby gently grabbed your chin, guiding you to turn your head. Chris’s lips eagerly met yours, his kisses much rougher than Colby’s. You melted into the kiss, Chris’s hips grinding against you from behind. Colby’s hands grabbed your waist, his body against yours. They felt intoxicating, Colby’s lips placing open mouth kisses on your neck.

“Just tell us if you want us to stop,” Colby told you, kissing you up to your ear. He began nibbling on your ear lobe, one of your hands entangling itself in his hair. Chris pulled away from your lips, admiring how swollen they were. “We just wanna make you feel good ma,” Chris purred. His hands slid down to the hem of your short dress, his fingertips barely grazing your skin. You moaned as Colby resumed his assault on your neck, sucking at your sweet spot.

“May I?” Chris asked, his breath hot against your ear. You whimpered as Colby released your neck with a pop, your body quivering with desire. “Fucking please,” You whined. You could feel Chris’s hard cock from behind you, poking you. He slowly pulled up your dress, just enough to where your panties were exposed. Colby admired the view, smirking. “Never thought an angel like you would be wearing something like this,” He teased, stretching the band of your black lacey thong. He released it, the material snapping against your skin.

You felt like you could melt any moment, your body on fire. You were engulfed in the flames the boys had surrounded you with and you loved every second of it. “Can we play with you baby?” Colby asked, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. You nodded eagerly, awaiting them to touch you where you desired. One of Chris’s hands slithered up to your neck from behind, tenderly squeezing your throat before releasing. “Words ma,” He purred, noticing how eagerly your hips buckled with his hand on your throat.

“Please, touch me,” You whimpered. Chris grinned into your neck as he pushed your thong to the side, rubbing slow circles around your clit. “Fucking shit,” You moaned, tilting your head back. Colby smirked at your reaction, running two fingers down your remaining slick. “So wet for us, what a good girl,” He mused, slowly pushing two fingers inside of you. Colby bit his bottom lip as your walls squeezed his digits, your body melting in between the boys like butter. Chris drew faster circles around your clit, helping you adjust.

“Doing such a good job ma,” Chris praised, relishing in the sound of your sinful noises as Colby curled his fingers. Colby couldn’t help but think of you as angelic, your walls milking his fingers and moans sounding like holy water. He began curling his fingers faster, watching as you gripped onto Chris for support. “Fuck, feels so good, Colby, Chris, fuck,” You moaned, gripping onto Chris like your life depended on it. His fingers were abusing your g spot, Chris’s circles only getting faster by the minute.

Colby grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Look at me, look at me as you fall apart on my fingers,” He ordered. He could feel your walls tighten at his words, a smirk creeping across his lips as you forced yourself to maintain eye contact with him. Chris’s hand on your throat came back to life, squeezing your airway. “Dont forget about me ma, you’re so filthy, letting two strangers play with you like this,” Chris said, his hips grinding against your ass as you stood in front of him.

Colby brought his lips to yours, swallowing your moans of the boys names as your legs began to tremble. You could feel the cord inside of you tighten, your body almost to the delightful edge you needed. “Awe did we make your thighs shake? You poor thing,” Chris teased, placing sloppy open mouthed kisses to your neck. You were sure your neck was going to be covered in hickies, ones you were going to have to explain later. But right now? All you could focus on were the thick fingers buried into your cunt and the friction being provided to your clit.

You playfully bit Colby’s bottom lip, releasing it with an involuntary moan. “Fuck i’m so so so close,” You panted, Chris’s grip on your throat tightening. You were seeing stars, the restriction of your airway only bringing you closer to your orgasm. “Go on, don’t be shy. Cum for us,” Colby encouraged, his blue eyes keeping intense eye contact with yours. You squeezed Chris’s wrist, leaning onto him for support. “You heard him. Cum,” Chris agreed. Their permission was all you needed, Colby’s eager lips swallowing your sinful moans as you came around his fingers.

You were seeing stars, euphoria washing over you. Chris was quick to release your throat, helping Colby hold you upright. You leaned your head against Colby’s shoulder, attempting to catch your breath. You were on cloud nine, your body craving more of the two men you were in between. “That was-” You began, the movement of the elevator cutting you off. The three of you jumped, Colby’s fingers quick to exit your cunt. Chris pulled down your dress, the boys quick to attempt to make you look decent.

Disappointment ensued as the three of you disbursed, awkwardly standing on opposite sides of the elevator once again. You took shaky breaths, clearing your throat as the elevator doors finally opened. Relief washed over Sam Golbach’s face as the doors opened, his face immediately lighting up. “Holy shit dude! We were so worried!” He said, going to hug Colby. Nick and Tara weren’t far behind, Tara giving you a big hug. “You need to call me if that shit happens again, I know the owners of this building. I can personally give them hell,” She told you. You nodded, your face flushed pink.

Tara looked at Colby and Chris, noticing your odd expression.

“Hey is she okay?”

“Yeah I think what just happened took her breath away.”

You shot Chris a warning look, before looking at Colby. “I’ll uh, see you guys later?” You asked cautiously. Chris shifted awkwardly, pulling his hoodie down to cover his raging boner. “The nights still young party girl, why don’t you come see us in the red lounge after you find the restroom you were looking for?” Colby suggested. Tara linked her arm with yours, beginning to talk away at a hundred miles per hour. She was leading you to the restroom, the one you were supposed to be hiding in to begin with. You looked over your shoulder, Colby shooting you a playful smile and Chris subtly winking at you.

You pretended to listen to Tara’s story, only one thought on your mind. You had to get to the red lounge. You needed Chris and Colby, no matter what it took. As you dipped into the restroom after Tara, you knew exactly what you needed to do.

#colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you #colby brock x reader #colby brock smut #colby brock #sam and colby #sam and colby smut #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo

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eff4freddie · 3 days

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Touch | Part Eight

You and Ellie grow closer in Joel's absence. Jackson holds its breath for the return of the second expedition.

Words: 6k

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, angst, no smut I'm sorry

A/N: So this is the last big chapter of Touch. I'm planning a smutty epilogue because these two need a proper send off, but the main storyline ends here. Just want to thank you all for your support of this story, which was my first foray into writing fics for a long time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Part Seven | Series Masterlist

You and Ellie fell into a routine of sorts, occupying yourselves while waiting for news. In the morning Ellie would go down to the stables to ‘check the horses’, which you knew was code for her looking to see if Joel had slipped back into Jackson overnight, but he was her dad, and you didn’t begrudge it. You hated when she came back with her shoulders slumped.

Ellie had already decided she didn’t have to go to school given the circumstances, and you had no authority to fight her on it. Occasionally you would mention that Joel probably wouldn’t be pleased when he got back to discover she’d missed classes, and she had been so dismissive of the very idea that it took you right back to eighth grade, trying to hang out with the cool kids and being summarily ignored. You were basically her roommate. Roommates don’t nag each other to do their homework.

You were doing your own maths, anyway. If Marla had ridden through the night with Jacob strapped to her back it meant that the site of the ambush was a two-days ride away at a normal, non-life-threatening pace. It also meant it was a two-day ride back. If they encountered any nastiness on the way there or the way back that could waylay them for a few days, maybe more if there were injuries. And then, of course, there was the infinitely more complicated mathematics of how it would tally if they died. You weren’t sure what you would count, if that happened, if it wasn’t the days until they came back.

You wondered, if none of them made it back, where you would go. You would obviously have to leave Jackson, the destruction you, Ray and Marla wrought on the small community complete at that point. You just weren’t sure where, in which direction. Salt Lake sounded bad, and you were getting tired of the cold. You wondered if you would be able to make it down to the Gulf of Mexico, if you just headed south for as long as you could until you hit ocean. You knew it was unlikely you would be able to do it on your own, and you also knew that you would have to. That at the end of all this it was always going to be you, alone.

It didn’t hurt to think about. You were matter of fact about it. If they didn’t come back, you didn’t deserve to stay. You were pleased with the almost complete detachment you felt at the thought of it. At the freedom.

Maria and Robin dropped by while you were teaching Ellie the muscles of the back and neck, in the hope that she would have some kind of education upon Joel’s maybe-return. She was good at it, too, getting the hang of the Latin despite the language now being even more dead then when you leaned it. When they arrived, Ellie took Robin from Maria and cradled him in her arms, Maria showing her how to support the head while he dozed. For the first time since Ellie had arrived she was still, quiet, over-awed by the tiny, precious life in her arms. You took Maria into the kitchen and poured her some tea.

‘This takes me back,’ she said, and you grinned at her, offering to massage her feet. She demurred. ‘You don’t need to see what I’ve got going on under here,’ she said. ‘I mean, I haven’t seen it for months.’

You knew that Maria was checking on you, and you loved her for it and hated that she had to do it. Robin was only weeks old, barely a month, and yet she was nurturing you. You had barely seen her since the birth, since she had made you feel so necessary, so wanted, and your cheeks burned at the thought of it. The last two friends you had ended up dead or banished. You were just bad at it.

‘Hey,’ Maria said, like she could read your mind. She reached out and put her hand on yours, warm from the tea. ‘It must be weird…no, awful, to be the one left. I can’t imagine.’

You weren’t going to cry in your kitchen with Ellie in the other room holding Maria’s baby. That just wasn’t a thing that could happen. You swallowed hard, heard your jaw click under the strain.

‘I really like Ellie,’ you said, pain blooming from your temple into your eye socket. You consciously stretched your jaw, your hand over your mouth to try and cover it.

‘She’s a good kid, been through a lot,’ Maria agreed.

‘She’s a good distraction,’ you said, and Maria smiled at you.

‘I want you to know you have a place here,’ she said, and you wondered how she always knew the right thing to say, wondered if she could actually hear your thoughts. ‘Tommy…and me, well both of us, Tommy’s worried about you because…not just because of the expedition and the pharmacy and all of that going wrong, he’s worried that…’ Maria gathered herself for a second. ‘He’s worried that you only think of yourself in terms of what you can offer other people.’

You felt the sting of it, the little nerve Maria had unearthed, opened up to the chill of the air. You flinched away from it, but she was still holding your arm, and you realised you hadn’t noticed she hadn’t yet let you go. ‘Listen,’ she said, but kindly, and so you did. ‘When you came here, and we made you stand in front of the town council and basically said you could only stay if you contributed to the community…’

‘I understood that was how it works, of course it does,’ you said, and she raised her hand to shush you. You obeyed, again. She was growing into this mother thing.

‘I realised, we basically told you that all you’re worth to us is what you can do for us. Yes, its important everyone can contribute because that’s how we keep the place running. But I need you to know that’s not your value. I need you to know that.’

It was getting really hard not to cry. You could see her eyes misting over, her mouth in a grim line to bite back the tears. ‘I asked you to help me, to help with Robin, not because I wanted you to do something for me. It was just because…I just like you, is all.’

You didn’t even really think about it, you just grabbed her into your body and held her, and you felt her shaking a little, like she had been so terrified to tell you, and you didn’t want the Gulf of Mexico. You wanted her in your kitchen and Ellie in your loungeroom with Robin. You wanted Tommy chopping wood or storing coal or doing whatever the fuck manly shit needed doing around the place. You wanted Joel standing in his socks at the counter burning the toast and swearing under his breath about it. You wanted what you had always wanted, which was just to belong.

You pulled back from Maria, rubbing furiously at your eyes. She wiped the tears from hers.

‘I like you too,’ Ellie said, from the doorway, and you both startled, which made her jump a little, which jostled Robin, who delivered several pointed arguments about his thoughts on the experience.

‘Fuck, sorry,’ Ellie said, the panic written all over her face. ‘Oh fuck, I said fuck,’ she said, looking at you for help. You looked to Maria, who regarded you both with an amused expression on her face.

‘You two are as bad as each other,’ she said. She took Robin from her, and Ellie settled down at the table. For a second there was just the sound of Robin, grizzling in his mother’s arms.

‘Hey, Maria,’ Ellie said, lifting her hand to point to the muscle at the side of her neck under her ear. ‘Levator scap-yew-lay’ she said. You applauded her; genuinely, warmly, proudly.

You weren’t really ready to emerge from your cocoon, would have stayed hermitty and weird forever, except that Ellie wasn’t having it. For one she couldn’t sit still in the house for days on end, but she was still only fourteen and the idea that something might happen to her because you let her go out while you let yourself rot on the couch was even less palatable than having to be social.

The first time she took you to the mess hall you felt the anxiety at the bottom of your lungs, your sternum feeling like it had shrunk in your chest cavity. You were convinced people were staring, resentful of you and all that you brought with you. You didn’t want them to worry for Ellie, didn’t want them to wonder how you were going to corrupt her, end up with her dead or thrown out of the gates. You wanted to sit at one of the back tables, but Ellie was determined not to make any of it easy on you, and steered you over to the main table, the long one in the middle of the room, where a bunch of townsfolk were already chatting. You joined at the end of the row, feeling how you retracted into yourself, feeling your shoulders round over. Ellie sat opposite you and smiled at you, brightly. You realised she was treating you like some kind of project, a rehabilitate-the-crazy-lady experiment, maybe some kind of pet.

‘This is the soup they had the other week,’ Ellie said, gulping it down so fast you were worried she’d give herself indigestion. ‘The chicken one? Do you remember?’

You had no idea what she was talking about, and you stared at her.

‘I brought it round with half the loaf of bread. The kitchen ladies did not want me to have it. So, I swiped it while they were washing up.’

You felt something heavy roll in your stomach. ‘That was you? You brought the food?’ you asked, and you weren’t sure if – when you were finished being flawed – you were disappointed or relieved.

‘Yeah, didn’t you know?’ she asked, and you shook your head.

‘You didn’t leave a note or anything,’ you explained, feebly.

‘I guess not,’ she conceded.

‘I thought it might have been Tommy,’ you lied, unconvincingly, but Ellie wasn’t paying attention.

‘I mean, you were close. It was Joel’s idea,’ she said, and what you now realised was a full-sized boulder turned again in your gut.

‘It was?’ you squeaked, and she nodded into her nearly empty plate. You pushed your soup around, your mind trying too hard to digest this new information to turn itself to eating.

‘Did he say anything else?’ you asked, but you were interrupted by Tommy bursting into the mess hall, his eyes wide and scanning over the crowd.

‘They’re back!’ he called, and several people immediately rose, hustled for the door.

‘How many?’ someone yelled back, and Tommy nodded, but there was something wrong, something grim on his face that you didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to even consider.

‘All of ‘em,’ he said, but then he faltered, and swallowed hard, and you knew, then, were already getting to your feet. ‘Some of them are in a bad way,’ he said, and he was looking at you and then looking at Ellie, and you were tucking her under your arm as you pulled her towards him at the door.

‘She shouldn’t see,’ he said to you, quietly, and you shook your head at him.

‘Try and fuckin’ stop me,’ she said, before you’d even had a chance to speak. He sighed, but you were past him then, your arm on the door pushing it open for her, shoving her through first.

The infirmary was only three rooms connected by a short corridor, and in times of serious outbreak or multiple injury it was woefully understaffed, under resourced.

There had already been some kind of make-shift triage for the returned residents, two of the men assigned to one room since they only needed looking over and could then be let go, but Dougie told you, pulled both you and Ellie aside to murmur in your ear, that Joel had his own room. The one next to the surgery.

‘Is he dead?’ Ellie asked, and if you didn’t know her as well as you now did you would have mistaken her bluntness for coldness, for desensitisation, but you knew instead that she was steeling herself, that if there was going to be pain she wanted it now, fast and hard, to rip into it with bared teeth.

Dougie shook his head, and you exhaled for maybe the first time, ever, in your life.

‘He’s not in a good way,’ Dougie said, but Ellie was already marching down the hall to see him, and you were already trailing behind her, your head over your shoulder to offer Dougie your whispered, harried thanks.

But you stopped when you got to his door, let Ellie slip through without you, suddenly considering that you could be intruding, that he had no interest in your being there, didn’t even know you’d been caring for his daughter while he was gone, or that she had been caring for you. You didn’t even really know him, weren’t sure how you felt about him, weren’t sure that you wanted to see him bleeding and broken, weren’t sure that you could handle not feeling his touch on yours again, his whispered encouragements as you came undone underneath him, the rise and fall of his chest under your ear as you both fought back sleep to stay awake together for just a little bit more increasingly precious time.

You’d marched down to the infirmary without even thinking about it, and now you were trapped in thinking too much about it, and what if he woke up and was angry at you again, found something else to throw in your face, and had you forgiven him for that or did that not even matter when he had nearly died, did arguments and anger and hurt just become nullified when the other person endangered themselves to protect you and the community you lived in, because that seemed like a dangerous precedent, and-

Ellie wrenched the door open and stared at you, paralysed, three steps away.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she said, reaching forward and pulling you in. ‘Get the fuck in here.’

It wasn’t like the movies. There wasn’t a beeping machine, a screen counting out his heart rate, his breaths. He had a little tube up his nose feeding him oxygen but he wasn’t in a white gown, wrapped up neat and tidy under a woven blanket. He was lying, still in his boots, crooked on an old, rusted gurney. Your eyes travelled over him, taking stock; the left eye swollen shut, the abrasion to the cheek suggesting a fractured orbital bone, the red and purple swelling across his brow and up to his temple. The blood under his fingernails, the makeshift splint trying and failing to straighten his obviously broken wrist. You stepped forward and opened his shirt, scanning for more injuries across his skin, found a deep gash in his side and countless bruises, something mottled and purple underneath his ribs. Like he’d been kicked while he was on the ground, while he was already down.

You felt a flash of anger, tears spilling over your cheeks. He was out cold, pale and shivering, and you raised your hands to his midsection, felt the wound there, deep and angry and so close to his spleen.

‘We checked him already, he’s not bit,’ Dougie said from the doorway, and you wiped at your face, set your mouth in a line, intended to turn and address him but couldn’t move from Joel. You felt Ellie standing at your shoulder, observing you as you checked him over. ‘He’s going to need half the supplies they brought back with them,’ Dougie said, laughing a little as if this was funny.

‘They got them?’ Ellie asked, and Dougie nodded to her.

‘Some are dangerously expired, but others are just…expired,’ he said. ‘I gave him some of the morphine, even though he was already out.’

‘He has a head injury,’ you pointed to his collar where dried blood was staining the pillow brown. ‘Are you sure that’s safe?’

‘I stitched him up,’ Dougie said, defensive.

‘What if there’s internal…’ and you stopped yourself then, because Ellie was in the room, and her eyes kept swivelling back to Joel, back to his body, back to the blood. ‘The mottling,’ you said, without further explanation, in the hope that Dougie had managed to find that part of the textbook.

‘We don’t have many options, if there is,’ he said, and you felt yourself get woozy.

‘What have you done so far?’ you asked, and Dougie just stared at you for a second, and you were going to throttle him, actually kill him in this place of healing, if he didn’t answer at least one question properly in the next twenty seconds.

‘We can give him a transfusion, keep his blood pressure up.’

‘Tommy,’ Ellie piped up. ‘They’d have the same blood right? They’re brothers.’

You nodded at her, and she ran from the room. In her absence, you turned to Dougie.

‘Tell me,’ you said, simply, and he sighed.

‘It’s a wait and see game,’ he said. ‘If there’s serious internal bleeding we’d need to operate but…’ you looked around the room, observed the notable absence of a sterile field.

‘I can’t,’ you said, and you weren’t totally sure what exactly you were referring to, but that didn’t make it any less true.

Joel stirred in his sleep, just enough for you to swivel around to him, plant yourself down on a chair and grab at his hand.

‘Joel,’ you said, not sure if he could hear you, hoping he could, hoping he wasn’t in any pain and knowing it was impossible that he wouldn’t be. ‘Joel, I have Ellie, and she’s doing so well,’ you said, murmuring into his unresponsive face. ‘I have her, Joel, so you just rest, OK? You just get better.’

You reached up and gently, carefully, put your hand in his hair, rested it over his right temple, seemingly more intact than the left.

‘We just need you to get better, Joel,’ you said. ‘We all do.’

You thought for a second you heard a grunt under the gentle rhythm of his breath. ‘Be OK, baby,’ you said, one hand in his hair and the other gripping his. ‘Just rest, and be OK.’

Tommy’s transfusion raised Joel’s blood pressure, which was good but also indicated that he had lost a lot of blood. Dougie showed you how to check his blood pressure manually with a cuff and a watch, and you kept an eye on it every hour. If it kept dropping, there was likely internal bleeding.

It remained stable through the night.

What had happened out there became clearer as the morning progressed, as the other riders were patched up. The group from Jackson had managed to find the pharmacy, had cleared it out and secured the perimeter, before turning back the way they came.

The remaining raiders, those who had managed to escape their pet clickers, had been tracking Marla’s path back to Jackson. They had seen how well-equipped Marla was, how strong Jacob had been, how well he had been able to muster up a defence. They’d figured that meant they were well fed, well stocked, that there would be somewhere worth pillaging if they could get to it.

They were young but they were clever, probably only just born on outbreak day, and they’d managed to circle the group before Joel had noticed them. He’d shot one of them point blank, rearing his horse back to try and get to the others before they could clock what was happening, but the younger men had been quicker. He’d fallen from his horse, or maybe shoved off, it wasn’t clear in the chaos, and they’d tried to drag him, pulled him by the arms away from the group, stomped on his ribs a few times. He’d fought them the whole way, scoring a couple of gashes to his chest and abdomen in the process. It was only when the dust had settled, when the three raiders were dead and Joel was struggling to mount his horse, seemingly unable to coordinate his limbs, that they noticed the blow to his head. He’d been woozy, then, stumbling over his words, but they’d managed to get him upright on the horse enough to limp back to Jackson. They’d almost made it back when Joel blacked out completely, falling forward into his horse’s neck and not sideways, this small stroke of luck possibly saving him from an even worse fate.

You listened to all of it, this breathless retelling of actual and near death. You could hear, even through the exhaustion and the pain, the awe the second expedition party held for Joel. That he had seen the raiders, maybe heard them, maybe smelt them, that he was so fast on the draw, so accurate with his shot, so quietly deadly. That he had gone down swinging. That he had come back up.

These stories drifting down the hallway to you, to where Joel lay. Your eyes raked over his body, his wrist now properly splinted and bandaged, his wounds sewn up. He drifted in and out of consciousness, aided by the expired morphine, but he tended to come back to the world fighting. The first time he’d nearly knocked Ellie off the end of the bed, had ripped the breathing tube out of his nose so hard he’d permanently bent it, had been wild eyed and terrified and so lethal, so deadly, as you grabbed his face and turned it to yours, told him where he was, told him who he was, while Dougie injected more drugs under his skin. After he had slipped back under, you liked to imagine that before the drugs he had been relieved to see you, that you had eked out a measure of comfort for him, that he knew you were there, that he wanted you to be.

The second time you sent Ellie away. It was late and Joel was finding new and creative ways to swear the infirmary into the ground, and you could sense the worry in her. You reassured her you’d stay with him, that you didn’t need anything to eat, could sleep in the chair by the bed. That she shouldn’t have to see this, that she didn’t need to hurt herself just to keep him close. You would do that for her. You would reach into yourself and carve away a space for him. Keep yourself hollowed out and aching, should he decide to make a home between your ribs.

You had already decided that when he woke properly you would leave him there, go and get Ellie and Tommy. Not intrude on the family. Go and sit in your little kitchen and run your fingertips over the kitchen table, let the wood grain catch on your skin, scrape the cells from you where you had held his hand.

You didn’t expect to sleep, so you startled awake, confused and aching in places you didn’t know you had from the stupid fucking chair, when Joel stirred again. Judging by the darkness it could only have been 3 AM, maybe 4. You steeled yourself for whatever destruction Joel was about to bring down on his own sick bed, lifted his hand in yours to your cheek, rested your face in his palm, hoped the weight and the heat of it would settle him, would ground him. You heard him clear his throat. This time, however, he was just exhausted, just himself.

‘I can go,’ you offered, too quickly considering he was still orienting himself, and you cringed, started to backtrack. ‘You’re in the infirmary,’ you started again, collecting yourself, watching his face for any hint of fear, any hint of anger.

‘Ellie,’ he croaked, his voice dry.

‘She’s staying with me, she’s OK,’ you said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and then pausing, doubting, dropping it instead to the pillow.

‘Thirsty,’ he grunted.

‘Oh,’ you said, immediately snapping upwards and nearly knocking yourself out on the lamp over the bed. ‘Right, of course.’ Dougie had brought you water and a packet of dry ramen noodles approximately seventeen years past their use-by-date. You poured him a glass, cradling his neck to help him angle himself to drink it. You felt the heat of his skin on your arms as you lifted him. You didn’t think about it. Not at all.

‘Do you hurt anywhere?’ you asked, and he grunted at you. You knew it was a stupid question, and you tried again. ‘Do you want me to get Dou…the doctor, to get you some more drugs?’

‘Not yet,’ he whispered. You leant in close to him so that you could hear, and he fixed you then with a gaze sharper than anyone who had been unconscious for as long as he had should have been able to. ‘Makes me fuzzy and I want to…’ he trailed off, his eyes scanning your face.

‘I didn’t come to you about Marla because I think you’re a killer,’ you said, realised you had been waiting to say it to him, hoping he would wake up so you could finally set him straight. ‘I came to you because I knew you wouldn’t be cruel. I knew you’d do it well. Respect her.’

He lifted an arm as if he was going to cradle your jaw in his hands, but his face shifted into pain the moment he moved. You realised his ribs would be screaming in protest, and you grabbed his arm and forced it back to the mattress. ‘Don’t,’ you said, ‘it’s OK, I’m here.’

Joel turned his eyes to the ceiling, and you could tell that he was hurting. ‘I’m going to get you the drugs, you can’t just lie here like this…’ you said, standing up again. He grabbed your arm to stop you turning away from him, his grip strong, as he kept his eyes on the ceiling.

‘Ask me why,’ he grunted, through gritted teeth.

‘Why what?’ you asked, and saw the way he was bracing against the pain, felt a shot of frustration with yourself for prolonging it with your stupid fucking questions. ‘Why?’ you asked him.

‘Wanted to be a good man for once,’ he said. You sucked in a breath. ‘For Ellie,’ he went on, closing his eyes. ‘For you.’

You could feel something coming loose in you, a snapping of a hinge, the whine of a rusted and long-abandoned cellar door.

‘Joel,’ you said, because there wasn’t much else you could say in that moment, trying so hard to hold down the stirring turmoil in your chest. He held up his hand to stop you, almost waving you away, and you knew it was because it was hurting him to stay awake, hurting him to say it out loud, hurting him to hear you upset and not being able to soothe it for you. So much hurting in this bruised, bloodied body.

‘Let me…the drugs,’ you said, pulling yourself away from him, feeling his fingers grasp for you. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up,’ you reassured him, his eyes closed and his jaw tight. ‘I’ll be here,’ you said again, saw him nod, took the permission to finally, finally relieve him.

You weren’t there.

Couldn’t bring yourself to be, unnerved by the way his gaze snapped to yours, the way he had grasped for you, the way you felt the fracture of something vital, something that had kept you alive all these years. You sent Ellie in first thing in the morning, told her that he was calmer overnight and that you needed a proper sleep, set yourself up on the couch and tried not to think about it, tried to close your eyes and let sleep take you, felt it abandon you like you’d just done Joel.

You figured he wouldn’t remember it, what you had promised him, what he had said. The morphine would wash it away, would cleanse it from him. You would need to carry it, feel it sloshing around against your legs as you walked, but you were OK with that so long as it was only yours.

You busied yourself, cleaned up a little around the house because living with an un-housebroken teenager was a challenge in itself, went to the mess hall and bartered for a loaf of bread and a parcel of butter no bigger than a quarter, wrapped up in grease paper. That butter was going to cost you two massages but you knew Ellie preferred it, that without it there was so little flavour you could offer her.

You thought about going to Maria’s, thought about lifting Robin’s forehead to your lips and feeling his gentle, simple warmth thaw you out. But you worried Tommy would be there, that he would ask you why you weren’t with Joel, that he would ask you why had been, why you’d spent nearly three days at his bedside only to abandon him the second he was vaguely aware you were there.

You didn’t know how to explain. You couldn’t even get it straight in your own head. You wanted to cower from it, the strength of it, the weight. You took the back way back to your house, hoped you would slip out of everyone’s mind if you stayed out of sight.

Tommy was on your doorstep when you got there. Of course he was.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ he said, simply. You felt your shoulders drop, the defeat ripping up your spine, and you shrugged at him, your bottom lip wobbling.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ you said, simply, the six words that could kill you in an apocalypse. Tommy didn’t pretend not to understand. He took the packages from your arms, left you standing on the porch while he went inside and set them down. Came back out carrying a warm jacket for you and a cushion from the couch.

‘That damn ‘firmary chair is awful,’ he said, and you gave him a watery smile. ‘He’s askin’ for ya, so that’s what we’ll do,’ he said. You nodded at him. He took your elbow, led you down into the town.

‘It’ll be Spring soon,’ he said, making conversation, as you sniffed into the midday cold. ‘Jackson’s so beautiful in Spring, the wildflowers, the new leaves on the trees. You’ll love it.’

You nodded again, barely listening, wondering if you would ever be able to form actual sentences again. ‘S’new life,’ Tommy went on, ‘everything feels new. Like comin’ out of somethin’. Like a crack under the door where the light gets in.’

‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ you said.

‘Which part?’

‘All of it,’ you answered, sweeping your arms in front of you.

‘Well, you gotta do somethin’, so it might as well be this,’ Tommy said. It occurred to you that Maria’s ability to drop truth bombs at exactly the right moment was rubbing off on Tommy. You’d need to have a word to her about it.

Tommy led you into the infirmary, as if you didn’t have the place mapped like the back of your hand at that point, and down towards Joel’s room. He stopped at the door, and you realised he’d come as far as he was going to go. You looked at him, hoping for some final wisdom that might push you over the line.

‘What if he’s mad at me?’ you asked, feeble and weak.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ Tommy said, one last time, and you finally understood. You felt prickling heat at the back of your eyes, but Tommy had the good grace not to mention it, not to try to comfort or soothe, knew that it would make it worse somehow, bring it too close. With a shaky hand, you pushed open the door.

Joel was propped up, awake and gazing out the window at the street. He turned to you as you walked in, and your breath left you. The swelling around his eye had gone down, he was already looking less purple and bloodied than the night before, was more alert, was more him. You paused in the doorway, took him in as he waited for you.

‘Hi’, you said, barely above a whisper. You were gripping your hands in front of you, shivering in the doorway. You waited for him to yell, to thrash, to chew you out for leaving him to wake up alone and in pain.

You didn’t expect his eyes to mist over, for his bottom lip to tremble. For him to be soft, for him to need you.

‘C’mere,’ he said, lifting his good arm up to beckon you, and you fell into the four steps to him, launched yourself at his bed, gripped him by the waist and lay your head on his good shoulder, ignored his sharp intake of breath as you jostled him. You felt the tears spill over, your face tucked into his elbow while he ran his hands through your hair, and he held you as you sobbed into him.

This time, you knew it was for all of them. For the entire balance sheet, for the grand tally. For your parents, for Marla and for Ray, for Maria who so very much reminded you of your sister, for nearly losing Joel, for Ellie tucked up in your bed pretending she wasn’t counting the seconds until his return. For the love you held for all of them, your collection of losses and grief, for the realisation that all this time you hadn’t been feeling the absence of love but the presence of it, its full force, that it hadn’t gone anywhere, that so long as the love stayed so did they, in just enough of a way to sustain you.

‘M’sorry,’ you muttered after a while, trying to pull back. He held you firm to him, his chin on the top of your head.

‘Scared ya, I guess,’ he said, and you could only nod.

‘There’s so much that scares me,’ you whimpered, and he grunted his agreement.

‘M’scared too,’ he said. You raised your head to look at him, to understand, and he gazed down at you. ‘This is somethin’. Right?’ he asked, his voice giving out on the question.

‘Think so,’ you said. He smiled, warmly, down at you, lifted a hand to rub at his face.

‘We did it arse-backwards,’ he said, and you waited for him to explain. ‘Haven’t even dated ya, and here we are clingin’ to each other like…’ He trailed off, and you weren’t sure how you wanted him to finish that sentence, were sure you just wanted to continue to rest your head on his chest while he spoke, wanted to hear the timbre of it, feel the resonance.

‘Like it’s the end of the world?’ you finished for him, eventually. He chuckled.

The two of you fell into a silence, a warm one, a silence filled with all the words you were going to get to say to each other, when the time was right.

‘Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?’ you asked, after a long while.

‘Don’t need you to do anythin’ more than you already have. Just be patient with me, baby. S’been a long time since I felt this’ he said.

You reached over and took his hand from where it rested on his belly, turned his fingers over in the grey light from the window, examined the cracks, the swelling, the cuts. You lifted a knuckle to your lips, tasted the copper across your tongue, the tang of it, the life under his skin.

Gently, so gently, you held him there, felt his pulse against your skin, felt his body give, the tension in his muscles unspool. Heard his breathing slow, his other arm gripping tight around you. You let your eyes drift close, not having to see him to know that he was right there, in this moment with you. That he was with you, that this was the two of you.

That you had his touch. That he had yours.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

@pedropascalsbbg

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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fluentmoviequoter · 14 hours

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Love, The Man Under the Hood

Part 2 of The Man Under the Hood (requested by @fried4chicken)

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader

Summary: After learning that Jason Todd is the Red Hood, he tells you everything.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death in nightmares, fluff, comfort at the end, lots of Jason Todd storyline spoilers (Batman: Under the Red Hood spoilers for sure)

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

A/N: Ignore the fact that this pic is a different Jason than the pic for the first part. I didn't use a specific one while writing so just pick your fav! (Mine's WFA Jason!)

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

“But you can protect me. Right, red?”

Jason wanted to tell you about everything, but you figured it out before he could. After a frightening encounter with the Red Hood, you learned that the big, unreadable guy who terrified you was the same one who held you and comforted you afterward.

Now, though, Jason knows that he was right from the beginning. Regardless of what Dick said or the fact that you stayed beside him after your life-changing realization, Jason shouldn’t have told you. Not because he doesn’t love or trust you but because he put you in danger. He failed to protect you from himself, Gotham, and the people who made him what he is.

“You didn’t protect me, red,” you whisper weakly.

“Hold on for me,” Jason begs.

Your blood coats his hands, and the light in your eyes dims before Jason wakes. Alone in his apartment, he pulls his legs up and drops his head heavily into his hands. It’s a new nightmare, but losing you forever hurts worse than watching you walk out of the door.

Jason looks at his phone beside him. His heart begs him to call you, to hear your voice and know without a doubt that you are okay, but his mind says no. He already put a target on your back and won’t bring you closer to the Red Hood than he has to.

Your life hasn't changed much since you discovered Jason Todd is Red Hood. You haven’t talked to him about his vigilantism as you work through your questions alone. You continue inviting Jason into your life and home regardless of your questions or doubts. He told you the moment you first called him red that he would wait for you, and in the meantime, Jason would take what he could get. Neither of you want to lose each other, but the nagging questions in your mind – Why didn’t he tell me? What really happened when we were kids? – threaten to push you away from him.

As you walk home after a late night at work, questions about Jason, his “death,” and Red Hood fill your mind. You’re only drawn from your answerless wonderings by someone moving in the shadows. Gotham may be full of vigilantes, but it will never be safe.

You remove your phone from your pocket and press Jason’s contact, increasing your speed as it rings. The line connects nearly immediately.

“Hey,” Jason answers. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just walking home. Don’t want another incident like last time.” You try to keep your voice steady, but it shakes when you turn and notice someone behind you. “Jay?”

“I’m here.”

“I think someone’s following me.”

“Where are you?”

His voice drops as if he’s speaking through the hood. You make another surprise turn, and the man behind you seems closer now.

“Red,” you whisper quickly.

“We’re on the way,” Jason promises. “Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you admit. “I’m sorry for not talking to you, but I was scared.”

“I know.”

“Not of you.”

“I know.”

“He’s getting closer.”

“Breathe,” Jason demands. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“I trust you.”

As soon as you say it, Red Hood and Nightwing drop from a fire escape and land at your side. You feel safe standing between them, knowing who one is and suspecting the other. That doesn’t mean you throw caution aside, so you duck behind Jason’s shoulder.

“I got this,” Nightwing says quickly.

“Let’s go,” Jason tells you as he turns toward you. “Hold on.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, and your arms circle his shoulders. When he tightens his grip to pin you tightly against his chest, you nod. He raises a hand and fires a grappling hook over his head. You close your eyes against the wind over Gotham and squeeze them tightly until you feel solid ground beneath your feet.

“I got ya,” Jason murmurs.

You blink your eyes open slowly but only see Jason’s mask.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

The red hood before you nods once before he takes your hand to lead you to your apartment. It’s less than a block away, and as Jason enters your window, you know you’re ready to talk about everything.

“I have to go,” Jason says suddenly. “They-“

“Go,” you reply. You lay your hands on his shoulders and tilt your chin to kiss his mask. “I’ll be here when you’re done. If you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jason promises.

He disappears out of your window but ensures it locks behind him before he jumps over the railing of your fire escape. You watch the window for a while after he leaves, and when you finally turn away to change out of your work clothes, you smile. You love Red Hood because of the man under the mask.

Red Hood moves silently through Gotham, but Jason’s mind is on you. You kissed his mask, which solidifies his belief that you love him. You love Jason, so you accept Red Hood because of that love. The big, unreadable guy you ran from was your first call when you were in danger. Being in a position to help you today eliminates part of Jason’s memory of scaring you. Now that he has been seen with you and approached you as someone Red Hood cares about, a target is being drawn on your back. And it looks suspiciously like his mask.

Three quick taps to your window draw your attention away from the news report about Batman. You turn off the television as you stand. The moment you raise the window, Jason climbs inside. He forces the window back down before he pulls his helmet off, and you smile at the sight of the domino mask underneath.

“Hello there,” you murmur as he peels the mask away from his eyes.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

You shake your head at Jason’s flirtation but step closer to him. He pulls you into a warm, comfortable hug, and you sigh as you relax against his chest.

“Thank you,” you say again as Jason leads you toward your couch.

“Dick did all the hard work,” Jason deflects, turning away from your attention.

“I knew it was Dick,” you whisper.

Jason sits back with an arm around your shoulders. You lean against him; you want to stay close and crave his comfort more than anything. Not because you’re scared but because you love him.

Your touch helps Jason, too, and he falls asleep on your couch. You could get used to this, welcoming him into your arms after he goes on patrol. Jason is important to you, and he deserves to know why you stepped back even after accepting his formerly violent counterpart. After kissing his forehead, you lie beside him and quickly fall asleep. No matter how good Jason thinks you are for him, he’s better for you.

“What did you do?” you accuse.

“I did it to protect you!” Jason replies. “I love you.”

“This isn’t love.”

Jason steps toward you with his hands outstretched. The fear you showed when you first met the Red Hood returns as you flinch away from him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jason promises. His voice breaks as he watches you step back.

“I wish I could believe you.”

Jason thrashes beside you, and it’s impossible to ignore on the small couch. When he mumbles, “No, no. I’m sorry,” you move off the couch. Kneeling beside his head, you keep your hands away from him as you try to wake him.

“Jason,” you say. “Jay, baby.”

You lay your fingertips on his arm, and Jason wakes quickly. He grabs your wrist gently as his eyes meet yours.

“You’re still here,” Jason whispers.

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere, Jay,” you reply.

Jason sits up and pulls you against him. You move your knees to either side of his thighs to hold his head to your chest.

“It was just a dream,” you soothe.

You push your fingers through his hair as your heartbeat comforts Jason. His grip tightens on you as he pushes his head closer to you.

“I’ve had nightmares,” he begins quietly. “Since I came back to Gotham. You always left. You saw me for who I really am and then you left. But, last night… you died, and then today you flinched away from me like the first time. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you promise firmly. You pull back, keeping your hands on Jason’s cheek as you sit back to look at him. “I’m right here.”

“I was Robin. The second one, uh, after Dick. Bruce and I followed the Joker.” Jason pauses and takes a shaky breath.

“It’s okay,” you whisper as Jason quiets. “Take your time, Jay.”

“He killed me. Bruce let him kill me. And then, suddenly, I was back. But the Lazarus Pit, the thing that resurrected me, put this storm in my mind that never ended. All I wanted was revenge, but you were always in my mind. So, I came back and found you as soon as I could. Since then, every time I close my eyes, I dream about losing you… I can’t lose you, I won’t. That’s why when Dick told me to tell you, I said no. He said you loved me through worse, but- but I’m not the man you think I am.”

“Dick was right,” you interject. “I loved you through everything, Jay. Including your death. When I lost you, I lost a piece of myself. But you came back. You came back to me, Jay.”

“I shouldn’t have. That pit ruined me.”

“It didn’t.” Jason shakes his head, and you brush your thumbs over his cheeks as you repeat, “It didn’t. You’re still Jason. And I still love you.”

“I’m putting you in danger just by being near you.”

“And I’m not letting you leave. Not again.”

“What if I can never be the Jason I was before?”

“People change, no matter what. I love you, Jason, and you will always be my Jason Todd.”

“I can protect you from Gotham, from the Joker, all of it. But you- you’ve been protecting me from the storm in my mind since I came back.”

“And I always will. Whether I’m looking at this pretty face or the red mask,” you promise. “I stopped talking about it because I thought you were doubting me, you would have told me if you wanted me to know, but I found out on my own. Whatever I thought was wrong, I know that. All that matters right now is that I love you, Jason.”

“I love you more,” he replies.

You smile and lean forward to meet Jason halfway. Kissing him is safe and makes you feel loved. Now that you know everything (including Batman’s secret identity), you will never doubt why Jason kept secrets from you when he returned. You love Jason Todd, the man under the mask, and every part of him.

#hanna writes✯#jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #dc comics x reader #dc comics #fem!reader

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wolfoftheblackflames · 2 days

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Heya Misfits! I've decided to write a quickie for ya. It just clicked in my mind, and I'm recovering from a cold, so what better way to get my creative juices flowing than with some fluffy cuteness.

Body Swap, Chaggie Style:

Charlie and Vaggie have a massive fight, Lucifer wanted the girls to stop fighting, so he shoots them with magic like a kid yelling at his friends and yelling, "Stop fighting!"

It was the start of a sad morning. A huge fight between Charlie and Vaggie caused the two to sleep in different rooms, making the others worried. Lucifer, being the sweet dad he is, decided to do some magic to ‘help’ the girls make up.

“Hmm?” Charlie awoke feeling heavier than normal. She dragged her figure out of bed only to go face first into the carpet. “Ow!” She groaned, rubbing her nose, but blinked, feeling a more angular nose than her usual black button nose. The princess started to panic and went to the bathroom mirror. “WHAT IN SATAN?!”

On the other end, Vaggie grumbled, sitting up rubbing her eyes, but when she opened them, she blinked. “What?” She could see out of both. However, that wasn't the only thing. She felt heat surging through her body, plus she felt something weird with her feet. “Aye meirda?!” She gasped once she moved the covers and saw red hooves.

Both girls stared at the mirrors, each seeing the other, Charlie saw Vaggie looking tired, as she saw the dark circles under her girl's lone eye. While Vaggie saw those beautiful ruby eyes puffy and swollen with the latter not bothering with switching to her red pajamas.

The fight played on in their minds, Vaggie had spiraled again with her self worth issues as yesterday had been particularly bad, and Charlie was too busy planning for the new hotel to recognize her girlfriend needed her.

Charlie felt the phantom pains act up and blinked wincing. “Fuck…” Her body trembled. “Oh Vaggie, why did I ignore you when you were in this much pain? Then again you always did know how to hide it..” She sighed lightly stroking the old scarring where Vaggie's eye used to be.

Vaggie in Charlie's body felt the stress and massive flux of emotions the princess had to deal with, plus the ever present demonic form that ached to come out, which red horns and a tail did peek through. “Charlie..” Vaggie sighed though blinked seeing the massive scribble pile on Charlie's desk. Carefully as to not burn any she peered over and stared. Surely enough it was so many apology notes with tear stains, drawn in many colors. Vaggie smiled a little, however her eyes widened seeing something under the notes, a small box labeled ‘For Vaggie, with love Charlie.’

“Better not, I can't seem to control what I set on fire..” Vaggie sighed with another fire coming onto the couch this time. “Shit!”

However when she was extinguishing said fire, she saw her own body come into view. “Oh uh hi..” Vaggie blinked, looking a little messy.

What happened next was Charlie tackling Vaggie and hugging her tight, and sure enough she looked like a cute crying mess. “I'm so sorry!” It was weird hearing her own voice as Vaggie blinked realizing how small she must look to Charlie.

It felt weird, yet Vaggie couldn't stop a demonic purr from escaping. “I'm sorry too hon..” She had to bend down to hold Charlie close.

The two stayed close to one another until another fire occurred on the carpet which made Charlie giggle. “Can't handle my pyrokinesis yet huh?” She asked as Vaggie grumbled. “Deep breaths, like this.” She smiled, showing Vaggie how to control the magic and the demon.

After a couple of deep breaths, Vaggie managed to stop setting things on fire for now. “And uh, how do you put these away?” She asked, pointing to the horns and tail.

“Hmm?” Charlie blinked though her wings popped out seeing the form. “Huh?!”

This got a flustered groan from Vaggie as she hid her face. Though this made Charlie give a devilish smirk. “Before you say anything babe, yes I do think your demon form is hot okay?”

“It is weird to see myself like this, but I will say, I do look pretty hot.” Charlie giggled again. “But since you're in my body Vaggie, can you see how I view you?” She asked though she struggled to fold in the wings.

Vaggie blinked but smiled softly. “I do hermosa..” She replied feeling the rampant emotions grow calmer. Though her expression grew sad, she was about to speak when Charlie placed a finger on her lips.

“Don't be sorry ok? If anything, this little experience has helped me understand you a little more even though I thought I knew everything.” Charlie grinned despite the trembling.

Vaggie looked at her hand and flexed her fingers. “I see what you mean sweetie, but here let me help you with my wings.” She smiled moving behind Charlie who blinked curiously. “Give them a stretch. Like imagine another set of arms on your back.”

Charlie nodded and did so, she smiled, able to move them a bit better, though couldn't help but flap. “These feel so weird but also very strong..” She grinned, turning around and wrapping both her and Vaggie in a cute wing cocoon.

Vaggie felt that black tail with a red heart in the middle of its tip slink over and wrap around Charlie. “Shit, your tail has a mind of its own!”

“Sorry about that, it's just you're like my rock Vaggie, you keep me grounded when I often get swept up in my own little world..” Charlie admitted though smirked as she lightly traced the tail. “I can see why you do this, it's fun seeing me get flustered huh?” She added being cheeky.

Vaggie grumbled feeling the shiver and blush. “I'll admit yes it is, but hon you haven't told me what you see from my view.” She answered changing the subject.

“Oh right, sorry.” Charlie giggled but blew at the bangs in her face. Getting the ok, Charlie closed her eyes in deep thought, she saw the darker thoughts of the self-hate, the guilt, and the need to be useful to Charlie. It hurt seeing this but Charlie opened the lone eye and looked at Vaggie with a loving gaze.

“You ain't alone in the self hate Vaggie.” She took hold of those hands. “But you're more than what you were back then, what I see now love, is someone who gets giddy over new weapons, loves tacos, can bark orders like a sexy drill sergeant, and most of all, I see someone who cares deeply for me and for everyone in the hotel, a kind yet stern person. Seriously meeting you was the best thing that's happened in my life.” She grinned though blinked, feeling teary eyed again.

Vaggie just stared but couldn't help it and grabbed Charlie holding her close in a big hug, nuzzling deep into her neck. “Oh Charlie…” Her voice came out cracking as she just sniffled.

However magic surged as the two switched back, making both let go and blink. “Huh..”

However the girls giggled and cuddled again enjoying the new found appreciation for one another. Vaggie felt those loving hands gently massage her back when the wings were tucked back in. “Hey, I know you're strong, but whenever these flare up, please don't hide it from me..” Charlie spoke softly, her natural tone being music to Vaggie's ears.

“If that's the case, please don't try and do everything alone hon, I'm the hotel manager for a reason you know.” The smaller woman replied, moving back to look up at those ruby eyes. “I support you with everything you do, but I can't help you if I don't know what's going on babe.”

“I know. Also sorry about your nose, I uh fell onto the carpet..” Charlie gave a sheepish grin though left a gentle peck on said nose.

Vaggie smiled softly. “Well I'm sorry about setting fire to our room, and… Seeing that little box.” She replied as Charlie gasped. “No, I didn't look inside.” The angel added, making Charlie sigh in relief.

“Good cause, it is a surprise..”

“Well can I see it now?”

Charlie beamed and nodded, poofing the box into her hands. “I took up a little hobby kinda like dad did, but I'm not very good, so..” She rambled, blushing.

Vaggie blinked but opened the box. To her surprise, it was the cutest little dark grey leather pouch with wings carved into the flap. The stitches looked a little crude, but it added a handmade charm to it. “You made this..?” She looked surprised, holding it.

“Yeah… It started out as a way to keep my hands busy since I kept digging my nails into my palm..” Charlie started to ramble as she giggled. “Next thing I know, I was having fun and making things. To which my dad kept snatching up for himself because he's weird like that.”

Vaggie planted a soft kiss on those lips to show her appreciation. “It's beautiful, hon, thank you..” The kiss made Charlie flutter, and she gave a love struck gaze.

The princess smirked and started to spoil Vaggie some more as things started to lead to the two getting hot and heavy. The hotel was fine. Sure, they can get in a fun love making session, right? After all, make-up sex is the best part of making up with your lover. Plus, Charlie wanted nothing more than to get her hands on her gorgeous girlfriend, and Vaggie couldn't help but indulge her since she craved that loving touch.

Thus the day went by in the new hotel, love was in the air once more as downstairs, Lucifer looked quite pleased with himself even if the spell was kinda a spur of the moment to get the girls to stop fighting. Though in his room, when he went to his closet, all the cute little leather objects Charlie made had come piling out, burying his royal ass alongside his massive rubber duck collection.

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #cute as fuck #starmoth #fluff #hurt/comfort #hazbin hotel fanfictions #rainbowspear #rainbowangel #hazbin lucifer

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kokoch4n3l · 2 days

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DEAD GIRL'S BEACH࿐ྂ KUROKAWA IZANA x f!oc x SANO MANJIRO

THIRTEEN — can't catch me now

"his need for control may stem from underlying fears of abandonment, leading Mr Kurokawa to maintain a tight grip on those around him."—MAYA'S ROUGH NOTES ON K.I

chapter summary: Mikey goes to the Philippines, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. Takemichi returns to the future. Maya keeps her promise to Izana.

warnings: dark content 18+, manga and anime spoilers, multiple character deaths, murder, guns, use of weapons, stabbing, mentions of suicide, blood and gore, depiction of corpses, scars, torture, depiction of wounds, unhealthy attachments, toxic and unhealthy relationships, vomiting, suggestive themes, mental health issues, depression, dark impulses, emotional manipulation, blackmail, corruption, bribery, torture, allusions to sex, suggestive themes, dehumanization, toman + draken slander, slight grandpa sano slander, non-linear narrative in one part, drug use/misuse, mention of overdose, slight emotion incest, funerals, grieving

word count: 13 593

masterlist | previous | bonus 1

The underpass looms overhead like a forgotten relic of urban decay, its walls coated in layers of graffiti and grime. Matsuno Chifuyu stands alone in the dim light, his silhouette cast long against the concrete pavement. He exhales a weary sigh, the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders as he gazes out into the empty expanse before him.

Karma, he thinks bitterly, is nothing more than a fairy tale for the weak-minded. If it were real, Kisaki Tetta would have faced justice long ago for his crimes. But life isn't fair, and justice is a fleeting illusion in a world ruled by power and greed.

Chifuyu's mind drifts back to the events that had led him here, to this empty underpass on a cold, unforgiving night. He remembers the faces of his friends, the ones who had stood by him through thick and thin, the ones who had paid the ultimate price for their loyalty. Baji, Smiley, Angry, Pah-chin, Peh-yan, Hakkai, Kazutora, and now, Maya—they were all gone, lost to him forever in a cruel twist of fate.

They were all gone and now Matsuno Chifuyu stands before Sano "Mikey" Manjiro after 12 years with the muzzle of the latter's gun pointed at him. Chifuyu's heart pounds in his chest as he faces him, his old friend turned bitter enemy. The weight of their shared history hangs heavy in the air, a silent testament to the bonds they once shared and the betrayal that tore them apart. Mikey's gaze is cold and unforgiving, his finger tense on the trigger of the gun and Chifuyu meets his gaze head-on with softness in comparison. He knows that this is the end, that Mikey holds the power to snuff out his life in an instant and he will. Chifuyu knows the cause of his friends' deaths was Mikey. It was obvious, especially with how Kazutora's body was found— stabbed in the same Baji stabbed himself 12 years ago.

Mikey stands before him in black pants, a white shirt and a brown jacket. There is a dragon tattoo on the side of his neck. The tattoo looks fresh. His hair is no longer blonde and tied back like he had it in middle school neither was it short and blonde like it was in high school. His hair is black and styled in a similar way to Baji's. A lump forms in Chifuyu's throat. He can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the days when they were just kids, riding their motorcycles through the streets of Tokyo with the wind in their hair and laughter in their hearts. But those days are long gone, replaced by a bitter reality of loss and betrayal.

Mikey's gaze remains cold and distant, his expression unreadable as he holds Chifuyu at gunpoint. There's a tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as the two former friends face each other in the shadowy underpass. Memories of their shared past flood Chifuyu's mind, the good times and the bad, the laughter and the tears.

But there's no room for sentimentality now, not with Mikey's finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger. For a brief moment, Chifuyu sees a glimpse of the boy he once knew buried beneath the layers of anger and resentment. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced once again by the cold, indifferent facade of the man before him. There is no need to fight. Chifuyu won't try fighting either. Sano Manjiro is here to get something and he will get what he wants like he always does.

Unfortunately, it seems that something is Chifuyu's life.

However, Chifuyu's eyes flutter down toward the necklace Mikey is wearing and his heart drops. Oh. Oh. It's now Chifuyu realizes Maya's necklaces weren't among the retrieved items from her new apartment or the car wreck. It's now he realizes it wasn't a suicide. He was too stupid to figure it out right away— too blinded by his own grief and guilt. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling with a sense of profound loss and anger. How could Mikey have done this? How could he have taken Maya away from them, erased her from their lives as if she never existed? The weight of his grief bears down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its suffocating embrace.

He wonders if Maya was tortured to death or if it was quick and painless. He hoped it was painless. Oh god—were the ashes the funeral home gave him even Maya's? Chifuyu can make out a hickey on Mikey's neck and Chifuyu's thoughts run wild with possibilities.

Was Maya alive?

Was she dead?

Why did you kill her Mikey?

There is so much Chifuyu wants to ask as he looks back at Mikey's cold eyes but it all remains unsaid. Instead, he finds himself thinking back to Takemichi and his wild tales of time travel. In their younger years, Chifuyu had found solace in the idea that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to change their fate, to rewrite the tragic events that had torn their lives apart. But as time passed and Takemichi drifted away, those hopes faded into nothing more than childish fantasies. Now, faced with the harsh reality of their situation, Chifuyu can't help but feel a pang of bitterness at the thought of what could have been. Time travel or not, they were trapped in a never-ending cycle of violence and betrayal, with no hope of escape.

In the shadow of uncertainty, with the weight of his grief heavy upon him, Chifuyu finds himself grappling with a newfound sense of acceptance. Death no longer holds the same grip of fear over him that it once did. Instead, it looms before him as a distant inevitability, an end to the suffering and turmoil that has plagued him for so long.

Takemichi's words echo in the recesses of his mind, stirring a flicker of hope amidst the darkness that threatens to consume him. For a brief moment, Chifuyu allows himself to entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there is a chance for redemption, a chance to set right the wrongs of the past. But even as he clings to this fragile hope, Chifuyu knows that the road ahead will be fraught with danger and uncertainty. There are no guarantees, no promises of a happy ending. All he can do is face whatever comes his way with courage and determination. "Got any last words Chifuyu?" Mikey asks

As Mikey's voice cuts through the heavy silence, breaking the tension like a sharp blade, Chifuyu's thoughts are pulled back to the present moment. The cold steel of the gun pressed against his skin serves as a grim reminder of the imminent threat he faces. "do you remember Hanagaki Takemichi?" Chifuyu asks, his voice shaking a little "Someday, he'll come looking for you... He'll be like how he was back then as if he'd travelled through time"

The gun still doesn't move from between his brows as Chifuyu continues. "Look closely into his eyes... His eyes never lie..."

For a moment, time seems to stand still as Mikey's finger on the trigger twitches, the weight of their shared history bearing down upon them. And then, with a final flicker of resolve, Chifuyu utters his last words, a quiet yet resolute plea with tear-filled eyes: "Trust him."

BANG

Mikey's reflection stares back at him with an unsettling emptiness, his gaze fixed on the figure in the mirror as he methodically trims his own hair. Each snip of the scissors echoes through the silent room, punctuated only by the sound of Sanzu's laboured breathing behind him.

Sanzu lies sprawled on the floor, a pool of crimson spreading beneath him like a macabre canvas of despair. His eyes, once filled with unwavering loyalty and devotion, now gaze blankly at the ceiling, a silent testament to the price of allegiance in a world ruled by power and violence.

Mikey's hands move with practiced precision, the sharp blade of the scissors slicing through his hair with a detached sense of detachment. His mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a tempest of guilt, and regret that threatens to consume him from within. Mikey's hands falter for a moment as he catches sight of Sanzu's prone form in the mirror, his reflection juxtaposed against the stark reality of the scene behind him. But the moment passes as quickly as it came, and he returns his attention to the task at hand with a detached sense of detachment.

There are no words exchanged between them, no last-minute pleas for mercy or forgiveness. Only the quiet acceptance of their roles in this cruel dance of fate played out against the backdrop of their shared history and the bonds that bind them together.

Sanzu Haruchiyo, the man— boy— he scarred as a child over a damn toy airplane. Tore the corners of his mouth and then force him to smile. Oh god, Mikey didn't deserve Haruchiyo. Maybe that's why Mikey killed him. He remembers the boy he used to be, full of mischief and laughter, before the weight of their world came crashing down upon them like a tidal wave. And he remembers Sanzu, always by his side, loyal to a fault, even when Mikey didn't deserve it. Mikey looks away and continue cutting his hair, pushing back the need to vomit when he sees Shinichiro in place of his own reflection. He trembles as he puts down the scissors and pushes his hair back into a middle part in hopes to look different than his deceased older brother.

He does. It works. Mikey doesn't bother to pick his hair off the floor or to get rid of any evidence. Mikey steps away from the mirror, his gaze lingering on his reflection for a moment longer before he turns and walks away, leaving the blood-stained scene behind him without a second glance. The police already know it's him behind the serial murders. There was only so much Tokyo Manji Gang's influence could cover and now that he was off doing what he wanted, people were no longer listening. It would take a while for Izana and Kisaki to realize he was no longer in the country and even longer for the police to figure that out.

Mikey is in the Philippines, the air is warm in comparison to Japan right now. As Mikey steps out into the bustling streets of Manila, he allows himself to breathe, to simply exist in the present moment without the burden of his past weighing him down. The neon lights of the city flicker overhead, casting an ethereal glow over the bustling streets below.

"Hair holds memory. That's why I cut my hair after Chifuyu broke my heart. It made me feel better"

That's what Maya told him. Mikey agreed of course. After Emma died and Izana cut his hair for him, he felt better.

So now that he has murdered all his friends, Mikey cuts his hair again.

He thinks about their deaths for a moment before he leaves the motel.

First came the twins then Peh-yan, followed by Pah-chin. No one fought for their life. Or well they did but Mikey could tell they had already given up the moment they began.

Next came Hakkai. The warehouse he lured him to set ablaze with ease and Hakkai never tried to escape, simply looking up at him with nostalgia.

After that was Kazutora, he fought. Tried telling Mikey that what he was doing wasn't fair after figuring out it was he who was responsible for Maya's death. Kazutora fought back but quickly gave up, bleeding out on the floor of his apartment, staring up at Mikey with eyes filled with sadness.

Then was Chifuyu. A quick shot between the brows and it was done.

Mitsuya was next. He didn't fight much either as Mikey strangled him.

Last was Draken. Stabbed him right through the heart. Draken fought back. Kind of. But he quickly gave in.

Haruchiyo simply kneeled before him the moment Mikey pulled out the gun and pointed it at him.

All of them did.

Why?

Their life was his to keep and his to take.

For Sano "Mikey" Manjiro is the sun, the center of the universe, and like the sun, his gravitational pull is too strong for anyone to resist and too powerful for anyone to survive.

As his vision clears Takemichi looks around. The first thing he does is pat around his pockets to feel for his phone. Seeing it's an iPhone and not a flip phone it confirms he's back in the present. Wednesday, January 10, 2018, 11:47 am. He's come back 12 years to where he belongs. The last time he was here he was in jail which meant the timeline was successfully changed. So, was Hina safe? Chifuyu, Pah-chin, Peh-yan, Draken, Mitsuya? Were they all okay? "Hanagaki-kun?" A female voice says from behind him

Takemichi turns around and sees a girl. She looks familiar but he can't remember exactly where he knows her from. She bows a little. "Thank you very much for coming here during such a busy time" she stands up straight "Please this way"

Upon arrival, Takemichi is greeted by a solemn atmosphere, the weight of grief heavy in the air. His heart quickens as he tries to piece together the puzzle before him. Who is being mourned here? The receptionists look familiar, undoubtedly related to the deceased, but Takemichi's mind struggles to make sense of the situation. "Thank you for coming to my brother's" the girl chokes up "My brother's..."

The second girl takes over. "Please go inside" she directs him

Takemichi's confusion intensifies, his anxiety mounting with each passing moment. But it's when he hears their words— "Keep it together Mana!"

"Sorry Luna" —that a sinking feeling settles in the pit of his stomach.

Luna?

Mana?

Brother...

Takemichi's steps falter as he enters the funeral house, his heart pounding in his chest. And then, he sees it—the altar adorned with candles and flowers, a solemn tribute to the departed. And there, amidst the somber display, is a picture of Mitsuya Takashi.

A funeral honouring the dead.

Takemichi runs. He runs and runs down the streets pulling out his phone to find out what happened. He couldn't talk to Luna and Mana. He had to find Naoto. The internet gives him more questions than answers

Former Tokyo Manji Gang Admin Mitsuya's remains found, murder suspected

Mitsuya-san's Murdered Body Discovered, culprit unknown

The headlines blur before his eyes, each one a stab to his already shattered heart. He doesn't understand. He changed the past—everyone should be alive. But as he searches for Hinata's name, the cruel reality hits him like a freight train. He searches for Hinata's name next.

Tachibana Hinata(26) Dies in Car Accident, Motorcycle Gang Suspected

Hina died the same way. Nothing changed. Takemichi's breath catches in his throat as he grapples with the devastating truth. He's back in the same dingy apartment, the penthouse a distant dream. Something went wrong—no, Takemichi went wrong. The weight of his failure crushes him as he stares at a photo taken with the other Toman captains, a painful reminder of what should have been. His heart hurts. How could this happen? "So here you are," A familiar voice says "I've been looking for you"

Tears fill Takemichi's eyes as he sees Tachibana Naoto come through the door. He stands up and runs toward the younger boy hugging him tight. The memory of his death in the previous time makes him cry and the events of this timeline make him bawl. Once Takemichi has calmed down Naoto starts explaining this future. "You've time-leaped into the past multiple time in your attempt to save my sister. This is the worst future that's happened yet" Naoto tells him "Of course, nē-chan wasn't saved... And all the chief members of Tokyo Manji Gang have been killed"

Takemichi thinks he's going to throw up. "Killed?"

Naoto nods. "Shiba Hakkai burned to death. Mitsuya Takashi strangled. Ryuguji Ken, Stabbed. Matsuno Chifuyu, shot in the head" He pauses "Hayashida Haruki, Hayashi Ryōhei, Kawata Nahoya, Kawata Souya, Shiba Hakkai and Hanemiya Kazutora... Even Kisaki Tetta was killed"

Takemichi lets out a gasp. "Even Kisaki...? Everyone is dead...?"

"The suspect is still at large," Naoto informs him. "We don't even have a clue as to where he might be."

"What about Mikey-kun?! Was Mikey-kun murdered too?! What about him?!" Takemichi's voice trembles with fear.

Naoto hesitates, his gaze falling away. "Mikey..." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "The wanted criminal for these serial murders is Sano Manjiro."

Takemichi is going to be sick. "Could dial down the jokes a freakin' notch? There's no way he'd...!!" Seeing Naoto look away makes Takemichi confront the cruel reality presented toward him "I want to meet Mikey and talk to him"

"Takemichi-kun, I want to know the truth too. You're the one that can do that. As a former Toman admin and the only one still alive. It's only you left who can see him" Naoto tells him

Takemichi doesn't understand. What happened that caused such a great change in the timeline? Everyone was dead. Everyone. "I eliminated the two people who could have caused Toman to go evil. The Black Dragons were defeated and Kisaki got thrown out of Toman! EVERYTHING SHOULD HAVE ENDED UP FINE!!"

Takemichi and Naoto find a letter. It wasn't from Japan but from the Philippines. A conversation with Mikey he had in the past floods through his mind. It was while Mikey was teaching him how to ride the bike he gifted him. The one with the twin engine like his CB250T. Mikey said his brother found it in the Philippines. "Mikey is in the Philippines." Takemichi says firmly

Mikey's past is dotted with countless encounters with pretty girls, and numerous relationships that flickered and faded like distant stars. But amidst the myriad of faces that have come and gone, it's Kaneko Maya who holds a special place in his heart.

Maya wasn't just another conquest or fleeting romance for Mikey. There was something different about her, something that made her stand out from the rest. Perhaps it was her innocence, her vulnerability that drew him in, or maybe it was the way she looked at him with those wide, trusting eyes as if he held the world in his hands and put the stars up in the sky.

Whatever it was, Mikey found himself drawn to Maya in a way he couldn't quite explain. She brought out a side of him that he rarely showed to anyone else—gentle, caring, almost tender. With Maya, he felt a sense of peace and contentment that he had never experienced before.

Maya was gorgeous. Like a doll almost. Those expensive ones Emma used to play with. The limited edition ones with their pretty clothes and perfectly done hair. Maya's skin was perfect even with the faint freckles on her cheeks. Her skin was warm and soft to the touch. Her hair was silky smooth with fluffy curls and her eyes...

Oh her eyes.

Maya's eyes were gorgeous. They were filled with so much emotion— so much love, sadness, grief. He doesn't think he's ever seen more expressive eyes. Or well, he has but that wasn't the point right now.

The point was that he had killed the girl of his dreams. A shot through the heart and she hit the sand with a thud. She didn't move after that. Mikey had dropped the gun and he felt like his own heart was going to stop. It was an accident. He didn't mean to shoot her. She was just running and wouldn't stop after he called for her. It was stupid of him to do so. Maya wouldn't have been able to get anywhere in the first place. There was nothing for miles and just long endless stretches of beaches. He killed her and it was for nothing.

After all, Maya's death was just the beginning. he voice in his head had whispered to him, urging him to rid himself of anyone who might leave him, anyone who might betray him in the future. And he had listened, giving in to the darkness that lurked within him.

The stupid voice in his head won and now he was alone. So, he listened to the voice and killed the rest of his friends too. All the friends that left him. Even Haruchiyo because what if he left him in the future? Sure Haruchiyo stayed but what if he left later? He wouldn't stay forever according to that voice in Mikey's head so he had to kill Haruchiyo before he could leave.

But now, as he stands alone in the aftermath of his own destruction, Mikey can't help but wonder if it was worth it. Was it worth sacrificing everything he held dear for the sake of his own selfish desires? The answer, he knows, is no. Nothing could ever justify what he had done, the lives he had taken, the hearts he had broken.

His fingers curl around the necklace he pulled off her cold dead body— the necklace with the engraving of a daffodil in the pendant. How fucking fitting he took this and not the other one. Daffodils, also known as narcissus, from the Greek mythological story of a young man so beautiful he pined for his own reflection and turned into a daffodil. That whole story showed there was a fine line between love and obsession and it was fucking fitting he took this necklace instead of the one with the butterfly. Mikey was horrible. He was a horrible fucking person.

All his life had been suffering.

From the death of his dad, his mom, Shinichiro, Baji and Emma.

Each time Mikey has been suffering.

He doesn't think he properly mourned Baji or Emma. He wasn't allowed to. It was the curse of being the strongest. When you're at the top, you're alone. Everyone thinks he isn't capable of emotion but he is. Mikey swears he is. He loves everyone. He loves all of them, even the ones he killed.

He loved Maya. Oh god he loved her and she loved him back, didn't she? Mikey finds himself grappling with a different kind of anguish—the anguish of unexpressed love. Maya's absence weighs heavily on his heart, her memory haunting him like a ghost. He replays their moments together in his mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

He loved Maya, of that he's certain. In her, he found a kindred spirit, someone who saw past the facade of the fearsome gang leader to the vulnerable boy beneath. And Maya had shown him a love he had never known before.

But now she's gone, taken from him in a senseless act of violence. And Mikey can't help but wonder if she ever knew how much he truly cared for her. Did she feel the depth of his love, the intensity of his longing? Or did she leave this world believing she was just another casualty in the endless cycle of pain and loss?

The thought gnaws at him, consuming him from the inside out. He wishes he could turn back time, and rewrite the script so he didn't shoot her. But he knows that's just wishful thinking, a futile fantasy in a world where reality reigns supreme.

Mikey thought Izana would be angry. He really did. But as Mikey sobbed Izana had held him silently and ran his fingers through his hair. Izana simply hugged him. For all his faults and flaws, Izana has always been there for Mikey, a steadfast pillar of support in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty.

Everyone left him all while telling him that relying on Izana wasn't a good thing but it wasn't like any of them gave him any other choice. Mikey would have died years ago had it not been for Izana. So why was everyone so mad at him? They did this to him. They didn't let him mourn. They put all the pressure on his shoulders. Everyone had abandoned him, leaving him to shoulder the weight of their expectations and demands alone. They had pushed Mikey to the brink, refusing to acknowledge the toll their actions had taken on his fragile psyche. So why are they blaming him for turning out the way he did when all he was doing was trying his best?

Mikey ran that night with Haruchiyo. Left Okinawa for Tokyo and so began his murder spree. Mikey couldn't get himself to look at Izana, fearing his brother's actual reaction the next morning. What if Izana actually left him this time like he always threatened to do? Mikey couldn't have that so he ran first.

Ending up in Manila and sending Takemichi that letter was a spontaneous decision but he realized there was one more left to kill— the first to leave him.

Takemichi went to the Philippines with Naoto. The letter contained a message and an address. He knew right away it was from Mikey. There was no doubt about it. He was standing in front of the run-down building despite the dangers Naoto told him about. If Mikey killed the others, he could kill him too. But there was no guarantee Mikey was in there. However, if he is then it'll be the first time in any of Takemichi's time leaps to the present that he'll be meeting Mikey. As Takemichi walks through the ruins of the building he wonders what Mikey of the future was like. What was he going to say to him? Mikey no doubt changed after 12 years— he killed everyone so that means something. He might kill Takemichi the second they meet. Takemichi gulps at the thought. He turns the corner and remembers Mikey's words about the engine.

It was beneath a suffocating gray sky. In a building abandoned with the ceiling collapsed under a huge scrap pile.

Looking around Takemichi realizes this was the place Mikey's brother found the CB250T engines. "Takemitchy?" A voice calls startling him

Startled, he followed the sound and there he was—Sano Manjiro. Despite the years that had passed, Mikey's eyes held the same intensity. His appearance had changed—his hair was now black, cut short with an undercut, and he bore Draken's dragon tattoo on the side of his neck and a gold necklace. Mikey exuded maturity and confidence, a stark contrast to the boy Takemichi once knew. Finally, Takemichi stood face-to-face with the future Mikey for the first time since he started time leaping. "Um... Have you been well?" Takemichi stumbled over his words, unsure of what to say.

Mikey's smile was warm and familiar. "Yeah," he replied simply.

Takemichi thinks he's gonna cry. No, he just starts to cry. "I'm sorry" he cried

"Still a crybaby that hasn't changed huh" Mikey says with a smile and stands up "I brought you here because I have a favour to ask you"

"huh?"

"I came here to remember my memories with my big brother. I'm overwhelmed with many memories. When I was young I fought with many people. I learned a few things, laughed, and cried too. That's how I grew with Toman." Mikey smiles sweetly at Takemichi "It makes me nostalgic"

"Mikey" Takemichi whispers

He knew it. Mikey couldn't have killed them. No way. Not after everything. Mikey looks up at the sky. "Toman has changed a lot, Takemitchy" He says "Why did you leave Toman? I wanted us to stay together. I wanted you to stay with me like a big brother would..."

"w-what?"

Takemichi stands in disbelief as he absorbs Mikey's words, his mind reeling with confusion and guilt. How could he have left Toman in this future? The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, a stark reminder of the consequences of his actions and the ripple effect they've had on the lives of everyone around him. "I tried to fix everything by myself. Tried to save her. But I couldn't control everything. I'm never gonna be like I was in the past" Mikey says with a solemn look on his face

Takemichi's breath catches in his throat as he listens to Mikey's solemn words, each syllable weighing heavily on his conscience like a leaden burden. The gravity of the situation dawns on him with crushing force, the realization that his actions have altered the course of fate sinking in deeper with each passing moment. "Mikey, what do you mean?"

Mikey's gaze is piercing, his eyes reflecting the weight of the burden he carries. "I tried to stop you from quitting Toman but Ken-chin and Mitsuya stopped me"

Takemichi feels sick again. "That means that... Those two..."

"They were the last to leave Toman and I'm the one who killed everyone. That Toman no longer exists. The guys are... and everyone... I killed them" Mikey tells him "That's why I want you to stop me. Kill me Takemitchy. I want it to all end here"

Takemichi's mind races as he grapples with the enormity of Mikey's request. Kill him? The thought is unimaginable, unthinkable. But as he looks into Mikey's eyes, he sees the pain and anguish that he carries, the burden of his past sins weighing heavily upon him. "What are you talking about, Mikey? Stop. I don't get it," Takemichi stammers, his voice trembling with emotion. Tears blur his vision as he looks into Mikey's piercing gaze, searching for answers in the depths of those haunted eyes. "You ask me to kill you right after we meet. But me, I just wanted to see you again."

"I just wanted to see you again" Mikey repeats, his voice tinged with a macabre sort of melancholy. "Hakkai also said something like that the moment he died"

"The moment he was dying...?" he echoes, his voice barely a whisper as the weight of Mikey's words settles like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

Mikey's gaze drifts upward, his eyes fixated on the vast expanse of the sky above them. "It's hard to achieve his dream," he murmurs, his voice heavy with resignation. "Open a new era. Toman was on the right track, and suddenly everything ended like this."

"Like... this?" Takemichi's voice trembles with uncertainty as he seeks clarification, his heart pounding with apprehension.

Mikey's lips curl into a bitter smile, but there's a glint of something unsettling in his eyes. "When I killed for the first time, I didn't feel anything," he confesses, his words laced with a chilling nonchalance. "And I thought that the difficulties of this world can be fixed with murder. All is well when you eliminate those who get in your way."

The casualness with which Mikey speaks of murder sends a shiver down Takemichi's spine. Anger boils within him, fueling a surge of defiance as he confronts his former friend. "This isn't right!" Takemichi's voice rises in protest, his fists clenching in frustration. "You can't just—"

Before Takemichi can finish his sentence, Mikey lunges forward, seizing the front of Takemichi's shirt and slamming him forcefully into the rubble below. The impact knocks the breath from Takemichi's lungs, leaving him gasping for air as he stares up at Mikey in shock. "What part of this do you not understand?" Mikey's voice is low and menacing, his grip tightening on Takemichi's shirt. He presses the cold muzzle of a gun against Takemichi's cheek, the metal chilling against his skin. "Take that gun, Takemichi. If you don't kill me, you'll be the one that dies."

Takemichi's tear-filled eyes reflect the turmoil raging within him, but before he can even process the overwhelming emotions, he notices tears cascading down Mikey's face. The rhythmic pattern of tears falling on Takemichi's cheeks echoes in the tense silence, each drop a poignant reminder of the anguish they both carry. As Mikey gazes down at Takemichi, his tear-streaked face is a portrait of sorrow and regret. Despite the gravity of the situation, Takemichi remains frozen, his gaze fixed on Mikey's trembling form. The gun lies untouched beside him, a silent witness to the heart-wrenching scene unfolding before him. "We can't go back in time," Mikey's voice is heavy with resignation, the words hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

And then, in a sudden motion, he collapses to his side, the sound of a gunshot ringing out through the desolate surroundings. "Are you okay, Takemichi?!" Naoto's voice pierces through the chaos, his concern palpable as he rushes to Takemichi's side.

Shock and disbelief grip Takemichi as he registers the scene before him. Blood stains the ground, a crimson pool forming around Mikey's motionless form. Naoto's gun trembles in his hand, the realization of what he's done sinking in. "Mikey!!" Takemichi's voice is raw with panic and desperation as he scrambles to Mikey's side, his hands trembling as he reaches out to his fallen friend.

"TAKEMICHI, DON'T GO NEAR HIM!!" Naoto's voice rings out in a frantic plea, the urgency clear in his tone. But his words hang in the air, halted by the sight of the gun that lies discarded at Mikey's side.

The safety catch remains engaged—a small detail that sends a shiver of realization down Naoto's spine. "He never... intended to kill him?" Naoto's voice wavers with horror as the implications of the situation begin to dawn on him.

Meanwhile, Takemichi's cries echo through the desolate surroundings as he kneels beside Mikey's growingly cold body, his grief palpable in the air. "Tachibana Naoto..." Mikey's voice is weak, barely a whisper in the stillness. "Takemichi would've never been able to kill me."

The weight of Mikey's words hangs heavy in the air, each syllable laden with the weight of a lifetime of suffering. Takemichi's breath comes in ragged gasps as he struggles to process the enormity of the moment. "No, Mikey! Don't say that!" Takemichi's voice trembles with desperation, tears streaming down his face. "I can still change it. I can change the past. I can start all over again! I would do anything to change the future. I don't want to... I'm not gonna give up! Don't say such sad things."

A bittersweet smile graces Mikey's lips, his gaze distant as his strength begins to wane. "Thanks, Takemitchy," he murmurs softly, his words tinged with gratitude. "Your words comforted me. Even if you're telling me lies... I'm happy." As the cold embrace of death envelops him, Mikey's voice grows faint. "Takemitchy... Your hand is... so warm. Just like hers."

And with those final words, the chapter of Sano Manjiro's life comes to a close. On January 20th, 2018, amidst an altercation with a Japanese police officer, Tachibana Naoto, in Manila, Philippines, Sano Manjiro breathed his last breath, leaving behind a legacy of pain, regret, and untold stories.

On January 20th, 2018, Hanagaki Takemichi goes back to the past.

Now back in Japan, as Naoto sifts through the evidence, a heavyweight settles in his chest. The scene is eerily reminiscent of the others he's investigated, each one bearing the same haunting resemblance—a life cut short, a story left unfinished. Sanzu Haruchiyo's body lies in stark contrast to the chaos that often accompanies violent crimes. There are no signs of struggle, no desperate attempt to fight for survival. Instead, there's a sense of resignation, an acceptance of fate that speaks volumes about the relationship between Sanzu and Manjiro.

Naoto's mind races as he contemplates the implications of what he's uncovered. Sanzu, the most loyal of them all, had met his end at the hands of his childhood friend, Sano Manjiro. It's a grim reality that Naoto struggles to come to terms with—a testament to the darkness that lurks beneath the surface of even the closest relationships.

He remembers all the times he met Sano Manjiro as a kid, finding the older man too childish to be a leader. But now, now he can believe it. Now, the invincible Mikey lies in the morgue in the basement of the hospital, waiting for his family to come and claim his body, but not without taking a few lives before that.

Mikey's demise was not the result of a violent struggle or a battle with a formidable adversary. Instead, it was a deliberate choice—a final act of defiance in the face of a world that had grown increasingly dark and unforgiving.

What exactly was it that made Mikey want to die so bad?

So many questions but so few answers. It's then that Naoto's eyes shift onto something glimmering among the evidence. It feels like his heart is in his throat as he picks up the plastic baggie in the tray with Mikey's wallet and other belongings. His fingers tremble as he puts on latex gloves and opens up the translucent bag and pulls the gold necklace out. Naoto's eyes drift over to the report from the Diener saying that this necklace is what Sano Manjiro was wearing. Naoto feels sick. He knows it. He recognizes it. It was hard not to since it wasn't among the evidence retrieved with Maya's body—

—so what the fuck was it doing around Sano Manjiro's neck?

Naoto's mind races with a flurry of unanswered questions as he stares at the gold necklace clutched tightly in his gloved hand. The glimmering pendant seems to taunt him, a silent reminder of the mysteries that still shroud Mikey's final moments. With trembling fingers, Naoto carefully examines the necklace, his heart pounding in his chest as he tries to make sense of the unsettling discovery. How could Mikey, the enigmatic leader of the Tokyo Manji Gang, be connected to Maya's necklace? And more importantly, what could it possibly signify?

As he scrutinizes the intricate design and delicate craftsmanship, memories of Maya flood Naoto's mind—her gentle smile, her laughter, the warmth of her embrace. But now, as Naoto stands on the precipice of a chilling revelation, he can't shake the gnawing sense of dread that grips him. There's something deeply unsettling about the idea of Mikey wearing Maya's necklace, something that hints at a connection far more sinister than he dares to imagine.

Was he right then? Was that body they mourned not Maya's but someone else's? Had Maya really been alive this whole time?

There is a sense of accomplishment in Naoto for knowing his gut feeling had been right about Tokyo Manji Gang being involved in Maya's disappearance but he feels queasy again realizing he was right.

Maya was alive and she had been taken by the Tokyo Manji Gang.

The bile that rises in Naoto's throat is not just from the grim realization of Maya's fate but also from the haunting possibilities of what she might have endured at the hands of her captors. The mere thought of her suffering sends a shiver down his spine.

Sano "Mikey" Manjiro is dead and he just murdered all his friends. He doubts Maya is still alive. She may have been before but not anymore. She couldn't be. If Sano Manjiro died wearing her necklace, there was no way Kaneko Maya was still alive. Tears well up in his eyes. Naoto hadn't cried when Maya's 'body' was discovered. Back then even before he found out that her necklaces were among the belongings, perhaps he had a gut feeling that wasn't her. But now he knows she's dead.

As Naoto grapples with the grim reality of Maya's fate, a heavyweight settles in his chest, suffocating him with a sense of overwhelming grief and despair. The thought that Maya may have endured unimaginable suffering at the hands of her captors is almost too much to bear, threatening to crush him beneath its crushing weight.

Sano "Mikey" Manjiro's death and the revelation of his heinous actions only add to Naoto's anguish. The fact that he wore Maya's necklace in his final moments serves as a chilling reminder of the darkness that had consumed him, a darkness that ultimately led to the demise of not only Maya but also all of their friends.

Tears blur Naoto's vision as he struggles to come to terms with the devastating truth. He had hoped against hope that Maya might still be alive, clinging to the faint possibility that she had somehow survived the ordeal. But now, faced with the undeniable evidence of her death, he feels a profound sense of loss and regret wash over him.

As Naoto sifts through the evidence, his mind races with questions, each one more unsettling than the last. What could have led Maya into the clutches of someone like Sano Manjiro and the Tokyo Manji Gang? Had she unknowingly crossed paths with dangerous individuals, or was there something more sinister at play?

The faded love bites and scratches on Mikey's body only serve to deepen the mystery, hinting at a tumultuous and perhaps intimate relationship between him and Maya. But the thought of Maya being subjected to such treatment fills Naoto with a profound sense of unease and disgust. It's a possibility he can barely bring himself to contemplate. Perhaps Maya had stumbled into the gang's territory by accident, or maybe she had been targeted for some other reason altogether. Whatever the case, the mere thought of her being caught up in the violent world of the Tokyo Manji Gang sends a chill down Naoto's spine.

Just what had his sister and Maya done for them to deserve death?

Takemichi comes back to the future barely a week later with news. "I see... So if Kisaki truly is a timeleaper... We have to kill him" Naoto says lowly with a dark look on his face

Takemichi had explained his theory of Kisaki Tetta possibly being a timeleaper but this surely wasn't what he expected to hear back from Naoto. "Eh? B-But Naoto—"

"There's no point in all this if he keeps messing up the things you've fixed" Naoto says seriously, leaning back in his chair "Therefore killing him in the past is the only way"

Takemichi's breath catches in his throat, his mind reeling at the implications of Naoto's words. The idea of taking a life, even Kisaki's, fills him with a profound sense of dread and unease. "No way!"

"I'm kidding" he says dismissively, but Takemichi can't shake the feeling that there's truth in his words.

"Naoto! Can you please read the situation?!"

As Naoto rises from his chair, the creak of the furniture echoes through the room, adding to the heavy atmosphere that surrounds them. Takemichi's gaze follows Naoto's movements, his heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. The whiteboard looms before them, a visual representation of their investigation, adorned with a collage of photographs, newspaper clippings, and scattered notes. "I wonder what the hell Kisaki was aiming for..." Naoto's voice is a low murmur, barely audible above the sound of their own breathing.

His brow furrows in concentration as he studies the array of evidence before him, his fingers tracing over the photographs and articles with a sense of purpose. Takemichi's eyes flicker across the whiteboard, searching for any clues that might shed light on Kisaki's motives. And then, amidst the chaos of images and text, something catches his eye—a photograph of a girl, tucked away in the corner of the board, connected to Mikey's picture by a drawn arrow. The girl in the photo has an ethereal beauty, with porcelain skin, piercing blue eyes, and long, black hair cascading around her shoulders. Despite the solemnity of the situation, her radiant smile seems to leap off the page, drawing Takemichi's attention like a magnet. "Kaneko... Maya...?" Takemichi's voice is tinged with confusion and concern as he points to the photograph.

His mind races with questions, wondering who this girl is and what connection she has to their investigation since he doesn't remember meeting anyone with that name in the past. Naoto's frown deepens, his expression growing sombre as he meets Takemichi's gaze. "Just a casualty of this timeline," he replies gravely, his voice heavy with regret. "She was never a part of the other timelines, so you don't have to worry about her."

Takemichi's heart sinks at Naoto's words, a pang of sadness washing over him as he realizes the tragic fate that has befallen this unknown girl. Despite his relief that she wasn't involved in their past endeavours, the knowledge that she had become a victim of the tangled web of events in this timeline only serves to deepen his sense of despair. Takemichi's eyes dart back to the whiteboard, scanning the array of cut-outs and clippings with a newfound intensity. Among the myriad of images, another photograph catches his attention—a striking portrait of a man with an enigmatic gaze and an air of undeniable charisma. Beneath the image, the name "Kurokawa Izana" is printed in bold letters, sending a ripple of recognition through Takemichi's mind.

"Kurokawa... Izana?" Takemichi murmurs to himself, his brow furrowing in perplexity as he tries to piece together the puzzle before him.

The name triggers a memory, a fragment of a conversation from a past encounter that resurfaces in his mind with startling clarity. He recalls the warehouse in Yokohama, the chaotic scene unfolding before him as Tenjiku's assault on Toman Division reaches its peak. Amidst the chaos, a fleeting mention of a certain Kurokawa Izana lingers in Takemichi's memory, a name uttered in hushed tones by Kakucho, as if shrouded in secrecy and intrigue. "Kurokawa Izana... Tenjiku's leader?" Takemichi's voice is laced with confusion as he speaks aloud, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to slot into place in his mind.

Turning to Naoto for answers, Takemichi seeks clarification on the identity of this mysterious figure. "Naoto, who's Kurokawa Izana?" he inquires, his tone tinged with a sense of urgency.

Naoto's response is swift, his voice carrying a note of authority as he imparts his knowledge on the subject. "Oh, he's one of Toman's top brass. I heard he was Black Dragon's leader too," Naoto explains, his words punctuated by a furrow of his brows as he contemplates the significance of this revelation.

Takemichi's confusion deepens at Naoto's words, his mind struggling to reconcile the conflicting information. "But there are no records of a gang called Tenjiku" Naoto continues, his expression betraying a hint of frustration at the lack of clarity surrounding the situation.

Takemichi feels a surge of frustration welling up within him, a sense of helplessness washing over him as he grapples with the discrepancies between the past and present. The information he possesses from his previous experiences feels obsolete in the face of this new reality. "If you're saying in the past this guy is Tenjiku's captain then it seems that he's important to investigate on" Naoto says in a serious tone and Takemichi agrees

Takemichi and Naoto part ways after that to get some clues. It's how he ended up at the Church where he fought Shiba Taiju. He was wondering what Inupi and Koko were doing and it eventually led him to said church. He met Taiju there and asked to talk to him. Takemichi called Naoto up and Naoto showed up at the Church. They end up at a restaurant Taiju owned. "listen here" Tajiu says "I don't give a shit about cooperating with the cops but through Hakkai, I too have connections with Toman. So it's an exchange of information. I want to know what the cops know as well. Whatever we discuss stays here"

"Understood" Naoto replies with a respectful nod, his demeanor serious and attentive.

"So... You want to know about Kurokawa Izana and the Black Dragons right?" Taiju asks

"Kurokawa Izana is the captain of Tenjiku isn't he?" Takemichi ventures, seeking clarification on the matter "Why did he become Black Dragons Captain and how did he end up in Toman?"

Taiju's laughter rings out, accompanied by the soft glow of his cigarette. "You're mistaken"

Takemichi cocks his head like a puppy in confusion. "eh?"

"You got it in the wrong order" Taiju blows out a puff of smoke "First let's start with Black Dragons. I was the commander of the 10th generation, you remember that much right?"

"yes"

"Do you know who created Black Dragons?" Taiju asks and takes another drag of his cigarette

"Who?" Takemichi is going to be honest, he didn't know much about gangs, not even the one he was in

"The first-generation captain is Sano Shinichiro," Taiju reveals, his voice tinged with a note of reverence as he speaks of the gang's origins. "The one that started it all was Mikey's brother."

Takemichi's eyes widen in astonishment at the revelation, his mind racing to process the implications of Taiju's words. "Mikey's brother?" he echoes, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place in his mind.

As memories of Mikey's anecdotes about his brother flood his thoughts, Takemichi finds himself grappling with the weight of this newfound knowledge. "The first generation of Black Dragons was legendary," Taiju continues, his voice tinged with a sense of reverence for the gang's storied history. "The second and third generations continue to hold that. Eventually, the baton was passed down to Kurokawa Izana, the eighth-generation captain."

"The eighth generation... That means he was there before you," Takemichi observes, his mind racing to connect the dots between the past and present.

Toman was formed when the ninth generation was around, which meant the eighth generation predates the gang's inception. "So, Kurokawa Izana must be older than you," Takemichi concludes, his tone tinged with a sense of realization as he pieces together the timeline of events.

"Yup, two years older, the S62 generation," Taiju confirms, his voice carrying a note of authority as he elaborates on the gang's hierarchical structure.

The mention of the S62 generation triggers a flicker of recognition in Takemichi's mind, a realization dawning upon him with startling clarity. "S62? Tenjiku's members!" he exclaims, his eyes widening in realization as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

"Kurokawa Izana retired from Black Dragons and made Tenjiku three years later," Taiju continues, his voice tinged with a note of solemnity as he recounts the events that shaped the gang's tumultuous history. "Fucked Toman over, and then the Kanto Incident happened."

Kanto Incident. Kisaki said that to him at the beginning of Tenjiku's ambushes 12 years ago. "Who won, Toman or Tenjiku?" he inquires, his voice tinged with a sense of trepidation as he braces himself for the answer.

Taiju's response is grim, his expression clouded with a shadow of regret as he recounts the outcome of the fateful confrontation. "You should know since you were there, but I'll answer your question anyway," he replies, his tone tinged with a note of resignation. "Tenjiku won. As a result, Sano Manjiro at the top, Kisaki Tetta as number two, and Kurokawa Izana as number three..."

The revelation sends a chill down Takemichi's spine, his mind reeling with the implications of Taiju's words. "But yeah, Kisaki is dead," he interjects, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice as he attempts to reconcile the conflicting reports surrounding Kisaki's fate.

Taiju's response is cryptic, his gaze lingering on Takemichi with an intensity that borders on scrutiny. "Is he really dead, Tachibana Naoto?" he muses, his words laced with an undercurrent of skepticism.

Naoto's expression tightens, a flicker of unease crossing his features as he weighs his response carefully. "I've investigated things about Kurokawa Izana," he begins, his voice measured as he addresses the looming spectre of uncertainty. "He somehow has a huge amount of influence in the police. Kurokawa is much bigger than we first thought."

Taiju's chuckle is mirthless, a sardonic twist of his lips betraying his amusement at the irony of the situation. "Kisaki was made to be dead, right?"

"Murder, assault, theft. Kisaki was alleged with various crimes, so he escaped overseas. It seems there was a body prepared to pose as Kisaki," Naoto explains, his words punctuated by a nervous gesture as he rubs his palms against his trousers.

"S-so Kisaki is..."

"Alive" Taiju confirms, his voice devoid of emotion as he extinguishes his cigarette in the ashtray with a decisive flick of his wrist.

With a heavy sigh, Takemichi absorbs the weight of this revelation, his mind swirling with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. "Sano is dead. Kisaki is overseas, and therefore Toman's top is now Kurokawa Izana" Taiju concludes, his tone matter-of-fact as he summarizes the current state of affairs.

Takemichi's fingers tighten around the photograph of Kurokawa Izana, his features contorted in a mask of anger and frustration. "Why him?" he demands, his voice tinged with a note of incredulity as he struggles to comprehend the inexplicable allure of this enigmatic figure.

A dark look passes over Taiju's features, a shadow of regret clouding his expression as he contemplates the question. "I don't know," he admits, his voice tinged with a note of resignation. "But Sano trusted Izana more than Ryuguji Ken."

Takemichi's mind reels at the revelation, his thoughts swirling with confusion and disbelief. Mikey trusting someone over Draken? It sounded inconceivable, a betrayal of everything Takemichi had come to believe about the unshakeable bond between the two friends. As he grapples with the implications of Taiju's words, Takemichi is left to ponder the enigma of Kurokawa Izana—a figure shrouded in mystery and intrigue, whose influence extends far beyond the confines of Toman's hierarchy. Just who the hell was Kurokawa Izana, and what role did he play in the tangled web of alliances and betrayals that defined the world of gang warfare? "Well, well, well!" A familiar voice rings out, drawing the attention of the trio. "If it isn't both my former bosses? Having a private conversation, are we? That sucks."

It's Koko and Inupi, their presence igniting a spark of tension in the air. Taiju's anger simmers just beneath the surface at their unexpected intrusion. "You fuckers bringing Toman's minions into my place! What do you want?!" he growls, his voice laced with a palpable edge.

Inupi's voice remains devoid of emotion as he delivers their ominous message. "Under Kurokawa's orders, we've come to seize you all," he states matter-of-factly, his words carrying the weight of authority.

Koko, on the other hand, wears a smug grin, his eyes gleaming with malice. "There's a sneaky rat from the police sniffing around, I see... Sitting face to face with my former leaders" he taunts, relishing in the discomfort he elicits.

"You guys are prying into Kurokawa Izana, and therefore, you are all Toman's enemies" Inupi declares, his tone betraying no hint of sympathy or remorse.

Taiju's laughter cuts through the tension like a knife, his sadistic grin sending shivers down Takemichi's spine. "You guys, my enemies?" he scoffs, his voice dripping with disdain. "The guy who has clung onto Black Dragons and Black Dragon's wallet! Does Izana meet your requirements, Inui?! And are you still Toman's fucking wallet, Kokonoi?!"

The situation feels dire, with so many men from Toman surrounding them. Takemichi knows that fighting and winning would be impossible. If what Naoto said about the police being corrupted by Kurokawa is true, then calling for backup would be futile as well. "Hanagaki, escape from the back door..." Taiju's voice cuts through the chaos, his gaze flickering to Takemichi "Tachibana Naoto, please tell me the truth about Hakkai's death. I don't believe Sano did it. I don't know how he ended up at Sano's hideout, but I'm sure Izana was behind it. Please clear Hakkai's regrets."

Takemichi's heart clenches at the plea in Taiju's words, a surge of determination coursing through his veins as he resolves to uncover the truth behind Hakkai's demise. With a nod of affirmation, he meets Taiju's gaze, silently vowing to honour his request and bring closure to the lingering shadows of the past. "Taiju," Takemichi calls out over his shoulder as Naoto begins to pull him away, a sense of gratitude swelling within him. "Thank you for everything."

Taiju's response comes in the form of a gentle smile, a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken bond. "It's my debt to you," he replies, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity that resonates deeply with Takemichi.

With a nod of appreciation, Takemichi and Naoto break into a sprint, their footsteps echoing through the empty alleyways as they make their way towards Naoto's car. But amidst the rush of adrenaline, Takemichi's mind churns with thoughts and revelations. The mention of Black Dragons and their enigmatic leader, Kurokawa Izana, triggers a sudden realization within Takemichi. Inupi and Koko, with their ties to Toman and the underworld, could hold the key to unravelling the mysteries surrounding Izana and the Kanto incident. "NAOTO!" Takemichi's voice rings out, cutting through the heavy breaths of their hurried escape.

Naoto halts, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "What's wrong, Takemichi?" he inquires, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"I think we should go back," Takemichi declares firmly, his eyes ablaze with determination. "They both know more. I want to know more about the Kanto incident. I'll go back."

Without waiting for Naoto's response, Takemichi pivots on his heel and races back towards the fray, his heart pounding in his chest with a newfound resolve. Naoto's voice cuts through the air, halting his sprint. "Takemichi..."

The glint of metal catches Naoto's eye first, a chilling premonition of danger. Reacting on pure instinct, Naoto lunges forward, pushing Takemichi out of harm's way just as the trigger is pulled. The deafening crack of gunfire fills the alley, followed by a sharp cry of pain as Naoto takes the bullet intended for his friend, his body jolting from the impact before collapsing to the ground. "Takemichi..." Naoto's voice wavers, strained with agony, as he lies in a growing pool of crimson, his strength ebbing away with each passing moment.

Takemichi's heart clenches with fear and despair at the sight of his injured friend. "N... Naoto," he whispers hoarsely, his voice choked with emotion as he rushes to kneel by Naoto's side, cradling him in his arms.

"Hang in there!" Takemichi pleads, his hands trembling as he desperately tries to stem the flow of blood.

But Naoto, his face contorted with pain, offers a weak smile. "Run" he grits out through clenched teeth, his voice barely a whisper.

Takemichi's eyes well up with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of his friend's suffering. "No, I can't leave you!" he protests, refusing to abandon Naoto in his time of need.

However, Kisaki's cold laughter echoes through the alley, a sinister presence looming at its entrance. "Hmph," he sneers, his expression twisted with malice. "That was a bad choice."

With Naoto's limp form cradled against his chest, Takemichi braces himself for whatever horrors await them, his resolve steeling as he prepares to face the looming threat head-on. Amidst the chaos of the alleyway, a new voice slices through the tension like a knife. "Oi, oi, oi," it rings out, masculine and unfamiliar. "Tachibana Naoto was mine to kill."

Takemichi's heart pounds in his chest as he turns to face the source of the voice, his eyes widening in disbelief. Standing before him is a figure shrouded in darkness, exuding an aura of menace that sends shivers down Takemichi's spine. White hair frames a face etched with malice, and piercing eyes gleam with a predatory light. This must be Izana, the sinister force behind the chaos that has engulfed their lives. Kisaki's laughter cuts through the tense atmosphere, his voice laced with amusement. "Sorry, Izana," he replies casually. "This fucker pushed Takemichi out of the way."

The mention of Izana's name sends a chill down Takemichi's spine. This is the man who is responsible for so much suffering. "You guys killed my Mikey" Izana growls, his voice dripping with malice.

Takemichi's blood runs cold at the mention of Mikey, his mind reeling with disbelief. "My Mikey?" he whispers, the words barely escaping his lips.

But before he can process the implications of Izana's words, another figure emerges from the shadows. It's Kakucho, his presence commanding and authoritative. Takemichi's heart sinks as he realizes the danger he's in. "Kill him" Izana commands, his voice devoid of emotion as he turns away, leaving Kakucho to carry out his orders.

Tears well up in Takemichi's eyes as Kakucho levels his gun, the weight of his impending doom crashing down upon him. "Kaku-chan" he chokes out, his voice trembling with fear and desperation.

In the face of imminent death, Kakucho hesitates, his resolve momentarily faltering at the unexpected nickname. But duty compels him forward, and he pulls the trigger without hesitation. Pain sears through Takemichi's body, a white-hot agony that threatens to consume him. "I'm sorry, Naoto," Takemichi gasps, his voice choked with pain and regret. "I'm sorry."

Naoto's gaze is steady, even as his life ebbs away. He begins to speak, his words heavy with finality. "When I first found you in the future timeline, you got me depressed," he admits, and Takemichi's heart clenches at the confession. "I thought to myself, can this pathetic wimp really commit to all this?... I thought about how my sister could fall in love with you."

Takemichi listens, his heart breaking with each word, but he finds no anger in Naoto's honesty. Instead, there's a strange sense of acceptance, a recognition of their shared journey. "Now that I think of it," Naoto continues, "no matter how much you failed, you always came back to me. That's how a hero would act like... You never gave up when you've failed so many times."

Tears stream down Takemichi's face as he listens to Naoto's final words. "Takemichi-kun," Naoto says, his voice growing faint. "You are my pride."

"Naoto..." Takemichi whispers, his voice choked with emotion.

"This is our final handshake," Naoto says, reaching out his hand.

Takemichi grasps Naoto's hand tightly, his fingers trembling with grief and determination. This wouldn't be the end. He would rewrite this tragedy, undo the pain and suffering that had brought them to this moment. He would save Hina, Mikey, Mitsuya, Draken, Chifuyu, and everyone else.

With a silent vow, Takemichi swears to himself that he will rewrite this fate, even if he must endure endless cycles of suffering to do so.

As Takemichi travels back to the past, Naoto is still clinging to his last few breaths. Kisaki, Kakucho and Izana are still there in the alleyway talking amongst themselves, probably waiting for the clean-up crew. "W-What did he want with her?" Naoto choked out, trying to lift his head off the ground to look at them

It didn't take a genius to understand he was talking about Maya. Izana grins and steps out of the alleyway, standing over Naoto's body. Something slides out of the front of Izana's coat. Maya's other necklace dangles over Naoto's face as it was strung around Izana's neck. Oh. Oh no. Naoto feels tears well up in his eyes. What he was thinking earlier was nothing compared to reality. "She was cute. That's all" Izana says with a lazy tone "It's too bad she had to die"

He feels sick. So so sick. Something way worse happened to Maya than he thought. "She was adorable, Tachibana. Had her with me while you were running around like an idiot looking for her" Izana taunts as he crouches down over him and pulls the necklace off, dangling it over his face "Sweetest thing I've ever met"

Thing. Izana was talking about Maya like she was an object. Naoto can't do anything but breathe heavily like he just ran a marathon. He's dying. The gunshot wound in his torso is hot and his clothes are quickly soaking with his blood. Maya had been alive this whole time and with the way Izana is talking about her it seems she died recently. Izana leans closer and whispers "made the sweetest sounds when I fucked her too... Would've loved to take her virginity but it's too bad Matsuno beat me to it."

Naoto's eyes widen. Oh god. He feels like he'll vomit. "it's too bad my little bunny died" Izana says then stands back up, fastening the necklace around his neck again

Izana walks away from him and as Naoto takes his last breaths he hopes that this time, Takemichi is successful.

Izana's first memory of the Sano house was of meeting Sano Mansaku. The short old man simply raised a brow and asked who he was. Izana just shrugged and told him his name and the old man scoffed and told him Mikey was in the shed. Izana couldn't help but roll his eyes at the man before heading over to the shed. It had been months since the Kanto incident back then and there was no sign of Mikey since Emma's funeral. Tokyo Manji Gang was currently under the supervision of Draken who hadn't even bothered to come to the Sano residence to check up on Mikey. Izana thought that was fucking stupid. His plan couldn't come into action if Mikey was missing. So he showed up at the Sano residence and immediately felt sick at the thought of Emma running around the yard he was currently walking in and Shinichiro sitting on the deck smoking.

As he made his way into the shed he felt gross. The shed was turned into a room with a vibe too old for someone 15. Everything in the shed belonged to Shinichiro. Izana without a word made his way over to the lump beneath the blanket on the twin-size bed and pulled the covers off Mikey to a sight he hadn't expected. Mikey had gotten significantly skinnier, looked like he hadn't showered or eaten in ages and his blonde hair was matted and tangled. Izana remembers feeling sick to his stomach as he forcibly pulled Mikey out of bed. Izana had to stop himself from shaking when he felt how frail Mikey was. This was not the Invincible Mikey he watched take Shion down back during the reign of the 9th gen Black Dragons. No, this was a weak sad kid who looked like he was seconds away from death.

As much as Izana hated him, he couldn't let him die either. That would mean he came this far for nothing. So as he drags Mikey into the main house he sees Sanzu who's cooking, probably to coax Mikey to eat. Sanzo goes wide-eyed at the sight of him and Mikey and Izana just pushes Mikey into the bathroom and has to bathe him. After that Izana spends time to try and fix Mikey's hair while Sanzu sits in front of Mikey and feeds him by hand. His hair was way too matted and barely salvageable. He cuts off what he can't untangle and Mikey ends up with short hair and throws up what he ate at the sight of himself in the mirror. It seems Mikey kept his hair long for a reason. He couldn't bear to see Shinichiro staring back at him the mirror even if it was with different coloured hair.

It wasn't hard for Izana to whisper suggestions into his ear and even easier for Mikey to listen and merge Tenjiku and Toman together.

What Izana hadn't expected or realized was that Mikey genuinely saw him as his big brother. It made Izana sick to his stomach but also gleeful.

How easy it was going to be to make him suffer.

The members of the Tokyo Manji Gang made it even easier. One by one, starting from that little shit Hanagaki Takemichi, they started leaving Mikey after absolutely berating him.

Mikey of course was devastated. Bawling his eyes out in Izana's chest each time someone left. Mikey was completely dependent on him and Izana loved it. All he had to do was act like a loving older brother and Mikey would do whatever he asked. Only, Izana hadn't expected Mikey to barge into his room in the middle of the night looking for comfort because he could still feel Emma taking her last breath and her heart stop.

Mikey would cry in his sleep— sob, whimper and beg. Sometimes it was for Shinichiro but most of the time it was for Emma to wake up. It was hard for Izana to ignore it. He wasn't sure what to do. Kakucho told him he needed to comfort Mikey so Izana did. Izana told Mikey he would never leave him but simultaneously told Mikey to listen to him or else he would leave. Of course, Mikey complied, clinging tightly to Izana in fear he would actually leave.

As Mikey grew older he really started to look like Shinichiro, even though at first Izana liked it. He liked that he got his big brother back in some form. Mikey dyed his hair black, the same shade as Shinichiro's too. But eventually, it started making both him and Mikey sick. So when Mikey started growing it out again and wearing it all messy in front of his eyes, Izana didn't stop him nor tell him to fix his hair. After all, it wasn't healthy for Mikey to keep throwing up every time he looked at himself in the mirror.

Perhaps over the years, Izana began to actually become fond of Mikey. Listening to him mumble a little "I love you Aniki, good night" before bed and ask for random things. Izana had become fond of him. Izana wonders if Mikey knew that he had in fact begun to love him and didn't see him as a simple tool. But there was no point in that now because in front of him sat both Sanzu Haruchiyo and Sano "Mikey" Manjiro's photos, surrounded by too many flowers for Izana's liking. There's incense burning between both photos and Izana can feel his eye twitch.

He often dreamed of this day when he was younger.

The death of Sano "Mikey" Manjiro.

He thought it would bring him happiness. He'd have Shinichiro all to himself as well as Emma. Then he'd even convince Shinichiro to adopt Kakucho as well. But now there is no Shinichiro, no Emma and no Manjiro. There was no one. No family except Kakucho.

Manjiro's death didn't bring Izana the satisfaction he thought it would. Instead, he felt empty.

"KUROKAWA IZANA! YOU FUCKING BITCH!"

A familiar voice yells from the entrance of the funeral hall. Izana already knows who it is. Some of his minions are holding her back. "Should I get rid of her?" Kakucho asks lowly as the other members of Tokyo Manji Gang here to mourn Manjiro and Haruchiyo start to look confused as well

They're sitting at the front of the hall, Kakucho next to him. Haruchiyo had no family. He had long denounced Akashi Takeomi and Kawaragi Senju as family. Kakucho told him Mikey would have liked it if they did both funerals together so, they posed as Haruchiyo's family as well. "no" Izana says and gets up off the mat "I'll talk to her"

He walks over to the entrance toward the screaming woman also in an all-black mourning outfit like his own. She probably just got back from Tachibana Naoto and Hanagaki Takemichi's funeral. His men are holding her back from entering the hall and they step aside as soon as Izana walks over. She's about to lunge at him but Izana simply grabs her wrist and drags her out of the hall. She's still yelling even as they stand at the back of the building. "You never shut up do you, Yuzuha?" Izana says as he leans against the wall

Yuzuha's jaw drops at his words. "is that really what you have to say right now?" She's angry, rightfully so "Mikey may have killed my brother but I know it was you that killed Naoto and Takemichi"

Yuzuha is clenching her fists, visibly resisting the urge to punch him and Izana is resisting the urge to get a cigarette. Maya told him he wasn't supposed to smoke. "So what? What's done is done" Izana shrugs

Izana isn't even sure why he's entertaining this. Oh man, he kinda wishes Manjiro killed this bitch too. "What done is done?" Yuzuha repeats and takes hold of his black suit jacket, tugging harshly at the lapels "Everyone is fucking dead Izana! All because you're a selfish bitch"

Okay, now she was going too low. Izana holds her wrists and stares at Yuzuha with darkened eyes full of anger. But just before he could say anything, she saw the necklace. "This is..." Yuzuha's eyes widen in horror as her eyes shift between him and the gold butterfly pendant necklace looped around his neck "You killed her too?"

Just as she's about to touch the pendant Izana pushes her away. She struck a sore spot. "Shut the fuck up" Izana hisses "I may have gotten my men to get rid of Hanagaki and Tachibana but not her"

Yuzuha looks confused but then she starts to laugh— hysterically, like he said something funny. Izana is really resisting the urge to shoot her right now and make Shiba Taiju mourn another sibling. How dare she accuse him of killing Maya? His Maya. His bunny. He would have never killed her. She was never meant to die. His little brother made a mistake and that was fine, he forgave Manjiro but never in his life would he want to kill the girl that brought him so much joy and excitement and— "Mikey killed her didn't he?" Yuzuha asks with a grin like it is funny

"What's so fucking funny about it?" Izana asks annoyed

Yuzuha laughs even more. It seems grief has turned her crazy. Can grief make you crazy? "You never wanted her dead. You love her and Mikey killed her"

"It was an accident" He surprises himself by saying that

Izana had no reason to be defending Manjiro right now but it just happens. "an accident? You sure it wasn't because you fucking ruined his life?" Yuzuha spits back taking a step forward

Oh, now he was mad. "I ruined his life? I did? Are you so fucking sure about that?"

Izana takes a step forward and forcibly grabs Yuzuha by her upper arms and pulls her against him. She flinches and tries to pull away but Izana holds her even tighter. "Remind me just how long Ryuguji Ken took over Toman after Emma died? Remind me how long it took any of you to even fucking notice he wasn't around?" He's a few decibels away from yelling in her face "If it weren't for me, Manjiro would have died"

Yuzuha looks scared. Good. She should be. She should learn to think before she speaks. She should have looked at the facts before accusing him of some bullshit. "I got Manjiro out of bed, I stopped him from starving himself to death, I fixed him up, I fed him, I kept him alive..." Izana says angrily "Tell me Yuzuha, just in what way did I ruin him?"

"His friends—"

"They left on their own and you know it too" Izana cuts her off immediately

Yuzuha is speechless. "Everyone left him and I was the one that stayed" He continues and finally loosens his grip on her arms to let her go "I may have been the villain but I was still his big brother..."

Never in his life would Izana thought he'd be saying that to someone willingly. Never in his life did Izana think he'd call himself Manjiro his big brother in such a manner that wasn't patronizing or for a cruel game.

Can grief make you crazy?

When Izana flips open his wallet the first thing he's met with in the clear pocket is a Polaroid picture. Among the Black Cards and cash is a Polaroid picture of him, Manjiro, Maya and Kakucho. They're sitting on the beach and Izana has an arm around Maya and Kakucho and Manjiro is sitting on the other side of Maya, arms around her waist. Maya is kissing Izana's cheek hard in an attempt to annoy him.

Nothing about that moment had been annoying. He's smiling widely in the picture, tugging her and Kakucho close and by extension, Manjiro too. The only bad thing about it was that Maya wasn't sober. She was high off a whole bunch of drugs and to date, months after her and Manjiro's deaths, he still doesn't understand how she didn't die of overdose. Oh well, it seems he'll never know.

The people are gone and now all he'd got left are pictures and the stupid necklace he's wearing.

It had been months and he was avoiding coming back to the beach house. It was something he had bought for Manjiro. His little brother loved the sea and what better to buy him a place that was far from anyone else and safe for him to leave without any security? Manjiro loved this place and at one point so did Izana. But now he hates it.

Izana can still smell Manjiro's cologne and body wash on the sheets, his clothes are mixed in with his and there are even a few pieces of his hair still lying around here and there. It seems no matter how many times he gets the place cleaned up, hair still shows up somewhere. It makes him sick.

Sometimes it feels like his lungs are rejecting air. It seems that he'll die before he ever learns how to breathe without Manjiro again.

But it wasn't just Manjiro's things that were bothering him, it was Maya's too. Her makeup, her clothes, her hair ties, her scent— it's everywhere. She stayed in that house, even though unwillingly, for only a month and a half and her traces were everywhere. There are still footprints too small to belong to his other men in the sand and fingerprints on the glass of the windows and doors. Sometimes he can still feel her skin under the tips of his fingers and her scent on his clothes. It was like her essence had woven itself into the fabric of the house.

It's like she's everywhere and he can't get rid of her. Maya kept her promise and now she was haunting him in the worst way possible.

(Sometimes he hears Manjiro's laughter and Maya's drunken giggles. Other times he hears Manjiro gagging and sobbing, whimpering out Emma's name and Maya's pitiful moans and breathy whimpers, pleading to go home)

Izana is sitting at the front of the house rather than at the back of the deck facing the beach. He's sitting on the porch, tapping his fingers against his knee, now craving a cigarette more than ever. "Kakucho you have—"

"no" Kakucho shuts him down immediately

Even after her death, Kakucho hasn't forgotten that Maya told him smoking isn't good for a recovering addict. Izana can't help but curse at Maya for that. She's probably doing the same. Or maybe not.

Part of Izana hates Manjiro for killing her. But the other part doesn't blame him. When so many people in your life have left you, of course, the last straw would end up with you doing something drastic. Manjiro didn't mean to kill Maya. Izana should have stayed up that night and held Manjiro as he slept. Then maybe he wouldn't have gone on a killing spree and ended up getting shot in the head by that stupid Detective Tachibana. Izana should have stayed awake that night and maybe that was one of his biggest regrets next to just taking Manjiro to Tokyo with him for the deal in Tokyo and leaving Shion and maybe Rindo and Ran with Maya at the beach house.

Maybe Izana should have never let Kisaki kill Emma in the first place...

He feels bitter and angry. He hates this stupid beach house with its walls filled with Manjiro and Maya's laughter and he knows Kakucho hates it too because he's visibly itching to leave. Manjiro and Maya's shoes are still there by the front door and Izana can't help but curl his fingers around the butterfly pendant necklace he's wearing.

Sano Manjiro and Kaneko Maya at one point belonged to him. They were both his. But now they've gone so far. Too far. There was a bitter irony in it all, a cruel twist of fate that mocked his earlier assurances to them. He had once promised Manjiro that he would always follow, that their paths would remain intertwined no matter where life took them. And to Maya, he had sworn that he could always catch her no matter how far she ran from him.

But now those promises rang hollow, mere echoes of a time long past. Manjiro had ventured into the depths of darkness, consumed by a path that Izana could not follow. And Maya, with her promise to go so far he wouldn't be able to catch her, had slipped away like smoke in the wind, leaving nothing but memories in her wake. Manjiro and Maya had slipped through his fingers, venturing into realms beyond his reach

How stupid it was for Izana to be grieving the brother he once upon a time wanted dead and the girl he tortured and somehow fell in love with.

Izana stares at the patch of rotting daffodils under the tree across the beach house on the other side of the road and laughs hysterically while Kakucho watches in silence.

Perhaps grief does make you crazy.

—fin

notes: thank you for reading Dead Girl's Beach, I hope you enjoyed! Both bonus chapters release soon.

thank you to my university profs who went on strike in february all the way to the end of the semester, I would have never finished this fic this fast otherwise(mfers give me back my money).

chapter title from can't catch me now by olivia rodrigo

special thanks to: @highpri3stess @mysouleaten @yaya4thawin @piroporopo @reiners-milkbiddies @bontensbabygirl @tenjikusstuff4 @fairey555 @haikyuusboringassmanager @firstdivisiongirl @bakuhoethotski @xoxowhateveroxox @maraya-007 @dolfiins-art @short-cxke @milky-aeons @asirensrage @blueblazecrusade @brisssaaa009

extra special thanks to monika for all the detailed reviews you left after each chapter. I genuinely appreciated it. Thank you ♡

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