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scuttling · 3 years

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Head Over Feet - Chapter 1

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Spencer Reid/Female Reader (Unrequited) Word Count: 5,233 Chapters: 4/4 Complete Tags: (Will be 18+, NSFW in future chapters) Unrequited Love, TW Suicide by cop Summary: Falling in love with one of your two closest friends was never something you planned; it only makes sense that falling in love with the other would also come as a complete surprise. *Inspired by/in collaboration with @ssamorganhotchner. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Link to AO3 or read chapter 1 below! It’s 3 AM—well, you are in a part of suburban Indiana where it’s 3 AM, but that makes it a Virginia 4 AM—and rain patters against the window behind your head as you slump over in your usual spot on the jet’s couch. You are exhausted, the whole team is exhausted, and you’ve just closed your eyes when a warm body presses against yours, thigh to shoulder, and there is a soft sigh in your ear.

“I shouldn’t make coffee. I shouldn’t make coffee, right?” Spencer murmurs, and you turn to look at him, can’t help the fondness that shapes your smile. His hair is untidy from running his hands through it, his eyes tired and rimmed red, and his headphones are dangling around his neck, just like always. He’s so close to you your noses are almost touching.

You return his sigh. So many things in life are unpredictable, but your partner, your closest friend, is always a constant.

“You absolutely should not make coffee,” you say, your voice quiet in the dim cabin. “We’ll be home in almost an hour, and then you’re going to go to bed.”

“At this point, wouldn’t it be better to just stay awake?” he asks with a groan, resting his head against the seat behind him, and you roll your eyes.

“I know the statistics, and if I do, then so do you. Being awake for 24 hours is equivalent to having a 0.10 percent BAC. There’s no way you’ll make it through the day without hurting yourself.” You hear a soft laugh from your right, and it’s Aaron; you hadn’t even realized he was paying attention. You raise your voice a little. “Plus, Hotch said we don’t have to come in until ten.”

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised.

“Did I say that?” His lips curve up in a soft smile, and his expression is warm despite the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Don’t you remember? I said, ‘Hotch, you should let us come in at ten so we can get some extra sleep. I think it would really benefit the team.’ Then you said, ‘You know what, you’re right. Wow, you really are the smartest and most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.’” You smile brightly, fully aware you’re being silly; it surprises you when his smile falters a bit, nearly imperceptibly.

“Hmm. Now that you mention it, I do remember something like that. I’m a great boss for agreeing to it.”

“The absolute best,” you reply easily, and the two of you look at each other for just a moment before he turns back to his work and you turn back to Spencer. “So, like I said. Hotch said we don’t have to come in until ten. You need to sleep.”

“It will be after 5:00 by the time we get to the office, more like 5:30. Ten minute wait for the forty-five minute train home means I’ll get there at 6:25—” You are not normally one to cut Spencer off when he gets talking, but this is sleep-deprived rambling, not an informational address, so you place a hand gently on his arm and he falls silent.

“So come stay at my place. I’m closer and you won’t have to wait for the train. We can get a few hours in and then stop at the coffee shop before we head to the office, okay?” The way he looks at you, soft, appreciative, makes it feel like you’re the only two people on the jet for a moment, and he wets his lips, nods.

“Okay. Thank you.” You smile.

“Of course. Maybe rest your eyes; if you fall asleep, I’ll wake you when we get there.” He turns on his music, leans against your shoulder, and takes your suggestion; it’s only a few minutes later that his breathing evens out, softens, and you try and fail to ignore the way that makes your heart ache in your chest.

When the plane lands and you’re grabbing your things, you come up behind Aaron, curl a hand around his arm just above his elbow. He turns to look at you, and he’s more worse for wear than you thought, so pale and tired up close.

“You’re going to go home and get some sleep, right?” All that changes is the set of his eyes, but that’s enough for you to know he has no intention of going home; you sigh. “Am I going to have to force you to come stay at my place too?”

It would be the first time he’s stayed over, where Spencer has crashed with you a handful of times; you are close with the both of them, but Aaron you spend more time with at lunch, or late nights eating dinner in his office, where Spencer comes over for movies or board games regularly. The dynamics of your friendships with them are so different, but both so good, so unexpected. You wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“That’s not necessary,” he says, doesn’t look like it’s a thought he wants to entertain. Maybe he thinks it’s crossing a line? Spencer will be there, so you don’t understand why he’d feel that way, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“I just want you to rest. It’s really no trouble, I have a guest room.” Spencer always opts for your long, overstuffed sectional sofa, so there’s more than enough room for Aaron to stay and get a few hours of sleep. He just shakes his head shortly.

“Thank you, but it’s fine. I’ll be alright. I appreciate your concern,” he says, and that’s clearly the end of the conversation. You just sigh, slide your hand off the back of his arm.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few hours.” You walk away from him, over to where Spencer is waiting for you, and the two of you get into your car and head to your place.

By the time you get there, Spencer is basically a big, sleepy baby, and you have to carry both of your bags into your apartment and keep your arm around him so he doesn’t slump over. You lean him up against the wall while you unlock your door, then push him gently onto the couch while you grab pillows, blankets, and sheets.

He has clothes in his go bag to change into, but you don’t bother trying to wake him enough for that, just make up a bed for him and take off his shoes, maneuvering him into a somewhat comfortable position.

“Hmm. Thank you,” he mumbles when you cover him with a warm blanket, and he turns his head to kiss you softly on your cheek, then burrows his face into the pillow and falls asleep.

You walk into your bedroom, kick off your shoes, set an alarm, and flop down face first onto your bed. Later that morning, you and Spencer bring coffee and breakfast pastries for everyone; you take Aaron’s coffee and a cherry danish and walk up to his office, knock on the doorframe with your elbow.

You are happy to see he looks a little better than when you left him, and he even softly smiles when he sees you standing there.

“Good morning again. Brought you a little pick-me-up.” You step into the room, set down the coffee and the napkin with the danish on it in the middle of his desk, then lean against it with one hand on the desk and the other hand on your hip. “You look decent.” He chuckles lightly.

“Somehow that doesn’t feel like a compliment.”

“It’s not, it’s an, ‘I wish you would have gotten some rest instead of being stubborn, but I guess it turned out okay.’” He looks into your eyes for a moment, and you hold his gaze. “When someone wants to take care of you, Aaron, you should let them.”

He looks away first, down at the lid of his coffee cup, clears his throat.

“That’s not always possible, but I really do appreciate your concern.” He sounds crestfallen in a way you don’t quite understand, and you hate that he feels that he can’t accept help. You’d hoped he was over that kind of backward thinking.

“You can talk to me about anything. I thought we were close enough for you to know that.”

“We are,” he agrees, looking over at you. There is that same dejected set to his eyes, and it makes you hurt for him. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this, years, back when his divorce was still a fresh wound. “Sometimes that’s not always possible either, even if I might want to.”

“I won’t judge you, you know. I care about you.” You reach out to put your hand on his, a gentle, comforting touch. “There’s nothing you could say to me that would change that.”

You are interrupted by a knock at the door—it’s Spencer, with a mouth full of cinnamon roll. Aaron pulls his hand away abruptly like the two of you are doing something wrong, and you furrow your brow. Spencer doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, JJ said there might be a case. We’re meeting.”

“Another case?” You take a few steps away from the desk, cross your arms, give Aaron some space. “We just got back five hours ago.”

“Sounds like we should have gone straight there instead. Spree killer, five dead.” He ducks back out of the room, takes off down the hall, and you turn back to Aaron. He’s standing, smooths a hand down the front of his shirt, and you sigh.

“What are the odds I can convince you to take a power nap on the jet? 50:1?” He cracks a smile despite his earlier demeanor, takes the coffee you brought and passes you on his way to the door.

“I’d guess more like 75.” You roll your eyes, grab his danish, take a big bite, and then catch up to him and hand him the rest to finish.

The case takes you to Connecticut, where you are paired with Derek to take witness statements at the precinct. The local police know the identity of the killer, a forty year old man named John Jackson, and your team has predicted that he won’t stop until you find him, and that he will likely attempt to go down via suicide by cop when you do, so everyone is on edge.

After almost three hours of taking statements, you and Derek break for water and coffee, stand at the watercooler shaking your heads.

“This guy is unpredictable. There could be another five, ten bodies before we finally catch up to him,” Derek says, taking a long chug of water, and you cross your arms, lean back against the counter of the kitchenette.

“Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. We’ve got roadblocks, right?” He nods.

“Every road in and out of town, with cops at all highway exits.” You vaguely remember the chief saying that, now that he mentions it; the hours are all starting to blend together, between the case and the lack of sleep, and your team is relying heavily on each other to fill in the gaps.

“Right. And helicopters.” You rub a hand slowly over your hair. “I hate these cases; it’s like the profile isn’t any good until you get to him, and by then it’s too late.” You check your watch, and it’s nearing rush hour, a good time to touch base with the team; you shoot Derek a glance, pull out your phone and gesture toward the hall, step out and dial Aaron.

When he answers, he sounds tense, so you don’t bother with pleasantries.

“Hey, just checking in. Derek and I are about done here; where do you need us?”

“There’s a checkpoint on I-95, mile marker 48; we have a few officers manning it, but we could use a car here, so if you two head there you can send one of them our way.”

“Got it: I-95, mile marker 48,” you repeat as Derek joins you in the hall. “Send a car your way.”

“Yes. Be careful,” he says almost like it’s an afterthought, and you shake your head lightly—as if you are careless any other time.

“We will, you too. Bye.” You end the call, lock your phone, raise an eyebrow in Derek’s direction. “Want me to drive?”

“Oh, and put my life in the hands of Speed Racer?” He takes the keys out of his pocket, holds them out like he’s handing them to you, then pulls them away.

“I've taken several defensive driving courses; I’m probably a better driver than you.” He holds them out again and you snatch them out of his hand. “And sometimes you have to be fast.”

That statement proves true when you are on your way to mile marker 48 and Derek spots the car the unsub was last seen driving. He confirms the plate number, confirms it again, just because your brains are kind of mush, and then you share a look and slam your foot on the gas.

Thank god for all those defensive driving courses.

“Hotch,” Morgan barks into his phone a few seconds later, “we’ve got eyes on the suspect. He’s headed northbound on I-95—we just passed marker 44. We’re in pursuit.” The unsub weaves in and out of traffic, a chorus of colorful language and horns blaring in his wake, and you do your best to keep up while maintaining a safe distance from other cars.

The chase goes on for several miles, and there seems to be no end in sight until you can eventually make out the red glow of the car’s brake lights from across the highway. It’s both a good and bad sign, one you were prepared for.

“He’s gonna bail, Derek.” You cut across several lanes of traffic to make your way to the side of the road, so you can pull off as close to him as possible. “We have to try to talk him down. Think he’ll listen to me?” The whole rampage was triggered by the anniversary of the man’s wife’s death, and you look similar enough that it’s a good possibility. Derek agrees.

“Worth a shot. Just keep your damn gun drawn,” he says, and you huff. You’re pretty sure every member of the team has used the ‘weapons down’ tactic on multiple occasions, but somehow only you and Spencer are always reminded of it.

“I will, but if he wants me to kill him, I’m not going to make it easy.” The unsub goes several hundred feet farther before pulling over, and you follow behind, turn on your four-ways, jump out of the car. Derek covers you, and you approach the vehicle slowly, gun drawn. “John Jackson. Leave your weapon on the seat and exit the vehicle with your hands up.”

The door opens, and you see one empty hand, but he still clutches a pistol in the other. Derek looks over at you, but you don’t dare take your eyes off of John.

“John. Put the gun down. I know you feel hopeless right now, like there’s no way out of this situation, but I promise you there is a way. I’m here to help you.” For the first time, he looks over at you, and you can see the pain in his gaze; it’s clear the man is broken, eyes sunken deeply in despair. He raises the gun—doesn’t point it at you, just raises it into the air.

“You can’t help me. No one can. She’s gone, and I’m left here—in pieces.” The last word is a sob, and you swallow hard, take a step closer.

“I know how much Kathleen meant to you, John, and I’m sorry for your loss. So sorry. But you know this isn’t how she would have wanted things to turn out for you; you know that, right? She loved you.”

“It wasn’t enough, in the end.” He wipes his forearm across his eyes, and Derek tenses, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, but that’s the only move John makes. “She took everything with her and left me empty.”

“It doesn’t have to feel like that forever. I promise you.” You take another step forward, hand outstretched. “If you just set the gun on the ground, I’ll come over and put you in some handcuffs. We’ll have to go to the police station first, but then we’re going to get you help. You’ll feel better.”

John says nothing for several seconds; you are so aware of yourself, your surroundings, that you feel each breath you take as if your body is moving in slow motion. You can see Derek tense again, just slightly; you can hear the sound of another car pulling up behind yours, of doors opening and closing, of shoes on pavement and guns drawn.

“John.” He sighs, presses his lips together, shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to feel better. I want to feel nothing.” He points his gun at you, and you don’t have another choice. If it’s not you, it will be someone else on your team.

He made his choice; you make your non-choice and pull the trigger.

You run to his side when he falls, and so does Derek: no pulse. You’re a good shot. It doesn’t feel like something to be proud of right now. You stand, and so does Derek; he reaches out a hand, places it on your shoulder.

“You tried, you know?” His voice is low, a little rough, and you nod your head. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Thanks.” You don’t say you won’t, can’t guarantee that. The two of you turn around, face the others, and you inhale deeply, exhale deeply, shake your head. Aaron and Spencer both come forward, and you’re a little torn, not sure whose eyes to seek for reassurance, whose words to seek for comfort.

Spencer makes the decision for you, jogs toward you and puts his hands on your shoulders, wraps his arms around you in a hug. You hold him close, rest your head against his arm, and look behind him, at Aaron, who seems more affected than you would have thought. You want to pull him in too, but he is not the public display of affection type, so you let Spencer be enough.

After a few minutes, local law enforcement arrives on the scene, as well as the coroner, and Spencer ushers you into an SUV so you can head back to the precinct.

That night, you are not just tired, but weary, when you make it home. You strip off your clothes and take a quick shower in hopes it will make you feel a little better, then pull on a short, fleece robe and pad to the kitchen to make a cup of herbal tea. You’re just throwing out the tea bag when there’s a knock at the door, and you take your mug with you to answer it.

You aren’t surprised that it’s Aaron on the other side.

“Hi.” Your voice sounds weak to your own ears, but he just nods, takes in your robe and mug of tea, offers his own greeting. “Do you want to come in?” You take a step back and he walks past you into the living room, sits down beside you when you curl up on the sofa. You face him, your shoulder against the back of the couch, your hands in your lap, holding your tea, and he mirrors your posture.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I know what happened today was difficult for you.” The expression on his face is careful, guarded, but concerned. “How are you doing?”

You reach forward to set your tea on a coaster on the table, scooting a little closer.

“I’m doing alright.” He looks skeptical, stares you down with serious eyes, and you sigh, give in to his silence. You’re not one to easily fold under pressure, but when Aaron is the one applying it, it’s difficult not to. “It’s never easy to kill someone, but… it’s just a little harder when it's someone who clearly needed help, something we could have given him. It’s harder when we’re just too late.”

“I can understand that. Things could have gone so differently if he’d gotten help when he needed it. Maybe no one would have gotten hurt.” He reaches out a hand to carefully cover yours in your lap, looks at you with tender eyes. “Try not to focus on the maybe, okay? Life is hard enough without beating yourself up for something out of your control.”

You nod your head, blink back tears, and lean forward, resting your cheek against his shoulder; he puts his arm around your back and holds you tightly, allows you your moment, and when you begin to pull away he reaches for your tea, takes a sip.

“Minty,” he says, then hands you the mug, and you smile softly, take a sip too.

“It’s Sleepytime tea. Helps me wind down before bed.” It’s not until you say it that it dawns on you—how late it is, that he’s here anyway after almost two days with no sleep. “Let me make you a cup and then put you up in the guest room. Please,” you murmur when he looks like he’s going to decline. “It would make me feel a lot better about today. Just knowing you’re nearby.”

“Are you trying to guilt trip me?” he asks, arching a brow, and you shake your head quickly, reach for his hand again.

“No, no. Of course not. I just know you’re tired, and it would be nice to have a friend close tonight.” You squeeze his fingers, your hand warm from the tea, take a deep breath. “Stay?”

“I’ll go get my bag out of the car,” he says eventually, and you can’t help smiling.

“Okay. I’ll make you some tea.” The next couple of months are fairly commonplace, with cases dotted here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing like those few sleepless days.

You have dinner with Aaron in his office a couple times a week, and it’s always comforting and enjoyable, that easy companionship. You spend time with Spencer at one of your apartments a couple evenings a week, and that’s where things get complicated.

He’s one of your closest friends in the world, one of two people you would do anything for, drop everything for at a moment's notice. As it turns out, he may also be more than that.

You’ve noticed for a while that you tend to gravitate toward him, that you’re drawn to him when he’s speaking, like an invisible magnetic pull. That you can’t help staring at his lips when he talks, his hands when he adds gestures, the serious look of contemplation on his face when he debates his next move as you play chess.

It feels innocent, mostly, until one day he leans over your shoulder to speak into your ear while you’re getting snacks in the kitchen, and you feel your face heat, your heart pound in your chest. He lays a hand on your back, which is not unusual, but he may as well be putting it down your pants for the way it makes you feel in that moment.

You open your mouth to say something, but ultimately you stop yourself. What would you even say? I think I might be in love with you? I think I want you? I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship? Anything of those things would be the wrong thing, so you just push it to the back of your mind and do your best to let it go.

“Are you feeling okay?” Spencer asks one day while you’re pouring coffee in the breakroom, and rightfully so, because you’ve been avoiding him like he’s contagious for the better part of a week. He looks especially cute today, and he’s in a great mood, smiling and laughing at everything Derek and Emily say, and it’s too much for you to handle. You’re just proud of yourself for not saying something embarrassing.

“I’m okay,” you assure him with a light smile you don’t feel. “I’m just a little off today; I’m sure it will pass. Thanks, though.” You fill his mug, and he smiles back, nods.

“Of course. We can skip movie night tonight, if you’re not feeling up to it. I think we’ve both probably seen An American Werewolf in London enough times that we could recite it line for line anyway.” You have to laugh at that, because it’s true; it’s one of your favorites, always so easy to poke fun at that the two of you dissolve into giggles half an hour in.

“You’re definitely right about that. Yeah, let’s cancel for tonight. I’ll go to bed early, get some rest, be good as new tomorrow. Thanks for understanding,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, and he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“You’re welcome. I just hope you feel better soon.”

You hope you figure out what to do soon, too.

You’re getting ready to leave work later that night, shortly after everyone else has gone, when Aaron steps up beside you, clears his throat.

“Do you have plans for tonight? I was just about to order dinner.” You sigh, run a hand over your hair.

“Um. I was supposed to watch movies with Spencer, but I cancelled on him.” His gaze sweeps over you like he’s looking for signs of distress, eyes gentle but appraising.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes and no.” You immediately regret saying that, because it puts him on alert and you aren’t really in the mood to discuss it. “Yes—everything’s alright. I’d love dinner, if you don’t mind the company. And it’s my turn to pay.” You take out your wallet, shove the rest of your bag back under your desk, turn to look up at him. He’s still staring at you like he’s trying to assess your emotional state, and you exhale softly. “Can we just… eat and talk about Jack?”

It takes him a moment, but he nods, pulls out his phone. It’s nonchalant, just quiet acceptance of your terms; his eyes are kind when he looks back over at you.

“I have pictures of him from his last soccer game.” You feel almost overwhelmed with relief, lean against his arm to look at the photos of Jack and his friends in their uniforms, laughing and happy on the field. “Do you want tacos?” he asks, low, after a moment, and you nod your head and smile softly up at him.

“Yeah, but it’s Friday. Why don’t we just go eat? Work can wait until Monday.” It’s a suggestion you’ve made many times before, but this time, to your surprise, he agrees; you grab your bag, and he drives you to the restaurant where you have a margarita, and too many tacos, and so many laughs it’s like he’s almost a different person. He drops you off at your car afterward, and you lean across the seat for a hug, thank him again for taking you out—because, of course, he insisted on paying the bill even though it was your turn. It’s a better evening than you’ve had in the last few weeks.

You mess that up severely by going home and watching An American Werewolf in London anyway, and afterward you lay in bed, try to fall asleep, and think about what you’re going to do about Spencer. It’s almost midnight when you have the dumb idea to go see him—and it’s pouring, which makes it even dumber.

You text him to see if he’s still awake, and he doesn’t answer, but when you park you can see that his bedroom light is on, so you buzz anyway. He lets you up, clearly confused as to what you’re doing there so late; so are you, to be honest, but for some reason it finally felt like the right time to lay it all out on the line. When he opens the door, he looks even more taken aback than he sounded.

“Are you okay? It’s after midnight, and you’re soaked,” he says, pulling you inside and closing the door, and you shake your head.

“No, not really. I’m sorry for springing this on you, Spence, I really am.” You take a deep breath, try to calm yourself; your heart is racing. “I think I love you. You were the first person I clicked with when I started at the BAU, and it has become a genuine friendship that I treasure, but lately I’ve been feeling… more.” He wets his lips, frowns.

“I don’t think now is the right—” A slightly unhinged laugh escapes you, and it stops him mid-sentence.

“I know it’s not the right time, but I don’t think there will ever be a right time, so I’m just… just putting it out there, okay? I think I love you. I can see myself with you, I—I think we could be good together. And I know this is sudden…” you trail off when you see movement behind him; you lean to the side to peer around him, but he blocks you with his body. “Is someone here?”

“I tried to tell you it’s not a good time,” he says, and he sounds apologetic and maybe a little embarrassed on your behalf. You swallow hard.

“Who’s—who’s here? Is it someone I know?” He shakes his head, and you exhale a ragged breath. That’s a small miracle, at least, that you didn’t just spew a love confession in front of one of your friends—well, two of your friends. “I should go. I need to go—I’m sorry.” You back up, but you bump into the door noisily; you forgot he’d closed it behind you. Someone comes into the hall to check on the sound, and of course, it’s a beautiful woman wearing one of Spencer’s sweaters and not much else. She is your opposite in every way, and that makes it hurt so much worse.

You really never stood a chance.

“Spencer? Is everything okay?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest, and you fumble for the doorknob, wrench the door open, and take off down the hall.

You run for your car—the rain has only gotten heavier, and if you were soaked before, you’re downright sodden now, your clothes soaked through—and you tug on the door handle, but it doesn’t budge: locked, of course. You pat your pockets for your keys, but by the time you find them, the small surge of adrenaline you felt has left your body, and all you feel is heartbreak.

You rest your arms against the window, your head against your arms, and take several deep, gasping breaths; tears follow, burning hot, streaming down your face, and for a few moments you just let them, let yourself ache with embarrassment and bitterness until it physically hurts to continue.

You exhale softly, wipe your face with your wet sleeve as if that fixes the problem, and then unlock your car and head to the only place—the only person—you can think of with your head so messed up.

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madamewriterofwrongs · 3 years

Note

my sweet darling - how about an armed forces 911 AU? Maybe Eddie meets Navy Seal Buckley overseas? Maybe they meet back stateside at the VA?

You, my darling, always send me such fun and interesting prompts. I promise I didn’t forget.

Ooh, okay. Let’s see...

Prompt Me with AUs

Delta X-Ray (I am Sinking)

Read on Ao3

Eddie first sees him as he’s getting off the plane in Washington. He’s going to receive a medal. Apparently his work in Bagram made him a hero and not a broken, shell of a man. Who knew. And really, it’s just a glance because he has other things to worry about besides a Navy man getting dressed down by his captain. He doesn’t need to hear what’s being said to know that’s exactly what’s happening. He’s seen that look too many times, felt the hot breath of his superior as they spat harsh words meant to ‘toughen him up’.

As he passes the sailor, he hears something to the effect of “if it happens again, you will be dismissed.” And Eddie wonders how many times this particular man has received this exact lecture. It doesn’t really matter, anyways. He just wants to get his medal, shake a few hands of politicians who think they had anything to do with his ‘accomplishment’ and go home to his wife and child – ex-wife, he reminds himself. Shannon had the papers shipped to Afghanistan. Couldn’t get away fast enough, his mind bitterly supplied. All he would have at the end of the day was his son, and a medal to replace the wedding band he’d worn since he was 19.

Before he knows it, he’s standing on a small stage, a million lights flashing in his eyes as cameras and stage lights practically blind him. His shoulder aches – out of the sling for the afternoon so he can at least look more put together than he feels – and he’s dizzy from the attention. That’s his excuse for why he doesn’t recognize the man standing beside him.

“Seaman Petty Officer First Class Evan Buckley.” A blond man steps forward and Eddie catches himself staring at the dress whites and stone expression for longer than is strictly necessary. He seems a far cry from the officer being scolded less than an hour ago, but it is definitely him. And he was standing on stage beside Eddie, about to receive a medal of his own.

“For distinguishing oneself by heroism not involving actual conflict with an enemy of the United States, Petty Officer Buckley is awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Medal.”

As he watches the stripes being pined on the officer’s lapel, he lets himself wonder what crime the man could have committed to be dressed down and rewarded in the same afternoon.

He’s so curious, in fact, that he nearly misses his own name amongst the titles thrown around.

“Staff Sergeant Edmundo Diaz.” He steps forward, holding his breath until the entire ordeal is finally finished. “For gallantry in action against an enemy of the United States, Staff Sergeant Diaz is awarded the Silver Star.” The medal is heavier than he anticipated, but he supposes that makes sense. It is quite a burden he’ll be carrying around, and now he has a gold star to go with it – he wants to chuckle at the irony of his ‘Silver Star’ actually presenting as a golden one.

It seems everything about his life is a life.

There were a lot of reasons Eddie hated attending events like this: The politics, the bravado, the crowds of people ‘thanking him for his service’. Mostly, though: he never knows anyone. Sure, he can charm a senator or two for a few minutes, swap stories with other officers from other divisions about where they were and what they saw. But those are fleeting relationships, meant to get him through the day. He’ll go back to his hotel room at the end of the night with no more friends than when he’d stepped off the plane in this awful, awful town. Eddie is tired of ‘schmoozing’. With any luck, today will be the last time he has to tell the governor’s wife how lovely she looks in her dress.

That’s when he spots the man sitting at the edge of the bar like he’s trying to hide from the world, and he decides to make his way over.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He asks, even as he sits down.

The other man’s eyes light with recognition – and damn, are they as blue as the sea. “Not at all. Diaz, right?”

“Eddie.” He supplies, raising a finger to the bartender to snag his attention. If he is going to make it to the end of the evening, he’s going to need one, good drink. “And you’re Buckley.”

“Actually, it’s Evan but you can call me ‘Buck’.” His amusement must be evident because his new drinking buddy supplies the answer. “There are a surprising amount of ‘Evan’s in the Navy.”

It had never occurred to him to check how many ‘Eddie’s were in his squadron. Maybe he should ask his CO if that’s why he always called him by his full first name.

“Congratulations, by the way.” Buck looks somewhat nervous even as the words leave his mouth. “On your medal. Good job.”

“Oh.” Is all Eddie can bring himself to say as he stares into the bottom of his glass. “Thanks.”

“You don’t look too happy about it.”

He really isn’t doing a good job of hiding his emotions if this relative stranger ca read him so easily. “No, I-” he takes a deep breath to recalibrate his thoughts and paste his best fake smile. “It is a great honour.”

“Bullshit.” Buck laughs in his face but for some reason, Eddie doesn’t bristle nearly as hard as he expected. It almost feels playful. The rest of Buck’s response is cut off by his buzzing phone on the counter. The man quickly grabs it long enough to check his notifications, returning it to its place at the bar with a disappointed look.

“Are we keeping you from something?”

“Uh, no.” It’s Buck’s turn to look caught out and in need of recalibration. His expression changes much slower. “I’m just waiting for a call from my sister. I sent her an invitation to this thing but she never responded.”

Eddie has experience with family not coming to big social events like this one. Of course, in his case, he never invited them in the first place.

“Family ain’t easy.” He shrugs as he takes a long sip of whatever burning liquid he’d ordered – it really doesn’t matter so long as he can stay sitting here and not mingling with the crowds of vultures.

“It’s more than that.” Buck looks worried, and the way he bites his lip is… Eddie shouldn’t be focusing on that. “It’s just…” The man shakes his head, dismissing whatever feelings were eating at his gut. “I don’t want to bore you.”

“Please.” Eddie leans into his space with a playful smile. “It can’t be any more boring than this event. Please try to bore me to tears, if you dare.”

When Buck smiles, Eddie’s heart flutters out of his chest and sits beside him as they listen to Buck begin to speak. He tells Eddie about his sister, how she cared for him growing up, how she went away with her asshole of a boyfriend – now her deceased asshole of a husband – leaving him to fend for himself. He talks about travelling the country, trying every odd job he could get his hands on, until a buddy of his suggested he join the Navy. And he loves the work, he really does, but he hasn’t seen his sister in over a year. Their last conversation ended in a fight about some family secret that Buck is reluctant to talk about. Even Eddie can tell that the man just misses his sister. No matter what the argument was about.

Eddie finds himself talking – in less detail – about Shannon and the divorce and his son at home. At Buck’s prompting, he shows off his favourite photos of Christopher (avoiding the one burning a whole in his shirt pocket, torn and bloody, which never leaves him). The man’s face positively lights up when he sees the kid, offering an appropriate amount of sympathy for his divorce without pushing him for more emotions.

It’s easy talking to Buck, he realizes after a few hours. Because suddenly, the venue rental is nearly up and he’s still sitting at the corner of the bar, talking to Buck. Sure, a few people have passed by and shaken their hands, thanking them for their service – Eddie cringes every time and Buck has to hide his laughter once he realizes – but for the most part, it’s just the two of them, sitting and talking.

“The flag signalling we use now was established in 1855.” Buck explains as he leans further into Eddie’s space. “And while Robert Morse invented Morse Code in the 1830s, the International Morse Code that we use didn’t come out until the 1850s.”

“How do you know all of that?” Eddie was fairly certain he hadn’t had to study the history of communication when he was in training. But he’d also been very focused on his medical textbook.

Buck was incredibly cute when he blushed, Eddie decides – though he opts to keep that opinion to himself for now. “I get bored and I read.” The man shrugs nonchalantly, as though he hasn’t been entertaining Eddie with stories of Naval history and his own dumb-ass mistakes all evening. Honestly, Eddie wants to sit here all night and listen to Buck tell him stories of the world. It seems like he’s lived a lifetime already. And what has Eddie done? Gotten a girl pregnant, joined the army, gotten shot, and now he doesn’t even have a wife to go home to.

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie realizes too late that Buck looks nervous. He thinks he probably wouldn’t have said yes if he’d noticed. “How did you get your medal?”

Now he knows he doesn’t have to answer – and his initial instinct is to close out his tab and see if he can run to El Paso on his still-injured leg. But he also realizes that he hasn’t told anyone since it happened. Not the full story. Even now, he might not have the words. But he tries.

“Our helicopter got shot down while transporting wounded. I could still move so I got everyone out. Or I tried to get them out.” The echo of gunfire is not as distant as the others told him it would be. He can still smell it. “Support finally arrived and they decided to give me a medal for holding down the fort.”

Buck places a gentle hand over his and Eddie gasps, reminded that it has been a very long time since anyone has touched him. God, how he misses it.

“You saved wounded soldiers in the middle of the desert while being fired on. And you think you were just doing your job?”

“I’m an army medic.” He reasons with the bottom of his glass. “It’s my job to save people.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think that’s why you do it.” Without elaborating, Buck smiles at him and Eddie forgets the question.

“What about you?” He asks instead. “What’s yours for?”

Unlike the enthusiastic, bubbly personality he’s been talking to for the last few hours, Buck melts into the face he saw up on that stage. The stoic, professional.

“We were on our way back from an escort mission when we encountered some rough seas. I happened to be on deck with the chief mate when he had a stroke. I tried to tend to him but the storm was getting worse and no one could find the captain, so I just took over navigation. It was rough, I had no idea what I was doing, but we all made it out safely and the chief mate was okay.” As Buck shrugs, memories of an overheard conversation come flooding back to Eddie’s mind.

“Wait, were you on the USS Angelo?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Eddie can’t believe it. He has to laugh. “You were the cadet who sailed out of Hurricane Ida?”

“I am a petty officer first class, I’ll have you know.”

“Buck, you navigated a 2,000 ton ship out of a hurricane and all they gave you was a lousy medal?”

“I should get that printed on a t-shirt, or something.”

“That was incredibly reckless but also incredibly brave. Buck, you’re a hero.”

“I was just doing my job.” The smirk tells Eddie he knows exactly what he’s doing but it still hits him that he’s throwing Eddie’s words back in his face. Cute and cheeky.

He doesn’t know why he asks – well, he does, but it’s incredibly stupid and impulsive, and he definitely can’t blame it on the alcohol but he sure would like to.

“How long are you in town?”

Buck looks pleasantly surprised by his question but answers with regret in his eyes. “I head out with the Fifth Fleet in the morning.”

Wow. “You just got a medal, and you’re headed out to earn another one?”

“Something like that.” Buck laughs and Eddie wishes he was braver than he felt. “But I won’t be gone forever. And I’m really good at telegraphy if you wanted to send anyone a message.”

He’s so grateful that Buck has the good sense to be everything he needs right now. Because asking the next question is easier with someone standing next to him. “I suppose I’ll need a way to get in touch with you, then.”

Buck winks and Eddie has never been gladder that the concept of ‘standing’ was only metaphorical. The man should not be so irresistible after only a few hours, but Eddie can’t help but watch him push off his barstool and walk around the side of the bar.

“Hey, Diaz!” The spell is broken long enough for him to look across the room at where his name is being called. He waves at old friends – well, Senior Airman Han and Space Force First Sergeant Wilson are the closest things he has to old friends but in actuality, he’s not sure he knows their first names. “We’re going to the afterparty, want to join?”

On a normal night, Eddie would decline on the basis that he doesn’t want to go, and would rather lay in bed and watch reruns of ‘Murder She Wrote’. Tonight, Eddie wants to decline on the basis that he doesn’t want to go, and would rather stay up all night talking to someone who makes me feel curious about the future.

“Not tonight.” He shouts back across the room. “I’ll catch you at the next ceremony.”

They wave him off because they know it’s the same excuse he makes every single time but the only thing that matters is getting back to Buck.

“So.” He turns to the bar only to find it empty. The seat beside him is also unoccupied, as is any of the space surrounding him.

Had he dreamed up Buck? Had he been imagining this person who made him feel like divorce wasn’t his last chance at happiness? Was he truly so desperate and lonely?

“Hey.” Eddie looks up with too much hope in his eyes to only come face-to-face with the bartender. “He left this for you.” The man – who is not Buck, no matter how much Eddie hopes to see those eyes again – slides a napkin across the counter and walks away before Eddie can ask anymore questions.

He picks up the napkin and reads the blue ink-stained note written in messy scrawl.

Kilo

--... .---- --... ..... ..... ..... -.... --... ----. .----

The dots and dashes he recognizes as a series of numbers – a phone number, he hopes – but the word above? He tries to recall his academy days.

Kilo. Short for Kilogram. Used in the International Code of Symbols to represent the letter ‘K’. In Maritime Signal Flags, it indicates: I wish to communicate with you.

He’s pretty sure the bartender hates him for how late he stayed and how loudly he laughed at Buck’s note, but he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he spends his energy memorizing the napkin’s contents long after he’s input the number. It’s more than just a piece of paper: it’s hope.

#military au #911 on fox #911 fox #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 fic #first meeting #cj answers things #florenceandthemachine #cj writes things #love flo

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 3 years

Note

Omg bae (respectfully) I need you to write the Companions reaction to Brother Thomas telling the SS to give them all their stuff, as in meaning they kinda have to strip-

((ENJOY BAE))

(Imma do something a little different and do platonic and romanced separate)

Cait:

Platonic & Romanced-

"Shit, you aren't gonna offer any caps first? Haha, seriously though- hope you like the taste of your own teeth, bitch."

•if there is one thing Cait can't stand, it's a con man. Even if he wasn't demanding something so radical, she'd still smash his face in for undermining your intelligence.

Curie:

Platonic & Romanced-

"Ah, i see. I trust we will be issued our very own ceremonial robes, yes? Très bien!"

•Dont..don't trust curie with things like this. She honestly believe they have her best interest in mind. Plus she'll get excited to have a whole new band of people to call friends.

Danse:

Platonic-

"Civilian, this is obviously a shakedown. Out of mercy, I recommend you reassess the situation. If you persist, I'll take it as a threat to our livelihood and deal with you accordingly."

•Danse usually isn't so quick to be violent, or threatening for that matter, but this was different. If asked, he'd probably brush it off and say that it was necessary so valuable brotherhood gear doesn't fall into the wrong hands..but honestly? His reasons are a bit deeper than that.

Romanced-

"Ask my partner to strip one more time and I'll turn you into a pile of ash, do you understand?"

•As unlike him as it may sound, this may just be an empty threat. At least in the sense that he wouldn't waste fusion cells, he'd just beat the crap out of Thomas. Now, Danse ordinarily would prefer just to intimidate, but for you it was more of his protective tendencies and emotions taking control.

Deacon:

Platonic-

"Hey buddy, at least buy us dinner first."

•He may be cracking jokes, but deacon is obviously very uncomfortable with the situation. He's already scanned the area and figured there was something fishy before Thomas' odd order- so having that bunch confirmed does nothing to ease his nerves.

Romanced-

"No."

•The most disturbing part was that he was so calm, flatly telling the preacher no. No jokes, no horrible distractions..just a simple defying word that almost promised horrible consequences if Thomas didn't relent.

Gage:

Platonic-

"Well boss, you want me to hold him down?"

•Gage would probably kill him just for funsies- but in this case, he'll just slash the clothes off of Thomas' back and make him parade around naked in front of his following. Maybe even whip him with a rolled dirty rag or some shit.

Romanced-

"You've signed your ticket, bitch."

•Won't even hesitate to start beating the shit out of him. It's one thing to disrespect your common sense, another to demand something like this from a raider boss..but it was an entirely more personal infraction to order around his loved one.

Hancock:

Platonic & Romanced-

"Hey, I know you. Didn't Ham knock you out on your ass for your crazy 'salvation' gig? You ain't nothing but a crook- about to be a bleeding one too if you don't step the hell back."

•Hancock would probably make Thomas cry from embarrassment. You don't "mess" with Hancock, especially if you've already proven to be an issue close and personal to his home. It isn't good for the health. And by good for the health I mean..well, look at what he did to fin.

Macready;

Platonic-

"Hah! You're out of your gourd dude."

•He doesn't even understand why the two of you are here! What's the point? May as well leave this place before he gets fed up and loses his cool.

Romanced-

"I'm sorry, did you just ask what I think you did? Do you want a rear full of lead."

•Initially, Mac would be dumbfounded. Was this clown serious? I mean...the numbers are in his favor..but damn. Even if he doubts he could win, he'd be willing to fight "Brother Thomas" if it meant "defending your honor."

Maxson:

Platonic-

"Civilian, I advise you to not make orders to those above you.."

•He'd probably try to intimidate the cult leader, puffing his chest out and stuff...but honestly he's hoping that Thomas will give it up.

Romanced-

"Do you have any idea who you're harassing? Cease this idiocy at once or I'll take care of you myself- and that's a promise."

•Okay, so maybe Arthur doesn't really want to have to deal with Thomas or his cult, but when it comes to someone threatening the person he loves- especially in such a humiliating way- he isn’t above putting his pride aside and choke someone out like a lowly raider. Also- no one threatens his coat.

Nick:

Platonic-

"We don't need this..."

•Nick is...tired. Why must you drag him into these kinds of predicaments?

Romanced-

"That's a bold command coming from someone like yourself."

•Don't worry, if Thomas persists- the infamous "beep, beep, beep" prank is sure to follow. That or Nick might call in some favors..

Piper:

Platonic-

"Haha..you're hilarious...you're joking though, right?"

•She knows he isn't- but she just can't handle anything like this. If you don't do something to ease the tension, she might just slap him.

Romanced-

"Woah, creep. Back off."

•She'll be more civil than she'd like just because he didn't outright aggress either of you, but you bet your ass she'll write as many slandering articles as she can so no one else will join his band of weirdos.

Preston:

Platonic-

"General, you aren't seriously going to...right? This man is obviously a thief."

•Though he usually doesn't like to pass judgement on others and give the benefit of a doubt, buuuut he can't let this one slide. He just sincerely hopes you won't give in...

Romanced-

"I don't know who you think you are but you've lost your mind!"

•He's never come so close to punching someone that wasn't technically "hostile" before. Preston doesn't even entertain the idea of you complying for funsies either.

X6-88:

Platonic-

"I'm warning you, step away from them now.."

•X6 plays no shit when it comes to someone being even halfway threatening to you. Don't expect him to hesitate "defending" you if Thomas doesn't relent.

Romanced-

*shoots him in the face*

#fallout 4 #fallout #paladin danse #fo4 companions #fallout companions #danse #elder maxson #porter gage #curie #deacon #x6 88 #cait #hancock #fo4 #arthur maxson #brotherhood of steel #macready

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ghostiewriter · 3 years

Note

AJSKDJLES you’re so nice!!! I was 100% using my birthday to manipulate you into giving us more headcanons lol but I wasn’t expecting you to actually get to it today! 🥺🥺🥰 take your time and no pressure but I definitely wouldn’t say no to hearing more about them making wild melodramatic accusations to make each other laugh in public because I can 100% see it. And I can totally see it starting on the surf trip because no one knows them so they’d just like try and embarrass the other? Amazing.

Sorry it’s a day late but I hope you had a great birthday bestie and enjoy the chaos of this wee blurb��tbh I love this headcanon for them because it’s something they would totally do! But happy late birthday and I hope it was an enjoyable one!!❤️

Word Count: 1.6K

It started of a silly little game.

Keeping true to their word, the second they had graduated from high school and had those diplomas in their hands, JJ and Kiara wasted little time in planning the logistics of their surf trip around the world. So many places to go, waves to surf, sights to see—it was impossible to choose a place to start. However, thanks to Pope and his intense need to create a plan so his two best friends wouldn’t be thrown into the world as they “go with the flow”, he had organised a proper scheme.

JJ didn’t think it was necessary, and Kiara knew they wouldn’t stick to it. But they let Pope continue with it regardless.

Against their better judgement, his route and itinerary around Europe was insanely helpful for the couple as they ventured through the countries, excited to see places they could only dream about. Especially for JJ, it felt absolutely surreal that he was leaving the island, let alone travelling the world with the love of his life at his side. It was something he would never fully believe, but cherish in fear that he would wake up from this perfect dream and return to a shitty life in reality.

But as he turned to look at Kiara, her hair swept back by the breeze and her eyes watching the glittering city below in awe as they stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower, JJ knew that no matter how many times he pinched himself that this was his reality.

“If you’re about to make some cheesy joke about how the view is pretty but you’re prettier, I will throw you off this tower.”

JJ only grinned in response, shaking his head as he finally shifted his attention to the city view. They had just witnessed the sunset and it was one of the most breath-taking views either of them had seen, without a fucking doubt.

“Well now that you’ve stole my thunder and ruined it…” He trailed off with a sigh, but his smile only widened when he heard the soft giggle that escaped her lips.

“Whatever.” She muttered, her features softening as she leaned against the railing and took in the sounds of the streets of Paris.

“I can understand why so many people propose up here, it’s beautiful.” He admitted after a few moments.

Kiara only scoffed.

JJ turned to her, eyebrows raised. “You don’t agree?”

“Because there is nothing more romantic than having a bunch of other tourists watching one of the most intimate moments of your life whilst horns are beeping down below and the wind is blowing hair into your lip gloss.” She deadpanned.

Kiara was a romantic person when she wanted to be, but some gestures were even too much for her.

“Well when you put it like that, it’s no fun.” JJ muttered with a small chuckle, though he could see her point. “Does this mean I should keep the ring in my pocket and scrap the proposal?” He asked with a grin on his face.

Kiara rolled her eyes but she smiled. “Sorry to break your heart, babe, but if you got down on one knee right now, I would have no shame embarrassing you in front of all these people.” She said with a brief glance at the other tourists standing up here with them.

But JJ’s eyes gleamed at the sight of the challenge.

She didn’t have time to question him when he slipped one of the rings off, holding it in his palm before he cleared his throat and got down on one knee.

Her eyes widened as she looked down at him in confusion. “Jay, what are you doing—”

“Barbra Gertie Stonehend,” He started in a loud, boisterous voice to (successfully) catch the attention of the other tourists. “We have spent years together, helping each other through many hardships. I have been there for you since your bed wetting days when you were twelve, I have been there for you since you got your braces stuck in the railing at the zoo, and I have been there for you since your pet piggy was tragically knocked down by a bike. But now I ask that you do me the honour of being there with me at the end of the aisle by the alter?”

He finished his obscene speech, now holding his ring between his fingers and looking up at her with a faux hopeful expression. She pressed her lips together to hold in her snickers as she glanced around, seeing all eyes on them as they awaited her answer. And when her gaze returned to JJ, there was something quite smug shining in his eyes.

JJ had always been the best liar from them all, the way he would so easily be able to spout out nonsense at the drop of a hat. But she was just as competitive and determined as the blond, and willing to challenge him at his own game.

“Oh Bernie…” She sighed, hand placed on her chest as she looked down at him. “How could I ever marry a monster like you! Marge told me everything, I cannot believe you would expect me to marry you after you were the one that killed my pig!”

A few gasps could be heard from the crowd around them.

JJ urged himself not too laugh, though his eyebrows were raised in silent appreciation.

“Boo-Bear, it’s not what it seems! I didn’t mean to kill Vincent!” He urged, reaching out to hold her hands in his own. “I am more than a cold blooded pig murderer, please give me a chance!”

“I love you, my snookums, but I cannot!”

“Please, honey-bunch, don’t listen to Marge!” He cried out as she ripped her hands from his. “She is just jealous of what we have!”

“Then why are you having a child with her?!”

Kiara could’ve sworn she heard someone utter ‘holy shit’ under their breath but urged her face to remain neutral.

“It’s not mine!”

“Then who’s is it?” Kiara demanded, her hand clutching her imaginary pearls.

“My twin brother’s!”

“No!” Kiara gasped, feigning utter shock as she took a few steps back. “It cannot be Bobby’s…because he is the father of my child!”

Another series of gasps echoed amongst the landing.

“You…you were cheating on me with my twin brother?” JJ asked, finally standing up as he looked at her with a look of betrayal.

“I’m sorry, Bernie…” She whispered but JJ dramatically turned away.

“I can’t believe this,” He muttered before heading towards the exit. “I’m taking the dog and going home!”

“BERNIE, NO—”

“Goodbye, Barbra, enjoy your life with Bobby and his stupid exterminating company!”

Whispers murmured around the group and Kiara urged herself to keep a straight face as she waited a few moments before following him down. Once they reached the bottom, it took one glance at each other before they burst out laughing, tears streaming down their faces as they clung onto each other and walked back to their flat.

It was the start of an odd game they played for the rest of their trip. In the most random places they would play out insane scenarios, the aim to be as dramatic as they possibly could until one of them had to physically leave the scene before they burst out laughing. It was just a wee game to spice things up when they were out in public, plus it helped knowing they would never see any of these people again.

The word ‘Eiffel’ just had to be said and the game would begin.

And boy, was it entertaining.

There was the time they were in Austria visiting a vineyard, when suddenly Roberto was just sick and tired of holding back his secret affair he had been hiding behind his wife’s back. Little did he know his wife, Carla, had been sleeping with his secretary too.

Or the time they pretended to be spies on a mission whilst walking through a museum in Australia, pretending to mutter things to one another and even went to the extent of buying walkie talkies so they could suspiciously communicate from opposite sides of the room. That one kind of backfired because they did end up being thrown out by security.

Or the time they were in a small village in Turkey when it was suddenly revealed that Topanga would be leaving her fiancé, Johnny, for a prince that promised her wealth in power. However much to her shock, the prince she had been talking to was actually Johnny catfishing her.

Or there was the time they decided to re-enact the whole plot of Mamma Mia in Greece to see how long it would take people to notice how familiar the whole situation felt. It turned out it took people a tragically long time.

It was a stupid game that they adored and it followed them through the extent of the surf trip and even sometimes when they would returned home. Not to the same extent as they did in the past with fake identifies, but sometimes just odd scenarios to really fuck with their friends’ heads and keep them on their toes.

There was just something so satisfying about turning to each other, matching grins on their faces as they sat at the kegger and listened to some random touron talk about how nothing interesting ever happened on this island whenever she would visit her grandmother.

Ideas racing in their minds and all the possibilities of how they can make this night one to remember were jumping at the possibility to put on a show. With his eyebrows raised, JJ turned to his girl.

“Eiffel?”

“Eiffel.”

“HOW COULD YOU?! THAT GOLDFISH PIZZA MEANT EVERYTHING TO ME AND YOU JUST ATE IT AFTER EVERYTHING WE’VE BEEN THROUGH?”

After all, it started as a silly little but it always ensured chaos.

#ask #jiara #jiara blurb #surf trip #outer banks

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starlightinhumanform · 3 years

Text

24/7: Chapter One

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Platonic Demus, Platonic Logicality

Summary: James (aka Janus) works the graveyard shift at a open-all-night convenience store. Logan is a college student who stays up way too late, way too often. While pulling all-nighters, he often visits the store James works at. As time goes on, James begins to care about Logan as more than just a customer.

Warnings: Moderate Language, Some suggestive jokes, Mentions of ignorant/negative sentiments regarding vitiligo, Mentions of intoxication— some implied to be underage (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: College AU, Coffeeshop AU but weird (that’s literally the best way i can think of describing it), Mutual Feelings, Fluff

A/N: — Janus’ name in this AU is James (mostly because when I began planning this, his name hadn’t been revealed). I may still include his name by writing in a name-change but we’ll see lmao — I do not have vitiligo and do not personally know anyone with vitiligo; Janus’ experience with the condition is based entirely on my research. That being said, I did my best to give an accurate representation but I do not claim that it is flawless in anyway. If there are any improvements you think I can make in this area, please please let me know 🖤🖤🖤 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

James’ first shift started normally. That is, as normally as he could assume 24 hour convenience store shifts could be. It’s not like he had much experience with it.

Being his first day, he had assumed that the manager would’ve at least stuck around for a while. Instead, the woman had pointed out the bathroom plunger— advising him to not let anyone steal it— told him how to use the slushie machine, and said that if someone tried to rob the store, let them take the money; she even showed him the quickest way to open the cash register. Then she left within the first hour of James’ shift.

James didn’t mind being alone but he couldn’t fight down the frustration at his manager for abandoning him without actually telling him anything useful. He kept worrying that someone would ask a question that he couldn’t answer. What if the customer got angry and then he got reported and lost his job on the first night? Not to mention every time someone walked in, he was ready to bargain for his life with the $225.67 and a random condom in the cash register.

The adrenaline was getting to his head, stirring up usually dormant worries. He couldn’t stop glancing down at his hands. They were warm tan, patterned at random with lighter splotches. He had a condition known as vitiligo which made areas of his skin lose their pigmentation. For the majority of the time, it wasn’t a big deal; the worst part was the weird looks people gave him and even then, he could usually brush them off. Still, there was always the occasional idiot who felt the need to say something rude or inform him that he showed signs of demon possession. He hoped beyond everything that one of those incidents didn’t occur while he was alone in the store.

Thankfully, the only customers for the next few hours were a couple groups of teenagers at varying levels of intoxication and a traveling family made up of two parents suffering from highway-hypnosis and a small child who tried to climb into one of the drink refrigerators.

By one in the morning, the flow of incoming patrons had completely stopped. By that point James had already thrown back an entire 5-hour Energy drink and reorganized the chip rack— twice .

When the entry bell finally rang again at around two, James’ head was buzzing so badly he wasn’t sure if he had imagined the sound or not. A young man walked in— college aged with messy hair and glasses. He disappeared into the rows of brightly coloured plastic bags without a word and so quickly it made James once again question whether or not he was hallucinating.

It wasn’t until the man had made his way back to the counter, setting down a bag of chips and a couple energy drinks, that James was sure he existed. The man’s hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in two days and his dark circles were so deep they could be seen from beneath his squared glasses. Yup, definitely a college student.

Despite the obvious signs of exhaustion, the man was undeniably pretty. Counter to his tired scowl, his eyes were bright and alert, framing a sharp nose. The way he kept his strong chin tilted slightly upwards and walked with purpose gave him the appearance of someone who actually knew what he was doing with his life— so basically, the opposite of James.

James was hardly ever self conscious about his appearance but this man— this stupidly pretty, oddly perfect man— made James squirm just a little bit, made him wonder if he was living on one side of some scale while the customer lounged on the other side. James tried to shrugged it off, focusing on the items in front of him instead.

The man spent the entire interaction at the counter muttering to himself and never once making eye contact. It was a little strange, but he was cute and James was bored so he decided to just appreciate the entertainment while it lasted.

It wasn’t until James went to hand the man his receipt that he seemed to even become aware of James’ existence. James held out the thin slip of paper, apparently causing the man to flinch backwards. His reaction was strong enough to make James wonder if he was one of those people— the type that thought vitiligo was some sort of deadly, contagious disease.

His eyes darted up quickly, his gaze sharp as it scanned over James’ face, “You’re not the normal cashier.”

He was taken aback by the accusing tone in the man’s voice, “No, I guess I’m not? I just got hired; the other guy got let off… something about trying to steal the plunger.”

“Oh,” His face transformed into a noncommittal scowl that James simply could not read, “Expect me regularly.”

The man turned on his heels and walked briskly to the door as James stood frozen and mystified behind the counter, “Oh, uh… see you soon then.”

——————

James woke up to the smell of something burning. He didn’t even remember dragging himself home and collapsing in his bed but based on the smell bothering him he evidently had made it back. No one could burn food quite like his roommate.

“Remus what the fuck are you doing?” James shuffled out to the kitchen where his roommate was poking at something on the stove.

“Making lunch.”

Based on his bed head and near-complete lack of clothes (Remus always slept in booty shorts and nothing else) James could guess that he had woken up only a few minutes earlier himself, “Dude that does not smell like anything humans should eat.”

Remus gave him a wicked grin and James decided not to push the subject. He walked out of the room with a sigh and hoped that the smell would clear up soon.

He made his way into the living room, sitting down and flipping open his laptop. James groaned at the lack of new email notifications. No new emails meant no new job acceptions.

“Guess I’m working the night shift again.”

James was grateful he got the job at the convenience store— no question. Getting a job as a college dropout was both necessary and nearly impossible at the same time. He was lucky to get a job at all and being a graveyard shift, he got paid nearly double the normal wage for his position. For now, his sleep schedule would just have to suffer.

——————

The weeks drifted by and James fell into a dull, but easy rhythm. He would go to work every night, spend the hours rearranging chip bags, guarding the plunger, and— if he was lucky— the pretty college boy would come in for a few minutes to grab salty food and a caffeinated drink.

James wasn’t sure when it became “lucky” for the man to come into the store. Maybe it was lucky because he was entertaining, always preoccupied and wandering around the store like his mind was a hundred miles away. He had this odd sort of duality— somehow both spaced out and intensely focused at the same time. It was like he was concentrating on the dimension beyond the one James was living in. He floated through this world, always preoccupied with world in his head. It was endearing and intriguing and James found himself looking forward to seeing the man. James wanted to see the world inside his head, to know what was so captivating that he had no use or interest for what was outside of it.

The student was quickly becoming his favourite customer— something James never thought he would have— and he genuinely enjoyed having a chance to talk to the other guy. He was handsome, obviously intelligent, and, if given the chance, James definitely would’ve asked him out for a drink.

As it was though, James looked awful in his uniform so he would never have the confidence to make a move the only times he ever saw him.

James started to watch for him. The man came at least once a week, always between midnight and four in the morning. He must have lived nearby because he always walked over instead of taking a car like most of the other patrons. Either that, or he lived further away and walked all the way just for a bag of chips and an energy drink.

It was a Thursday like any other when he walked into the store and James’ curiosity got the better of him.

“So,” James leaned across the counter as the man sat his items down, “you come around here often?”

He tilted his head quizzically, “Yes? I do come here often? You’ve seen me.”

“No I— it was a joke,” James resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was… not going the way James would have hoped, “What’s your name? We might as well get on first name basis since we see each other all the time.”

“I’m Logan,” Logan seemed surprised by the question.

“I’m James.”

Logan gave a curt nod, “I know.”

“But— how? I—“

“It’s on your name tag,” And with that, Logan turned and marched out of the store.

——————

Logan laid on his back, arms and legs spread over the entirety of his bed. The only leftover space of the bed was occupied by Patton, one of his housemates.

“So how did the all-nighter go?”

Logan groaned, “Well… it sure as hell did go all night. I’m so fucking tired.”

“This is what you get for viewing the entire American university system as a challenge.”

He squinted up at Patton. With his blond hair and round, smiling face he looked like the direct inversion of whatever pale little zombie Logan currently felt like, “I gotta stop staying up so late.”

“I don’t know, you kind of seem to like it,” His housemate patted his leg and stood up to walk out of Logan’s room, “By the way, where do you keep going? I hear you leaving the house, like, super early all the time.”

Sunlight was streaming through his partially open blinds. It was probably quite pretty but to Logan it just looked like a headache-inducing glare. He threw a pillow over his face, muffling his voice as he answered, “Booty call.”

Patton laughed as he stopped walking, “Yeah right. The day you answer a booty call is the day I will shave my head.”

Logan shifted the pillow slightly to look at Patton again. The man’s hair was his prize possession, like a curly fluffy cloud that he kept as a pet on top of his head. Logan didn’t know how Patton could afford the time and money he put into his hair. What he did know, however, was that Patton would never risk its safety. Logan frowned in (mostly) fake insult, “You really think there’s not a single person who would send me a horny text at three in the morning?”

“Nah I think there are quite a few people who would do that. I just doubt there’s anyone you’d actually find worth answering.”

Was there anyone he would actually answer? Logan stared up at the dark fabric above him. The pillowcase was a deep navy blue and if he really squinted, he could see the weave of the thread, a thousand random threads coming together to make a greater whole. The way the individual pieces created something far larger than themselves was fascinating to Logan. He had never given it much before, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find a random individual worth making something together.

In the darkness covering his eyes, a vision of the convenience store cashier flashed across his mind. The face he saw was light brown and across that warm canvas, lighter portions sprawled. For the first time, Logan began really thinking about that face. He had sharp features, tired eyes, and when he smiled with lips sloped upwards at a lopsided angle. His skin reminded Logan of the glossy photos of nebulae in his astronomy textbooks— bright splashes breaking up the sameness of the night sky. How had he never noticed that before? What was his name? James.

He heard the creak of their old floors beneath Patton as he walked out of Logan’s room. He probably thought Logan had fallen asleep as he lay there in silence. He was far from asleep, though. His mind was racing, trying to find the missed connections and continually finding new ones in the process. His eyes flickered as previously unrecognized thoughts began surfacing. And they didn’t stop. How had he never noticed?

“I’ve been going to that convenience store down the street,” Logan called as Patton walked away.

James.

Maybe there was someone for him.

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chaoticallygray · 3 years

Note

Hi! How are you? Can I request a oneshot about Leopold from the Irregulars? Like that they get into some sort of an argument and the reader storms out, Leo chases after them and accidentally confesses? It's fine if you don't want to do it.

Requested by: Anon!

Hi!! I'm good I hope you're good too! Wasnt sure what gender or pronouns you wanted so I tried to stay general. Might have gone a bit overboard but go big or go home right?? I hope you like it anon even though I feel like I strayed a bit

It had been another day of running with the gang and solving another case given to them by Watson. It was also another day where Y/N felt utterly useless. It wasn't an entirely new feeling for them but with the added cases it felt like everyone had a part to play. Spike made sure everyone got along and always lighened up the room, Jesse had that whole psychic thing going on with her, Billy was the muscle, Bea was the leader and always had a plan, Leo was the brains, and Y/N was just... there. Y/N tried to help but was always told to stand aside. It never really seemed apparent that Y/N didn't do anything necessary to help on cases (not for a lack of trying) until earlier that day.

---

Leo, Y/N, and surprisingly Billy were tasked to find information on any and every poison that could be found in London as two women and a man had suddenly died in their homes and were all found with a note in their hands saying that the clock is ticking.

They'd been trying to solve this case for two days now and getting antsy. They were stuck.

"I'm going to go over there and see what I can find. I'm thinking they could have been injected something or someone poisoned their food." Leo said already grabbing three different books from the shelves and mumbling to himself.

Billy and Y/N looked at each other and shrugged. They were used to Leo being this odd when it came to books. It was his thing.

Heading in a different direction than Billy, Y/N started brainstorming letting their hand glide through some books until a book about botany caught her eye. Whenever Y/N could have more than an hour alone they liked to read. It's not really a secret but they have never mentioned it to the others especially now that Leo joined. He was so much smarter than Y/N and that was precisely what made him catch Y/N's attention when they were first introduced on the case with the missing babies.

Shaking their head and smiling fondly at the memory Y/N sighed. There was no way Leo would ever look twice at them. They weren't going to even entertain the thought. There was a case to solve.

Opening the book, Y/N realized that they had read this one before which was why it probably caught their eye in the first place. Closing it and going to place it back where it belonged Y/N remembered having read about a plant capable of causing respiratory problems and stopping the heart of anyone that touched it for merey a second. Quickly trying to find the page on the plant Y/N ran back to where Leo was looking like a madman with fifteen different books open around him.

"Leo!" Y/N exclaimed and then dropped their voice to a whisper remembering where they were with a blush.

"I think I've found it" Y/N whispered to Leo who wasnt paying attention.

"Yeah Y/N go ask Billy to read it for you. This is important" Leo said waving around a hand in dismissal not really listening to Y/N.

"What? No Leo I think I found what they were poisoned with." Y/N said confused by what he said about finding Billy.

"Y/N don't be ridiculous. Can you stop? I really need to find this" Leo said not even sparing Y/N a glance just continued flipping through different books.

"But Leo..." Y/N started protesting but was caught off by Leo slamming a book closed.

"Y/N stop it! I need silence to think and you going about whatever it is you think you found isn't helping. You never actually help us solve the cases so can you do me a favour and go look at a book with pictures or something while I find the poison and we can all get a decent nights sleep?" Leo told Y/N without even thinking about how he just basically called the one person who is always there for him and the one person he has been heavily crushing on since they met, useless.

Immediately standing up to apologize he didn't get the chance as Y/N whose lip was already trembling slammed the book they had in their hands onto Leo's chest where he already knew he was going to bruise but at this point he thought he deserved worse for hurting Y/N like that.

Running out of the room Y/N nearly collided with a confused Billy.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" Billy asked but was promptly ignored.

Billy looked back to Leo who had a kicked puppy look to him shocked at what he had said.

Shaking his head at Leo, Billy went outside to try to find one of his best friends with no such luck.

Y/N was already long gone.

---

Falling asleep miserable yet with no tears was something Y/N was not a stranger to. It had been happening too frequently now and at this point they're exhausted.

Y/N didn't go back to the cellar that day. Whenever they needed space to breathe and just br they always go to a surprisingly very empy not so much of an alleyway near the docks. There is a small nook int he corner where Y/N can sleep peacefully without unwanted company. For safety reasons Y/N only told Spike about this place in case the gang needed Y/N for something. So far, they hadn't.

It was precisely here that Leo found Y/N the next day. He had immediately wanted to run off after them but Billy told him to give them space. When Y/N didn't go back to the cellar that night well after the case was solved, Leo got concerned and started overthinking. He couldn't sleep and all he could think about was how he messed up. He was scared that Y/N didn't want to be friends anymore. Yes, he dreams about being more but he rather be friends than have nothing.

The next day when the rest woke up Leo was still sitting near the cellar doors waiting for Y/N to come back. He looked as though someone punched both his eyes.

"Mate why don't you go to sleep? Y/N will be back" Spike said trying to reassure him.

"I can't. I need to apologize. I didn't mean it I was just stressed." Leo said looking up at Spike, who had a hand on his shoulder, with wet and red eyes.

"Look mate, I'm only telling you this because I've seen you two. You're great together and the best thing is you don't realize you both like each other" Spike said sighing and then told Leo where Y/N was probably at.

Quickly thanking Spike, Leo wasted no time and ran as fast as he could out of the cellar doors on his way to make things right.

Arriving at the docks, Leo went to the left and tried to find the little alleyway Spike told him. Walking as quick as he could with his cane he finally spotted Y/N sitting on top of a wall just looking out at the water.

Stopping at the wall Leo took a second to admire Y/N. The sun was still low in the skyly but it was making Y/N's eyes shine and he had never seen then more serene than in that moment. He wished he could see that everyday and he hated to think that he was the reason why Y/N was upset enough that they didn't feel like they should have gone back to the cellar the day before.

"Are you here to call me useless again or are you just going to stare?" Y/N said without looking over at Leo who was momentarily startled out of his staring spell.

"I'm actually here to apologize." Leo answered.

"Save your breath Leo. You can go back and tell Bea or whoever sent you that I'm fine and I'll go back to the cellar later" Y/N said jumping off from the wall they were sat in and starting to walk away. Leo quickly trying to catch up with his limp.

"No one sent me I-" Leo started but was quickly cut off when Y/N sharply turned around to face him.

"Not surprising since I'm useless." Y/N said to Leo scoffing and turning around once again to continue on their journey with no destination.

"No Y/N listen please" Leo said but Y/N didn't care they just kept walking.

"Y/N" Leo kept trying with no luck.

Getting tired but not willing to stop, Leo tried to speed up but his leg thought that this was the best time to lock up and seize movement and he fell.

Hearing Leo's quick grunt of pain and a slight thud, Y/N turned around and seeing him groaning on the floor trying to get up quickly ran back to help him.

"No, no stop I deserve it." Leo said swatting away Y/N's hands.

Not listening to him Y/N got him in a sitting position. Rolling Leo's pant leg Y/N assessed the situation and didn't think he needed anything more than rest and something cold against his leg. Also less restricting clothes.

"Why are you helping me?" Leo croaked after a minute of looking at Y/N with tears in his eyes from the pain.

Y/N just looked at him and got a small tin from the bag they're always carrying.

Opening the tin and pushing some type of paste on their fingers, Y/N concentrated on applying a light and even coat on Leo's leg hoping the mixture would help soothe the pain.

"You're not useless." Leo said and Y/N hesitated for a second then went back to applying the salve not saying anything.

"I didn't mean what I said. I should have never said that to you. The case was taking so long and my leg was starting to bother me but Billy was there and I didn't want to say anything. I always slow us down. I was angry at myself. At my body and I took it out on the last person I ever wanted to hurt" Leo said closing his eyes willing himself not to cry.

Hearing no response just feeling light careful touches on his leg he continued spilling his thoughts.

"You're so brave and compassionate. You're so so smart and so kind. You always make sure that everyone has eaten and you always somehow know when one of us is having a bad day and you make it your mission to make us smile at least once. You're always polite and make sure to help anyone you see that needs help. You're so selfless Y/N. Always helping everyone and I wish I could help you and treat you like a queen but I'm always hurt and you deserve the world. You deserve someone who isn't afraid to climb a tree with you or even do something as simple as walking all over London. I can't be that and it pains me because I'm so in love with you and I'm so incredibly sorry for hurting you. All you do is help and I called you useless" Leo rambled hoping that Y/N will forgive him not even noticing that he slipped up and told them that he was in love with them.

Sensing that Y/N stopped their movements on his leg Leo opened his eyes thinking that Y/N left him. What he didn't expect was for Y/N to look at him with tears in their eyes.

"You, you're in love with me?" Y/N whispered scared that if they talked louder the moment will have turned out to be a dream.

Widening his eyes Leo finally realized what he said.

"No! I mean yes! I'm in love with you Y/N. I didn't mean to say that! I know you don't feel the same and I know you want someone stronger and not broken like I am but I can't help my feelings. It's ok though I'll leave. I'll leave you alone-" Leo was cut off from his nervous babble when a pair of lips pressed firmly to his.

Hesitantly pulling back from him, Y/N smiled softly at him not caring that they're still on the ground near the docks but needing to say this now.

"I'm in love with you too Leopold" Y/N said and with that Leo didn't care anymore about his leg that strangely enough had stopped hurting when Y/N started applying the salve but he saves that thought for later and focuses on how the person he thought he could never have loves him of all people.

"Are you sure?" Leo said placing both of his hands on Y/N cheeks wiping away a tear that seemed to have escaped from their eyes.

"Yeah I am. I love you" Y/N said looking into his eyes.

"I love you so much" Leo whispered before pulling in Y/N for another kiss.

#the irregulars one shot #the irregulars x reader #the irregulars #leopold #leo x reader

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hornsandthings · 4 years

Note

Umm hi I don’t know if you still take ACOTAR requests anymore but if you do can I request an azriel x reader where he’s in love with her and is afraid of rejection but he doesn’t know that she loves him too? 👉🏻👈🏻

hi nonnie, i’ll always accept an acotar request, hehe! did this in headcanon form, hope you don’t mind <3 it’s quite long and a little rough around the edges, but i hope you like it! ps. tumblr mucked up the formatting, some dot points don’t want to be indented. i hope it still makes sense x

when your and azriel’s paths crossed, it was the mother at work again. after mor, azriel didn’t think he’d ever have the strength for love again. the aching and the pining had taken their toll, and the appeal of the mating bond had faded. to feel it all again, to risk his heart like that again - he couldn’t. and yet, the mother saw fit that he would.

+++

he first met you in the palace of hoof and leaf, and it didn’t mean anything at the time; a stranger’s kindness, or if he indulged his cynicism, a hawker’s ploy. you were a commoner, a milkmaid who came to sell your products in the markets. he’d been at the neighbouring stall, waiting for the clerk to put together the only tea brew in prythian that could placate his migraines.

“sir, mr. shadowsinger, sir,” you called, “could i offer you a sample of my goat’s milk? maggie-may is very special, her milk can be just as good as a healer’s work, i swear it. try it, try it, sir.”

azriel looked you over, glad that cassian wasn’t here to make that particular moniker stick. one brow raised in dubiety, he nodded and held out his hand - might as well, he thought, tired and getting ever more desperate for his tea. this didn’t show outwardly, of course; azriel’s face was as neutral as ever, his shadows coiling about his talons. your gaze was expectant as he tried the sample, and while it was a little too earthy for his taste, he nodded all the same. perhaps it had encouraged you too much, because then you asked: “could i perhaps persuade you to buy a pint?”

azriel had no interest at all, yet he couldn’t help but notice the detail: your fraying sleeves, the imperfect glass bottles, the beginnings of dark circles under your eyes. and yet you were smiling, you were sweet, being very generous for someone who had to presumably make a living selling fresh products. not for the first time, azriel made a purchase that only someone of the inner circle could afford, and one that didn’t really benefit him. “i’ll take several,” he said, looking at the handful of wooden caddies, mostly still filled with milk bottles. “i’ll take it all.”

the clerk then handed azriel his brew while you stood there, wide-eyed and speechless, working through a range of emotions. at first you thought he was mocking you, but when he turned around again, fiddling with his coin pouch, you realised he was serious. “but, sir— maggie-may’s milk sure is delicious, but only in moderation— i couldn’t expect someone to buy it all—”

“as much as you’d let me, then,” he amended, being mindful not to impose or patronise. you bit your lip, trying to tally up the ultimate price, trying to gauge whether this man could even afford it. two gold, you said, trying your luck. azriel merely fingered his coins, placing the expected two and an additional three on the counter. he must’ve noticed your shock; you had frozen, after all, perhaps even stopped breathing. “since maggie-may is so special,” he drawled, earning a disbelieving laugh from you.

that night, cerridwen, nuala, and elain were very confused at the sight of bottles and bottles of milk laying in wait on the kitchen counter in the house of wind. the note - clearly by azriel’s neat hand - read: use within five days.

+++

from then on, you always engaged azriel when you spotted him in the market. you could never forget his generous first purchase, and so while he waited for the tea master to finalise his special brew, you would entertain him with an endless supply of free samples of new products. over the years, azriel saw your business extend from milk to also include cheese and soap. he learned unnecessary things about your cattle, such as the supposed social dynamics and - mother forbid - adultery that mr. sweet pea the goat seemed prone to. over time, azriel grew comfortable enough to share some of his stories and observations, the things he’s seen in other courts. it took a while to realise you had become more than his mere acquaintance, and perhaps it was because you were outside his usual spheres of the inner circle and his spy network. to have someone outside was new, and a little jarring at times. the different experiences, the contrasting perspectives - it was refreshing, and reminded azriel how far he’d come since his miserable youth. when he was with you, the stakes weren’t so high, the conditions not so dire. you were a spot of calm, a reminder that life could be something other than the court’s defense.

+++

one time when he visited - his tea no longer a requisite for him to make an effort to come in - you were noticeably subdued. “mr. sweet pea passed away,” you revealed, eyes wet and voice thick. something about that seized his heart, his shadows growing restless. “he was so special.” you actually said that about each of your cattle, something that azriel had started to find endearing, because he knew you really believed it.

social tact was not a strength of his - azriel knew he tended to be rigid and too formal - so he stumbled over some stilted condolences. it felt awkward and impersonal; azriel couldn’t empathise with the death of a pet, but he wanted to make it hurt less. he still remembered what the late goat had looked like the last time you had brought him in - an old thing, with a long beard and a mix of brown and black fur. strong, impressive horns, one which had a sizeable chip missing.

so that night, he did what he could and sketched that image he had in his mind, of mr. sweet pea looking very wise and ponderous, if a little tired. azriel’s time as spymaster had bestowed him a keen eye and dexterous fingers, allowing him to make the necessary sketches to give his colleagues a clearer picture when necessary - of maps, of creatures, of profiles. they tended to be a little rough and raw, nothing particularly artistic. he thought the same of his current piece, and hesitated over whether it was good enough.

when he finally gave you the sketch the next day, you went very still. he started stumbling over some excuses, but you soon interrupted him with a shaky breath. “this is so thoughtful, azriel. thank you so much.”

+++

azriel grew bolder, and interactions started to occur outside the markets. he’d invite you for tea, indirectly revealing one of his interests. he was a hard man to read, his expressions subtle when not stoic, but you learned. outside of professional matters, he was rarely straightforward, and tended to express his emotions in delicate, layered ways. his care for you was in the way he listened, how his attention never wavered when you were speaking with him. it was how he kept you close when you two navigated busy streets, how he lifted a wing over your head for cover when it rained, how he was content to spend time with you at your stall - sometimes for hours - despite his preference for quietude.

+++

when work took him away, you two would exchange letters. azriel didn’t realise how dangerous a thing it was, because you quickly became a very intimate and constant part of his life. the act of writing tricked him, making it easier to truly express his thoughts - there was no pressure of navigating the immediate reaction, no incentive to keep his words short. you managed to draw so much out of him. he was mindful of each letter of yours he received, keeping them safe and tied together with an old ribbon of yours he’d saved before you could throw it away. he would never admit it, but work abroad tended to be overwhelming: while secure in his network’s quality of intelligence, being in another’s territory always meant having to deal with various variables and vulnerabilities, usually unknown. maybe your letters would have made it all a little more manageable if they didn’t elicit such longing within him. your words made him smile, yes, but they also made his heart ache. he missed you.

+++

after a lengthy assignment in the dawn court, azriel was relieved to be back in velaris. his shadows swirled and whispered around his shoulders, eager to feel your presence too. he knew they fascinated you, how playful they could be sometimes. yet, azriel couldn’t find you at your empty market stall. it was odd - you hadn’t mentioned moving in your recent letters, and he couldn’t find you in any of the other market squares either. soon his shadows grew restless, embodying the concern that was rising.

he employed his spy network to find your farm, hoping it wouldn’t be too intrusive to just show up unannounced. you had mentioned some details in passing before - it was a modest place, with a small house and a meagre hill of grass to feed a handful of goats and sheep. the door was answered by two worried faces, who took one look at azriel and grew even more distressed. “our son— it’s not our son, is it? it can’t be— he just—”

“i’m here to see your daughter,” azriel interrupted, too preoccupied to remember polite niceties. they were confused, guarded, but let him through. the hallways were narrow, his wings often knocking against the wall sconces. he listened as they explained your condition - an illness had befallen you, leaving you bedridden for days. apparently a healer had told them it’ll pass with rest and water, and with that reassurance, azriel forced himself to remember his place. right in front of your closed door, he willed his shadows away from his face, called upon his familiar impassiveness. turning around to face your parents, he amended, “may i see your daughter?”

your room was dark, the curtains drawn. his heart raced as he heard your laboured breaths, and something pulled at him when he saw the small desk in the corner, an unfinished letter atop it. “azriel?” you whispered, voice sounding so small. “is it really you?”

he neared, taking a cautious seat on the side of the bed. you were shivering, but the thin sheet covering you stuck to your skin with sweat. “yes, it’s me, sweetheart,” he said, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it. his throat closed up immediately after, but your vague movements suggested you didn’t even realise, and that you weren’t all there. he could see the feverish blush high on your cheeks, even in the dim light.

“you’re too big for this room,” you mused softly, making azriel smile despite his worry. indeed, he had to bend down to avoid hitting his head, and keep his wings tucked in uncomfortably tight. he took your hand in his, and even in your feverish haze, you could register the roughness of his scarred hands, but they always handled you gently. “why didn’t you tell me in your letters?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. your discomfort was clear in your frown, in your downturned lips. noticing the basin on the bedside table, he took the damp rag on your forehead and dipped it into the cool water, wringing away the excess before gently placing it atop your head again.

“i… didn’t want to trouble you with… with something trivial. a few more days and… and i’ll be back to work.” a weak smile pulled at your mouth, and azriel gathered both of your hands in his again. he shook his head at your line of thinking.

“your health isn’t a trivial matter to me,” he said, leaning close and cupping your cheek. in hindsight, it was so obvious that he had been in love with you far longer than he thought. it was all so rueful, the fact that he had let it happen again. despite it all, he pressed a kiss to your hand, trying to ignore how it trembled. your smile strengthened then, tracing a finger over his brow and down the bridge of his nose. azriel took a deep breath to savour the touch, and soon you two were merely watching each other, azriel wondering what thoughts were running through your slightly added mind. your lids eventually started to droop, however, but still he stayed even when you fell asleep, taking care to change the cool rag when necessary. his shoulders slumped when his head fell into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut tight. with such a revelation, what was he to do from now on?

+++

azriel didn’t think he could be a good lover to you - even if he so very much wanted to be. his job took up so much of time, and it required him to be secretive. azriel wouldn’t ever be able to share everything with you, for the sake of keeping you safe. even if he could, there was just something in his nature that kept him reserved and pushed others away. there were so many things he’d rather leave in the past, and so many more that he wished he hadn’t been part of. there was that, but also his loathsome scarred hands - a reminder of those darker days. no matter how gentle, his touch would always scratch and scrape. once you took notice of how neglected they were, left to dry out and sometimes even scab, you took to work to concoct a nourishing lotion. “you have to be gentle with yourself, azriel,” you had once told him, gently applying the salve to his hands. they were rough but warm against your skin. “you do so much.”

+++

and so, everything he did with you was tinged with a hint of sorrow. he couldn’t bring himself to confront you with the severity of his feelings, but he also couldn’t quite remove you from his life - you had become a friend. you eventually noticed that he started to let his touches linger: when he hugged you, he’d curl arms and wings around you, enveloping you wholly; when you were near, his shadows would stretch toward you, as if revealing a hidden desire. when you reached for his hand, he would always grip it firmly, and when you came very close for some unimportant reason, his gaze would always linger on your face, flicking so often to your lips.

+++

one night you had invited him over to the farm, wanting to introduce him to the latest addition of your household: a baby goat, just over a week old. she was as white as snow, and kept nibbling at your hair as you held her in your arms. “what should we name her, azriel?” you had asked, too preoccupied to notice how tense he was, hands in his pockets. “i was thinking of marjorie, or maybe miss marjorie… hey, what’s wrong?” his face was unusually expressive, his shadows roiling about his talons as if in distress. putting down the goat, her legs still clumsy and gangly, you stepped closer to azriel, reaching out. he shook his head, trying to school his face but you knew him by now. your shoulders slumped, recalling his strange behaviour over the years - he was present in most ways, but avoidant in others. “i wish you’d talk to me, azriel,” you murmured, taking his hand and hoping he wouldn’t mind the dirt. “you mean so much to me.”

it all bubbled up then in that small barn, the light dim and the smell of earth pungent. you let out a rueful laugh, rubbing your eye. “i’m in love with you,” you said, very quietly at first. immediately you felt so naive to be doing this. the fact was that azriel came from a different life, one that saw him as a leader of the court, who worked with powerful and beautiful people, fae who were richer and stronger and vastly more interesting. azriel’s mere presence in your life was extraordinary enough. and yet, you had found yourself falling in love despite the impracticability of it, found yourself admiring his kindness, his quiet generosity, his strength and resilience and dry humour. you shifted, looking right into his eyes. even if your love was unrequited, he deserved to be told - if only to let him know that he indeed was loved by one more. “i’m in love with you. i don’t— i don’t expect you to say it in return, but i can no longer keep it to myself. i love you.”

that threw azriel. he had fantasised of course, indulged in the scenario. but now, as you waited for his response, his thoughts stuttered. what? he wanted to say, unable to believe what he actually so very desperately wanted to believe. you grew nervous as the silence lengthened, azriel’s face as stoic as ever. you shook your head, covering your mouth in regret. “i’m sorry, i— i shouldn’t have said anything—”

he gripped your shoulders tight, gaze intense and voice low. “i also love you.”

“why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?” the solemnity which had tinged your relationship for some time was subtle, but you had felt it, and it had bothered you.

azriel’s hands came up to cup your face, and he quickly shook his head. “it’s not,” he said, he urged. “it’s not, it’s not.” and then his lips met yours, chapped and rough, kissing you slowly, thoroughly, firmly. the conviction made your heart melt, and you gripped his wrists, feeling his racing pulse and caressing it, kissing him back, standing on your toes, letting him steal your breath. “i love you so much, sweetheart,” he sighed against your lips, nose brushing against yours. you went to reply but then azriel had claimed your mouth again, one hand snaking around to your back and the other to the nape of your neck. the light shifted behind your closed eyes as his wings came down to envelope the both of you, and your fingers reached to tangle in his hair, to trace the shells of his ears.

when you two parted again, his grin was lopsided and a little wry. “i just couldn’t believe it,” he murmured, his eyes shining with emotion. why not? you wanted to ask, wondering what it was that had held him back for so long, but decided to delay it for another day. all you could do was hug him tighter, just glad for the sight of his smile and the feeling of his relief. glad for his happiness.

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic #ugh this isn't my best but otherwise i'll never post D:#also a big f.u. to tumblr formatting

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monst · 4 years

Text

Usagiyama Rumi (Mirko) x Reader

Warnings again: Death, Dub/con, Reanimation, Necrophilia, Greif, shower sex

Inspired by: Stephen King’s “Pet Sematary.”

Enjoy!

The sight of the vacant apartment slapped you in the face, the force of it leaving you breathless forcing your legs to collapse upon themselves. You laid slumped against the wooden door frame for a while letting the events of the day repeat in your head. You clutched your head, furious fingers gripping onto your shaking skull as you tried to forget. But the images flashed behind your eyes all too quickly.

Her smile, the confidence she exuded when she hopped onto the crosswalk to pursue the thief, the sickening sound of- You clamped you hand over your mouth, you felt bile begin to rise up and you quickly stood on wobbly legs. You ran to the bathroom throwing the door opening with a loud slam, your fingernails digging under the toilet seat as you released a thick wad of phlegm. Your body trembled as you dry heaved into the still water below, your stomach cramped as you had nothing left in your body to remove.

You made the mistake of closing your eyes, crimson stained snowy strands the petrified screams of the truck driver piercing your ears. To escape it you dunked your head into the clear water below, bubbles slipping out of your mouth and nose as you screamed into the liquid. When your lungs could bear the lack of oxygen no longer you sat up, droplets of water slid down your neck and stained your already soiled shirt. Your eyes looked down at your palm and you squeezed it tightly remembering the limp hand that you had gripped just a couple hours ago.

Needless to say… You weren’t the same after her abrupt passing. You sauntered around aimlessly without your compass, complexion ghast and withered as you struggled to fit the jigsaw puzzles into their broken mold. Every night since you had begun to stay at work late, anything to leave the suffocating emptiness of your once shared apartment. You worked yourself raw, tired eyes drooping when you finally made it home. Your bed laid cold as sleep played a mischievous game of keep away. You could never remember when your eyes would slip shut, as you gazed longingly at what was once her side of the bed.

It was another grueling day when you received a phone call at work. You had wondered when they would call. It had been well over three weeks since the bunny hero’s passing and there was yet to be a funeral. As a government official her body had been kept in a private morgue, corpse moderately preserved as the state had wanted to conduct an autopsy. You just wanted her body back so that you could visit her grave, the higher ups wanted to run tests, they were sure foul play was involved, positive that she should have made it out of the way. You didn’t want to entertain the thought. ‘She was distracted.’

Regarding the call, they were finally releasing her body to you. Well to be precise they were releasing it to the public so that you along with her relatives and friends could hold a service. The beep of the call being hung up was all that it took for you to crumble. And as soon as you did you were given leave, you knew that your home would feel extremely desolate now that the sutures had been torn open, allowing your recent wound to bleed anew.

It was indeed fitting that the sky also wept along with you, the dull slate and muted blacks above expressing your deepest feelings. You stood just outside of the bus stop allowing the rain to seep into your clothes, allowing the weeping of the clouds to console your spirit by sapping away all warmth. Ironically enough the trembling of your chilled bones allowed you to feel closer to her, for she too was cold. You garnered odd stares as you let the first bus pass you by and the next, and the next.

Your body was numb, the dark sheet above you seemed to slink around you. The wispy clouds seemed to lower the ever present darkness manifesting itself outside of your soul. Dim lights began to twinkle in the ever growing black. Soon another bus stopped by the driver standing in front of the stop for much longer than needed.

“Hey? Are you alright?” He called out. There was a pause as you didn’t reply and he quickly added necessary information “This is the last bus of the night.”

That spurred movement and your frozen toes pained at the sudden movement. You slinked into the bus, steps slow and heavy. There weren’t many patrons on the vehicle allowing for an ample amount of choice on seating. You choose to stand, leaning against a cold pole that sapped whatever warmth remained on your cheek. You swayed with the movement of the bus, eyes closed as people passed you to step off on their stop. You had missed yours a couple minutes ago, you weren’t ready to face the empty apartment again.

The driver was beginning to grow nervous, you hadn’t moved and there were only three more stops left on his route and neither of those places had any close residence nearby. The man took a quick glance at your gaunt form, your somber expression inspiring curiosity.

“Bad breakup?” He asked with a slight chuckle. You shook your head. “Lost your job?” He tried again, you repeated the movement. “....Mourning?” He knew he had gotten it right when your head bowed to look down at the worn floor. “Oh….I’m..I’m sorry for your loss.”

He didn’t speak again but he did see the last person on the bus get up. It was an eldrly woman he saw from time to time. One who always smiled at him as she got off a stop before the end of the route. He wondered why she was always there so late into the night, but he recalled his boss telling him not to engage in conversation with her and by all means to never allow someone to step off with her on her usual stop. HIs knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel tighter, from his peripheral he noticed her hobble closer to you.

He could only make out the furrowing of your brows as she whispered to you, he couldn’t hear anything being said only that you were displeased with what she spoke. Your confusion turned to ire and at last a melancholic frown touched your lips. He saw you nod and despite not knowing why he was ordered not to let anyone off with her he felt his heart sink. Tears welled in his eyes as he somehow thought that you had made a terrible choice…. He considered passing the stop without stopping but the old woman pulled the cord and a dim yellow light illuminated his face.

The wrinkled face of the edlry woman smiled back at him, her small beady eyes curved up in such a menacing way that left his body cold. A deeply malicious glint flashed across her eyes as he slid the bus to a halt, the large vehicle hissed as it paused and reluctantly he opened the door. His heart pounded loudly in his chest as an overwhelming fear for your life bubbled inside of him and against his better judgement he turned away from the sight of you as the old lady guided you off the bus and into the night, he drove away wondering what would become of you.

The woman’s hand was cold, her bony fingers were practically crushing your hand in her deft grip as if she didn’t want you to somehow free yourself. Not that you were going to, in all honesty what she proposed was absolutely preposterous and you should be freeing yourself from the possibly senile woman’s grasp. The whole idea was ludacris, shrine gods bringing the dead to life! Ridiculous and yet you fell into step with her, maybe it was because you were impossibly cold, maybe you had gotten sick and your feverish body was impairing your thoughts.

Or maybe… Maybe you wanted for this to be true, who were you fooling? You desperately wanted to believe that there was some way to get your beloved back. You had walked with the woman for about ten minutes, the shabby shrine that was only just visible from the bus sign had grown larger with every step and soon you were standing upon the squishy soil surrounding the structure.

“It’s simple really.” The elderly lady croaked. “You bury the dead here in front and pray to the deity of the shrine, you ask her to revive the unmoving and then they get up, within them new life.” She breathed.

You felt your blood rush, and you quickly shook her grip off. Your breathing came in quick rapid pants as you took in the eerie building and felt your shoes sink further into the dirt. There was something off putting about it all and in the recesses of your mind you could hear a voice telling you to run, to get as far away from there as possible. The shrine seemed alive, the doors expanding in what looked like respiration. The old woman was gone.

Your head whipped around frantically, ‘She couldn’t have just disappeared?!’ panic began to settle in your bones as a gust of wind blew open the doors of the shrine a low sounding groan resounded throughout the area. You quickly turned only to see the pale wrinkling face of the old woman in front of you, her sagging skin seeming to drip off her bones like wax. Fear gripped your heart as you backed up, closer to the Shrine you noticed.

“Bring her body.” She mumbled. Your heart froze at the gravely tone “Bring her body.” She repeated as she grew closer, pieces of her melting flesh sliding off and sizzling on the ground below, it was then that it hit you. A smell so nauseating that you found your throat constricting in a gag, the putrid stench seemed to come from all around you and in your wild panic you pushed past her and ran. Tears picked at your eyes as you heard her howl one last time.

“b̷̾̄̄̓̑͐̏̐́̀͋͝͝r̷̖̬̱̣̮͖̆̾̀̇́̆i̴̯͔͑n̶̢̘̭͔̘̪͉̫͍̙̺̲̟͂ģ̴̢̨̩̻̲͖̠͚͍̜̼̔̍̅͜ͅ ̵̡̮̥̼̺͉̰̦̱͙͕͇̝͈̔̈́̈̅͊̈́̈́͌̀ḥ̴̯͍̣̯̖̀ẻ̴̫̞̹̪̼̲̒͋̇̂͆͋̾͐̋͝ŗ̸̧̛͖̺̹̙͍̥͆͆̿̑̀̎̃̅ ̷̢̧̜̠͖̭̦͙̺̄̒ͅb̴̛̹̉́̅́̚̚o̵̦͓̼̬͗̄͂̍̊͗̀̀̀̌̽̈́̀̈́͝d̴̢̗̩͇͕̮͓̭̳̳̒͜y̶̡̫͎͙̮̙̫͓̘͑͝ͅ”

To your surprise the bus was waiting at the stop, doors open and you didn’t hesitate and climbed inside hurriedly asking the driver to shut the door. He quickly did and then speeded away. You panted as you thought back on what occurred all the while the driver rambled on.

“I-I just couldn’t leave you back there, I-It felt wrong ya know?” You nodded in thanks and shook your head when he asked you about what had happened.

The following days went by in a blur as you tried to prepare for the funeral all the while trying to forget the horrific encounter. Sadly, the preparations only left you feeling more disheartened. The feeling only grew worse when you had met up with an old friend of hers. He was also a hero, a hero that should have been there the day of the incident. You couldn’t help the thoughts that raged war in your head. ‘If he had only been there, he was supposed to be there but even if he were, would he have been able to save her? Who cares if he’d had been there it would have been him getting hit...That would have really been the best outcome.’

You excused yourself early on into the meet up due to such negative thoughts. Hawks only smiled at you, his hand sliding into his lover's grasp as he said a well meaning ‘We’re here for you’. It was sickening, it was revolting and quite frankly it was downright unfair. Maybe that’s why you had gone back, maybe that’s why you plucked up the roadkill on your drive to the Shrine, maybe that’s why you were burying the dead creature in the loose soil. And although you felt silly you clasped your hands together hoping that the daylight didn’t affect the results.

You waited...and waited and- You sighed thinking yourself foolish for even thinking that it would work. You dusted off your hands on your clothes as you got up, you picked the dirt from between your fingers trying to rationalize the events of the night you first came here. ‘Maybe I didn’t see anything and just hallucinated it.’ You mused. You looked back at the Shrine, a scoff slipping past your lips, your heart feeling heavy at having your small inkling of hope crush- The door to the Shrine was open. You felt your breath catch in your throat as you made out a lone eye from within the small crack on the door.

The single orb filled you with dread, the beings irises were a coal black, it’s sclera of the same hue, it resembled a bottomless pit, a sinking void filled with underlying anger and malice, you saw a flash of white and your heart stuttered at the jagged smile of the creature. You were about to start hyperventilating when you felt something scurry between your legs. You yelped, your knees buckling as you tumbled to the ground. The racoon hissed at you as it ran off, and in the space where it had once been buried was a small hole….

You grunted, your muscles burning at the strain of the weight that you lugged. ‘Now I know why they call it dead weight.’ You thought as you struggled to lug the body bag towards the Shrine. You ignored the creaking of the doors and quickly unzipped the bag to reveal the corpse. Caramel skin was greeted by the pale moonlight long white lashes closed in what seemed like restful slumber. You caressed her swallow cheek, the skin moving and almost peeling at the movement. She hadn’t fully begun to decompose due to the chemical bath she was in but there were still signs of decomposition but luckily there wasn’t any putrefaction.

It wasn’t easy getting her body out of the funeral home but a quick switch with one of the unmarked bodies in the back had proven helpful, not to mention that you specifically asked for a closed casket viewing. Grinning at your quick wit you began to carefully remove her from the bag. You had already prepared a hole the previous day and without wasting a single moment you shimmed her body into it, you then began to pour the dirt onto her body making sure to cover each and every inch.

You kneeled before her submerged body and facing the dark Shrine you began to pray. The chilly night air seemed to pick up in speed as you did so and you scrunched your eyes in concentration waiting for your lover to rise. Seconds soon turned to minutes and minutes turned into a half-an hour then an hour and with every second you lost hope in this working. You were thinking about how you were going to explain that you stole her body when you felt the soil shift beneath you. You gasped in excitement and backed up to allow her room.

Your smile turned south when she began to writhe, pained growls emanating from her reanimating body. When she broke through to the surface a collection of bubbles had accumulated in her mouth, the white liquid bubbling down her chin. Her red eyes were but two ever shifting dots, her teeth bared as she hissed and whimpered.

“R-Rumi?” You stuttered. The sudden sound had her neck snapping towards you at an unnatural angle, she lifted herself onto all fours and arched her back like a feline growling at you while frothing at the mouth. She snapped her jaw in your direction her muscles tense, clearly she was ready to pounce. “H-Hey i-it’s me (N-Name), Remember.”

Her hostile eyes showed no signs of recognition as she pounced, her jaw connected with your forearm, her incisor digging into your soft flesh, You screamed at the cold tingle that raked your body when she pulled back. QUickly you saunted backwards, and she followed suit intent on harming you. Without thinking of it you rushed forwards into the mouth of the Shrine and closed the door. Her body came down on it repeatedly, she panted and made incomprehensible guttural noises as she slammed her body against the wooden door.

You pressed your body to the flimsy wood praying that it would hold. Tears dotted your vision as you tried not to puke from the repulsive stench in the Shrine. You kept your eyes shut, trying to ignore the rumbling chuckles of the creature and the violent hisses from what was the body of your lover. This went on for what felt like hours.

The invasive light of day was what woke you, and you had found that you had fell asleep leaning against the door, the creature that seemed to wear the skin of the old woman was fast asleep in a corner of the room and you were grateful that it had left you alone. Though you had no idea why it would, you weren’t going to question it and you hastily slipped out of the Shrine. You squinted as you looked for any signs of Mirko. The large hole was vacant and there was no sight of her. Hell you doubted that what rose was even her.

You searched all morning and even ventured into the surrounding forest only to find nothing, your limbs ached and you were beyond tired, you would look for your lover later. Right now you had to leave and get presentable to attend her funeral…

It was odd to attend a funeral knowing that the person who was supposed to be dead was wandering around the forest behind the Shrine. When people gave you their condolences you could only think about the rabid rabbit that hopped through the bushes in the woods… You needed to find her. You got to your apartment and quickly changed out of your dark funeral attire and redid the bandage of where she had bit down on you.

“I hope this doesn’t get infected.” You winced, when you stretched out your arm and continued to look around your apartment trying to find things to aid you. Her favorite snacks, a flashlight, a ball gag to stop her from biting you again… You were about ready to head out when you heard a tap on your window. The sound startled you, but you sauntered over to the window of the fire-escape and you froze in your tracks. She was there.

You were hesitant to let her in wondering if she was rational?? But the sight of seeing her red eyes lit with life had you undoing the latch and letting her in. She crawled in on all fours, her ears twitching awkwardly, she looked up at you from her crouch and tilted her head. “(Name).” She growled.

Tears sprung from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks and off your chin. She was back. Your Rumi was back. You crouched down and enveloped her into your arms, sobbing as you buried your nose into her hair. Her nails dug into the skin of your arms, she left scratches on your arms but you couldn’t care less. You had her back, you weren’t going to be alone, you weren’t going to hurt anymore.

It had taken a while but after a couple of days she was finally walking on two legs, her gait was still awkward but she was behaving more humanly every day. ‘She just needs time, she was dead for a while’ That was how you rationalized all her other...symptoms. Your snowy haired lover was much more violent than she had previously been and you had written it off as agitation for not being able to function like normal right off the bat….How wrong you were.

In observing you Mirko was finally able to perfect acting human and unbeknownst to you would sneak out while you slept. You were still hesitant to sleep in the same room as her therefore her nightly activities went on without you noticing. And it would have continued as such had you not gotten confident with her ‘Recovery’.

You were bundled up in your blankets, your eyes moving underneath your lids with sleep when she found that your room was finally unlocked. Quietly she turned the knob pushing the door open with a soft creak. Your body rose and fell with life as she went closer, her fingers curled underneath the sheets as she exposed your body to her sight. Her eyes zoned in on your neck and her strong fingers curled around the fragile area. She had climbed on top of you, the pads of her thumbs pressing into your soft throat. You had woken up with a start, your eyes blown wide, watching as she leered down at you.

Her pupils seemed to bleed into her irises tainting her ruby eyes a soulless black, once they covered up the vermillion the inky dark seeped into the whites of her eyes and your hands quickly went over hers to try to pry her fingers off you. A quick shout of her name and the black receded her red eyes looking down at you, surprise and harmful intent swirling in her bloody hues.

You knew something was incredibly wrong with your lover when you had gotten up for water late in the night. You were walking into the kitchen when you heard tiny snaps and a cringe worthy squelch. The smacking of lips and grotesque slurping followed and with your heart in your throat you dared a peek into the kitchen. You wished you could unsee it, she slurped the pink tail of a mouse like spaghetti, her teeth stained crimson, soulless black eyes turned towards you.

Those empty pits stared at you, she had paused her consumption and you feared that

you were next. Her empty eyes bore into yours and you stepped back slowly praying that she wouldn’t pounce. Every step backwards had your heart slamming against your ribcage, you let out a sigh of relief once you were in your room and the door was locked, but the eating sounds continued…

Rumi bagan leaving you ‘little’ gifts. And no matter how many locks you had on the doors and windows, and no matter how much sleeping pills you slipped her she always got out and when you’d wake there was a...gift. You had to lug the bodies out of your apartment in the dead of night. You knew bringing them to the shrine was a bad idea but you didn’t know where else to hide them. No one knew Rumi was alive and you mean to keep it that was least they find out..other things.

You wiped the sweat from your brow as you heaved yet another corpse to the door of the shrine. The shock of it had worn off long ago and had quickly become routine. You had basically become a slave for the ‘deity’ feeding it whatever Mirko killed. It was sickening but you put up with it because there were times in which Rumi was herself and that in and of itself was enough for you.

You took the bus back home, noticing that the ‘elderly lady’ was talking to another downtrodden person. “So how’s it going?” The chatty bus driver chirped, his eyes glaring at the interaction. To his relief the man shuffled away from the ‘thing’.

“Alright.” You sighed tiedly, hoping that there wasn’t another ‘surprise’ for you at home.

“You’ve been coming here a lot.” He pressed curiously.

“Yes, I know.” You left it at that and he quickly shut up waving you goodbye when you slipped out of the bus.

You walked into your apartment and kicked off your shoes. “Hey babe!” You tuned to see Rumi on the couch with a spoon hanging from her lips. You smiled glad that the being gifted you with the real thing for the night. You avoided her arms as she tried to grab onto you for cuddles.

“I’m dirty, Imma just shower real quick I’ll be right back.” You smiled, grabbing onto her warm hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. And you left to go do just that.

As you washed your body you had come to notice that whenever the ‘deity’ was fed you’d have a perfect Mirko. ‘It’s messed up but…’

“Babe~” You smiled when you felt Rumi’s hands glide over your body, her long silky hair laid wet and flat on her head as she stepped further into the water of the showerhead. Her strong arms curled around your neck, her full lips pressing against yours.

You gasped when she pulled away, her sneaky hand sliding down your slick body. Her lips seared kissed across the expanse of your neck, and you couldn’t help but sigh when her other hand cupped your breasts. She kneaded the pulpy flesh and the wicked fingers of her other hand working slow circles around your puffy clit.

Without warning she dipped her head down to catch a perky nipple in between her teeth. You could only lean against the wall, your fingers buried into her hair as you encouraged her to continue.

“Ah~ R-Rumi~” You panted, your face warming up as she began to suck on your hardened buds, her fingers putting more pressure on your clit, the slippery slick of your pussy making it easy for her to toy with you. You had the urge to kiss your lover and your hands slipped under her chin to bring her face up to your lips. But when she looked up at you, you froze.

Inky black pools stared up at you, and you saw her pink tongue swipe across her lips, your breath caught in your throat at the empty sockets. A grin crawled onto her features and she parted her lips to speak.

“Ī̶͎͕̰̤̙̠̻̂͒̔̈̑̓̓̆͌́͐̎̒̽s̴̨̞̼̙̥̤̣̭̼̰̦͕̠͚͉͌̒ ̷̨̧͙͕͉̩̗̱͚̲̩̀́͛̃̓̃̏̊̎̎̅͝͝͠s̵̨̨̨̛̛̤̭̗͎̜̺̤̫̗͆̈́̇̿̂̔͝ơ̷̘̦̲̮̰̘͈͉̯̥̺̌͊̑̊̀̋̑̒͑̚͜͜͝͠m̸̯̖͑̈́͐̿̈́̉͛̀̅́ẻ̷͔͈̼̝͖̠̼͇͙͎̑́̑͜ͅt̸̯̜̤̜̹̹̩̫͈̮͗͋̓͊̾͗͠͝h̷̛̙̗͂̔̎́͑̚ì̶͚̈͒̀̏̌͠͠͝n̶̨̢̥͉̱͚̟̣̮͆̓̈́̌̌͒͆̅̑͆̓̉ǵ̶̛̛̫̼̟̈̆̎̓̑́͐̓̑̓̕͝ ̶̺̉͊̕͜w̵͇͍̓̎̽̀̋̿͗̽̃̅̑͐͘͜r̶͎̳̼̰̰̐̍̐ǫ̵̡̛͖̥͈̣͍̣̙̼̪͌͐̃̓͛̓̂͘n̶̖͔̝͖̱̺̬͓̜̒̂͌ͅg̷̝̠̼̫̓̉?̷̲̝͕̤̮̇̒̾͒͒͋̽̋̃͆̇̈”You shook your head with a smile, your lips colliding with hers.

“No.”

#frightober 2020 #rumi usagiyama x reader #Mirko x reader #mirko smut #rumi usagiyama smut #mirko x reader smut #bnha scenarios #bnha smut

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belphegor1982 · 3 years

Note

not sure if you're doing the prompt list, but parenthood (6) with leonard snart and janet? 👉👈 i'm in love with your characterizations of len and his wife 💕

It took me two weeks, but there it is :D

Parenthood (DCAU)

When she’d been a kid, Janet had – very naturally – assumed that her adult life would match her parents’, or their neighbours: a house, a husband, a dog, a white picket fence, not necessarily in that order. And kids. Like an afterthought, something not really important so much as vaguely necessary.

She hadn’t thought about it until a couple of years or so into her and Len’s marriage. They’d had somewhat rocky beginnings: she’d been fierce, he’d been grumpy, and they’d both been so damn young they hadn’t seen how ridiculous they were, dancing around each other like they weren’t sure they were allowed this… that. ‘Relationship’ was too big a word. Whatever they had, though, they had kept, because it was good and it was theirs. One day it had hit Janet that Len basically only went back to his crappy little apartment to shower; one night they’d been in bed, sweaty and tired and stupid happy, and as Janet reached for the book on her bedside table afterwards while Len scribbled on his ‘heist ideas’ notebook like he’d been struck with sudden inspiration, she had realised in a rush that she wanted the rest of her life to be like this.

“Wanna get married, one of these days?” she’d asked, almost not nervous at all.

Len had stared at her long enough to make her start to regret asking. Then he’d given a small smile, the very rare sort that showed in his eyes.

“Sure,” he’d said, and that was that.

They’d gotten married six months later. Janet wore blue. Her parents showed up, despite the disapproval hanging thick in the air – her father convinced that she could ‘do a lot better than a thug’, her mother ice-cold at the thought of her daughter marrying ‘some two-bit crook’. Len had only invited his sister, a stunning young blonde who’d been friendly to Janet but still appeared put-out that the invitation didn’t extend to her boyfriend.

“He’s a jerk,” Len had said later, making Janet laugh.

“You’re a jerk, Len.”

“Not the same kind. He’s stuck-up. Lisa’s too good for him anyway.”

“Yeah, well. That’s not up to you to decide, is it? It’s your sister’s choice.”

“I know, I just… She deserves better. Better than she got as a kid.”

Janet had looked at him, long and careful, suddenly a little tense.

“Do you think she’s… not safe? With him?”

Len had blinked, then shaken his head.

“Nah, nothin’ like that. You can tell Dillon’s actually good to her. Nothing like…” He had trailed off, something hard and cold and sudden in his eyes like someone had slammed closed a pair of shutters. That had only lasted for ten seconds before he’d shrugged. “I just wish he wasn’t such a dick, that’s all.”

Then he’d abruptly changed the subject, and Janet had followed, because she knew precarious ground when she saw it.

* * * *

Living with someone in the intimate way meant noticing a lot of things about them, more or less willingly.

Len had cottoned on pretty early to her tendency to snap when she was tired or angry, and of holding nothing back then. She also caught him looking at the crisscross pattern of scar tissue on her knuckles from when she’d punched a wall, repeatedly, after the girl who’d been her best friend in school was battered to death by her boyfriend. “I only slapped her around a bit,” the bastard had said, and ten years later Janet still wished that she’d had the guts to punch him instead. She’d finally told Len about it one day, and seen his face go stone and his eyes ice. His cold fury had been comforting.

It went both ways. She noticed things about her husband, too. Like some odd scars she had a feeling he hadn’t picked up in juvie, the trace of a cigarette burn in the hollow of his right shoulder, or the mark – still chillingly precise even years later – of a belt buckle in the small of his back. She wondered whether Lisa had similar scars. Not that she’d ask. She and her sister-in-law didn’t have that kind of relationship.

Janet had a past. Len had a past. That was what being human meant. Sometimes that felt more like dragging a corpse through the dust wherever you went than a happy set of picture-perfect memories, but it was part of the whole package.

The major reason Janet didn’t entertain the idea of kids for longer than a passing thought was because she didn’t want any – for the moment, she told herself, even as she kept forgetting to really think about it. She’s grown up with the distinct impression that she hadn’t been wanted, or had come at an inconvenient time to her parents. The last thing she wanted was to make a kid feel like that.

The lesser reason was everything Len wasn’t saying. He wasn’t crazy about opening up about things either important or trivial, though he did anyway because they both liked to get their point across clearly. But she’d never, ever heard him say anything at all about his life before he’d struck out on his own, a couple of years short of eighteen years old. His sister Lisa was six years younger, and that was all Janet knew. Family, parents, home life – Len didn’t let anything slip. This, combined with the scars and a few odd reactions, carefully hidden under a lot of attitude, told her more than he appeared willing to share.

One day, when he’d been nicely mellowed out by a good score and a shared bottle of the good stuff to celebrate, she had asked him, “Do you ever think about having kids?”

The split-second look he’d given her still haunted her to this day. She had seen him angry, she had seen him silent, cheerful and surly and balking at house chores, but it hadn’t crossed her mind that he could ever be afraid.

“No,” he’d answered curtly. “Why?”

“Just wondering. Kevin from logistics just had his third the other day. Kept asking me when I’d finally get started on my own.”

“Kevin from logistics needs to mind his own damn business.”

“That’s what I told him,” said Janet, and Len smirked. “Anyway, he got me thinking. Turns out I don’t think I want kids. You know, at all.”

The relief on his face was as fleeting as the fear, but just as stark.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like what we have.” A pause. “You’ve really never thought about having kids one day?”

“Sure I did, once – for about five seconds. Weirdest five seconds of my life.”

She’d given him a look, half amused, half a smile. Relax, Len. You’re not getting interrogated.

“That bad?”

“Look, I don’t… Kids are weird, all right? Adults I can deal with. Besides, all I know is how not to be a father. No way I’m risking—no way.”

That was as close as he ever came to telling her why she’d never even heard Snart Sr.’s first name. But it was enough. They closed the subject and moved on to other things.

* * * *

And then it turned out that Metropolis and Gotham were not the only cities that could boast an actual superhero, because Central City quickly became aware of a lean, young-looking man in a red costume who called himself the Flash and went after burglars and thieves with superhuman speed. Whoever he was, whatever he was, he added an element of danger to her husband’s chosen profession, and Janet took an instant dislike to him and his big smug smile. Then she dismissed him from her mind quickly enough.

Len, though, was a very different story.

While he didn’t like the Flash any more than Janet did, the guy’s addition to the tried-and-true equation of cops and robbers added an edge that hadn’t been present before. Having an actual superhero in town made all of Len’s old research on absolute zero – and tinkering in the basement – not only relevant but useful. He designed a ‘cold gun’ from plans he’d stolen years ago, looking more excited than Janet had seen him in the last eight years, and worked hard to ‘up his game’.

Privately, Janet thought that, for a man who claimed to be as serious about his trade as Len did, creating a brand-new persona complete with parka, visor, and goofy moniker was hilarious.

Not that she ever actually laughed at him. Especially not the one time Len came back from a heist with an armful of cash and a weird look on his face.

“He’s a kid, Jan,” he said when Janet had asked him what could be wrong when he’d clearly got away with the loot unscathed. “He’s a goddamn kid. I don’t think he’s even old enough to drink.”

“What the hell is he playing at, then?” she exclaimed. “This job is not kid’s stuff! What was he thinking, that he could waltz in and play Superman, just like that?”

“I don’t know.” Len took off his visor and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then his eyes hardened. “And I don’t care. I like my job. If this guy thinks he can stop me, then he’d better be prepared to try harder.”

“I got him good today, though,” he said hours later, in the small hours of the night, after Janet’s hands had searched for his, cool and calloused, under the covers.

Something tensed inside in the region of her stomach.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“Of course not,” he snapped, looking annoyed that she’d even ask. Janet’s guts relaxed. “I’m a crook, not a murderer. Besides, you know the second someone offs that guy, Superman or another big hero is gonna show up and turn the city inside out in revenge. It’d be like when a cop gets killed. They close ranks and start shooting indiscriminately.”

“So when you say you ‘got him good’ –”

“I just sent him packin’. Didn’t rough him up more than I would a cop. The kid’s got a mean right hook but he has no idea how real cold works, speed or no speed.”

Janet closed her eyes again and murmured, “Maybe he’ll quit, then.”

“Maybe.” Even half-asleep, she could tell that this ‘maybe’ meant ‘fat chance’.

“So… on the off-chance that today didn’t put him off, what are you gonna do?”

“I was thinking I might hit Drake & Hall Savings on Infantino Street next month.”

“I meant about the Flash.”

Len’s voice was low but certain when he said, “Me too. I’ll just keep doing my job, and if this joker is as serious as he claims to be, he’ll keep trying to stop me. But I’m not gonna drop everything just because of a kid in a onesie and a mask. I’ll just have to find ways to slow him down.”

The last thought that coalesced in Janet’s mind just before she nodded off was Did my husband just become a supervillain?

She fell asleep before the laugh passed her lips.

* * * *

While ‘supervillain’ might have been stretching things – not to mention the word made Janet choke up on laughter – Len’s new approach to the job was certainly different from the one he’d had before the Flash came along. He still refused the label, though, arguing that supervillains had powers, costumes, and delusions of grandeur, while he just had a cold gun, a parka, and banks to rob.

“Okay,” said Janet when she was in a ribbing mood, “what’s the Joker’s power, then?”

This usually earned her a deadpan look.

At least Len didn’t remain the only crook with a gimmick and an eccentric costume for long. Soon her husband had colleagues, fellow not-supervillains, some of whom not only willing to work together but also seemed to actually appreciate it. Their ‘powers’ were not innate, nor did they get them in freaky accidents; like Len, they either stole tech or were savvy enough to design it. And they all rejected the label of ‘supervillain’.

They were ‘rogues’. Or rather, Rogues. And Len – who knows why – took the place of the de facto leader.

Of her husband’s coworkers, Janet got on with Mick Rory the best. She liked his even temper, his slight smile, and the fact that he generally found it easy to keep a level head. Digger Harkness was his exact opposite, and her whole life she could never quite shake off the urge to slap him whenever he opened his mouth. The others were scattered along the scale between those two extremes: some were never quite sure what to do with her (or she with them – apart from making sure the old couch in the basement could be slept on and keeping an eye on their quickly-dwindling stock of coffee and beer packs), while others were more accommodating about having to spend time with ‘Len’s missus’.

One day Janet caught James pilfering one of the cookies she’d baked herself for the next night she’d have to spend alone. He looked so terrified at being caught red-handed that she refrained from rolling her eyes and told him to help himself and share with his musician friend.

She drew the line at pointing out Hartley was too skinny, though. Just because the young man was friendly and polite and, indeed, looked rather underfed didn’t mean she had any right to turn into her Aunt Debbie. She’d rather die first. Besides, she wasn’t the kid’s nanny, was she?

Nevertheless, the cookies proved a success. Like the couch in the basement, like the stocking up on beer packs, like the occasional patching-up of scrapes not serious enough to warrant a trip to the hospital, they surreptitiously became a habit.

* * * *

Over the years, Janet Snart slid smoothly into middle-age never regretting once her decision not to have children. Turned out being a woman, a wife, a friend, and a sometimes kind-of-support to a bunch of Rogues was quite enough.

Parenthood was overrated, anyway.

______________

Hope you liked, @orion-nottson 💜

Timeline notes thingy: Janet and Len met when they were about 25-27 and got married a couple of years later. ‘Dillon’ is of course Roscoe Dillon, the Top, who has a blink-and-you-miss-it cameo in the JLU episode with the Rogues, but since I don’t want to kill him or Lisa, I’m thinking he was her ice skating trainer, they fell in love, and didn’t go into villainy.

Wally was the first Flash of this universe - maybe the second and Jay was a superhero in the 1940s? - since he says “my uncle’s flying in” for the ceremony. Also, when he first pops up in this story he’s not quite 16, while Len is a bit over 30.

...I really overthink these things, huh 😅

#Anonymous #my stuff #rogues #fanfiction #ask reply #my OCs #Janet Snart

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

welp, here’s my part of a winter exchange organised by on the xisang discord! I got to write for @scumvillainrights and it was fun~

It was Nie Huaisang’s fault for arriving a day early. He had just felt too impatient to visit the Cloud Recesses again. That, and it was just so cold at the altitude he flew at, so he had pushed himself hard to reach his destination faster. The downsides to that, he’d found out upon arriving to the gate of the Cloud Recesses, was that nothing was ready to receive him, and that the sect leader was absent dealing with some other business, as were Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji.

Having been given a jade token even before his brother’s death, Nie Huaisang was still allowed inside, but it was clear to him that the Lans just didn’t quite know what to do with him. And while it would have been easy, and perhaps even mildly funny to embarrass those Lan disciples by requesting a room be given to him right away to rest and refresh himself, Nie Huaisang simply did not feel like being cruel. It really was his fault for being early this once, when he was usually more likely to be late. So Nie Huaisang assured the disciples welcoming him that he was in no hurry, and asked to be allowed to enjoy a walk in the Cloud Recesses, since they were so beautiful with the thin layer of snow that winter had brought.

The request, of course, was granted, and Nie Huaisang started wandering. Before long he realised that even the peaceful scenery of the Cloud Recesses couldn't lift his heavy mind, not this time, not anymore. The last few years had taken their toll on him, between the loss of his brother, the weight of responsibility, and the burden of revenge. Something had broken inside, Nie Huaisang thought. Something that not even this place he used to love could soothe, nor the perspective of finally having time with Lan Xichen again.

As he walked, deep in thought, Nie Huaisang’s feet took him to the hall where the Lans conducted punishment for disobedient disciples. This, at least, nearly made him smile. He used to come here often when he was a guest student, and it seemed his legs remembered the path too well. Still, it was no place for him to be. Nie Huaisang was about to turn away when he heard some singing.

Music, of course, was nothing unusual in the Cloud Recesses. Every disciple learned to play an instrument, usually the guqin. But because of Lan rules that favoured the quiet, it was rare to hear any singing. In fact, Nie Huaisang wondered if he'd ever heard such a thing before. It made him curious enough that he followed that voice inside the courtyard of the hall.

There, in the snow, with his back to Nie Huaisang, a kneeling boy was singing to himself. It couldn't have been part of his punishment to sing. In fact, Nie Huaisang was sure the boy would get harshly scolded if he were discovered by other Lan disciples.

A shame. The boy had a good, steady voice, full of energy but pleasant to the ear. It seemed out of place in the Cloud Recesses, the same way Nie Huaisang knew he did in the Unclean Realm.

Perhaps that was the reason why Nie Huaisang clapped when the song ended.

The boy cried out in surprise, again too loud for the Cloud Recesses, and turned to look at Nie Huaisang with big frightened eyes.

"Gongzi!" he exclaimed, quickly looking around in case Nie Huaisang weren't alone. "Are you lost, gongzi? I don't think visitors are allowed here."

Seeing his face, Nie Huaisang guessed the boy to be twelve or thirteen at most. Going by the steadiness of his singing, Nie Huaisang would have thought him to be older.

"Ordinary visitors maybe not," he admitted. "But I'm a friend of Lan zongzhu, and I have certain rights."

"You don't look like someone Lan zongzhu would be friends with," the boy retorted. "Aren't you dressed too fancy for the Cloud Recesses?"

Nie Huaisang smiled in spite of himself, delighted by this odd little Lan he'd stumbled upon. Gusu boys never usually managed that sort of open insolence, it was beaten out of them by the time they were ten.

"I really am Lan zongzhu's friend," he insisted, showing off his jade token to prove it. That particular type was only given to high ranking disciples normally, though Lan Xichen had also given them to his closest, most trusted friends.

"Oh, maybe you really are," the boy conceded. "Who are you? I thought only Jin zongzhu had one like that. Or are you… Ah, what's the other one…"

"I'm Nie Huaisang," came the answer, a little drier than it needed to be. But Nie Huaisang's rare good humour had fallen apart at the reminder that Jin Guangyao existed in the world.

"Nie zongzhu!" the boy gasped, bowing politely to him. "I'm sorry. I should have guessed by your colours."

"It's fine. And you are?"

"I'm Lan Jingyi, Nie zongzhu. I'm actually related to Lan zongzhu. We're cousins. Kind of."

The boy's name was unfamiliar, but that was hardly a surprise. Nie Huaisang has always struggled to remember names, unless the person was of direct interest to him.

"Nie zongzhu, are you going to denounce me for singing?" Lan Jingyi asked, looking up at him with worry. "I know I shouldn't have. If master Lan hears about it, he's going to scold me for making a racket again."

"Are those his words?"

Lan Jingyi shrugged with a carelessness that made Nie Huaisang nearly smile again. Then, remembering that he was talking to a person of some importance, Lan Jingyi quickly nodded and bowed again.

"Master Lan is trying to teach me to stop disrupting the peace," he explained. "I am very grateful for his efforts and I am trying to learn from him."

"If he called your singing a racket he's unfair," Nie Huaisang retorted. "You have a very lovely voice. Where did you learn to sing like that? You must have been trained to be this good?"

The instant he heard the praise, Lan Jingyi's face illuminated, as if he'd never received such a high compliment.

"Nie zongzhu is too kind!" he exclaimed. "I haven't been trained, except if you count singing with my father when I was little. I just enjoy it a lot, even if I know I shouldn't."

"Ah, I know the feeling," Nie Huaisang huffed with a half smile. "I'm glad you persevered. You really are quite good. In fact, I wouldn't mind another song, if that's agreeable to you. I won't tell master Lan and Lan zongzhu, I promise."

"Really?"

"Really."

Lan Jingyi's smile at being encouraged could have outshone the sun. He didn't hesitate and started another song right away.

He really had a good voice, especially if he had never received training for it. So good in fact that Nie Huaisang allowed himself to be carried away by the music without paying attention to the lyrics. They seemed to be mostly nonsense anyway, just random things set to the tune of a Lan melody which Nie Huaisang, belatedly, recognised as Cleansing

At any other time, it would have horrified him to hear again the music used to murder his brother. But set to silly lyrics, in the voice of this enthusiastic child, Nie Huaisang found that he didn't mind. If anything, Lan Jingyi made the melody feel peaceful again.

It had been a long, long while since Nie Huaisang had felt so calm.

That fragile peace was promptly broken by approaching footsteps.

"Lan Jingyi, do you know what rules you have just broken?" a stern voice asked in a tired tone, bringing the song to a sudden end.

Even before turning, Nie Huaisang recognised Lan Qiren and shivered. Even though he was no longer his student, some part of him still feared the strict teacher who used to terrify him. At least, Lan Qiren wasn't alone. When Nie Huaisang turned to bow in respect, he saw Lan Xichen at his uncle's side, which meant he wouldn't have to go through the torture of small talk with Lan Qiren.

"Master Lan, Lan zongzhu, please do not scold that disciple of yours," Nie Huaisang asked. "I am the one who requested to hear him sing, and of course he could hardly have denied me this."

"And how did you know that he sings in the first place?" Lan Qiren retorted, unimpressed.

Unsure how to answer without causing more problems for Lan Jingyi, Nie Huaisang elected to stay silent. He opened his fan to hide and turned his attention to Lan Xichen, as if he hadn't heard the question at all.

"Er-ge, how good to see you, it's been so long. Are you free now? Could we go have tea? I'm just freezing, I can't feel my feet at all and I'm worried about frostbite!"

Lan Xichen smiled indulgently, and glanced at his uncle.

"I'll let you deal with Jingyi, uncle, and entertain Nie zongzhu. Don't let him stay out too long. I fear it'll snow again tonight."

Lan Qiren looked unimpressed by that double plea for leniency, but nodded anyway. Only a little worried for Lan Jingyi, Nie Huaisang lost no time in following Lan Xichen away from that courtyard and toward the Hanshi.

"Will he be punished for this?" Nie Huaisang asked as they walked, a little closer to each other than necessary.

"Who?"

"That boy, Lan Jingyi. I really did ask him, you know, and I promised him he wouldn't get in trouble."

Lan Xichen chuckled softly.

"Lan Jingyi is always in trouble," he said. "We don't really know what to do with him. He has very good cultivation, uncle says he's one of the most skilled swordsmen he's ever seen, but his attitude is… a bit much to handle."

Nie Huaisang grimaced. He had found it endearing that Lan Jingyi had been nearly insolent, that he didn't whisper like most Lan disciples seemed to do, but he could imagine others would be less amused.

"It would be less of a problem if his musical cultivation were better," Lan Xichen sighed. "But he struggles with that as well. It's very odd. He has such a good ear for music, he's always humming something if left alone, but put him before a guqin and he's a disaster. He tries to please us, but it's so obvious he doesn't care for it, and so he makes no progress."

"Sounds familiar," Nie Huaisang grumbled, thinking again how radiant Lan Jingyi had been when praised, even by a complete stranger. He thought, also, of the way he'd found Cleansing soothing again, for the first time in years, and wondered. "Is it possible to cultivate through singing?"

Lan Xichen shot him a surprised look at the question, and did not answer right away. They had reached the Hanshi at last, and Lan Xichen remained silent as he opened the door, letting his guest in.

"I don't think it has ever been done," he finally answered as he closed the door behind them. "It certainly wouldn't be traditional."

"Oh, tradition," Nie Huaisang huffed, bending down to take off his boots as quickly as his cold fingers allowed. "Sometimes tradition isn't so great."

Kneeling next to him, Lan Xichen hummed noncommittally before helping Nie Huaisang remove his shoes, clearly less affected by the biting cold. Nie Huaisang couldn't decide if he was grateful or annoyed that he needed the help. He chose to ignore both feelings and leaned forward, silently begging for a kiss that was easily granted to him.

Before Nie Huaisang could get a second kiss, Lan Xichen rose to his feet and went to boil water for some tea. Nie Huaisang went to sit at the table and watched the other man work, their conversation already half forgotten for his part.

Lan Xichen, however, wasn't quite done yet.

"There might be something to your idea of voice cultivation," he said a few minutes later, while pouring the tea. Nie Huaisang blinked a few times, hurriedly trying to recall what he'd said. He was so often ignored these days, it always startled him how Lan Xichen truly paid attention to his chatter. "It would not be recommended for ordinary people, but Lan Jingyi does have a more powerful voice than most. The main reason uncle has to be so tough on him about being quiet is that Lan Jingyi has provoked headaches in others more than once. But if that could be channelled properly… and singing is music as well, isn't it? The voice is just an instrument of another sort. It could be worth trying. I'll tell uncle about it. He has a soft spot for Jingyi, I'm sure he'd be happy to find a way to help him improve."

Lan Xichen sounded so serious and earnest about it that Nie Huaisang found himself smiling. Because the world was cold and his own mind so dark, Nie Huaisang forgot sometimes how warm and kind Lan Xichen could be. At times he was annoyed by it, jealous that anyone might still carry so much gentleness. But that day, like most times he was reminded of his lover's nature, Nie Huaisang felt relieved that Lan Xichen remained untouched by darkness, and became each time more convinced that he'd been right in his choice to leave Lan Xichen unburdened by the truth.

"I'm sure Lan Jingyi will be very grateful that you are willing to help him find what works for him," Nie Huaisang said, sipping on his tea, shivering pleasantly at the heat of it.

"Not all disciples can follow the main road," Lan Xichen retorted, brushing his fingers against Nie Huaisang's cheek. "Those other paths are worth exploring as well. They can lead to great treasure, I've found."

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes, his face suddenly very hot.

He blamed the tea for that.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan jingyi #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #I hope you'll like it coda!!!#jau writes

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tooft · 3 years

Text

It isn't surprising that death hides itself behind the countless names we have created for it. Few like to think about their supposed end, and so those that have died will be spoken of in hushed tones, described as having passed on, or more commonly, that they are resting, at peace as they sleep beneath the earth. Eternal rest from the calamity and chaos that is living, with many choosing to think that it is a welcome respite from the world that is constantly changing and shifting. In a way, they're not fully incorrect, but their reasoning for why the dead rest so soundly is not quite right either.

See, what people don't know (or the living ones at least), is that death is utterly and exasperatingly exhausting.

To be dead is to be tired, adrift in a haze as you struggle to keep your spirit, soul, whatever it is, from fading too much. Without the energy that comes with having a physical vessel, the dead are perpetually on the edge of burnout, with newly deceased barely able to handle a few hours at a time. It does get easier as one adjusts to the afterlife, able to stay up for weeks or even months, but the desire to just drift off into blissful unconsciousness never eases up. It just is a matter of building up one's ability to resist it.

Most can't be bothered, and I can't say I blame them. Unless someone was murdered, or has some other form of dramatic, unfinished business there's little reason to stay aware of the passage of time at all. The mortal world has little impact on that of the dead, and most are content to just catch up on any important events that happened during their rest the next time they're able to shake off sleep.

I suppose that the dead being buried in cemeteries both helps and hinders the eternal rest that so many choose to turn to. A comfortable place to sleep is hard to pass up, especially when it's conveniently arranged so that there's little interaction with the more rowdy aspects of living society. Definitely makes it harder to motivate themselves to get up, but then when they've been dead long enough to see the world they lived in disappear into modern day society then there's little reason to hang around. So, they rest, deep within the earth where few can bother them. And the few that do... well that's why I'm around.

Now, given what I've just told you, it might sound like a contradiction when I say that I am the barrier between the living and the dead. Surely a job like that is difficult to accomplish when one spends their days struggling to resist a rather comfortable nap in the dirt. Still, it's true. Anyone trying to start trouble in my cemetery will have to go through me first, and I've yet to find the desire to sleep stronger than my desire to protect those under my care.

There is a reason I'm awake, beyond my overprotectiveness of my charges of course, and that is that this cemetery also happens to be where I died. It was rather dramatic, an ill-planned tryst with a lover that got a bit too stabby near the end. Guess I should have known that any relationship involving a person who wants to meet in a cemetery in the dead of night was not going to end well. I did get over it eventually, once the first few decades had past and I was able to think beyond my anger and exhaustion. Even then I didn't need to sleep as often as those who had been dead far longer than I, though I didn't understand why until one of the older spirits awoke for long enough to explain it to me.

Your site of death has power, one stronger than almost any other force I've come across. It's a gateway between you and the life you once had, a literal crossroad that you passed over to reach the inevitable end. Even if you're body no longer inhabits it, your death site holds the memory of who you once were, and with that comes a well of power and energy that fuels those still close enough to access it. So, unlike everyone else here, I am able to stay up for years before I need to rest, and even then it's only for a few hours.

So, given that I had ample time to do things, and my only friends were asleep 90% of the time, I decided that I would need to find my own ways to entertain myself. You would not believe how many games of solitaire I have played here. I like to think that all that time was useful, but I still somehow suck at that game. I find my other job a lot more productive, even if it doesn't happen all that often.

See, I work to scare the shit out of the living.

Not all of them of course, not even most of those that come to visit. Many are just here to see those long gone from their lives, to reminisce and honor the dead who sleep below them. Bothering them would be a waste of time, not to mention rude, and if I tried scaring off every single person who came through those gates I would not have enough energy to even speak with you now. No, my targets are those that come with hopes of bothering the dead, though they might not know that's what they're doing at the time.

The living tend to have respect for the dead, but not everyone does. Mainly kids, teenagers who are bored and angry with the world, or just those that think the remote nature of a cemetery means that no one will be bothered by something that their doing. They arrive and cause whatever ruckus they're seeking out, and oftentimes waking up a lot of people who have more than earned a peaceful rest.

Some are easier to deal with than others. I like the ones that come with their boards and pendants, rituals to speak to those that can barely keep their eyes open. They're easy to mess with, you just need to knock over a couple of things and poke the planchette around enough to get the threat of retribution across. Maybe throw in a few whispered words and far off cackles to be caught by the wind that just so happens to creep into their heads. They tend to leave in a hurry, to which I say good riddance. They're better off trying to talk to some pissed off spirit or poltergeist in a house somewhere, those that want to talk and oftentimes rarely stop doing so once you get them started.

Others are... interesting to say the least. While annoying, at least most of those trying to communicate with us are respectful about it. Those who just come to a cemetery to raise hell or to have a seemingly empty location to perform acts away from living eyes are quite different in that regard. If they do acknowledge us, it's in passing, and more than often with laughter as they taunt the scary ghosts that apparently "haunt" this location. It's all rather rude if you ask me, especially since if anyone's haunting somewhere they're not meant to be it's them. I'm a bit less creative when it comes to bothering these types of folk, I prefer to just make my presence impossible to ignore. You know those times when it feels like the air itself is pressing down on you, to the point where it's hard to breathe? While often that's just anxiety, it could also be that you managed to piss off some spirit or another, and that just happens to be the best way for them to tell you to leave.

It doesn't always work, of course. The living can be remarkably dense to the desires of the dead, even when they claim to know what we would have wanted were we still alive. They just ignore whatever signals I'm sending them, going about their business as if a cemetery isn't a place of peace. That's when I have to get a bit more aggressive.

It's a lot of work showing ourselves to the living. Even if you died in the place you're occupying in death, it can take a lot out of you to physically manifest yourself in such a way that the living can see you at all. I try to stick to more simpler methods, pushing or throwing objects or even telling them to leave. But some just don't want to listen, even when I know they're scared, they act as though they have a right to be there. So, physical manifestation becomes a lot more appealing.

Even those who take pride in their bravery find it more than a bit unsettling when a young woman dripping with blood rushes them from the shadows of the trees, screaming bloody murder. If they don't take off immediately, cackling maniacally as I wield the knife my lover left me tends to do the trick. I've yet to meet anyone whose stuck around after that, though it does tend to result in the police having to make sure that there isn't an actual murderer roaming the gravestones. I don't mind though, especially since it seems the police are getting used to such reports and don't stay long. Plus I'm usually asleep long before they arrive, since such matters are rather tiring.

It's a job I enjoy, and a job that's necessary for those who live (or "live") here. With that said, it is a lonely occupation. Any friends I've made are more often than not using their eternity to dream, which I don't mind, but it does make it harder to drift alone day after day. I've learned everything there is to know about this place, every tree and every stone. I love it more than anything, but the monotony does take its toll.

You, however, are certainly a break from the usual.

Don't get me wrong, I would have much preferred if we weren't having this conversation at all, given that doing so confirms the awful truth of the matter. But it's not like there's anything we can do to change it now. I do apologize for not intervening, but I had thought the two of you were just another pair that had come to pay their respects. By the time I saw the gun, there was little I could do to help you.

If it helps at all, they should find your body fairly quickly once someone does arrive. Hard to miss the bloodstains when they are such a contrast to the snowy winter landscape. What are the odds that another person would be murdered here? I appreciate you letting me blather on like this, it's so rare I get to talk to someone new. Usually anyone arriving here is asleep for a good few years, and even then we haven't had anyone new since the last plot was filled ten years ago. But then, I shouldn't keep you awake any longer.

I'm honestly impressed that you're still conscious, not many people tend to be at this point. I hope I've answered any of the urgent questions you might have. The rest can wait until after you've slept. There's a few places I'd highly recommend for napping, I'll take you to my favorite now! It's just over the hill there, can you walk? Wonderful, right this way.

I'm sure everyone will be happy to meet you, whenever that ends up happening. Not like we don't have time for that in any case. I do hope you like it here, moving resting spots can be a bit of a nightmare. Lots of energy needed, though I guess you could just follow your body if you truly wanted. I'll keep an eye out for anyone nearby who might be able to help. Whatever happens next, I'm sure it will be interesting if nothing else.

Sleep well, for you are among friends, my dear.

Goodnight.

#my writing #response to a prompt #short story #ghost story #technically anyways #haunting is a subjective term #writing #story

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dreamer213 · 3 years

Text

Broken Machines Lights The Dark

Chapter 4: On My Mind

Fourteen hours and three days. That’s how long it had been since Penny went to the evening party, how long it had been since she had met Whitley, and how long the thought of him had made her feel odd. That night she went home told her dad about the events that unfolded at the evening party. Everything was fine until she got to the part where she saved Whitley then things got hazy. It was so strange she remembered everything clearly but when she tried to vocalize her thoughts on the boy she would start to stutter and her temperature would rise, turning her face red. At first she thought it was some sort of glitch in her speech and temperature gauge but her dad checked and said there was nothing was wrong and that her body was just reacting to her mind and her soul processing her emotions. Flustered is the word he used for the reaction, he said quote “It’s a perfectly normal reaction for a sweet young lady like you to have when meeting a handsome young man.” Though that answer did not resonate well with Penny for a few reasons. Firstly the reaction itself made very little sense to Penny as why would meeting an attractive person make another person behavior in such so oddly. Secondly Penny had already met plenty of young men in the military most of which were very handsome and she hadn’t reacted in this way at all. And lastly Whitley was not handsome, his features and overall demeanor aligned more with the definition of beautiful or pretty as they held a more elegant and delicate nature compared to the more rugged and brash nature of the word handsome. When asked the different the best way Penny could describe it was that he was less like someone you’d see in the training center but more like someone you’d see at a library sitting in an armchair next to a window, sunlight beaming down on him as he reads some complex text.

Penny: I wonder if he likes the classics or more modern literature. Historical fiction maybe? Is he the type of person who likes to have a snack or drink while he reads or would he not risk the chance of damaging the book? Though judging by the look and feel of his hands they are very nimble and steady so it’s very unlike he would spill anything. But maybe he’s the type of person that worries too much.

Penny continues to get lost in her thoughts, seated at the control panel for the training room. She was immersed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Winter entering the room nor did she notices Winter sneaking up from behind and get down to her level. Winter positions herself to be leaning right next to Penny’s ear. She taps her a few times first, when that fails to get her attention Winter decides to go with plan B.

Winter: penny…Oh Penny…..PENNY POLENDINA!

Penny: Eeep!

Penny squeaks in sear fright when she realizes it’s Winter she quickly turns around, jumps from her chair and salutes Winter.

Penny: Good afternoon Winter Schnee! How may I assist you today?

Winter: Well first you can stop your silly daydreaming and focus! Second you do your job and get the training room ready for my session-

“Ring” “Ring”

Winter’s scroll rings cut her. She takes the call, stepping out of the room into the hallway. After a minute and fifteen seconds she returns.

Winter: Call someone to take over your post. I need you to come with me for an errand.

Penny: Right now?

Winter: Yes.

Winter walks out with Penny trailing behind her. Penny quickly asks the nearest center staff member to take over the training room then dashes after Winter. They keep walking for a while until they reach a small building hidden behind the rest of the facilities. Penny know about this building, when she was restored one of the first things she was told was if there was ever an emergency and this building was in danger of being damaged or destroyed to protect she and any other soldiers in the area were to protect it with their lives. The second was that she could never enter without either General Ironwood’s or Winter’s presence and permission. Now why would one small building amongst so many military facilities have such strict rules? Because it housed something crucial to the safety of the entire nation and the world.

This morning had been an interesting one. After spending a few hours in conference with Ironwood, the details of they’re deal had finally been ironed out.. It was fairly simple agreement, the Schnee’s would provided support in the military’s investigation via invitations to formal events, etiquette lessons, and they even offered some financial assistance if necessary. In exchange Ironwood would back Jacques in his future political endeavors. Both would be sworn to complete secrecy on the matter for the sake of both parties public images. It was a simple exchange of resources a common practice in the business world however there was an additional clause in arrangement that had Whitley a bit on edge.

As they exit the reception room Jacques is preoccupied with his scroll while Whitley was pondering on what to do about the clause. It had added on in the last few minutes of the conference thus there was no time to debate or discussed it further then a yes or no. Knowing there was little to no chance of changing it outright Whitley decides to question Jacques on it to see if he could find some kind of trying and reason him into changing the conditions of this clause over time. He waits until they are far out of ear shot then speaks.

Whitley: Father?

Jacques: Yes, Whitley.

Whitley: I understand that we have to be cautious when dealing with the military but was it really necessary to add that last clause to the agreement?

Jacques: Of course it was necessary. I can’t just hand over my best tutors to those barbarians, they’d either be scared off by one of the mongrels he calls soldiers or return as his spies and I won’t stand for it! The lessons have to happen here, in the manor, that way I’ll know exactly what their little military hound is up to.

Whitley: Yes I do agree the change in location was but that’s not the problem. What I’m struggling with is the very last adjustment. The staff will be present and will be monitoring her every move while she’s in the manor so is changing her instructor really necessary?

Jacques stops in front of Whitley, he turns around, looks down at Whitley, and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Jacques: Whitley, this situation is nothing like any deals I’ve made before. This isn’t hosting an out of town guest for the evening nor is entertaining a group of businessmen. I am granting access to the manor to one of Ironwood’s soldiers for an undisclosed amount of time. If it were only going to be for a week I’d be less strict but possible months! Not a chance in Hell. And with that filth Klein betraying us I can’t chance give my trust to someone just to have them do the same. No, this task can only be handled by someone I know would NEVER betray me. Do you understand?

Jacques squeezes Whitley’s shoulder tight, the skin under his shirt and vest begins to redden as Jacques digs his nails into it. Whitley winces in pain but Jacques holds firm. He won’t let go until he gets the answer he’s expecting. Whitley takes a deep breath to compose himself before he finally speaks.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques: Good, now since there’s nothing left to discuss, go to the library you have a business statistic lesson in thirty minutes.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques pulls his scroll back out again and walks off without another word. While Whitley, holding his now bruised shoulder, starts heading towards the library and sighs. What a useless conversation, there was really no changing the situation all Whitley could do was prepare, the girl will be starting her lessons and he needed to be ready. Though it wasn’t like he really had anything to fear from her besides her physical strength and military training she had come off as a fairly awkward and meek girl with little to no social awareness. But still he could help this unnerving feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. Why did idea of her presence make him feel so uneasy?

“????:….I….want….I want to see her….I want to see her smile again.”

The memory of the unknown voice plays in Whitley’s mind. He still hadn’t figured out what caused the deviation of the dream nor what the voice was or where it came from. What he did know was that it wished for him to see that girl, Penny, again and regardless of his wishes, it looks like it was going to have its way.

Whitley: This isn’t what I was hoping for but there’s no going back now. I’ll just have to push through.

After several security checks and the removal of all their weapons Penny and Winter finally reach their destination, a kitchen with a door at the other end. Winter goes to speak the cook while Penny stands behind her confused by what’s happening. They had come to the most secured building in the entire center base just to go to the kitchen. When she done talking Winter goes back to Penny and points her towards a tea set, kettle, and stove.

Winter: Go brew some tea. She likes camomile , no cream, a teaspoon of sugar, a three drops off lemon juice.

Penny: Yes Ma’am

Winter turns around grabs a tray of food of the counter, and walks through the other door. Penny does as she was told and starts making tea. She had already learned how to sometime again before she had ever left the lab. She’d brew coffee and tea for her dad and Ciel during breaks, long nights, or when it got really cold out. Back then Penny couldn’t feel things like warmth or cold but hated to see them shivering or struggling to stay awake in the middle of the night so she’d make warm drinks, get them blankets, and clean up after them if they were too tired to do it themselves. Those times had made the act of brewing tea quite therapeutic and calming for Penny and since she gained the ability to enjoy the practice to its fullest she had only gotten better at it. But at times like this she was also reminded of her former attendant Ciel.

Penny: (Sighs) It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. Ever since that day.

Ciel had be like an older sister to Penny, wise, caring, and always there for the people around her. They’d been fairly close before they went to Beacon but after the tournament and Beacon’s fall Penny hasn’t seen her again, she asked for her a few times right after she was restored but she never came. Supposedly she was still working in robotics but was reassigned to mecha production and maintenance.

Penny: I would ask Dad where she is and how she’s doing but I don’t think she would want me to find her. Still I hope she’s doing well.

The whistle of the kettle pulls Penny out of her thoughts, the water was ready. Penny pours the hot water into the tea pot over the tea leaves in a circular motion. She lets it sit to set and cool a bit then pours the tea into the cup and adds the sugar and lemon. She puts everything on a tray and heads towards the door. As she gets closer Penny can feel cold air brush past her, she keeps going only to find the door has a layer of frost covering the edges. She pulls the door open to see what looks like a hospital room. There’s nothing particularly odd about the room aside from the many paintings that decorated the walls, the large window close to the ceiling, and the GROWING FROST AND DROPPING TEMPERATURE! The floor and a few feet of the walls have been covered layer of ice, Winter is standing by the bed where a frail elderly woman lays looking rather upset, the ice seems to emanating from her hands. Winter tries to get the women to cooperate with her but the woman just shakes her head as the temperature continues to drop.

Winter: Freya please stop being so stubborn, you need to eat now. It’s almost time for your medicine and you can’t it on an empty stomach.

Freya just shakes her head, unwilling to listen to Winter commands. This wasn’t too shocking as the elderly in Atlas were notorious for their attitudes. Anyone over the age of 50 was either the sweetest old person you’d ever met or the most stubborn and unruly. For the stubborn ones only the most patient of people could handle care for them. Luckily for them Penny was one of those people.

Penny continues to walk towards Freya, increasing her body’s temperature to keep the tea heated as she gets closer. Once she’s at Freya’s bedside she bends down to her level and gives her a warm smile.

Penny: Ms. Freya?

Penny stands over smiling silently as she waits for a response. Freya eventual turns her head towards her and groans. Still smiling Penny extends the tray to Freya.

Penny: Would you to have your tea first or do want your lunch first instead?

Freya groans again but motions for the tea cup.

Penny: Okay tea it is then. But you have to eat your lunch afterwards then take your medicine. Is that okay with you?

Freya nods and reaches for the cup, Penny pushes the cup towards her hand and help guid to her mouth. Once Freya’s got her cup of tea the ice stops forming and Penny turns to Winter.

Penny: Do you need me to do anything else?

Winter: (sighs) Please go and reheat her lunch.

Penny: Yes Ma’am!

Penny does as she’s told and reheats the food and brings the food back out. After Freya’s fed and medicated the girls begin gathering up the dishes and talking.

Winter: Thank you Penny, taking care of the Maiden can be taxiing at times. Especially when she gets in modes like this.

Penny: Is that why you told me to come with you on this errand?

Winter: Yes, I thought given your physical abilities and personality you’d be best suited to help keep her calm or in the worst case scenario hold her down with lower risk of major injuries.

Penny: Thank you?

Penny looks around again this time noting the paintings in detail. The all had a similar style, some looked older then the others, and there was an easel and cabinet full of fresh paints and brushes.

Penny: Winter? The paintings here were they all made by-

Winter: Yes, Freya was a talented painter before she became the Maiden, the large one on your right was the last piece she made before she fully devoted herself to being the Maiden and retired from her art career.

Penny: Oh.

Penny looks up at the paintings. It’s a silhouette of a little girl holding up a ball of light, the background is a starry night sky over snowy mountain range. The vocal point of the painting seems to seem to be the girl and the light. The light swirled outward blending into the other whites of paintings and while only being a silhouette the girl seems to looking at the light her expression unknown. What does the girl see in the light Penny wonders. She stares at for long moment trying to find meaning in the art piece. But soon Winter calls her back to the kitchen. Penny waves goodbye to Freya and takes one last look at the paintings before leaving.

Once they’ve cleaned up they leave the facility and go their separate ways to continue their work days. From there Penny continue with her day, her mind wondering back and forward between thoughts of the painting, Ciel, and Whitley until she finally finishes up her work day and goes home. When she opens the front door Penny is greeted by the sound of rustling of paper bags and the scent of pre cooked food. She goes to kitchen to see her dad setting a brown paper bag on the table. Pietro looks up to see her sporting a curious look as she inspects the bag.

Pietro: Welcome home Sweetpea.

Penny: Hi Dad, what’s in the brown paper bag? It smells quite good.

Pietro: Well, I was going to cook but I’ve been on phone on conferences all day and forgot to take anything out. So I ordered us some takeout instead.

Penny: Takeout!

Pietro: Yup, it’s stuff you haven’t tried yet to!

Penny: Yay!

Pietro opens the bag and pulls out three containers. He opens them to reveal a large amount of delicious looking food.

Pietro: We’ve got some soup dumplings, spicy wontons, and Yang Chow fried rice courtesy of Ms. Ling’s.

Ms. Ling’s was a popular family owner restaurant in Mantle Penny passed by almost everyday on patrol. The scent from the front door alone was enough to make her want to go in and order as much as she could have in one sitting but she never have the time or money to make quick trip. But tonight she would have her fill!

Penny runs and grabs two plates and forks. She hands her dad his then makes her plate, four soup dumplings, a couple spicy wontons, and a helping of fried rice! Pietro chuckles as fulls up her plate. Once her plate is full she sits down, and just as she about to take her first bite her scroll rings. Penny pulls out her scroll with her free hand and begins to read her messages. She tries to read and eat at the same but once she gets to a certain point she drops her fork.

Pietro: Penny? What’s wrong? Did something happen?

Penny: I-It’s m-my briefing a-a-and n-new sch-schedule. T-they j-just s-s- sent it a- a-a-and.

Pietro: And what?

Penny: The ten-tenth p-page l-last paragraph. I-it says it says-

Penny holds up her scroll for her dad to see and puts her head down on the table. Pietro tips his glasses a bit as he begins reading the section she mentioned.

Pietro: “ The formal etiquette lessons shall be held at the Schnee Manor Monday through Friday during the scheduled times. Penny Polendina will be chauffeured from the designated transit station to the Schnee Manor and back via a private chauffeured car. The lessons will be instructed by the Schnee Dust Company Heir, Whitley Schnee with up to five manor staff personnel present during each session. This schedule will go into effect tomorrow morning, please arrive on time and be appropriately attired.”

Penny: (high pitched squeak)

Pietro: Hmm, there’s a Note from the Instructor at the end. “ Good evening Ms. Polendina I’m looking forward to seeing you in the afternoon for our orientation session. I’m excited to teach you what I know and hope this will be a wonderful learning experience for both of us. Sincerely Whitley Schnee.”

With that Penny put her scroll down on the table and puts her hands in her now red face and starts squeaking at in even higher pitch while her dad just sits there and awkwardly pats her head. Tomorrow is going to be a very Very VERY difficult day.

#penny polendina #whitley schnee #broken machines #pietro polendina #jacques schnee #winter schnee #ciel soleil #rwby #rwby fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #God help this poor baby

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angelz-dust · 4 years

Text

masters of none - part 3 (jason todd x reader)

summary: i wanted to give you guys a more jason focused chapter. i plan on doing more of these where the reader isn’t as heavily included or not even included at all. hopefully the jason chapter i do will be better because i feel like the quality of my writing dipped a little on this one fhjghdk the next part will be back in reader’s head i promise. anyway i hope you guys still enjoy. this chapter is a little more dangerous, so prepare yourself.

word count: 6k

warnings: illegal activities (street racing, running from the cops, gunfire). food and drink (non alcoholic). smoking.

part 1 /// part 2 /// part 4

rascal (superstar)

money, cash, clothes, fast cars

...

jason felt the cool nighttime air beating back against him, the rumble of his engine being the only thing he could hear as he rode his motorcycle down the quiet road in robbinsville. he felt naked being out and about at night in his civilian clothing but it was necessary for the task at hand.

"exactly what does bruce want me to do?" jason asked barbara through their comm link.

"he wants you to report back with any intel you can get," barbara explained, the sound of her furious typing picking up in his ear. "my father thinks southside may be up to something. after that blow up between them and the penguin's guys, they've both been quiet. bruce just wants to make sure nothing's brewing under our noses."

"this is such a cop mission," jason complained as made a turn. "below my caliber, if i'm being honest."

"well, you'll have the races to keep you entertained," she reminded him. "i'll be on the line if you need me."

the races were the only reason jason had agreed to take on the little spy mission in the first place. sure, street racing was very illegal but it was also very entertaining. barbara was correct on that end. he just hoped it wouldn't be a complete waste of his time and he'd actually get some information out of the whole thing. he had to admit that it was a tolerable change of pace from the monotony that was patrolling crime alley. jason had passed the baton to cass for the night. she was the only person he trusted to do a good job. he refused to let just anyone take over his patrol route. things were different in crime alley. it required a... gentler touch that only he could provide and that he felt cass had an understanding of. one of the things he promised himself he'd do with his undeserved second chance at life was to protect the people who needed it most. it didn't matter how monotonous patrol became, or how tired he felt, or how how hard things got. he'd protect them all until his body didn't let him anymore.

jason could see his destination, the abandoned industrial park, in the distance. there were several cars parked all throughout it with people congregating around them. from what he could see, everything seemed calm. the closer he got, the better he could hear the loud music playing from the cars. he slowly pulled up, getting some looks from the people he passed by on his way to park it. coming here alone may have been a bad idea. he should've dragged dick along with him. it would've made blending in easier. he dismounted his bike, propping it up on the kickstand and pulling his helmet off his head. as he casually fixed his hair, he did a quick scan of the area. there were several groups of people scattered around while the road was being prepared for the race.

he saw a group of rowdy socialites a bit overdressed for a street race. he could use them as cover but the last thing he wanted to do was willingly be around the likes of them. there was one small group tucked away, standing around an electric blue sports car. their eyes were shifty and he could see they were trying to keep their voices down, even when they were far away from everyone else. he'd have to keep an eye on them. jason's eyes fell on the group of people counting money, presumably the betting pot. placing one would be a good way of blending in organically. he had made sure to grab some money from the emergency stash when he left the manor for this very reason. he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket, making his way over to the crowded area.

"we're short by a thousand," a woman, the bookkeeper, announced.

"pitch in," a man said, elbowing another guy.

quinton kelly, jason thought to himself, recognizing the rapper that stephanie and duke liked so much.

"i don't have a fucking band on me," quinton laughed in response, pulling out his wallet. "i can put down three."

"i'll match that," another man spoke up, a cigarette in his mouth. if memory served, which jason liked to think it did, that was tyler ronan.

"who else has money burning a hole in their pocket?" the bookkeeper shouted out, making the group laugh.

"come on, superstar. donate to the cause," the man from earlier spoke up, bothering someone else now.

"hell no," an oddly familiar female voice said. jason's eyes searched for the source. "are you insane?"

surprise flashed across his face when he realized who the voice belonged to. it was you. y/n l/n. the girl from the gala. his bard. he felt an odd sensation building in his stomach. he had convinced himself he was never going to see you again yet here you were. your presence made sense. quinton and tyler were members of cloud 9, just like you were. he wasn’t sure if he was happy to see you or if he was glad he could use you as cover. he could just follow you around and no one would question it. this was him banking on the assumption that you'd actually want to speak to him. he was hoping that he made a good impression on you at the gala. your interaction was short, but memorable. at least it was to him. staring at you like a deer in headlights wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he spoke up.

"i can put down four," he said, emerging from the back of the group. he felt all the eyes on him and he could hear the whispers. he ignored them all, his attention fully on the bookkeeper. the surprised look on her face led him to believe that she recognized him, too.

"well, i'm not going to turn down old money," she joked, getting some laughs. "what's your name? there's so many of you wayne kids, i can't keep track."

jason chuckled, nodding in understanding. even he lost track sometimes. "jason."

"okay, mr. jason wayne," she said, taking his name down.

"it's todd," you said, catching him off guard. his eyes met yours, a small smile appearing on his lips.

"oh, excuse me," she laughed, correcting herself. "mr. jason todd."

"i'm racking up the celebrity bets tonight," the man, who jason now deducted was the driver, grinned.

"yeah, so don't embarrass us by losing," the bookkeeper said seriously, counting up the money.

"alright! let's get this shit started!" someone yelled, everyone cheering loudly and moving in towards the finish line.

you, tyler, and quinton were walking over as a group, but jason noticed you were trailing behind. he couldn't help but think in the back of his mind that you had slowed your stride for him. he made his way over to you, being greeted by your sweet smile.

“hi jason,” you said softly, keeping your voice low. “i didn’t think i’d see you here tonight.”

“i could say the same about you,” jason couldn’t help but wonder what it was you were doing a street race. yes, there were other celebrities there but he didn’t peg you as the type to hang out with gang members. but then again, this was gotham. “can’t say i’m disappointed to see you, though.”

your smile grew, your eyes crinkling a little. “well, the feeling is mutual. it’s nice to see you, too.”

what he said was the truth. it wasn't something he said to try and butter you up, although that may have influenced his decision to tell you how he felt. he really did enjoy your company, both as red hood and as jason. he wasn’t particularly looking forward to his mission but now he was glad he accepted.

"hey," you called out, sticking your foot out and kicking quinton in the butt with the tip of your shoe. quinton turned around and gave jason a look. after a moment, he held his hand out to him.

"what's up, man?" he greeted jason, dapping him up, tyler doing the same. "you hanging with us tonight?"

"yes, he is," you answered for him, making jason grin.

he was glad you were eager to keep him around. now he didn't have to try and convince you or insert himself awkwardly. "can you spot me?" jason asked, gesturing towards tyler's cigarette.

"sure thing," tyler nodded, holding the carton out for him. jason plucked one out of the box, quickly lighting it and taking a long drag.

while the three of you talked, jason took the opportunity to try and listen in on the other conversations happening around him. it was like he was playing with a radio, tuning in and out of conversations as he saw fit. none of them were interesting or helpful, though. they were pretty boring and mostly topical, pertaining to the race, the cars, and just other mindless bullshit.

"yeah, we're gonna drop the stuff off at the docks after the race. mix it in with the bite bottles," he heard someone say.

bingo. he didn't know what the stuff was but he assumed it was nothing good, especially if it was being hidden with something as harmless as track bite. he'd have to look into that later. it was safe to assume they were referring to were the docks off of cape carmine, not too far from the current location. jason lightly pressed on his comm link, glancing around before speaking quietly.

"i think something might go down at the docks later tonight," he said, hearing barbara's shuffling.

"cape carmine?"

"i would assume so. they were talking about hiding some shit with track bite bottles."

"knowing them it could be something as simple as drugs or complex as new tech. just keep me posted."

jason was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the low rumble of car engines. the first car was candy apple red 240sx, souped up beyond comprehension. the other was as glossy black gtr, more subtle in presentation. as he admired the cars rolling by, he realized something. he turned his head towards you, clearing his throat.

"which car did i bet on?" he asked you quietly, getting a confused smile from you.

"the red one," you said through a little laugh. "did you seriously bet without knowing?"

"perhaps," jason shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

"idiot," you shook your head, making him laugh now.

"well, your friends knew. i trust their judgement."

"as you should," quinton said, catching the tail end of the conversation between you both. "our boy spider knows what he's doing."

you and jason looked out at the road again, watching as it was prepped with track bite and then lit on fire with propane. jason glanced over at you, noticing you were struggling to see behind your very tall friends and the other people in the way. he gently tapped your arm, non verbally offering you a spot in front of him. you accepted with a smile, working your way in front of him.

"don't get any ashes in my hair," you playfully told him. he went to do just that, pretending to tap off the excess from his cigarette on your head, purposefully missing so you could see the ashes fall down in front of you. you gasped, moving back, his firm abdomen pressed against you. with your head against his chest, you looked up at him and glared.

"okay, okay, i'm sorry," jason laughed, sticking the cigarette back in his mouth. "you made it too easy."

"you're such an ass," you rolled your eyes, turning back around and moving out of his personal space bubble. jason's shit eating grin never left his face as he took another drag, making sure to keep the smoke and ashes as far from you as he could. the flagger for the race walked out as the cars pulled up to the starting line. with the street prepped and the cameras set up, the main race was finally going to begin.

"gigante wants us to head out early, so we need to leave after this."

these idiots just loved talking about sensitive information out loud, didn't they? it made jason’s job a whole lot easier so he couldn't complain. it was too bad that he'd have to leave early for the lead, though. he was just starting to get comfortable around you again. it seemed to be a running theme with the two of you.

the cars flashed their high beams, the flagger waiting a moment before giving the signal. as soon as he did, the drivers pressed down on the gas, their tires screeching against the concrete. spider's car popped a wheelie before speeding down the street, the black gtr not far behind. the 240sx was swerving, which would normally be alarming with an inexperienced driver behind the wheel. thankfully, the gtr stayed straight. despite spider’s sloppy swerving, the two cars were still neck and neck. it wasn't long before they zoomed past the crowd, eventually slowing down at the end of the road. it happened so quickly but it looked like spider had just barely passed the finish line before the gtr.

"review the fucking footage!" someone from the other side shouted.

there was a lot of money riding on the race, so naturally tensions were high. jason could hear arguments as two people went to go grab the cameras so they could look over the recordings. aside from the arguing, it was very quiet while everyone waited for the results.

"it's the 240!" they announced, looking at the footage on a tablet. there was a mix of cheers and objections. people were demanding to see the footage themselves but it was clear that the ruling was accurate and final. just as the two bookkeepers made the money exchange, accepting the results of the race.

"see, y/n? your boy was right to trust us," quinton grinned, patting jason's back, who grinned back. “easy money. not that you needed it.”

"i'll go grab our cuts?" tyler questioned, looking between quinton and jason, who agreed. "alright, i'll be back."

jason's eyes were glued on the two men he was eavesdropping on earlier. they were headed over to the same area tyler was going, presumably to get their cut of the money. there was a huge crowd of people, so it would probably take awhile. during jason’s observation, quinton had walked off to talk to someone else, leaving you with him. he probably had a few more minutes before he’d have to go back to being red hood, so he wanted to make the most of it.

“so, you come to these things often?” jason asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. he wasn’t sure if you’d give him the answer he was looking for but it was worth a shot.

“not really. i got dragged here,” you shrugged, getting a nod from him. he was slightly relieved, hoping that meant you weren’t heavily involved with the people there. it would be convenient to get information from you but he didn’t want to spend the little time he had left interrogating you. “what about you?”

“i’ve been to a few,” he admitted, looking back at his two targets. they were still waiting around with tyler. his attention quickly went back to you. “how’s your wife?”

your brows furrowed briefly before your eyes widened. “oh, misha. she’s my ex-wife now, technically.”

“my deepest condolences,” jason joked. “does that make me a home wrecker after all?”

you hummed, looking up at the night sky as you thought it over. “no, i don’t think so. you’re more than welcome to be my back up plan, though.”

a hearty laugh came from jason, making his chest tingle. that was probably the douchiest thing he had ever said to someone. he was lucky you hadn’t slapped him or threw your drink in his face for being so bold that night. jason looked over at the group again, noticing that tyler was in the middle of getting the money, his two targets right behind him. he frowned a little, realizing that he’d have to excuse himself. just as he was about to, he heard some yelling in the distance. you both looked around, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

before jason could even find the source of the commotion, he heard the sound of police sirens and the red and blue lights that naturally accompanied it. the crowd quickly reacted, stampeding away and back towards the parking area. people were yelling and cursing but loud screams replaced it all when gunshots rung out. jason immediately reached out to you, pulling you into his body while he searched for a way out.

"come on!" jason shouted, grabbing your arm and starting to drag you away. he needed to get you both out of there as soon as possible.

"wait!" you gasped, looking around for your friends. jason could tell you were panicking as you tried to find them, but there was no time. not while the gunshots got louder and more frequent. "tyler! quinton!"

"we have to go, y/n! come on!" he firmly grabbed your hand and pulled, you reluctantly running off with him. he looked around for his bike, pushing through people as he worked his way over.

"god, you're parked in fucking guam!" you complained about the distance, trying to keep up with him.

"less talking, more running!"

you both made it to the bike, him put on his helmet and passing you yours. as you both mounted the bike, he felt your arms wrap tightly around his midsection and your cheek press into his back. "hold on tight, alright?" he said before speeding off, slipping expertly through the parked cars and people in his way.

as he rode his bike through the park, there were several cars with the same idea, all evacuating the area by going out the same way. too impatient to wait, he began weaving through the cars. it didn't take long for the huge group to get to the main streets where more cops were waiting for them. many of the cars began making wild turns off road and going in the opposite direction but jason had other plans. he picked up speed, heading straight for the forming blockade.

"you're heading straight for the cops!" you yelled, tightening your grip around him.

"keen observation!"

"maybe you should turn around?"

"nah, i'm good!" jason told you, cockiness lacing his words. he knew what he was doing. "you trust me, right?"

"i don’t even know you!" you said back, peeking over his shoulder before hiding your face in his back as he continued approaching the cars at a violent speed. jason easily slipped through the cop cars, making it through before the road was blocked off.

jason smirked, making a sharp turn down the curving street. he was about to say something smug when he heard the sirens getting closer. he glanced at his mirror, seeing one of the cars trailing him. shit.

"shit."

"jason!"

"i know!"

his grip on the handle bars tightened as he sped up, trying to find a way to lose the cop without putting you in danger. if it was just him, he'd do some more risky maneuvers but he really didn't want you flying off the back of his bike. he'd have to lose them in a safer way.

"pull over your vehicle! this is your only warning!" the officer said through the speaker of the car.

jason really didn't want to take you through crime alley or the bowery, so his best bet was driving towards blüdhaven. it was better than finding a way to turn around in order to stay in gotham and blüdhaven was much closer, anyway. hopefully he'd lose the cop after crossing city lines. he really didn't want to circumnavigate the planet to get away from one cop.

he had an idea. a stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless. he was getting dangerously close to traffic and as long as you stayed tightly wrapped around him, he could slip through and cross the bridge to blüdhaven, losing the cop in the process. would you like it? probably not, but he was running out of options.

"jason, what are you doing?" you asked frantically, the bright city lights getting closer and closer.

"something stupid," he sped up, trying to put more distance between him and the cop. "do not move a muscle."

"stop the vehicle! now!" the cop yelled through the speaker again.

jason could smell the burning rubber of his tires as he turned down the street, the sound of horns honking as he slipped through traffic, the cop still hot on his tail. he slowed down a little in order to make accurate and much safer movements as traffic got denser, giving him more cars to avoid. he glanced at the mirror again, seeing he had made a some good distance. if he could keep it up, he'd lose the cop in no time. the bridge to blüdhaven wasn't much farther.

"jason, look out!" you yelled, pointing to the oncoming sixteen wheeler about to cut both of you off. there was a reason you weren't supposed to run red lights.

he had two options: come to a screeching halt, turning the both of you into projectiles or keep pushing and pray to god that you both didn't get t-boned by the s.t.a.r labs semi. jason furrowed his brows and set his jaw speeding up as much as he could. he could hear the loud horn ringing in his ears but he kept laser focus on his intended destination. he zipped past the truck, just barely going fast enough to not get hit. in the driver's attempt to not hit you two, he stopped in the middle of the street, preventing the cop from being able to follow anymore. jason's heart was hammering in his chest as he rode down the bridge down to blüdhaven, the warm yellow streetlights illuminating the way. once he crossed over, he headed to a nearby diner. he parked in the back lot, not wanting to draw too much attention.

"hey, are you alright?" he asked, taking off his helmet and getting off the bike. he hung it from the handlebar, helping you dismount. he hesitantly moved his hands towards your face, unclipping your helmet and pulling it off your head. "y/n? talk to me. are you hurt?"

"n-no, i'm fine," you told him shakily. seeing you all shaken up made him feel terrible. he wasn't sure how to comfort you without overstepping boundaries, so he kept his distance, giving you time to recover. after you collected yourself, jason flinched at your sudden physical attacks.

"i can't believe you!" you yelled, abusing his chest with smacks and punches. "you almost got us killed!"

"i-i'm sorry!" he sputtered, grabbing your wrists to stop you from hitting him. "i didn't know what else to do!"

you looked at him, a hard expression on your face. god, you probably hated him and he couldn’t blame you. leave it to him to fuck some shit up. his self deprecating thoughts began to subside when he saw the smile of disbelief forming on your face. "jason todd, you are a fucking maniac."

he loosened his grip on your wrists, a smile slowly making its way to his face, mirroring yours. "i've been called worse."

"just another fucking day in gotham," you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "or blüdhaven, i guess."

"yeah, sorry about that," he apologized with a frown. "that bastard was persistent."

"don't worry about it," you reassured him, letting out a deep sigh. "i need to call my friends and make sure they're alright."

jason nodded, grabbing his own phone. "yeah, i gotta make a call, too."

the two of you separated, jason only pretending to be on the phone so he could talk to barbara. "you there?"

"yeah. i see you went on a little drive," she said, her almost sounding like scolding.

"what the hell was i supposed to do? we had to get out of there," jason frowned.

"we?" barbara echoed and jason could practically hear the quirk in her brow.

"not important. what's important is acknowledging the fact that i didn't hear the sweet sound of your voice earlier," jason started off sarcastically, it being his turn to scold now. "where the hell were you at, almighty oracle? you didn't wanna tell me the cops were gonna show up?"

"i didn't know they were out there," she admitted honestly, sounding confused. "they must have been keeping it on the down low. the question now is why."

"probably so people like us wouldn't find out," jason sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"maybe," she sounded unsure. being unsure wasn't really barbara’s thing, so that was alarming.

"well, i doubt anything will go down at the docks now. the area's too hot."

"you're probably right. there's nothing else we can do tonight," barbara sighed. "glad you're not dead."

"yeah, thanks," jason gave her a quick goodbye, putting his phone away and walking back to his bike. you had just finished your conversation, looking relieved. "good news?"

"tyler and quinton got out fine. i think they took a different exit out because i didn't see them with that big group we were in," you explained, shivering a little.

"we should go inside. it'll be better than loitering out here," jason offered and you nodded in agreement. you entered the diner, noticing there weren't many people inside.

"let's sit in that booth over there," you pointed over to the near the window, jason's bike being visible on the outside.

you both made your way over, sliding into your seats. the atmosphere was a bit awkward initially, the both of you still coming down from your adrenaline rush. jason hooked his finger under the little acrylic standee holding the dessert menu, pulling it towards himself. a nice cup of coffee with something sweet sounded good right about now. it would definitely calm his nerves. he wasn’t sure if you’d get anything, though. maybe you were too frazzled to eat, which made him feel bad again. before his negative thoughts could return, he looked up, noticing you eyeballing the menu leaning against the window sill. you had your head tilted to the side, as the menu was stored horizontally, making it difficult to read the text. he couldn't help but smile to himself as you squinted at it. why would didn't just grab the menu to look at it properly, he didn't know. he wasn't going to question it, though, simply putting his menu back where he found it.

"what can i get you kids tonight?" the approaching waitress asked, pulling out her notepad.

"a black coffee and a slice of pie for me," jason said as the waitress quickly wrote his order down.

"is apple alright?" she asked and jason nodded. "what about you, hon?"

"um... blueberry waffles," you said, tilting your head some more before looking at her. "and hot chocolate."

the waitress smiled at your order, nodding as she jotted it down. "you want some bacon or sausage on the side? we have pork and turkey."

you hummed, drumming your fingers on the table. "yes. turkey bacon."

"shouldn't take but a minute. if you two find yourselves wanting anything else, you just let me know."

jason yawned, leaning back against his seat with outstretched arms. he did some people watching while he waited for the waitress to return. there was a small group of people, college students most likely, sitting at the middle tables with textbooks and empty plates strewn about. there was a cop sitting at the bar, very obviously flirting with the other, much younger waitress who was refilling his coffee. then there was you and him. he had been with you for quite some time now and he hadn't taken the opportunity to look at you. to really look at you. you absentmindedly played with the hair that directly framed your face while you were on your phone. you looked awfully comfortable in your oversized sweatshirt despite your shivering earlier. you weren't really dressed up, he noticed. it didn't look like you had on any makeup either. then again, tim had told him that people who wore makeup had the ability to make it look like they weren't wearing any at all. the natural look was what it was called. either way, your face looked nice. so did your hair. and your eyes, that were now gazing into his.

"you know, i definitely didn't see myself ending up here tonight."

jason's brow perked up. "what? running from the cops on the back of my motorcycle wasn't on your bingo card?"

"can't say it was," you shook your head with a smile.

"are you disappointed?"

"with?"

"where you ended up tonight."

"no," you said, not missing a beat. your lack of hesitation surprised him in the best way possible. "sure, you almost killed me but that's a typical tuesday for a gothamite."

jason grinned, biting his lip. "i'm sorry about that. really, i-"

"no, no," you cut him off, dismissing his apology with a wave of the hand. "don't apologize. it's over and done with."

even though you seemed to be okay with everything, he still felt like shit. that feeling wasn’t going away any time soon. the waitress returned with your food and drinks, receiving thanks from you both. jason immediately took a sip of his coffee, the potent flavor coating his tongue and the warmth of the liquid heating his body up. it helped soothe some of his anxiety.

"this is so cute," you muttered, taking a picture of your plate. the chef had arranged the blueberries and bacon to make a smiley face that you couldn't help but smile back at. once you got a good picture, you started digging in.

there was no conversation to be had. the two of you just ate, occasionally glancing at each other or at your phones. every now and then your eyes would meet and little smiles would be shared. you and jason were people who appreciated the intimacy of silence. not talking was often harder than holding a conversation. being able to sit in complete silence with someone and not feel uncomfortable at any point was a hard task for most but it came naturally to you both. not that you two had much to talk about anyway. you barely knew each other and you definitely weren’t about to bond over your near death experience. jason didn’t want to risk possibly fucking up even more than he already had, so not talking worked for him. it didn’t help keep his intrusive thoughts out, though. he tried not to focus on them, distracting himself with people watching and looking at you.

“where did you learn to ride like that?” you asked him, suspicion lacing your words. you popped a blueberry into your mouth, tilting your head at him.

“uh...” he trailed off, shrugging softly as he hid his face in his mug, drinking the liquid inside. “nowhere. myself. i don’t know. i guess it was just the adrenaline. why?”

you shrugged back at him, reaching over and stealing a small piece of his pie. you looked him in the eye as you ate it, licking the food off your fork as your eyes narrowed. “you know how i’m batman? i’m starting to think you might be catwoman.”

jason snorted, breathing out a laugh as he looked around the diner in disbelief. not only did he find your little joke funny, the fact that you technically weren’t that far off was amusing to him. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you aren’t denying it?” your brow raised, making him laugh again. “ah, i’ve caught you red handed.”

oh, this was just the gift that kept on giving. now you were making puns without even realizing it.

“i mean, it all makes sense. the unnecessary flirting, calling me out for being a vigilante, and now running from the cops,” you clicked your tongue with a shake of the head, carefully wiping the corners of your mouth. you balled up your napkin, tossing it on your now empty plate. “i don’t know why you thought that i, the greatest detective in gotham, wouldn’t be able to piece this all together. i’m offended, really.”

“can i get you two anything else tonight?” the waitress asked as she walked up, just missing your conversation.

“no, ma’am. i think we’re good,” jason smirked, not taking his eyes off of you. she left the check on the table, walking off. jason pulled out his wallet, leaving a twenty to cover both the food and the tip.

“wayne money or dirty money? the world will never know,” you quipped as the two of you got up to leave, making him roll his eyes.

“shut up.”

after a quick pit stop at the gas station, jason took you back to your apartment in the diamond district. the ride there was long, but nice, accompanied by music coming from the radio. a cloud 9 song played at one point and jason decided that he might have to give your discography a listen. the way you held yourself against him, nuzzling into his back gave him goosebumps. or maybe it was just the nippy temperature. he hoped that’s all it was. for awhile, he wondered if you were cold. if his jacket was warmer, he would’ve offered it to you a long time ago. and, of course, if it wasn't so cliché. with the way you were attached to him, he liked to think that his body heat was enough. relief washed over him when he pulled up in front of gotham tower. he wasn’t sure how much more he of that could take. he parked, letting you off.

"do you wanna come in?" you pulled him from his thoughts as you took off your helmet.

"come in?" he parroted, a laugh falling from your lips.

"i'm not asking you to spend the night or anything. it’s just.. you’ve been acting like my chauffeur all night and it isn’t safe to be out this late. i'd feel horrible if something happened to you," you explained, getting a smile from him.

"don't worry about me. i'll be fine. my place isn't too far from here," he lied with a shrug. his safehouse was nowhere near the diamond district but you didn’t need to know that little detail. the rest of what he said was true. he was going to be fine. “besides, i’m catwoman, remember?”

"at least let me give you my number," you insisted with a giggle, pulling out your phone. "you have to text me when you get home."

jason agreed and the two of you exchanged numbers, bidding each other goodbye. he made sure to stay and watch you go up before leaving. on his way home, he thought about your concern for his wellbeing, finding it cute. misplaced, but cute. it wasn't your fault, though. you didn't know he was more than capable of taking care of himself and the whole damn city, for that matter. you know, as catwoman. still, it was sweet having someone worry about him for a change, even if it wasn’t completely necessary. when he got back to his safe house he texted you, just as promised. you must've been waiting for him because you responded pretty quick. he crawled into bed, smiling down at the heart emojis you sent him. he decided to send you something back before going to sleep, his thumbs slowly typing out the words that popped into his head.

you better not start texting me all the time.

don't flatter yourself. i won’t.

he hoped that you would anyway.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc x reader #jason todd

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sardinesandhumbugs · 3 years

Note

(a-place-to-come-back-to) hmmm “You can keep pretending, but you’ll never be happy” gives me Badger Rat Sr and Toad Sr vibes

A/N: Thank you for the prompt! This ficlet is set fairly early into Badger's friendship with Rat Sr and Toad Sr, before things settled into the easy friendship he remembers. Even the best of friendships can have... bumpy origins :D

Want to request a prompt? Find the list here!

Rat considered himself a fairly laid back sort of animal (a necessary trait for growing up alongside the undaunted Toad) but even he had second (not to mention first) thoughts when it came to the Wild Wood.

He was sure most of the rumours were merely malicious hearsay (for instance, he was fairly certain the locals didn't eat wayward Riverbankers) but he doubted any animal – Wild Wooder or no – would take kindly to the disturbance. For, upon the rusted bell-pull detaching (the bell itself had given one dull toll before giving up the ghost) Toad had set to hammering and hollering at the unadorned door with the kind of volume that would wake the dead – and, more importantly, the living, who were far more likely to take matters into their own paws.

"Honestly, I don't know how he ever entertains guests," Toad lamented in a rare lapse in the cacophony. "Can barely find the blasted place and then when you do you don't realise it. You'd think an animal like Badger would clear the ivy from the name plate once in a while or make sure his bell is in working order. Any lesser animal visiting would have admitted defeat by now," he said, as usual looking but not truly seeing.

"Perhaps we should reconsider this," Rat said, who had taken good note of the state of disrepair of Badger's front porch and come to a bleak conclusion of his own. "He may not even be home."

"Oh pooh to that, of course he's home. Anyway, Rat, it was you who took note of his recent change in mood."

"And I was thinking of a subtler approach."

"You say subtler, I say slower." Evidently deciding that his knocking was falling into the subtle category, Toad added his raised voice to the mix. "Come along, Badge; who cares what the hares say? Be the bigger animal we know you are and come on out!"

"Badge?" Rat echoed.

Toad shrugged. "I'm trying it out. 'Badger' is such a mouthful."

"It's two syllables."

"And I'm halving that. It's called efficiency. BADGE!" Rat jumped at the brusque rise in volume. "Badger, we know you're there! What do you think you're achieving with this hiding away, huh? Do you think this is what you want? To live alone in a dark and dingy tunnel all your life? We know you, Badge! You can keep pretending, but you'll never be happy like this!"

The door swung open so abruptly that Badger must have already been standing on the other side for some time. He loomed over the two Riverbankers, his face half cast in shadow from the wood's gloom. "You know nothing about me," he growled.

"Oh, we know plenty," Toad contradicted happily. He took advantage of Badger's oversight in opening the door, and slipped past the larger animal. "Such as the state you leave your front porch in. Where should I put the bell-pull? Oh, no matter; I'll send for a new one when I'm back at Toad Hall."

Badger glowered, but could do little about Toad's entrance without hauling him bodily out, and turned back to the remaining Riverbanker on his doorstep. "I suppose," he intoned, "you plan on following your friend inside."

It was at this point that Rat realised there was at least a yard's grace between them – if not more – that had been of his own making. He shortened it, knowing full well that his instinctive retreat had not gone unnoticed. "Badger–"

"Just get yourself inside before your tail freezes off."

Rat scurried in. As Badger hauled the door shut, the brumal weather outside lost its icy grip and the beneath-ground air yielded a steady, heavy warmth quite unlike Riverbank homes in winter. (Toad Hall suffered particularly badly in the yuletide season, saved only by the ludicrous expense Toad went to keep such a grand house heated.)

Up ahead, Toad had already started scoping out the elusive sett that paid host to so few animals. "I say, Badge," he called, his voice echoing in such a manner to indicate he had put quite the distance between them, "I take back what I said earlier; dark this place may be, but dingy it most certainly is not."

Rat followed Badger through the dimly-lit tunnels, passing through decreasingly lived-in rooms until finally coming to the cause of Toad's admiration. It was, Rat had to admit, grand. Ancient columns, half buried into the walls, lined the room that could fit Toad Hall's ballroom with ease, and Toad was already setting to lighting the lanterns to better appraise the space.

"Badge, you never said you had a place like this!" Toad exclaimed. "Why, just think of the balls, the banquets, that could be hosted in a space such as this! I admit, the acoustics are a little harsh, but I have just the tapestries to dampen the sound, and with a spot of extra light it'd be perfect!"

Rat glanced to Badger out of the corner of his eye and read the larger animal's stony expression.

"I apologise. Toad means well, but he puts far too much stock in the art of distraction as a solution," he muttered. He inclined his head. "Mind you, he often gripes that I'd try to talk the river out of flooding if I could, so I suspect we even each other out."

"I prefer action, myself," Badger grumbled.

They watched a moment longer as Toad bounced across the empty space, chattering to nobody about the grand plans he could see strewn out before him. ("Naturally, this is where the band would go... and the buffet would sit along here, I'm thinking cold meats, cheeses; the last thing you want is the smell of cooked food suffocating a place like this...")

"I can probably talk him out of it," Rat offered quietly, "if you'd like."

Badger scoffed and retreated into the more inhabited rooms. "He can organise as many damn parties as he likes, so long as he doesn't come complaining to me when no animal arrives."

Rat had to take two quick steps for every one of Badger's long strides, eager to stay in the pool of light cast by Badger's lantern. "Oh, I think you underestimate Toad – he has quite a way with folk when he sets his mind to it. It can be both very useful and infuriating."

"I'm sure he does," Badger said, "but what possible reason could he tempt animals down to a place like this with?"

"Good food, good music," Rat rattled off. "Drink. Conversation. Gossip, usually." He hesitated, and added, "Curiosity."

"And is that why you came?"

"We came," and Rat hurried so that he and his words would not be left behind, "because we were worried about you."

Badger halted so abruptly that Rat had to skip a step back to avoid walking into him. "Worried?" he echoed incredulously. "About me?"

"Is that really so hard to believe?" Rat hastened on before Badger could remark upon Toad's distraction. "I'm sorry if we pressured you into joining us for the harvest festival; Toad's so extraverted that I think he forgets not everyone is, and I... well, I thought you might enjoy it. I hadn't realised that, being a born and bred Riverbanker, I might not have seen... some of the more insensitive sides of the other animals."

Badger met Rat's gaze with an expression Rat couldn't quite decipher. "So you heard what was being said?"

"I heard enough."

An odd choice indeed, the whispers had gone as Toad's newest friend had made his social debut, but, then again, toads are an odd bunch anyway, almost as odd as badgers are solitary, and that's just a fact.

Unusual to see a badger out of the Wild Woods, more unusual still to see one in the company of animals other than their own kind.

It probably won't last.

Everyone knows what they say about badgers changing their stripes.

"And then, when we didn't see you for a week, of course we worried," Rat said, trying to turn the conversation round to matters he could control. "We wanted to make sure you were alright."

Badger scoffed again and turned down a corridor that opened out into a fire-lit kitchen. "And why would you care?"

"We care because we're your friends."

Badger turned on his heel. "Are you?"

Too late, Rat realised he'd flinched back, that same instinctive wariness springing up around a mammal so much larger than himself. Around a mammal that was possibly more Wild Wood than Undergrounder, and he didn't want to find out which side was dominant.

Badger's gaze moved derisively over the sudden space between them. "That's what I thought," he growled. "I'm not a charity case and I'm not a curiosity, and you'd do well to learn that."

"Was he wrong?"

Badger faltered, if only for a moment. "What?"

"Toad," Rat said, clinging onto the single truth that had propelled him this far. "Was he wrong? Are you happy here?"

"I am... accustomed to things the way they are," Badger replied.

"Are you happy?" Rat persisted. "If you are, then we'll get out of your fur. I'll find a way to drag Toad out of his harebrained schemes, and things can go back to the way they were. But... if you're not – if you have enjoyed the past few months with – with us – then let us stay."

The silence lingered for just a heartbeat too long.

Badger turned away. "I'm fine. I always am."

"I asked if you are happy, not fine," Rat amended. He watched as Badger took a seat at the tired armchair at the head of the kitchen table, and Rat cautiously drew up a chair a little further down. For not the first time – albeit perhaps not as acutely as now – he wondered just how Badger had come to be alone in this sett built for generations. There had certainly always been badgers here, but Rat had paid them little heed before now, for they were a reclusive species and generally kept to their own kin and everyone was happy with that.

He winced.

There it was again, that assumption.

It was the same assumption that had led to such obtuse remarks at the harvest festival and, indeed, Rat could not honestly deny that even he had expected Toad's newest acquaintance to be a passing fad at first. (Toad had a way with folk that rendered many friendships forged but rarely followed-up, and Rat had originally been comfortable with the assumption that Badger would be another such encounter.)

"You know," Rat said, pushing such thoughts aside, "Toad and I didn't – actually, don't, present tense – always get along." He pulled the chair a smidgen closer to the table, settling it with the overt intent to stay. "He reacts a little too impulsively, and I perhaps too little, and we clash as often as we agree." Badger didn't respond, and Rat figured this was as close to permission to continue as he was going to get. "We argued over coming here, in fact." He snorted. "Toad won, of course and I'm – well, I'm glad he did."

"Why are you here, Rat?"

Rat startled at the question he'd thought already answered. "I told you, because you're–"

"Truly. No saccharine sentiments."

Rat faltered, the easy platitude taken from him. In the space he took to consider, a clock tolled somewhere deep in the sett. "I suppose," he started slowly, "it's because I think we could be friends. If we wanted to. If we tried. And because I think, however much you protest, maybe you want that too."

A/N: The inspiration for this piece was Vienna Teng's Stray Italian Greyhound song which is technically about learning to fall in love for the first time, but I like interpreting it in a learning to trust a friendship for the first time way. (Especially in Badger's case for this, realising oopsie I caught platonic feels and life was so much easier before, not sure if I hate or love this.) If you want some added feels for this fic, go look up that song ;)

#cat writes #the dad trio #wind in the willows musical #witw fanfic #the point where I realise I'm writing badger based partially on the 1995 animated badger as much as the musical #anyway rat sr and badger went onto be possibly closer friends than rat sr and toad sr #but eh the course of (platonic) love never did run smooth #ehhh I was planning this to be about Badger's feelings on the subject #but started out from rat sr's POV so that didn't exactly work out #basically badger has always been pretty good at ignoring what Society says #and he's resigned himself to the fact that toad's unexpected friendship is just a fad #a 'let's befriend the badger' kinda novelty #and that once it wears off then toad sr will move on #and then badger went 'shit I actually like this friendship and now i'm worried about when the rejection eventually happens'#so decided to cut the cord himself #not expecting rat sr and toad sr to refuse to let him retreat into himself like that #this is the point where rat sr moved away from the assumption that he and badger were tied together simply because they were both #friends with toad sr #and instead starts actively considering badger his friend #not because he didn't like badger before then #but you have that weird 'two people friends with the same person trying to figure out where they stand' vibe going on

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phckingusername · 3 years

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GUYS!!! HEXBUG AU

Connor and Nines are a form of robotic aliens there ship in danger and their bodies inactive, they and their crew have escaped the immediate threat but uploading themselves into what we know as hexbugs made for smaller and more efficient travel when necessary. the two brothers escape pod lands on earth on the roof of the DPD. Making their way to the main floor, they observe the planet and it's organic inhabitants. Gavin finds the little robotic on his desk while Hank is unaware of Connor for now. Gavin looks it over in his hand and puts it down on his desk where Richard/nines decides to move around in a bit of a panic. It looks random to gavin and he is entertained by the toy. He's not sure where it came from or who's it is or why it's on his desk, but he's keeping it. Maybe it's a new toy that's coming out for Christmas. Maybe he can hand it over to his brother to look at. Make sure it isn't some kind of military spy tech. Most likely he thinks he just might be out of touch. He puts it in his pocket.

In Richards view he is scared of being broken. After all this is his last link at life. His soul is stored in this small weak form if it breaks he dies. Connor is talking to him but when Gavin leaves for home they get to far and their signal Is lost.

At home gavin empties his pockets and basically forgets about Nines due to his hunger and work tired body. Gavin is in the other room watching TV while he eats when he hears the buzzing on the table. What is that? Getting up he remembers his new toy.

It's on its side wedged between his keys. Nines view he is panicking again being unable to get up and under the attention of the organic alien. He is unsure of the species temperament. He doesn't want to die. Not like this. Gavin picks him up and looks for a switch. There Is none. 'dont handle me like that' Richard thinks

He puts he down and Nines stops buzzing. "What happened? Is it broken?" He taps his finger on its pointed back.

'oh ra9 it's angry now' nines thinks and he takes his chances to escape the organic alien and vibrates away from gavins hand again.

He trys to leave the table but gavin catches it before it falls. "the fuck is wrong with this thing?" He asks holding it in his open palm

The light inside turns bright red and the buzzing seems to convey a trembling. Gavin gets a silly impression that it's afraid.

"What are you?" He asks confused about the objects purpose.

He continues to shake.

When Gavin has the free time he takes it to his brother

"I've looked online and I can't find anything about it. Not sure if it's broken or something. Doesn't have a on off switch and it has different lights and shit in it. What is it?"

"I'm not sure. Where did you find it?" Eli asks casually looking it over.

"On my desk."

Nines begins to shake again and the transparent parts of his body glows red.

"See there it goes again. Is it low on battery?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"Well it's not important anyway. Just thought you might know something about it. Given you're into tech and all." He takes it back and his light turns yellow.

'no disassemble.' (lol)

They hang out and Gavin eventually goes home

Nines learns not to move when the organic known as Gavin is near. But his light still turns yellow when he enters the room.

Gavin pays it very little mind. And Richard wonders how his brother is doing.

At some point Gavin notices the way it moves is like it's being controlled by someone rather than random movement and he is highly suspicious that it is a kind of spy ware.

He busts it moving around and he decides to talk to who ever is listening in. And first it doesn't move or respond in any way. But Gavin gets it to blink yes and no questions.

He grins and is satisfied with himself at having figured out a fly in the wall. He is convinced that it is being controlled by an fbi agent or something and continues to talk to it. First asking it questions but then simply talking about whatever. He knows he hears him, and the government is listening in to everyones conversation anyways, but it's kind of nice knowing someone is on the other side, even if they don't want to listen or care, it serves them right for spying on Gavin.

Meanwhile Richard listens, and listens, and responds in what ways he can asked something. Apparently Gavin is under a false impression but it still helps take the edge off. Richard learns a lot about Gavin and his own little piece of the world and his life. Organics are not so different from his own people.

(You ever read a romance story between a human and an alien Hexbug? Lol)

Is the little Hexbug getting feelings for the human? Did the drunk human forget about the little spy and please himself in bed? AtTrAcTiOn???????

Alphabets on paper. Snarky replies, "geez didn't know you were such a smart ass." Ask for help. "I'm not gullible." Reluctant Acceptance, realization.

Connor is chilling under a ded bonsai he is more than concerned about his brother. He is back in range and is infact coming right towards him. Gavin snatches Connor from the desk but Hank is pissy about Gavin taking something from his desk. Eventually Gavin convinces Hank he didn't take anything.

Goes to his brother Eli where he is laughing at Gavins little joke. With both Connor and Richard together they manage to link their internal thought into glitchy text on one of eli's computer screens.

With this they manage to convince Eli and give him the information to the means of helping them and their ship. While Eli is working on that Gavin can actually have conversations with the thing now. Learns it's name is Richard and all about his sarcastic sassy, snarky, smart ass, genuine, gentle personality. He gets along with his new little robo friend.

It takes a little over a year for their ship to get to earth.

When they step inside everyone is on the floor with their chassis exposed. They look odd and dead. Gavin is and isn't surprised by this. Which one is Richard?

It takes even longer to figure out what happened to them. And longer still to fix them. But Connor and Richard help Eli understand and fix the problems they physically can't.

But one day it happens. One day Gavin wakes up and the Hexbug is not glowing at all. He's not sleeping, if he were the light would be a dim throbbing (oof maybe not that word. Slowly going on to off to on again) white. But the light is just off and Gavin is afraid he's ded. He runs to find his brother when he bumps into a broad chest.

He thinks it's a human man trespassing in his brother's home, but Richard clears up Gavins confusion.

"But you didn't look like this on the ship."

"Our synthetic skin was deactivated along with everything else. We, do not like to be seen that way."

AtTrAcTiOn!!!!! "This is your body?"

"Yes."

Lol gavin has the hots for a robo man who used to be a Hexbug. And the robo man has the hots for the organic bag of meat flesh. The feck is this story.

Its time for the brothers to collect the rest of their people across the cosmos. You know what that means!!! Ask the two organics to go with them!!!!!! And they both say yes! Out in space Gavin stands in awe at the view and he's flustered about his feelings for the former Hexbug. Richard is not so stand off ish. He's a lot more bold with his approach. "I can read you vitals and I've come to understand them." Mentions the time Gavin gave himself some loving and how richard uses that for reference for when Gavin is aroused. Along with other regular moments he used as a base line.

Guess who ends up naked in the same room? Lol. Gavin is surprised at the display

"I told you before, we are not so different from each other. Perhaps we share our point of origin."

"You don't know?"

"Do you truly know your beginning?"

(~Let's get physical, physical. Come let's get physical~)lol I can't even

Hey yo explore space get the peeps back and safe and the. Decide to return to earth.

"My brother and I would like to explore your planet. It is new and awful. I can not stop thinking about the place you call home."

"Do you want to be a part of it?"

THE FUCK IS THIS STORY. I FUCKING CAN'T. OH MY GOD. THIS IS RIDICULOUS. HOLYSHIT.

#dbh #detroit become human #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh richard #dbh nines #my writing #reed900 #rk800 #dbh connor #rk brothers #hexbug au #dbh elijah #elijah kamski

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