#and someone needs to lay all the facts on the table properly
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prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 2. (read part 1 here)
tags: dubcon
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There’s a photo of you taped up on the inside of his locker.
The glimpse you catch of it is quick. Not like you aren’t meant to see it, but more like Johnny’s so unconcerned with whether you see it or not that he doesn’t bother to make a show of it. Just reaches into his locker to grab his lunch and shuts it while you’re still gaping at the polaroid of someone that looks suspiciously like you in your store uniform. You hear someone clear their throat and you glance up, flinching when you meet Johnny’s eyes.
“Missing me already?” he teases, winking. “I’ll be back on the floor as soon as possible. ‘Promise, hen.”
“It’s not—”
He’s already out the door and on the way to the lunchroom before you’re able to get the rest of your sentence out.
Johnny seems to have a sixth sense for when you’re about to spurn his advances. Any other day he would have stuck around to listen to the rest of your sentence, but when he has an inkling that those words will be tinged by the flavour of rejection, he’s quick to book it. You privately have to admit it’s not a terrible strategy. It’s not often that you’re able to get the words out.
It’s one of those rare shifts where you’re clocking in later than Johnny, missing his lunch break. Small mercies. It doesn’t mean much because your schedules still overlap a significant amount, but it does mean that you won’t be forced to choke down your lunch while Johnny sits opposite you at the lunch table and stares you down the entire half hour.
“Wait, that was so fucking cute,” someone says from behind you. You turn on your heel to find a coworker staring at Johnny’s locker, properly enchanted by whatever she saw. Practically swooning.
“What is?”
“Didn’t you see the picture he has of you? In his locker?” She says it with emphasis, giving you a significant look.
“Yeah…I…don’t you think it’s a bit…like, weird?” you ask her, making sure to keep your voice low in case Johnny is still around the corner. You can’t help the way you glance down the hallway.
She frowns. “It’s cute. He’s like, smitten with you. I’ve never seen him with a crush on anyone before and I’ve worked with him for over a year. I think it’s kind of nice. Do you not like him or something?”
“Well, I just…we aren’t even dating and I think…I think he even has a photo of me as his lock screen—”
“Because if you aren’t interested in him, you should let him down now. It’s not fair of you to just string him along, you know. He’s a really good guy.”
You’re not sure about the whole good guy thing. Johnny acts like a nice guy most of the time, but you’ve had the unfortunate luck in getting to experience the other side of him.
The problem lies in the fact that Johnny is, you think, a genuinely likeable guy to everyone else. It’s not like your coworkers are all collectively wrong in their opinion of him—he really is an excellent coworker. A good sport, a funny guy; he lends a hand whenever someone needs help. He helped Jeff move two weeks ago, drove Daryl to the airport last Saturday, and looked after Sonya’s cat while she was away on vacation that one time.
It’s with you that his good-time nature evaporates; his lazy, drawled predilection for joking around and indulging himself and others in a good ribbing replaced by a weird, manufactured kindness. Almost sickly sweet. He lays it on so thick around others that they think you experience the same friendship with Johnny that the rest of them get to enjoy.
Not so.
None of them catch the way he’s always hovering, always staring at you. Eyes half-lidded; bedroom eyes in the middle of your shift, in the middle of the workplace.
None of your coworkers are around when you’re at the register one day and Johnny takes his break to make a couple purchases, coming to your cash with a basket full of chocolate, wine, condoms, body butter, and batteries. No one except him notices the way you pause at the last item.
“Dinnae ken if your vibrator was rechargeable or not,” he says when you look at him funny, a big grin stretched across his face. Blue eyes gleaming almost feverishly. “Thought I’d be prepared either way.”
You scan his items in silence. When you hand him his bag, you try not to shudder when he purposefully glances his hand over yours.
Worse are the days when Johnny comes in as a customer, the days when he’s off the schedule. When he shouldn’t even be at the store at all. No one notices the way he pesters you the entire time he’s in the store, insisting on you helping him with his purchases. If a coworker does happen to notice his presence (and how could they not when he’s such a formidable presence in any room, when he almost glows from the energy stockpiled in his body with nowhere else to go), he’ll make polite conversation, just long enough to not seem rude, before shifting his attention back to you.
His conversation borders on interrogation. He asks you about your childhood and your friends and whether you have a partner or any previous partners. He makes you follow him to the bed section where he tries out all the mattresses and then asks you increasingly inappropriate questions like what mattress you have, what it feels like, how you sleep at night, what you wear to bed.
When you rebuff him one too many times, he’s not shy about telling you off.
“Ye just need a good fuck ta sort ye out,” Johnny snarls when you brush off another invite out to lunch one day. It’s not often that he loses his temper with you, so his anger makes your eyes widen, your pulse pick up. During morning shift assignments, he’d corralled your manager into pairing the two of you up on curbside pick-up orders, meaning that you’ve been stuck with him for hours, nowhere else to go.
“Excuse me?” you say, voice going up a decibel.
He leans across the front of the cart loaded with flowerpots and gardening tools. “I get it, hen. No one at home ta play with your pussy, huh? No choice but ta come into work all pent up and frustrated—”
“This is in like, the outer Hebrides of ‘none of your business’—”
“—clit’s probably all swollen too. Fuck.” He breathes out heavily through his nose, eyes darkening. “No wonder you’re always pissed off. I’d be too if I dinnae have a little replacement pussy at home.”
“You’re the reason I’m upset in the first place, Johnny.”
“Aw, I ken, bonnie,” he says with a pout, eyebrows slanting down like he really, truly pities you, the gesture immediately contradicted by his next words. “Promise I’ll make it better. Wanna meet outside my truck in a half hour?”
You storm off before it comes to blows. Not that it’d ever be a fair fight. Johnny would probably hold you away with his palm against your head while you swung at him uselessly. You try not to think of that too often. Of him toying with you. Most of your interactions feel like that these days. Like he’s a big cat holding your tail down when you try to scramble away.
When you beg your manager to switch shift assignments, the look you get could wilt flowers. It’s not completely your fault, even if your request is a bit inconveniencing. Johnny has your coworkers and management so wrapped around his finger that no one can even hazard a guess as to why you might be uncomfortable around him.
It’s the only reason you haven’t complained to HR yet. There are channels and protocols for dealing with his behaviour, but watching people practically trip over themselves to please him reminds you that the likeliest outcome would be them transferring you to another store. It just doesn’t seem worth it.
You don’t think about how frazzled his words leave you for the rest of your shift. You don’t think about it because there’s nothing to think about.
You know from the second that your manager reassigns you to women’s apparel that you’ve probably made a mistake. Customers buzz around you like gnats, like swarms of flies, and it’s only natural that you’d be compelled to swat a few. You hold on to the fraying edges of your patience with little finesse. About halfway through your shift, you get a stern talking to from your floor supervisor and put on an extra long break. You’re no less irritated when you get back though, somehow still agitated and snappy.
Big hands clamp over your shoulders and squeeze like he’s giving you a massage, thumbs digging into the grooves of your upper back. He ignores the way you tense up.
“Hen, you’re making the customers uncomfortable with all your huffin’ and puffin’,” he whispers into your ear, a light chuckle falling out with his words. Amused by your attitude this time instead of ticked off. “If ye want, I could take ye ta the back room ta loosen ye up a bit. Make your day a little better. Dinnae think anybody will even notice if we dip away for a bit—’sides management will probably send me a gift basket if ye come back perky after a good shag.”
You shrug him off to go clock out, ignoring the way he chuckles as you storm off. No one knows if you go home and wear out the battery in your vibrator while thinking about Johnny’s words. Thinking about Johnny guiding you to his truck with a palm flat on your low back, pinkie teasing just under the waistband of your pants, before laying you out across the backseat and climbing on top of you.
You come when you think about how he’d have to keep the door open to fuck you in his car.
Unfortunately, you’re more than familiar with his sweet side as well.
On your birthday, he comes in early with a sheet cake and organizes the employees so that the breakroom is dark when you come in. The entire staff is there when you switch on the lights, shouting your name and happy birthday, decked out in party hats and blowing into noisemakers.
It catches you off guard. Hits you right in the solar plexus and leaves you winded. You stand in the middle of the room like you’re under a spotlight and that spotlight is Johnny’s stare burning a hole in your head. For once, it doesn’t rankle. It leaves you feeling light, feathery, like floating down to earth. A coworker hands you a noisemaker and you smile until your eyes crinkle when you blow into it.
You’re in a good enough mood that you don’t argue when he insists on sitting beside you. He got you the cake after all. Maybe it’s the least he deserves. Your goodwill lasts until Johnny tries to feed you a piece of cake with his fork; he winds up getting cake smushed all over your cheek when you turn your head away.
“Johnny, ‘m not a baby,” you complain, wrinkling your nose when cake and icing slide down your face. “I can feed myself. This is so gross.”
“Shucks, hen, lemme get that. Shouldnae have turned your head,” Johnny curses, leaning over to scoop it off with his fingers. He holds them out to you, an offering. “Here ye go, kitty.”
You stare, horrified, until he shrugs like ‘suit yourself’ and pops them into his own mouth. Then drags the same spit covered fingers over your cheek again to keep cleaning you up.
You can tell that it’s hopeless to complain by the way your coworkers giggle and gossip, eyes drawn to the two of you. Maybe it would be better if you were transferred. You only have so many ‘I’m not his work wife’s left in you. Something’s bound to give. You have a sneaking suspicion that it’s going to be you.
On the walk to your car after your shift, which Johnny insists on doing like he does every time the two of you work a closing shift together, he jokingly asks if you’ve gotten your birthday spanks. He says it in that same awkward joking tone, just a bit too excited, staring at you too eagerly. Unblinking. Tuts his tongue when you tell him you’ve never heard of that before.
You jolt and squeak at the pop on your ass when he insists on opening the door to your car and helping you in. The betrayed look you shoot him hardly penetrates through his shit-eating grin.
“See ye tomorrow, kitty,” Johnny calls out, walking backwards away from you to where his truck is parked just a few spots away from yours. You think he would’ve parked right next to you if you hadn’t chosen a spot conveniently between two other cars. “More where that came from.”
Your hands shake against the steering wheel your whole drive home. Dreading tomorrow’s shift.
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#soap x reader#john soap mactavish#soap mactavish#soap mw2#soap x you#soap/reader#ikea soap#soap cod#john mactavish#x reader
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Loose Lips and Big Feelings
Band Member!Azriel x College Student!Reader
Description: Azriel gets a little drunk and you take care of him.
Warnings: Alcohol?
Word Count: 2320
Notes: This is a little short but very cute. As always, this is part of the band au but you can read it as a standalone. Also I decided the boys make early Arctic Monkeys type music because imagining Azriel singing 505 sounds delicious. Hope you enjoy!
Band AU Masterlist
The bar was already packed with drunk people by the time you arrived. It was so full you were surprised they even let you in, you had to take a deep breath, readying yourself before diving into the sea of people. Finding Azriel and his friends was going to be harder than you thought, you might have to text him again. The situation was somewhat nostalgic to the first time you set foot in this bar, the same night you met Azriel. It's amazing how much things have changed in a matter of months.
Someone was doing a cover of a song you recognized on stage, it almost made you want to hum along and enjoy it for a bit, but you needed to get to Azriel's table first. You couldn't really see the woman singing on stage aside from her striking ginger hair and blue dress, but her voice was truly amazing. You could definitely understand why everyone was so excited to see her. You'd have to ask Azriel if he knew her, maybe try to see one of her shows properly.
You hadn't actually planned on coming tonight, Azriel and the boys weren't even playing and you'd rather sleep away the week. In fact, an hour ago you had been sitting at your desk hoping to get enough progress on an essay so you could completely free up your Sunday to rest and lay in bed all day. But, when a mildly intoxicated Azriel texted you, asking you to meet up with him at the bar, you couldn't resist the offer.
It's not often he asks you outright to meet him, always so conscious of your hectic schedule and workload, even your recent aversion to social outings. So you couldn't really deny him the one time he actually did. You were also a bit curious to see what had him so excited, his happiness was extremely contagious, and admittedly a bit curious to see what he's like when he's drunk, if your intuition had been right then he was close to wasted when he sent you those texts littered with typos.
He had told you that they were sitting at the table by the big red poster, you were pretty sure you knew which one he meant, but unfortunately it was close to the stage which means it would be difficult to get to it while the performance was happening. You were caught between excuse me’s and apologies when you finally caught sight of familiar broad shoulders and luscious tied back hair.
Even when they're not on stage, they're hard to miss. Cassian is at least a head taller than the crowd, so even when he's sitting down you can always count on finding him. He's the first one to notice you as well, greeting you with a shout of your name, somehow audible over the music, and a big grin, as you keep trying to gently push your way through the crowd to get to them.
You find the three of them tucked into the sofas by the table Azriel told you about. Apparently being one of the performing bands gave you access to the best seats in the bar, you always got stuck with the regular chairs. As you get closer to the table you notice Morrigan and another girl you haven't met before were also present.
“You came,” Morrigan yelled excitedly as soon as you got up to the table. It seems they're all drinking tonight, the table is full of grins and flushed cheeks.
“I did,” you chuckle at the overenthusiastic greetings from everyone at the table. A familiar scarred hand reaches out for yours immediately, tugging on it so you would sit down next to him. It's not missed on you the eyebrows the gesture raises, you've learned that he's not always forthcoming with letting people touch or hold his hands so you're sure they didn't really expect him to do it so easily. They probably didn't know Azriel told you everything either.
The sofas were small so it was a tight fit as you sat down right next to him, having no other option but let your leg comfortably rest on his, the feeling of his rough jeans on your bare skin making you giddy for some reason. His arm comes around your waist straight away so his hand settles on the side of your thigh, pulling you even closer into him.
The gesture makes you look up at him, his face a lot closer than you expected, you could feel his breath hit your skin and if you moved even an inch closer your nose would bump against his. The smile he gives you almost takes your breath away as you let out a soft greeting, “Hi.” You're surprised he even heard you, if you weren't so close to each other he wouldn't have been able to over the music, but he throws the same word back at you, in the same whispered tone you used, as his smile widens, eyes not making any effort to leave yours.
“So this is Azriel's friend,” the girl you haven't met before says, with a tone that suggests she's heard a lot about you. The thought of Azriel or any of the boys telling anyone about you has your heart skipping a beat. Her voice also cuts through the spell you and Azriel seemed to be locked in, finally breaking eye contact with him so you can answer her. But, as you look back to the table, you become more than aware that everyone just witnessed your little moment and the smirks on their faces make it hard to play it off.
“This is Amren. She's our manager,” Rhysand explains before you have to ask, a shit eating grin growing on his face as he takes in the flushed state of yours.
“Nice to meet you,” you try to keep your voice leveled but even to your ears it sounds breathless. You swallow softly and try to move the conversation along as Azriel starts rubbing small circles over your skirt, “You didn't tell me why you're celebrating.”
“Rita just told us she's doubling our performances at the bar,” Azriel explains, a little slur noticeable in his voice.
“Really?” You turn back to him as he nods again with a big grin on his face. He looked really excited to share the news with you.
“She's giving us a raise too,” Cass adds, and then looks back at his mostly empty cup and then at your empty hand, “We need to get you a drink.” You stop him before he can get up. “I think I'll be the responsible one tonight and stay sober.” The disappointed reactions around the table make you laugh but also accept that you'd be the babysitter tonight, they were all bordering on wasted already.
As the night went on, everyone only got progressively drunker. It seems like since they can't usually drink too much when they have to perform, they took the opportunity that everyone was here to party as much as they could. Even Azriel, who you never really saw drinking, was talking and laughing like you've never really seen him. He's more of a quiet guy most of the time, preferring to listen rather than entertain. It was nice to see him let loose a little.
The bar was getting quieter since the performance had ended a while ago and the big majority of the attendees started filtering out shortly after. The only people that were still around were ones that were as drunk as your present company. You didn't really mind being sober though, Cassian had brought you some sort of juice so you had something to sip on, and as loud as they were, they were easy drunks to deal with.
Amren had left right after the performance ended with a warning not to stay up too late since they had practice tomorrow. You got the sense she wasn't too much of a crowded bar person but she seemed nice enough. After that everyone else seemed to leave one by one, you tried to keep track of them, not wanting them to end up in trouble as drunk as they were, but as you saw Morrigan making out with a pretty girl with long black hair on the dancefloor your worry subsided.
This also left you alone with Azriel, who has been a lot more talkative and touchy than he usually is. At this exact moment, he was telling you a story, that you lost track of about halfway in, and holding one of your hands in between his, as he played with your fingers, twisting and turning the rings you were wearing. He has also not made any move to sit away from you even though you were the only remaining people at the table, your leg really didn't need to be thrown over his. Azriel was a clingy drunk and your cheeks hurt from smiling at the realization.
You were pondering on how to stop him so you could take him home. It was getting really late and you've already gotten almost unreadable texts from everyone saying they left. He had also told you he had work today so he has to be exhausted. But you didn't have the heart as you watched him excitedly continue on with his story.
At some point, he notices you weren't really following along and just stops, tilting his head to the side slightly. Your smile only widens at the sight. “What?”
“You're cute when you're drunk,” you admit.
“I think you're cute all the time,” he retorts without missing a beat, making your face heat up.
You always had a hard time telling yourself to keep your feelings for him platonic, but between the boyish smile, the flirtatious comments and the lingering touches, it was getting close to impossible to achieve today. “And flirty,” you struggle out.
“Only with you.” Cauldron. You really needed to get him to sober up and take him home.
You get up to do just that and within ten minutes, you're out of the bar and waiting for an uber by the same empty parking lot you usually find yourself in when you come out. He's also a pretty obedient drunk it seems. All you had to do was grab his hand and he looked like he was ready to follow you anywhere your heart desired. You were so glad you chose not to drink because your heart was definitely giving you ideas and your brain was the only thing stopping you.
Azriel was still holding onto your hand and you honestly had no intention of letting go of him. You couldn't really take your eyes off him. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed, the low lights of the bar hasn't let you really take in the sight. Some of his hair was sticking to his forehead and that same boyish smile hasn't left his face all night. No one should be allowed to look this good when they're drunk.
“Remember when we met here?” His words were starting to sound a bit clearer, maybe the cold air was helping him sober up a little or he was just getting tired. You think he told you he had work today and it was already late.
“Of course. It only happened a few months ago.”
“Feels like I've known you my whole life,” he says as he looks down at your linked hands, running his thumb softly over your skin.
“We didn't meet here though,” your voice seems to bring him out of his thoughts, his eyes finding yours, “You gave me back my keys when we were still inside.”
His smile turned a little shy at that. “I'm not sure that counts. I was running late and barely said anything,” he says rubbing the back of his neck, “I was beating myself up over it the whole show.”
“I…” you hesitate for a moment, unsure if he'll remember anything come morning. unsure if you'd want him to, “I was having a really bad day when we met, didn't even really want to come out, but I'm really glad I did, even though I got a massive headache out of it. If I hadn't come I wouldn't have met you. And I can't really imagine my life without you now.”
You tighten your hold on his hand and use it to pull him a little closer to you, close enough that you have to crane your neck back to be able to keep looking up into his eyes. “I think you came into my life at the perfect time, Azriel,” you smile up at him.
The emotion that crosses his face is so overbearing it's impossible to miss or confuse for anything else than adoration and… something more, something you've been trying to ignore for far too long. Gods, you really wish he was sober.
He raises his hand to cup your cheek softly, rubbing his thumb over your warm skin. “I think so too, princess,” he whispers, looking at you like he can't believe you're real. You've noticed the nickname only comes out when it's just the two of you and at times like this, when it seems he doesn't even realize he's said it, like he's been holding himself back from doing it regularly.
You could have stayed here, looking up at his beautiful hazel eyes all night, but it doesn't take long for a black car to come to a stop a few feet away from you, effectively pulling you out of your thoughts. You almost forgot you were still outside the bar, still needed to take this big drunk bat home. Taking a step back, you tug on his hand once again, so he can follow you to the car. “Come on, Azzie. We need to get you home.”
taglist: @bookishbroadwaybish @sad-anxious-muffin @mika-no-sekai-blog @starwholistenanddreamsanswered @secretlyhers @evergreenlark @vermillionwinter @anuttellaa @lilah-asteria @tinymarklee @lupinswolfsbanes @therealmoonstone
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel acotar#azriel fic#azriel shadowsinger#acotar fanfiction#acotar x reader#azriel fluff
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Wounded
Gangster/Mafia!Leona x Bartender!Reader
Silver Bullet Au
Summary: A passed out someone was infront of the doorstep of your bar, a kindhearted being you are you take care of him and his wound.
Tags: Wound Tending, Slight Blood, TW:Gun, Crowley is Mentioned, Slight Angst if you squint, Bartending.
•••
goddammit.
there's another person passed out infront the steps of your bar, bloodied, beaten and bruised up like every single person that ends laying down in front of your establishment as always
"Uh sir? are you...okay? dead?" you lower yourself close to and asked to the laying body nervously
shit is he dead?
you immediately check the pulse in his neck and thank the great sevens there's still something beating in there
it's closing time already and you have no time to call an ambulance to get this man out of your sight or the energy to deal with the police and their questions about the man or what your bar is doing in a dangerous part of town
you sigh.
you have no time to get this man proper treatment to a proper hospital
but you have the time to be a kind oh so good person to be deciding to treat him. plus it'll be a convenience to you if this person is affiliated with the authorities and could get your bar and you a good name in the public
slowly you try to lift up the man's arm to carry in your shoulder but stopped as soon as he growled a hurt grunt at you. must've sprained him
while still lifted by the arm you got a closer look at him
a lion beastman with a hair brown as a muddy rained ground that falls to his beautiful face and a scar on his left eyebrow were blended in with the pained expression he has
by the way he is dressed... he looks like a mob from a gang that roams around this town or even at the underworld
okay, he looks like he does affiliate with the government but in the bad illegal way, you might be in more danger now.
eh fuck it, you would look like more of a murderer if you leave him here, there would be more eyes on you if you do that and someone saw it.
•••
with a last push you propped him up to your plush sofa in one of the tables, properly this time.
it was a struggle getting him inside not to mention the minutes that took you to properly sit him up in the sofa without him falling over and causing brain damage to his passed out state
how could somebody look like they hadn't eaten for days be that heavy? no matter, he's already here and it's time to use your first aid skills that you've used on those young hooligans that pass by in your bar all beaten up as always.
tons of bruises here and there but it's nothing that you can't take care of, you stood up to get your kit, your eyes not leaving the beautiful man sitting unconsciously in your sofa
opening it, you first took the scissors to cut the shirt's sleeves, out not long before you remove his blazer and plopped it to his side
you're undressing a literal stranger, this could get you to prison for attempted assault however... he looks terribly hurt, he needs care and your intentions are purely clear with first aid kit in your hand. the authorities might not forgive you for doing this without his consent or by the fact you did not turn this man into the police or to an hospital, but what good would it do if you turned this man over either?
hell, even if you did turn him over, he might be the one that comes after you next if not the authorities already.
you just didn't want to fully undress him that's why you're cutting up the sleeves instead of unbuttoning it. that truly just it.
aside from his well built pectoral there's not that much bad bruises other than the purple part, you learned better than to touch it, one should let it heal by time but you just happen to have a ointment for it that might help heal
you lightly tap the purple bruise with the ointment in your hand before throughly applying it to the whole part.
you pick up your antiseptic to apply to the small cotton you picked with tweezers, you prop yourself up as you press it to a small wound yet it made the man flinch awake
he grabbed your hand roughly it felt like it'd be red by now as he pull you in close to his angry face
"what the hell do you think you're doing?" you didn't answer his question and firmly took your hand away from his grasp, he didn't do anything and just watched as you held up a bandage at him.
peeling off the wrapper, you properly took off the side and applied it to the small wound. while you bind the bandage cloth on large opened ones after cleaning it.
you move to his face next, he had a slight wound near his mouth. it doesn't bleed yet red as if fresh
another small cotton was took out from its plastic home, imbed with betadine this time you press it to the small cut, you swear you can hear him growling and hissing either at the pain or at you but you don't care, it's small but still needs care.
lowering yourself down to his knees, once again the scissors are in your hand, and before it tears up to the fabric at his pants he stops you by grabbing your hand once again
"Why are you cutting it up?" he asked assertively and cold
"unless you want me to take care of your wounds with no pants then sure be my guest" you replied viciously as you contiuned your cutting, it's a small cut to his pants it's not going to kill him, plus the blood staining it is more noticeable than the cutted part of the fabric
you proceed to apply more antiseptic to the cotton. you clean his wounds with it, lightly tapping as he stayed quite.
too focused on your work you didn't notice him picking up his gun hanging from his side pocket swiftly before pouting it at you
"I'm going to fucking kill you." he clocked his gun as it points at your head, you halt at your tending
"at least let me tend it before you do that, it looks bad." you continue to press the cotton on the wound harder this time making him flinch the gun and let its metal mouth kiss your forehead fully
you're not that scared of guns anymore especially with what you experienced, a bullet in your head would mean you're just another person that Crowley has to replace
you press cotton to stop the bleeding as you reach for the long band aid and wrap up the huge wound on his knee
you realized he already lowered his gun yet his pained expression never changed, you stood up to leave him and went inside the staff room
letting him alone together with your cash register isn't a good idea but what could he do at the state? rob you while limping? yeah that's definitely a good idea for him.
you come out with a orange bottle and popped out a pill from it
"swallow it" you hand it to him with a serious tone
"I'm not taking a pill from a strange-"
"it's a painkiller, here's the prescription" you hand him the bottle with the intelligible written word "Painkillers" on the tag
"what are you? a nurse?" he examined the pill unbelievably close to his face
"no, just a bartender." you stood up away from him as he still examined the medicine in his hand, you open your mini fridge to take out some of your bottles and a glass
it caught his attention to look at you, pill still in hand. his green eyes watched you as you stir the glass, clinking with the stirring spoon
"here. figured you'd have a dry throat, plus it's a good drink you won't even notice the pill" you hand him the drink as you watch him chuckle deeply
"hah, giving someone a painkiller together with alcohol to swallow it... you're funny"
"i get that a lot, oh and also it's on the house" you tell him as you get back to putting back your first aid to their kit
"it shines." what? oh. he held the glass up above from his head. the buzzing sound of the pin light over him was making his drink shine
"yeah, that drink is called Aurora Jungle Juice. good for parties and surprises" you say as your eyes follow his amused expression.
"i see." he released a sigh as he closes his eyes, his thumb still playing with the painkiller you gave him.
he shot the pill straight to his mouth before drinking the liquor, his eyes catches yours and you two stare for what it felt like an enternity
"tasty, you poisoned it?" he grinned at you as you scowl
"if i want you dead I would've left you infront of my bar hours ago and i would've pretended i left an early hour and didn't noticed you there" you snarked before standing up and delivering back your first aid kit to the medicine cabinet.
you could feel his intense gaze following you but you pay no mind to it, you get this kind of stare a lot especially from observing customers.
you put back the first aid kit carfully as hear footsteps behind you got closer and before you could turn back at him he was already in front you.
how could a wounded up person be that fast?
"hey, I'm gonna come back. and i want what you gave me earlier" he commanded playfully as he grinned at you
"Great, that drink is 50 madols. better sure to pay that time because even if death is near you, i wouldn't serve it for free" you say turning you back again at him closing down the cabinet door
"yeah that too." he whisper but you didn't hear, he preferred it that way, you wouldn't even notice the way his hand touches your hair
"too close" you smack his hand away lightly but making sure it doesn't get near you
"right..." he chuckled once again before putting a space between you two and walked away towards the door
"remember me, dear bartender. I'll surely come back." you hear him as he walked out of the door making the entrance bell ring to inform you he's outside
what a strange man.
•••
Leona puts two of his fingers inside of his mouth taking out the medicine you gave him earlier. still fully intact and dry
he snickered at it as he held it up above his head like what he did to the beverage you also give out to him.
oh those bastards are going to pay for betraying the Savannaclaw and beating up it's leader like nothing
not even thinking about the consequences if he survived
but he's also got to thank them, without them he won't even met you at all, he has to return them the best favor he had so he'd truly show his appreciation
his appreciation for meeting a finally interesting person.
he cracks his knuckles as ideas flood his brain on what will he do with those scumbags
and what will he do to have you.
"I'll come back for you, dear bartender"
•••
an: HELLO EVERYONE, hoW YA DOIN?? anyways first of all the drink that was in here was from chapter 78 of Alcohol is for Married Couples (great manga btw u should read it) i haven't tasted it yet but the chapter has the reciper for it if anyone wants to try it!! the credits for this au still goes to @jackplushie (i miss them till this day) but their aus are what keeps me going. hope you guys liked this :>
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst fanfic#twst x reader#twst leona kingscholar x reader#twst leona x reader#twst leona#twst leona kingscholar#leona kingscholar#leona kingsholar x reader#silver bullet au#twst mafia au
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Chapter 4
Summary: Wanda is anticipating Vision picking up Tommy and Billy with her protective brother around.
A/N: Happy Friday!! I hope you all enjoy!
Masterlist | All Chapters | All Stories Taglist
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Wanda wakes to her brother ringing the doorbell again. She groans, regretting every decision she made that led to this moment. She doesn't understand why her brother insists on working when the sun isn't even up yet. She gets up when he gets more persistent and she doesn't want him to disturb the boys.
“Good morning little sister,” he greets as he hands off Luna to her. “Awe did someone not get enough sleep?” Pietro taunts.
Her hair is a mess and her eyes are hardly open but she's still able to shoot intimidating daggers at her brother. She in fact did not get a lot of sleep. She is dreading whatever interaction she may or may not be having with Vision today. She didn't sell, pawn off, or destroy any of his stuff as she had threatened. She sat in the basement for hours willing the rage that had taken down her wall to return. But it never did. All she could think about is how happy and proud he was to have this space. She surprised him with it on their fourth wedding anniversary. Wanda had drawn out the plans, budgeted the project, got some help from Pietro and found all of the decorations. She couldn't tear down this present but she knew if she didn't, he would only ever see her as weak.
It was only a couple of hours ago that she was able to fall asleep. Wanda was not ready for her brother's chipper energy right now. She takes Luna upstairs with her and falls fast asleep after tucking the girl into bed. Wanda wakes a few hours later to an empty bed and voices. There are many different voices, all scrambled and she is unable to make sense of their words. She lays there until she can decipher the sounds. The loud saw isn’t helpful and only makes it more unpleasant to wake up. Wanda sighs and gets out of bed and walks into her bathroom to clean up before going downstairs.
Wanda walks down in clean clothes and wet hair. You and Pietro are focused on working and she is shocked to see you here. She looks at her smartwatch and checks the time. She hadn't realized she slept in so much. Feeling bad for the kids, she gets to work in the kitchen to make lunch as it was close to two in the afternoon.
When you stop the loud saw, you hear noise from the kitchen and you look at Pietro to see if he noticed it too. “What?” He asks confused, then he hears some pans clash. You act fast and walk around the table to check and make sure none of the kids are hurting themselves. You relax when you see Wanda.
“Phew, it's just you,” you say with a dramatic hand on your chest.
Wanda looks at you funny, “Who else would it be?”
“Well, we made sure the kids were properly distracted in the boys room, but you never know who might sneak by and get hurt,” you explain.
“Oh,” she closes a drawer, “Thank you for watching the kids while I slept. I've got it now. And I'm starting lunch so you guys can have a break soon.”
“That sounds great, I’ll leave you to it,” you say as you return to Pietro. “Your sister is up, she’s getting started on lunch,” you inform him.
“Good, the last thing we need is a trip to the hospital.” He relaxes as he puts his goggles back on to start the table saw. “Now we can focus on work and not jump at every little noise.” You chuckle at his remark but feel a little more relaxed because you were so worried about the kids getting hurt while they worked. Especially Luna since she is the youngest of all of them and was a curious little girl. You already had to catch her from falling off of the kitchen counter because she wanted a cup out of the cabinet. Then Pietro had to stop her a couple of times from crossing over the tape. And although he could have woken up his sister, he felt that she deserved the time to rest.
When lunch is ready, Wanda calls everyone to the table and everyone hungrily makes their way to the dining area that had quite an alluring aroma. The kids and the adults were starving. You wanted to be here early with Pietro so that the two of you had more time to work but you slept past your alarm. You didn't have time to fix you and Rachel breakfast, you did pick up a dozen donuts for everyone but the one donut you ate wasn't filling enough and you couldn't wait to try some more of Wanda's food.
After lunch, while you're making Wanda laugh as she cleans up the table, a knock on the front door interrupts the moment. Wanda freezes as she looks between you and the door and you grow concerned for her. She shuts the water off and dries her hands. “Tommy, Billy, your dad is here!” She shouts from the bottom of the stairs. You stay put, not certain if you should look busy or get the door or what.
Pietro drops his tool in the box and walks over to answer the door as the knocking gets more persistent. “Would you cut it out? Couldn't you hear her from out there? We know you're here, geez.” He gestures to the almost completely missing wall.
“You wouldn't open the door,” Vision says as he tries to step past his former brother-in-law. “Where are my boys? I expect them to be down here and ready to leave by the time I arrive.” He checks his watch and clicks his teeth. “That woman knows this. I have a strict schedule I must abide by.”
“Wanda is getting them,” Pietro says, his glare never faltering. You weren't used to this hostile behavior from your friend. He was the most affable, laid back person that you know. He wasn't an angry person. It sets off alarms about the type of person the twins' father is. “Why don't you go wait in your car? I hear you like the convenience of an easy escape.” Pietro found out from Billy what Vision did to his sister during drop off last Sunday. His blood is boiling at the sight of the man that was once married to his sister. A person he once had to consider family. He cannot believe he hates Wanda so much to blatantly disrespect her in front of her own children, time and time again.
“I’d rather stand inside,” Vision says. “Unless there's some reason I shouldn't be in here.” He shoves past Pietro, only upsetting the man further, and stands in the middle of the living room. You are leaning against the stairs now, cleaning your hands with a rag. Vision notices you and with cold eyes he scoffs. “Are you what they're trying to hide from me?” He accuses.
Your eyebrows connect in confusion on how he jumped to that conclusion. “No, I'm not here to cause any problems. I’m just helping with the repairs.”
Vision raises his eyebrows, “Oh is that what they're calling it these days?” You shake your head seeing no reasoning with this man. “What’s your name?” You ignore him as you walk across the room to return to your work and he grabs you by your bicep. “I asked you a question.” His tone is meant to be threatening but you're bored by him. “You are in my house and around my boys. As a man, I have a right to know.”
“Leave them alone,” Wanda says as she walks down the stairs without her kids in sight. “They’ll be down in a few minutes. They want to finish up a round in the game they're playing. I said that it's fine and told them you would be patient.”
Vision shakes his head as he lets you go, “And why would you do that? You know that it's my time with them now. You have no say in what is okay and what isn't until four in the afternoon next sunday.” You walk over to stand by Pietro, preparing to hold him back from making a decision he might regret later.
“Vis, they are always my kids too. I would never tell you something like that. That's ridiculous, and it's not how a custody agreement works,” Wanda says, shaking her head. “Why are you even in here? A couple of honks and I would have sent them out to you—”
“Clearly, you wouldn't! Otherwise they'd be down here!” Vision cuts her off.
Wanda takes a beat, not wanting to start a screaming match that has the boys running down to prevent it. “Are you finally going to clean out your stuff from my basement?”
“Are you still on about that? I like the space the way it is, I'm not giving it up,” Vision replies.
“You seemed to have no problem giving my sister up.” Pietro steps forward. “Why are you so stubborn about a damn room that's in a house you don't own?” Wanda tries to nonverbally tell him that it's not his fight but he ignores her. “Either you want your shit or you don't,” he snaps as he tries to get closer to Vision but you're quick to grab him.
“You’re mistaken, Pietro. Everything on this property is mine. I know this might be hard to wrap around your poorly developed uneducated mind. But just because I lost my name on the deed, doesn't mean I don't own it. This house was purchased under my dollar! Money I'll never get back. I will forever own it. So, if I want to keep my entertainment room for myself and my friends here, in this house, I will do as I please. Are we clear?”
Pietro tries to breathe to calm himself down but all he sees is red. His impulses are begging to take over but he knows he can’t lose total control. He grabs the sledgehammer and fear flashes across Vision's face for a second as Pietro stomps in his direction. Wanda holds her breath, uncertain about what she is about to witness. You try to snap him out of his trance. Luckily, he storms past Vision and opens the basement door, carrying the sledgehammer with him. “Pietro, don't!” Wanda yells as she chases after her brother.
“Wanda this is the only way he'll listen,” Pietro says as he stacks the few boxes that Wanda did pack up. Vision rushes down the stairs as well, shouting about how ridiculous it was that Wanda and her family were so upset over one room. Revealing that her mother was harassing him with phone calls and text messages and emails.
As he arrives at the bottom of the stairs, he notices that the decorations are torn down and that the usually neat and organized place is a mess. “What the hell happened here?” Pietro wastes no time and slams the metal head of the hammer into the boxes. “Pietro! Have you gone completely mad!” Vision shouts. “What is with this family and hammers?”
Meanwhile, you are still upstairs on the main floor, waiting to escort the boys so they don't have to witness the scene happening in the basement. When Tommy and Billy are running down the stairs you overhear them arguing back and forth about how they knew they shouldn't have asked for a few extra minutes. They are blaming themselves for what's happening downstairs. “Hey boys,” you say as you step in their way. “Let's get you to your dad's car. Okay? Let the adults handle themselves.” There's a loud sound of something breaking and they rush to the open basement door. You stand in front of the door and repeat yourself.
“No, they always stop when we're there. We have to go down there,” Billy explains. You feel bad for the kids that they carry the weight of their family's problems on their shoulders. Not sure what to do, you go by your instincts and protect them from whatever is happening down there. It's not on them to end an argument.
“Come on,” you take their hands. “I promise, everything will be okay.” As you're walking towards the front door, their footsteps are loud as the adults rush up the stairs. You aren't sure what transpired to result in Pietro holding onto Vision by the collar of his shirt with a red mark on his face. Wanda is furiously yelling at the two men to stop with angry tears rolling down her face. And as the boys claimed, once they make their presence known, it all comes to a screeching halt.
“Mom!” the twins call out as they rush to hug her.
“Mommy is okay,” she says as she rubs their backs. “Pietro, let him go,” she quietly demands.
Pietro has a short battle within himself on whether or not to stop now. He has him in his hands. At his mercy. But if he doesn't stop now, then when will he? What was he or anyone going to benefit from him beating Vision to death? Vision has kids that would be without a father. And with the likelihood that Pietro would have to serve time in prison for murder, Luna would be without a father. Finally, thinking clearly, he lets go of Vision and steps away. Horrified by the anger that had taken over him.
“I’m going to go clean up,” he says as he looks around the room apologetically. He stops by Billy and Tommy, he taps both of them on their backs. “I’m sorry boys, it's… a long journey to become a man. I will see you next Sunday. I love you,” he says to them. He heads up stairs and you worry that he might have injured his hands. Which might make him unable to work until they’ve healed. You stand at the front door and try to make yourself disappear so that nothing else happens. This wasn't your problem. You don't know their stories or dynamics other than the few details that Pietro has drunkenly shared with you a time or two over the years that you've known him.
Vision straightens himself out and clears his throat. He looks at Wanda, “Mind if I…?” He tips his head towards the bathroom door.
“Help yourself,” she says softly as she plays with her boy's hair. She looks down at their worried eyes and it's taking all of her strength to not break down. They're still so little and all she has ever wanted to do is protect them. She opens her mouth to say something but she has nothing to say.
Vision comes out of the bathroom and acts like nothing happened at all. He lowers himself to his son's height and taps their shoulders so that they face him. “Come on boys, I have a very important appointment that we're late for.” He fixes Billy's glasses and dusts off something from Tommy's shirt. “It was going to be a surprise, but we're finding out if you're having another little brother or maybe you’ll finally have a little sister.” He looks up at Wanda and then looks back at the boys before the hurt in her eyes can fill him up with guilt. He rises and takes their hands. He bids Wanda a goodbye and thanks you as you hold the door open for him and the kids.
“Are we going to see you on Sunday?” Tommy asks as they pass.
You look at Vision, who lets you know he doesn't want you around with a simple glare. Next you look at Wanda, who's only focus right now is holding herself together in front of her kids. Finally, you look at Tommy and hold your fist up to bump. “Of course, pal. Someone has to fix that wall and between you and me, your uncle isn't as good as I am.” You smile at him. You shut the door once they're off the porch and as you're about to check on Wanda, she's running up the stairs.
Her bedroom door slams and you hear the words “What the hell is wrong with you?” and “I don't need you to protect me!” You go into the boys room where the girls are sitting unaffected as they play the video game with noise canceling headphones on.
“I was wondering why it was so quiet in here,” you say after you nudged the headphones off of Rachel's ear. “Where’d you get these?”
“Tommy and Billy,” she says. “We heard a loud noise and they told us to put these on.” She pauses the game and Luna is snapped out of her trance. “Hold on, Luna.” She says as the girl starts to get upset. “Where are Tommy and Billy?” She asks you.
“They went with their dad, so it'll only be you and Luna for the rest of the day. Is that okay?” You ask, although you think you might be sent home early.
“That stinks but I guess it's their dad's turn. Like what you and mom do with me.” Rachel frowns as she's bummed about not having her friends around. “I just wish he could have waited to get them until after I beat Tommy.”
You laugh as you shake your head. “I’m sure his dad would have been happy to help his son lose.”
Rachel nods, “I think so too. It helps build character.”
You smile at your daughter as you recognize so much of her mother. You mess up her hair as you tell her as much. “I’ll let the two of you get back to it. Keep the headphones on. Okay?”
She nods, “Okay.” She places the headphones back on and Luna perks up as the two can continue to play the game. You close the door behind you as you leave the room. Wanda's door was left open when you pass and you see her crying into her hands on her bed. You want to comfort her but you don't want to overstep boundaries that haven't been set. Thankfully, you don't get much of a choice as Pietro is calling you to come downstairs.
He isn't on the main floor so you go down to the basement. You can't imagine what the place once looked like, but it must've been something special enough for Vision to fight to keep it. “I’m not going to ask you to help me clean this up,” Pietro says as he carefully places broken pieces of things into a black trash bag. “I’m sorry that I reacted the way that I did. I shouldn't have let him get to me like that. Especially not with the kids here.” He huffs as he looks at the mess he made and thinks about how horrified he would have been if his little girl walked downstairs and saw him. “I understand if you no longer want to help. Wanda understands as well and even offered to pay you. And you don't have to stay today. You and Rachel can go home now if you'd like.” He seems genuinely upset and remorseful.
“Is that what it's always like between the two of you?” You ask as you cross your arms over your chest and lean against the wall.
“No,” Pietro answers. “He’s been digging under my skin for years and when he went on and on about how everything was still his it sounded like he thought my sister is included in that. I,” he shakes his head shamefully. “He has put her through a lot. She isn't the person she used to be before him. And I hate him for it.” You nod as you listen to him. “I thought when he left her, that would be the end of it. But it’s been years and he’s still harassing her. I just… I don’t know how to help her anymore.”
You grab a trash bag and put on your gloves to start helping. “Pietro, it isn’t up to you to help her with this,” you start, testing to see if he wants your advice or just your ear. He looks at you and he waits for you to continue. “I know you have good intentions but I think you might be doing more harm than good.”
“How so?” He says, intrigued by your take on the situation.
“Vision isn’t going to listen to anyone but Wanda.” Pietro opens his mouth to argue. “Hold on, let me finish my thought.” He nods and lets you proceed. “Wanda might not be able to gain Vision’s respect as a co-parent and an ex partner if everyone else is fighting her battles. It might help her for the moment. But in the long run, it’s only hurting her. If she can’t grow confidence in her own strength, she will still be vulnerable to his manipulations. I know that you want to protect her, but she might be better off without your help when it comes to Vision.”
Pietro slouches down onto one of the chairs he didn't break with a defeated sigh. “You’re probably right. I mean, this definitely didn't do her any good. Vision is probably speaking to a lawyer right now in order to keep me away from my nephews.” You nod along, the man did seem like the type to call his lawyers about every little thing.
“Your sister is clearly strong. She has the house and she has shared custody. I doubt Vision handed any of that to her.” You point out to help Pietro see that she doesn't need this kind of protection.
“Actually, Vision made a prenuptial agreement that ended up backfiring on him. The lawyer that drew it up for him was a secret feminist and made sure that Wanda wouldn't be screwed over in case Vision chose to divorce her. He isn't as smart as he seems, he didn't read over the entire contract.” He shakes his head.
“Oh, well,” you pause as you think of what to say next. You were trying to spin things positively but it was hard when you knew only pieces of the story. “She sure is lucky when it comes to people looking out for her, huh?” Pietro nods and gets up to continue cleaning. The two of you finish cleaning the basement in less than an hour and resume working on the wall for a couple more before it's time to go home.
You volunteer to get the girls while Pietro packs up the tools he'll need for the week. Wanda's door is still cracked open as you pass. She is laying on her bed with a remote in her hand, searching for something to watch. “Pietro? Have you finally come to apologize,” she says with her eyes locked in the television. You mentally curse yourself for standing here long enough for her to notice you.
“Uh, actually,” you say as you step a little past the door. “It’s me, I'm up here to collect the girls. Pietro and I are done for the day.”
Wanda places the remote on her nightstand and adjusts her pillows behind her back. “So you're still willing to help with the wall? After all of that?”
You shrug as you lean against the door frame. “I promised Tommy I'd be here on Sunday. I keep my promises, Maximoff.”
A small smile flashes and disappears quickly on Wanda's face as she's addressed by her maiden name. It's been a long time since she's heard it without it being for her brother or her mother. “Well, I'm sure he'll appreciate that. As stuck up and punctual as his father is, he's not the best at keeping promises.”
“Clearly,” you say in remarks to their divorce and mock Vision’s accent. “Actually, as a divorcee, I take that one back.”
Wanda lets out a small laugh. “Ah, yes, the promises of having and holding until death. You couldn't keep those?” There's a lightness to her tone that makes you smile.
You shake your head, “Nah, that's expert level. I was like what? Eighteen when I made those vows…” You shiver at the reminder and the intrusive thoughts of that someday being your daughter. “I don't think our kids can be friends anymore. My daughter isn't allowed to hangout with… people until she's at least twenty-five.”
Wanda laughs again, “Wow, I had no idea you were so young.”
You make a face, “I don't know if that's a compliment or not.”
Wanda covers her face with her hand. “I’m sorry, I know that sounds bad.” She removes her hand and plays with a loose thread in her blanket. “I just meant the way you carry yourself is someone much older than you are. Well… come to think of it, I don't think I had an age in mind for you. I just didn't think you were still in your twenties.”
You smile, “Had to grow up fast, I guess.”
“I can't imagine what that must've been like at first,” Wanda says as she tries to imagine the place you and Jean were in when the two of you found out about Rachel while the two of you were still in high school. Wanda had one scare with her high school boyfriend, Simon Williams. It turned her world upside down and made her put her life into focus on her education and her career. Once she got her period again, she refused to sleep with him the rest of the time they were together. He ended up leaving her because of it, which hurt at the time. But she doesn't regret her decision to wait until marriage after that.
“It wasn't terrible,” you say simply. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday. But for now, I have to get Rachel home. I have to make dinner and finish packing for our trip.”
“Oh right! You two are going camping. I hope you two have fun. I won't keep you longer.” She shoo's you away and you thank her.
“Do you think you'll still be up for drinks Friday night?” You ask before you step away.
“I think that's a question for Friday, because I don't know how I'll feel then.” She answers honestly.
“No worries, I'll ask you Friday then. Have a wonderful night, Wanda.” You walk away and enter the boys room to interrupt the girls game.
Wanda grabs the remote to put something on as she tries to quiet the many thoughts and questions she has for you. Maybe she'll push through on Friday, regardless of how she's feeling that day. She grabs her phone and texts her best friend. Make me go out on Friday night. No exceptions. No ifs, ands, or buts. She sends before she can change her mind.
Seconds later she receives a reply. You've made a dangerous request. But no worries, I've got you.
Wanda hopes she isn't making a mistake for future Wanda who will probably only want to lay in bed all night watching a reality show or a reboot of one of her favorite childhood shows. Then an image of your smile pops up in her head and she relaxes at the thought of getting drinks with you and her friend. Everything will be alright.
Chapter 5
Taglist: @princessprudy @sayah13 @agaymilflover @awkwardmandalorian @bentleywolf29 @evenbeingcrazy1998 @olsensnpm @artisannat @thisischaismagic @wqndanat @madamevirgo @likefirenrain @tearsofglitter @feltlikethat @the-writer-arcane @natashasilverfox @karsonromanoff @aloneodi @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @jovialsublimecomputer @natasha-maximoff @iliketozoneout @doudouneverte @druggedduck @notbornbutforged @when-wolves-howl @lifespectator @justyourwritter69 @wandaromamoff69 @awesomelygayasf @nekoannie-chan @diaryoflife @wuwu96 @wandanats-goodgirl @sincerely-indi @blueredg52 @sisiwritesfanfics @lizziesplant @fuzzyuniversityeclipsefriend @arcturusseer @scarlettwidow34 @chasethemoon @raven-ss
#wanda maximoff#wanda x you#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda marvel#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff au#wonderstruck#wonderstruck series
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Hand Picked
Fandom: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Pairing: Luigi Largo x female reader
Word count: 1,881
Warnings: Cursing, canon typical violence, Luigi being himself, organ repossession
A/N:It had been years since I watched Repo and at the time I had watched it for Anthony Stewart Head. Rewatching it for Bill was an experience. This is a bit of a tease for another fic idea that expands upon the ground work here. I warned you all the Moseley brainrot had set in.
The relative quiet of the office was a stark contrast to the constant noise coming from right outside the building. Then again, in today's day and age, quiet was a rare commodity. The streets were always alive with the noise of the desperate and downtrodden. In most of the city. The few spots where those with wealth resided tended to be a little more quiet. No Zydrate addicts at least.
The quiet was welcomed though, needed even. An opportunity to reset from the long day. Uncommon it was for you to experience the sort of hours that you pulled today and all the trouble that came with it. Ten hours scouring the streets, fighting with those that were terrified at the mere sight of you. Everyone feared the Repo men. Contrary to popular belief, there was more than one of you. With the business that Geneco did and the way that people defaulted on their debts, one man wouldn't cut it. The Largo's would have been out of business a long time ago, despite being one of the only names in the game. The numbers were small, though. And recently, the numbers had gotten even smaller. Down to just two of you now.
Organs already returned to the store rooms, you were simply finishing up a few pieces of paperwork to close the accounts. Dull work really and something that you could have left for someone in a lower position. But, it was those moments that allowed you to calm down from the high of the hunt, recenter yourself back into a controlled semblance of a human being rather than the monster that the public know your masked face to be.
It would be a lie to say that you didn't get some sort of enjoyment out of your job. A fact that you would have ventured to guess when you first started several years ago.
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You didn't come from a family with money, just an incredibly scrappy will to survive in a world where money often meant survival itself. Instead, you had been blessed with intelligence, enough smarts to prove your worth to society and the company that ran the world. Geneco had pegged you for medical school when you were nothing more than a smart mouthed teenager with a problem with authority.
True, your trust in the company had been low. Practically, nonexistent if you were honest. But, it was a chance to get out of the streets, away from the constant fight and scrap. Sure, you knew you were trading one devil for the other, but at least with the opportunity to become a doctor, you may be able to properly make something of yourself. Taking the offer that had been presented on a silver platter, you signed the contract and unknowingly sealed a fate that neither you nor the company could have ever really anticipated.
School had shown your true potential. A skilled, deliberate hand and the ability to not only quickly pick up information but react to it as well had all of the professors singing your praise. Top in the class, across the board. Of course, those at GeneCo were kept aware of the process that you made, like they were each and every student who signed a contract with them. Apparently.it was enough praise that two of the Largo's themselves decided to come and assess your value when you closed in on graduation.
The first time that you met Luigi, you had been standing over a fresh cadaver, ready to give a presentation as part of a final project for one of the last graded classes you were taking. Rotti stood beside him, both in watching you with an intent that bordered on dangerous, making you feel like the piece of meat that was laying on the table before you. But being under pressure had always forced you to perform well. Dissecting away flesh and muscle with ease, you began to show the proper method for organ removal to allow them to potentially be used by the company. Not for resale exactly but for the scientists that were making continued improvements on them. The entire thing took half the time it took several other students once they came up to attempt the process themselves, a fact that you snickered about to yourself.
It was only when you were washing the blood off of your hands that Luigi approached. Rotti had chosen to speak with the attending surgeon who taught the class rather than you right off the bat.
"Not half bad with a blade…" You looked up from the station you were at, a kind smile plastered to your lips. The last thing that you needed to do was piss off the man before you.
"I appreciate the kind words, Mr. Largo." It even sounded level, and you gave yourself a quick mental put on the back for it. The words seemed to amuse him rather than piss him off another win. Up close, you could appreciate the blueness of the man's eyes. They didn't seem unnatural. While GeneCo was very good at what they did, it was going to be your job to know the difference. "You and your family, your company, has been more than generous in putting me through school. The least that I can do is make sure that the debt is repaid in full, to the best of my ability." There seemed to be something else on the tip of his tongue, but before he could speak any further, he was called away by his father. The senior Largo didn't approach, seemingly having nothing to say to you at the moment. That suited you fine.
Of course, you had no way of knowing that the wheels had been turning in the man's head after seeing your presentation. Graduation came and went, with another contract signing, this time for employment. Wages were garnished some to make up for what had been paid out to send you to school. That was fine by you since it made life easier. One less thing to worry about. That was how you looked at it. It also brought you back into contact with Luigi. Apparently, he was the one that helped manage accounting and financing.
The Gentern that had been there to help was a bumbling fool of a woman. Clearly new, she couldn't keep her face neutral, nor could she actually do her job as every paper that they had needed wasn't present. When Luigi shoved the knife into her gut and tossed her carelessly to the side. You blinked before pointing down to the body.
"You want me to salvage what I can from that? Before they are no good?" He blinked, seemingly caught off guard by your lack of reaction. It pulled him from the mess of anger that had overtaken him. "I imagine that the intestines are punctured, but the liver, stomach, and obviously any organs in the upper torso would be fine." This was the way of the world. You couldn't afford to blink at death. Especially working for this company and around the family that owned it. All the body was now was a sack of meat with some useful parts.
"Yeah, go take care of that. We will meet in a couple of hours, and I'll have someone less incompetent this time. And we will be negotiating new terms of employment." There was a bit of a growl to the words, showing that the simmering rage was still there. But there was something else in the look. A heat that made a shiver run down your spine. Well, that was interesting. You were wordlessly helped by another Gentern that appeared, giving you time to think over your own reaction. Luigi was a good looking man. There was no denying that. But he couldn't possibly be interested in you. Nol-when he had women hanging off of him all the time, well, mainly the Genterns, but they still counted. Plus, he could really have anyone he wanted.
**** **** ****** ***
The sound of the door to your office slamming open pulled you from the memories. Your start at GeneCo was definitely something unique. No one else had been set on the path that you had but you didn't mind in the least.
"For fuck sakes woman, are you planning on being in this damn office all fucking night?"
"Hello to you too, Luigi," you greeted him, a smile coming to your face and amusement tinging the words. He paused at the edge of the desk before plopping right down on the corner.
"Fifteen repossessions today. Maybe I should piss you off more often. Clearly, it's good for business." There was a playful edge to the words as he looked through the few files that remained on the desk. He would have kept up with your long day, the smug bastard that he was. Probably wanted to see how the argument from that morning affected you. Even through it, you couldn't help but smile, not feeling an ounce of frustration over the reaction. "You ready to go home?" You stretched your legs out under your desk, debating if you were going to try and make him sweat it out a bit. Not that he really worried over much besides acquiring GeneCo.
"Yeah, I am. Are we ordering in tonight?" You pushed up only to have him wrap an arm around your waist and pull you close. Resting against his side, you waited for the next response from the man, unsure where this was leading right then and there. Luigi was unpredictable even to you. Dating for the better part of three years or not, his temper often made him react in unexpected and unanticipated ways. But even outside of anger, he wasn't the easiest to read.
Sure, to some degree, your relationship had curbed some of that volatility. But, Luigi would always have a temper. The outlets that you had come up with only went so far. That didn't count the times that perhaps you encouraged it a little, at the very least agreed with the actions. Sometimes, people made it really easy to remember that most of the population was a bunch of idiots.
Not another word was said as his lips pressed against yours. Ten plus hours was probably the longest time that you had spent apart in recent weeks. As busy as you had been, you would be hard pressed to say he hadn't been on your mind. Add to that the fact that he did often like to watch you work, and today had been a challenge in far more ways than simply a long day.
"Shame you didn't save any of them for a show…" The words came murmured against your lips, his barely parted from yours.
"I guess we'll just have to skip the foreplay tonight then." His hand began to slide downwards sIowly, lips twisting into a far more egear smile. "Or we can head out and see who else may just have defaulted on payments…"
"That's my girl. The rest of that paperwork can be done by some useless fuck we are paying to do some job they likely aren't doing correctly. Can all be handled tomorrow. Let's get the fuck out of here."
#slasher writing#horror writing#slasher x reader#bill moseley#luigi largo#luigi largo x reader#repo! the genetic opera
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HASARDER — PROLOGUE
YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader
ERROR << MASTERLIST >> Part 1
As a civilian who just so happens to live with the Titans, you’re not supposed to wake up in unfamiliar places… let alone unfamiliar timelines. What happens when someone wakes up in a world that parallels their own… that they’re also dead in? Guess you’ll find out.
The reader is gender neutral.
Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (but, like, in a non-death way), spoilers: no one actually dies, no heroes actually show up yet cuz this is just the prologue, y’all need context before the story can start.
For your first interrogation session, you thought you were doing pretty well. Of course, you had the Titans to thank for that (Robin especially; he always said it was his job as a leader and your best friend to keep you prepared for everything), but you surprised yourself with just how calm you were.
… Even if you were caught trespassing in some abandoned lab in downtown Jump City.
You had no idea what you were doing there. You just woke up on the dirtiest tiled floor you had ever seen, brain filled with nothing but fuzzy static, and your T-communicator (the Honorary Titan T-communicator, as dubbed by Beast Boy) totally busted.
Now, looking back on it, deciding to just up and leave a mysterious— and run-down — building was probably a dumb idea, but it’s not like you’re one of the crime-fighting hooligans that does this for a living (“a rookie mistake,” you were sure to tell Robin after this was done and over with). That’s how the alarms sounded, and you didn’t even get to step foot outside before a bunch of red and blue flashing lights could be seen through the cracks of the boarded up windows.
And that’s how you found yourself in a scene just like those cop movies Cyborg would sometimes binge. The walls were a bleak gray color, the chairs would squeak with even the slightest movement, and the handcuffs they slapped on your wrists would create an ungodly noise each time they scraped against the metal table. And what was worse than all that, you seemed to have gotten the snarkiest cop in the entire precinct to interrogate you. To him, every word that came out of your mouth was a total lie, leaving him to scoff and roll his eyes after each of your sentences.
When he finally left the room — probably to watch you from that double-sided glass pane; what a classic cop move — you found yourself releasing your frustration through a long and drawn out sigh. Part of you wanted to pull out the “I know the Titans and they would be so mad” card, but you decided it wouldn’t be the best call. If he can’t accept the idea of you waking up in an abandoned lab with no memory, how would explaining that you’re roommates with Jump City’s famed protectors go? Yeah, you thought to yourself. Not going down THAT rabbit hole.
30 or so minutes of solitude seemed to go by in a flash, because the sound of the door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. In came the man of the hour, holding a creme-colored file folder, though he didn’t toss it onto the table like you expected him to. Rather, he opted to lay it gently on the corner of the table after he was properly seated, making you ponder what he was up to.
“… So,” the cop began. His tone of voice sounded uncertain — confused, even — which was a stark contrast from his snarky and condescending attitude from earlier. Instead of lazily leaning back in his chair, expression radiating pure boredom, he was actually leaning forward with his hands clasped together on the metal table; intent on listening to your every word. “What did you say your name was?”
The question made your eyebrows furrow. That was one of the first things you had told him when he initially began questioning, and he didn’t have any problems then. In fact, through this whole interrogation session, he would call you by your full name like it was second nature to him, albeit in a patronizing manner. Just what was he up to?
“(Y/N) (L/N),” you answered, trying to keep the hesitation out of your voice.
The cop leaned back the slightest bit, his dark eyes scanning over you suspiciously. Whatever was going on inside his head must’ve been quite the battlefield, because you could’ve sworn you saw his face flash back and forth from disbelief to shock at least 10 times. It would’ve been humorous to you if it didn’t cause your anxiety to rise. You found yourself preparing for the worst.
But no time in the world could prepare you for his follow-up question; “And you’re sure?”
Your brain sputtered. Any attempt to form a coherent thought proved futile for a solid 10 seconds. Had you of been less caught off-guard, your response to him would’ve been much more elegant than simply, “what?”
The grimace that crossed the cop’s features only caused more anxiety to pile up in your chest. His eyes were completely unreadable as he slowly reached for the folder he set down earlier, dragging it to the center of the table. You found yourself watching the way he flipped the folder — almost hesitantly — and pulled out a piece of paper. Whatever was on it made his grimace more prominent on his face, dark eyes skimming over it before he wordlessly set the paper in front of you.
You almost didn’t want to look at it, too engrossed with maintaining the uneasy eye-contact you had with the cop to even look away. But you eventually mustered the courage to trail your eyes down to the paper in front of you, and…
Certificate of Death.
You found yourself pausing on the title, the anxiety in your chest swirling around your lungs and squeezing them. It became apparent that you nowhere near prepared to stomach whatever words would follow. This was turning into a can of worms that you wanted nothing more than to chuck into that abandoned lab you woke up in, leaving it behind to have pizza night with your friends in Titan’s Tower.
But the pair of eyes from across the table were burning into your skull, urging you to swallow the information on the page.
Your slow hands gingerly grasped onto the paper in front of you. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noted how the paper was warm to the touch, and you came to the realization that this must’ve been printed out fairly recently. Most likely from a database, or…
Stalling wasn’t going to do you any good. Whatever this certificate had on it, it was important enough for this cop to show you.
So, you found yourself reading it once again.
Certificate of Death. The State of Rhode Island Department of Health. Division of Vital Statistics.
Full name of deceased:
… (Your full name).
This was some sort of cruel joke. It had to be. Did this cop hate you so much that he made up some fake death certificate — or a death certificate of some other (Y/N) (L/N) — to mess with you? Or maybe this was a just a prank from the Titans; a really really crappy prank. Would your friends go as far as to knock you out, put you in some random building, and get the Jump City Police in on this elaborate joke? Was your deepest insecurity true, and the Titans secretly resented you for living at the Tower despite being a civilian?
All of your panicked thoughts were ceased by the cop across from you gently setting a photo down on the metal table. You tore your eyes away from the paper in your hands to see that it was a portait-style picture of you; one you had never seen before. The blotchy background was reminiscent of a school yearbook photo, and taking a look at the awkward smile on your face, you reasonably concluded that it was a school yearbook photo. Except… which year?
The cop’s voice was soft when he spoke up. “(Y/N) (L/N) has…” there was a moment of hesitation, “been dead for two years.”
“… two years,” you echoed back, voice so soft and foreign to your own ears. Your eyes reverted back to the death certificate, desperately trying to make sense of the situation.
Certificate of Death. The State of Rhode Island Department of Health. Division of Vital Statistics.
Full name of deceased: (your full name).
Date of death: December 12th, 2013.
Place of death: Providence, Rhode Island.
“I… don’t understand…” you were beyond emotions, the anxiety within you trying to claw out of your rib cage. Your thoughts were like a blizzard, and every new revelation made the storm worse. Your next question was more for yourself than the cop; “what was I even doing in Rhode Island…?”
Your question seemed to confuse the cop. He clasped his hands together once again and quirked a brow at you. “Well, according to your file, you live in Rhode Island… err… lived, I guess I should say.”
“That’s not…” you cut yourself off when your eyes fell on the usual residence part of the certificate. Sure enough, in a font that resembles a typewriter, Rhode Island was printed on the line. This only fed more into your confusion and frustration. “No… this isn’t right..!! I’ve never even left Jump City!”
“Apparently, a lot of stuff isn’t right about that certificate,” the cop humorously chortled. “Last I checked, dead people don’t wake up in old boarded-up labs on the other side of the country.”
He had a point; if you died in Rhode Island, how did you end up back in Jump City? And a whole two years…
Your eyes suddenly widened out of realization.
“… The Titans,” you almost whispered. They had to of known you were dead. Your only family was the Titans, so the only way this certificate could even exist is if they identified you. So… have they been mourning your apparent death this entire time?
Please… you begged in your mind. Please don’t be…
As heartbreaking as the thought was, you silently prayed that your friends weren’t hurting for a whole two years. Hopefully, Starfire found someone else to get milkshakes with, while Raven got used to spending her late nights in solitude. Perhaps Cyborg opted to have movie marathons with Beast Boy (speaking of him, you hoped he still enjoyed watching cartoons without you). And Robin…
As much as you wanted Robin to move on, there was a selfish part of you that hoped he didn’t find a new best friend.
But none of that mattered; you were alive. You could return to your regular life with them, right? After a big reunion party, you can all go out and celebrate with pizza, just like it was before. This could all just be a huge nightmare that you can all look back on and think, man, that was weird.
“I have to reach out to the Titans,” you firmly said to the cop. The death certificate had long fallen out of your hands and floated aimlessly towards the floor, though it’s not like you had any desire to look at it again. “They have to know I’m alive.”
At first, you thought you would have to explain to the cop about your relationship with the Titans. It would be a quick, I live in Titan’s Tower, they took me in, we’re friends, blah blah blah and you’d be on your way to the nearest phone.
But, of course, the day could only get worse and worse.
“Titans? Who’re they?”
#Young Justice x reader#Teen Titans x reader#Dick Grayson x reader#Robin Dick Grayson#future Nightwing Dick Grayson#we’ll get to that
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Table number six p.3/...
pairing: charles leclerc x fem reader
summary: you decided to disappear from your hometown with your bestfriend, finding the anchor in Monaco. With your talent to be in the right place at the right time you got yourself into some fine situation
PS summary: Charles is getting just a little bit obsessed(ish) with you, yet you still think he hates your guts
warnings: emotional cheating (kinda), some swearing, bad jokes and smuttish thoughts, wet dreams about reader
Word count: 2.8 K
notes: there you go! :* @laneyspaulding19 @f1obessed
That was the first night he came back home, laying down onto the bed next to his girlfriend, his eyes pointing to the ceiling above him and thinking about someone else rather than himself…
-
When you got home, you clasped the handle of the door behind you and smiled wildly from ear to ear with your back pressed against them. You couldn’t collect your thoughts about what just had happened. The touch you two shared. The closeness you two shared. Something ignited in you. But this thought of yours came quickly to an end. (Wait, I don’t even like this guy in a first place.)
well you’re home quite early - Mary disturbed you out of your thoughts.
oh hi Mary - as you saw your best friend looking at you confused. It was probably because of you, looking like an insane person, smiling from ear to ear yet your eyes were wide awake with a hint that something is conflicted inside of you.
-
As you told your best friend everything about the whole evening, you felt like you’re in a movie or something. You've never had such a bad timing in your whole life. With all of the coincidences that had happened, meeting the family and all….Yet, the most surprising thing was that you are being aware of the fact that you are shy and insecure about HIM.
-
So yeah, that’s how I got into the mess. And then Pascale asked this guy to take me home and-
-Wait wait hahaha. This guy? Didn’t you just tell me like he is her son or something?
Well. Yeah. Whatever,….it was so embarrassing I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
I bet it wasn’t that bad as you make it sound. You two with this guy just don’t know each other ...so it makes sense he’s not that all over you in the first place…. Hahahah cannot say the same about you though.
Well haha very funny Mary. - You rolled your eyes at her. - Yeah but if you did actually see him how he looked at me! Like I’m annoying him with just my presence!
Well he took you home, didn't he?
Yeah, but - like it's just because of his mom. It doesn't mean anything!
Silence
Girl, you like him?
What!!!!!? No! Jesus no. He is pain in the ass. Grumpy man. Always looking like something is hurting him or something. This guy cannot even properly smile. - you blurted it all out
Silence
Alright, a simple no would be ok.
The next day you crawled out of your bed to make you a cup of coffee. It's probably not the best thing for you to drink coffee as the first thing in the morning but oh well you needed that. Because the whole night you were thinking about Charles. You wanted to smash your head through the wall. Like this guy is giving you a headache. While you were standing in the kitchen, complaining about your life right now, making grumpy sounds you felt how the cold breeze blew through the kitchen from the street and caressed your whole body, making you feel goosebumps, thinking of wrapping your arms around you. But you heard your phone buzz. Taking you out of your moment. You took a look on the screen. A message from Unknown number. (What?)
Hey, how did you sleep?
(Whaaat the fuck is that???)
Oh hey YN. As you were still looking on the screen in disbelief, Mary made herself present in that moment.
YN??
Oh - you looked at her - sorry. I was lost in the thoughts.
Yeah, I can see that. What's wrong?
Someone texted me from an unknown number.
Show me. - you handed her the phone. After a while she spoke back.
Well isn't that Charles? - handing you back the phone. Looking unbothered as ever.
WHAT? … Nah. He doesn't have my number.
Well then ask who it is.
Yeah sure, you should know better than that to communicate with creeps and serial killers.
Mary gave you an annoyed stare. - Do you think creeps talk like that? - as she pointed towards your phone.
Yeah ok whatever.
Who is this?
Charles. Sorry, I asked for your number.
Ehm ok? Why?
My mum would like to see you.
(Oh….)
What is it about?
She wants to take you out, go shopping or something like that. I am leaving today for about a week, so she wanted to make sure you two could arrange the date while I'm still here.
I see….
She would meet you tomorrow, around 5pm in the mall. You up for that?
Yeah, I'm free.
Perfect. I will let her know then.
Soo??? What was it about?
His mum wants to see me. - you put the phone on the table and came back to pick up your coffee.
Oh. wow. Why?
I don't know. Go shopping. I guess she thinks we have a similar taste in clothes since we were talking about it yesterday.
Well that is nice no?
I guess….
Well you didn't know what to think about that. Isn't it kinda weird? To meet his mum solo?
The next day did pass. Jean called you to tell you about how well you did at work and how he'd like to hire you. You were actually up for that. It's nice money. And friendly people are always welcome in your presence. But with the upcoming date with Pascale, you were little anxious. As you were waiting in the mall, you saw the familiar face.
Bonjour Pascale
Bonjour YN. Ca va?
Bah ouais, ca va.
She grabbed you by your arm and led you to the first shop on the right side.
Please forgive my manners using my son to contact you. I wanted to go out with you and ask you about something.
Oh. - (what could she possibly ask me about?) - it's alright. What is it about then? - you asked her, eagerly waiting for her response as the fabric of the dress you were looking at ran through your fingers.
There is this event my whole family and friends will be attending. I'd like to see you there. Yet it would be better to bring a plus one. You know, long dresses, dancing, drinks. I thought you'd like that. And I'd love to have all of my friends there. Jean will be there as well.
Wow, that is so nice of you! But I'm not quite sure. Aren't the tickets like sold or something? - you really wanted to get out of this, but something was keeping you back. You tried to play it cool, but you've recognized how excited you got. Silly you.
OH! Don't worry about it. It is all settled. It is my friend's event and we are all so welcome, including my friends.
Pascale, I really appreciate it, but - I cannot think of anyone to go there with. - which was true. You are really not dating anyone right now. And bringing a friend is just.. unnecessary.
Well clearly there has to be someone. You are so young and so beautiful, guys must be drooling over you. - (ehm wow), you giggled slightly from the embarrassment.
Yeah, I will have to think about that. Merci Pascale.
The rest of the time you talked about life in general - she told you all about her family and her childhood as well as her young adulthood. She was kinda wild as you found out. You had to chuckle from time to time. She was sweet and funny, you started liking her even more. -After you two separated, you went back home. Feeling tired all of a sudden. This whole meet up must have taken a lot from you. Which was very strange finding indeed.
Had fun with mum tonight?
- another text message from him.
Hello Charles, yes. She invited me to this gala event next week.. I suppose I will see you there.
You suppose right.
(Alright mister passive aggressive.) You tossed the phone away as you snorted. You grumpily went to the living room.
What's up with you? glancing at your best friend and waving your hand.
Nothing…
YN?
Yeah Ok. - you sat on the couch - You know how I was meeting Pascale today right?
Ohhh, right! I completely forgot about it. How did it go?
Well, fine. She invited me to this gathering.
Oh! that's nice!
Yeaaaah, but there is a snag in it.. Firstly, I have to bring someone with me. And I have ZERO idea who to bring with me. Since we're gonna dance and all - you know. And second, Charles is a creep.
Alright, spare the poor guy. What did he do now?
Well, he is acting like a creep! Sending me a message If I had fun tonight with his mum. Like - who asks these questions nowadays? It's just.. so weird. I don't know how to explain it to you.
Well… I don't know, I guess it is slightly weird, but - I don't know what is happening between the two of you guys.
What?? Nothing! I swear to God it's nothing.
She just gave you this look you knew all too well. Like she doesn't believe a word you say.
Well anyway, about the guy, what about Gabriel?
Who?
Your classmate. The one with brown eyes and curly hair.
Oh… like my plus one to this gala event? I don't know. - you furrowed your eyebrows. It's not that you had something particularly against him, you just weren't really looking for guys or having whatever nightmare with them. Charles was giving you enough already.
Well he clearly likes you. He'd say yes to that.
Mary - I'm not sure. He will think I like him or something.
Well you either want to have good fun or not. You want to go to the event?
Yes.
Then do it. The rest will be taken care of.
-
Hello sweetie. Take a look. What do you think about this dress?
I had my mind full of thoughts about my mum with YN together. What could they possibly be talking about?? Like I don't even know what my mum wants to do with her in the first place.
Charles?
Sorry? What were you saying?
The dress… what do you think? - as she spun around.
As I watched my girlfriend in that dress, all I could think about was how the dress would look on YN's body. Remembering the last time I saw her in dress. The white one she had when walking down the stairs, walking to me, the fabric hugging her thighs and leaving her body in a nice sensual motion.
Im sorry, I cannot concentrate well today.
Oh, was it the trainings?
Yeah. it was tough today. No grip.
I see, but think about it. I want us to match.
-
(Ok ok, how to approach this. Hey Gabriel, I have an offer for you… what? No! Bad idea
What about Hey Gabriel, long time no see.. - ok that's even worse. Hey Gabriel, how are you today? Well that is weird - since we are barely talking to each other,….oh my god alright I don't have the time for this.)
Hey Gabriel, I got invited to this gala event, there should be drinks and dancing and nice people to talk to. You first came up to my mind as my plus one, would you be up to?
Bzzz..
Hello YN! Oh yes I would love to! Can we meet?
What? Like right now?
Yes yes. I need to know more.
-
She was on her knees, her eyes devouring me from the inside out, her gaze ascribing who I belonged to. Her sensual and slow movements of her mouth around my cock seduced me so much that I lost consciousness. But those eyes of hers, they kept me alive, they kept me conscious. If I looked back for just a moment, I would lose it all. I would have been nothing more than a piece of debris that had let itself be caught in a trap. But with her, she's the one who keeps me alive, even though it's because of her that I'm losing ground at the same time. And she knows it. And I know it too. But because I am thoughtlessly hers, I let myself be carried away by her flow of femininity and secrecy. She has power over me, pure power, she keeps me with her, but I would be the one to lay down my life for her and suffer all the losses, just so she wouldn't have to suffer any. And that's when I put a piece of myself into her, she made me the way she wanted to make me and she got me. I will forever be under her influence. And now she knows I'm hers.
-
I drove the car to her place. I was unconsciousness. I needed to see her to feel alive again. I felt torn after this dream. And the only thing that could make me whole again was her. Seeing her. As I was waiting for some time in front of her apartment, in my car, I was considering If it is a good idea. Somehow I got back my logical mind. But when I focused on the feeling within, I still felt torn, even when logic came back. That is when I knew what to do next. She was the reason why I immediately packed my bags and went straight back to home, her place is my first stop after returning from the Grid. Nobody knows I'm already here, that early. But I felt like I cannot hold it anymore. After days of no contact. - I looked around. It was still early in the morning but I somehow knew she'd be up already. I got inside the building the next minutes, the number of her apartment written down in front of the main doors. Going upstairs searching for the number 4. Second floor. I knocked on the doors and waited. Feeling anxious about what I'm gonna do next. It didn't last long though. Seeing YN in just a man's shirt and her hair being all over the place. Looking surprised. Her smile faded away quickly.
Charles?!!! W-what are you doing here????
You were at loss with your words. You wanted to say so much more but couldn't. He was looking at you like he wants to kill you at the same moment. Feeling of uneasiness got the best of you. You're thinking pattern got back to normal. You've had enough of this guy. First he make himself seen like he is something better than you. Then he shares with you such an intimate connection with you, at least for you! leaving you confused. On top of that, you're meeting his mum who you like so much and now he is standing in front of you, early in the morning with a look that could kill. Just finally for a few days you didn't have to think about him and his grumpy confusing ass and now he is in front of your apartment.
YN? Is something wrong? - Gabriel showed up behind you, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants.
Charles glared at him, with such a disapproving undertone. Yes - you could cut the tension with a knife.
I'd like to talk to YN. A.L.O.N.E.
Ehm, yeah sure… - Gabriel looked at you, lost in words. Looking like a lost puppy. Cannot blame this guy. Even you were scared of him. Damn this guy has something in him, something that scared you yet intrigued you, and you wanted to find out more. But you clearly didn't want to admit that.
As Gabriel was taking his stuff and leaving the two of you behind, planting a kiss on your cheek and saying bye to you, you bore your gaze to Charles again. The two of you just shared an intense gaze towards one another. He was the first one to break it though.
He was waiting till the last second when Gabriel finally left the space you occupied together. Then he made himself feel like at home by passing by you and going straight to the kitchen. Without any words.
Ehm sorry???, but what is going on? - he looked at you upside down, hating the fact you wear some other guy's t-shirt. You thought that he is simply disgusted by you being half naked. But - the truth was rather opposite.
You went to change your clothes and came back. You really couldn't play this game much longer. You couldn't even stand his stares on your half naked ass, looking so digusted so you gave up. (Whatever this guy's problem, I won't let him ruin my day.)
Would like something to drink?
Just water, thanks. - already sitting on the chair at the main table in the kitchen. Looking rather unbothered.
As you poured the water to the glass, you turned back to him.
Will you finally tell me what is this about?
#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you
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FEVER
Pairing: Dmitri Antonov x Reader / Enzo x Reader
Series: Day two of the October challenges. | Masterlist here.
Prompt: Sickfic
Warnings: There is mention of vomit (not in detail), fever, and general illness. So, if you are squeamish, I'd avoid this one.
Note: Shorter one this time, but I enjoy a pretty general sickfic and it's fun to explore. Also, the last time I had a high fever was when I caught c/ovid last year, so I'm sorry if things don't sound overly realistic.
The sudden slam of the bathroom door as you entered the house immediately set you on edge.
Coming home late wasn’t exactly uncommon for either of you–one of you always seemed to be asleep before the other came home. Considering the growing scale of the things that happened at work, you knew you would likely be the one having to slip quietly into bed without disturbing Dmitri. So, you didn’t really rush back home that night.
Though, the fact that a quiet house wasn’t what greeted you made you a little worried.
Stepping out of your boots and hanging up your jacket, you didn’t turn on any lights outside of the faint one that was left on in the kitchen. Another oddity, considering neither of you really left lights on for each other to save money. So, you slowly started to make your way down the hallway, uncertain as to what was happening.
However, the retching you heard from the bathroom quickly told you everything you needed to know. You grimanced lightly, pausing for a moment before you turned to head back toward the kitchen with somewhat hurried steps. As you did so, you realized that you had never really had to take care of Dmitri like this. He seemed to manage to avoid getting sick, so it was usually you who woke up with the fevers, colds, or whatever ailment you managed to catch.
Though, you weren’t unfamiliar with the process. Upon finding that all you could really offer him for his stomach was a glass of water, you filled up a glass and made your way back down the hallway.
Dmitri had moved on from the bathroom and was laying himself down on the side of your bed by the time you caught sight of him.
While the room was dark, you could see in his body language that he wasn’t doing too well. Seeing the way he lay down with his back to you, curled up into himself, it was one of the rarer sights you saw from him. It was vulnerable–something you didn’t really see from him too often outside of quieter private moments or in bed. It had you pausing in the doorway of the bedroom for a few moments before you let out a soft sigh through your nose.
Foregoing turning on a light, you walked toward his side of the bed and placed the glass down on the bedside table nearby. While you knew what to do, the whole…caretaker role was a little difficult for you sometimes. You didn’t like accepting help from others and, in turn, you didn’t really know how to properly comfort someone. Whatever you could give, however, seemed enough for Dmitri at least. Which is what mattered in the end, you supposed.
You reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, Dmitri stirring somewhat before he clumsily reached up to grasp your hand in some sort of acknowledgement.
“You should drink something,” you commented, Dmitri only giving you a hum in response for a few moments.
You could feel the claminess of his hand, which wasn’t a great sign but it didn’t seem too odd for what you saw of his symptoms so far. The shivering, however, put a crease to your brow.
“I’m freezing,” he muttered, rolling over to face you finally, “Did you leave a window open?”
“No,” you replied, placing the back of your head against his forehead, “You’re probably running a fever. I think there is something here to actually help with that, at least. Just rest here a moment.”
As warm as his head felt, you were a little relieved that he was asking somewhat coherent questions. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him–it certainly wasn’t that late at night, yet it was clear that he just wanted to sleep this off. Considering that you would do the same, you couldn’t blame him there. Though, knowing your luck, you were probably going to fall ill right behind him. Maybe he’d be feeling better by then so the both of you didn’t have to suffer.
With some pills in hand, you returned back to the bedroom to see him sitting upright. Dmitri took the medication without much complaint, though you noticed he hadn’t changed out of much. At least he shed his outside wear, yet it seemed like he didn’t have the time or energy to change out of much beyond that.
“You might feel more comfortable if you change out of that,” you pointed out, “I’m sure your fever doesn’t need the extra help.”
“Are you sure you are not trying to get me undressed for your benefit?”
Despite the fact that he sounded exhausted, you couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped you at the quip. Well, if he was still able to joke then it might not be too bad.
“From what I heard, it sounded like you had your head in the toilet a few minutes ago. So, how about you behave?”
Dmitri didn’t reply to that, but from what you could see in the darkness he at least seemed amused enough. Thankfully, he didn’t need much more prompting to remove his pants, at least. You started to dress down for bed as well, making your way to your usual side as Dmitri settled himself back down. Though, you caught the somewhat confused look he tossed your way over his shoulder as you sat down beside him, resting your back against the headboard.
“You’re sleeping too? I don’t think it is that late.”
He was right, admittedly. Of course, you had a long day so you could sleep at the moment, yet you knew you certainly didn’t have to. Yet, you had found yourself joining him anyway, as much as you didn’t really give much thought as to why you had.
“I have had a long day, and I guess I want to make sure your fever is actually going down,” you replied after a moment.
Dmitri gave a small hum in return, settling back down with a small huff. “My mother used to do similar. Kept her distance until I was sick, then she was always within arm’s reach. She was probably worried. She never had good experiences with illness.”
“Well, I really hope that is the only thing about me that reminds you of your mother,” you remarked, earning a small chuckle.
Though, he really was running a fever if he was wanting to talk about his family. It had never felt like pulling teeth to get him to talk about his family or life, but it wasn’t always the first topic offered up.
“My family was always the type to just say to lay down and sleep it off, anyway,” you continued, reaching out to thread your fingers through his hair, running your fingertips down his scalp in thought. “Sometimes it might be bad enough to have someone nearby, but that was rare. My father was the worst, though. He could never sit still and it was torture for him to have to be in bed for longer than a night’s sleep…”
You got a rather sleepy hum in return, so you continued in a softer tone. A few stories from childhood, some friends, animals, whatever you could think up for a while. As much as you didn’t want to press too close in case that would be too warm, it seemed Dmitri didn’t mind you running your hand through his hair and eventually against his back as you spoke. You continued for a while, even after you stopped getting responses to your pauses or silences. A part of you couldn’t help but feel some relief upon feeling him relax, his breathing evening out after a while.
As you could feel yourself struggling to stay awake, you gingerly reached out to rest your hand on his forehead again. Still warm, but it seemed cooler than when you had last checked.
With a small sigh, you let yourself drift off, the back of your hand resting against Dmitri’s back.
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𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 | 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲
𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : armin arlert x reader, slight! marco x reader
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.4k words
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: slow burn, takes place in season 1, bad language, mentions of shooting, physical fighting, reader has a bit of a struggle being social.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: training begins, and new friendships blossom.
𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭
….
….
Is this right?
You stiffly observed the straps that laid criss-crossed over your body, checking the rear view of your shoulders and legs. A frown circled your lips at the discomfort. The uniform was not light, nor did it feel like you could properly move beyond walking. The maneuver balance assessment was already a failure.
A whine from the other mirror grabs your attention. Mikasa pulled, pulled, and pulled on Sasha’s harness and pinned the buckles together, tight and seamless. Christa dutifully checked over her handiwork on Ymir’s uniform as well as her own. Even Annie Leonhart herself, as stoic and isolated she’d been the entire first day, was swept up in conversation with Mina in the corner. Though Mina requested assistance from the blonde, she didn’t offer much outside of a glare.
You bit down a grin. Mina was fun to observe, how her mannerisms bubbled out and the laughter she was able to create. It was comical to see her charm try to work its way inside Annie, who was probably better off left alone.
But when breakfast came along, it surprised you when Mina joined the opposite side of your table.
“Mind if I sit here?”
She caught you mid bite. You shook your head with cheeks stuffed in bread.
“Okay, good. You looked like you needed some company.”
You swallowed.
…Suppose you did. You weren’t really looking forward to another lonely meal. Minus Marco’s introduction, the dinner table was empty.
“Good morning, [Y/N]!”
A familiar greeting that scarily matched the person you were just thinking of.
The freckled boy beamed while passing by your table, joining Jean and his own clique further down the room. Your gaze lingered on his back. Mina noticed and chirped up.
“Do you know Marco, [Y/N]?”
You shrugged. “He sat with me last night.”
She sneered, corners of her lips sharp and pointy.
“Uh huh..”
The weird smile made a laugh bubble in your stomach, making you cup a palm over your mouth. Her expression immediately faltered.
“What?”
“...Don’t look at me like that.”
The muffled, breaded sentence only intensified your giggling, with Mina joining in on the other side. It was so dumb and childish, but maybe that’s what was so funny in the first place.
The simplicity of it all, compared to what lay ahead.
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮
“IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL RUNNING, ARLERT? BECAUSE ALL I SEE IS A PATHETIC MAGGOT ABOUT TO BE EATEN AND BECOME SHIT! YOU BETTER GET A MOVE ON, ASSHOLE!”
“LENS, BETTER GET THOSE LEGS MOVING, GIRL! UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE STOMPED TO DEATH, I SUGGEST YOU START RUNNING LIKE YOU FUCKING MEAN IT!”
“FOR SOMEONE WHO WANTS TO JOIN THE MILITARY POLICE, YOU ARE NOT SHOWING A LOT OF PROMISE, KIRSCHSTEIN! FUCKING MOVE IT!”
This is hell.
“ARE YOU TOO BUSY TWIDDLING YOUR THUMBS TO FUCKING RUN, [L/N]?! GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS AND PICK UP THE PACE!”
Absolute hell.
Shadis shadowed like a hawk on horseback, hollering at anyone who lacked speed or allowed their exhaustion to take over…which is exactly the position you found yourself at.
Leading the pack up ahead neck-and-neck was Mikasa Ackerman and Reiner Braun, who both had not been shouted at once. In fact, the two carried themselves with blissful grace, like this excursion was just a regular outing. Not too far behind them was Eren Jaeger, Bertholdt Hoover, Annie Leonhart, and even Marco, who clenched his teeth and pushed his body more in order to keep up.
A curse from Jean beside you told of his state, his own battles to outrun the surrounding cadets not looking bright.
“ARLERT, SERIOUSLY? HAUL SOME ASS!”
You spared a sly peek at the blonde.
His face was flushed to a vibrant red, with his breath wafting out in puffs and wheezes. A sizable gap formed between him and the herd. Any second now and he might stumble over his feet.
…You turned back to the front. You’d feel sorry for him if it weren’t for your own legs wanting to falter and break. It almost seemed like the backpack was growing heavier and heavier with each passing second. The way rankings were going, you were performing very average, and that fueled your frustrations even more.
No matter how much you pleaded with your legs to carry you faster, they refused to listen, leaving you smack dab in the middle. You wished to be up front, surpassing Mikasa and Reiner and earn the respect of your stone headed instructor, but your wishes went unheard.
Jean’s back entered your peripheral as he remarkably jogged past you. Damn it! The finish line was just a couple more meters, if you could just push a little more…
“HALT!”
A chorus of sighs resounded as the hoard stopped, eagerly swooping in breaths of air to calm the fire in their lungs. Hunched over onto your knees, a bead of sweat dropping onto the forest floor, you felt your nose scrunch up.
It’s fucking hell.
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮
Hand-to-hand combat followed right after.
Basic rules and guidelines on safety and protocol had already been shared, but a male instructor briefly went over them again once everyone lined up. He cleared his throat after speaking.
“I will now pair you up: Sasha Braus and Mina Karolina.”
You watched as the two greeted each other and jogged away to an open space.
“Mikasa Ackerman and Jean Kirschtein.”
The boy flushed pink as Mikasa walked over to lead him away.
“Hannah Diament and Franz Kefka.”
Like lovesick swans, the trainees giggled bashfully once they heard their names, practically skipping away.
“Eren Jaeger and [Y/N] [L/N].”
The brunette turned over his shoulder to meet your eyes. You haven’t spoken to him much, though you were fully aware of his affectionate alias ‘suicidal bastard of the 104th.’ First week of training and this nickname had stuck like hard glue.
“So, [Y/N], you remember how this goes?”
He’d already begun stretching his arms out by the time you found a spot.
“I do.”
Neck tilting from side to side, your joints popped and cracked, releasing any tension. You moved to your shoulders and knuckles.
“This will be interesting then. I haven’t had the chance to see you fight. I did hear about you winning against Connie the other day, you know.”
He cracked a grin. You lightly scoffed.
“I don’t really consider that a victory…he was just too busy messing around.”
Eren arched a brow.
“Oh? Then, if you win against me, will you consider this a victory?”
His fists rose to his face, bracing himself for impact. Extending your right foot back, your legs bent in a semi lounge with clenched knuckles to your chest.
“...Depends on how it goes.”
You crouched when Eren leaped forward with a fist aimed directly at your cheekbone, instead brazing the top of your skull. Before he could gather himself you stood up to slam your head against his chin, throwing his face backwards. His feet toppled off balance allowing you to hit him in the center of his ribcage. He coughed and heaved, pausing for a couple moments to beat his breath.
You gritted your teeth in pain. Ow ow owww.
This was exactly the reason you disliked the combat drills..!
The end result was always the same, both parties scuffed up and bruised. Ironically enough, fighting was something you found to be kind of good at. Stamina was still an issue, marksmanship wasn’t a favorite. On the contrary, the 3D maneuver gear topped the rest. It was a popular opinion amongst the cadets, but it was a practice that didn’t feel like training. Flying with the breeze, feeling the wind on your skin as you let go…
WHAM
A heavy fist whacked the side of your head, knocking you to the ground.
…You’d so much rather be doing that than to be sparring with Eren Jaeger right now.
“Hey! You’re not daydreaming on me, are you?”
You weakly glared at the leather boots planted in front of you.
“...No.”
Eren sighed.
“Shadis will lose his shit on you if you don’t get up.”
“Ok, I’m up.”
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮
A miniscule aching started bothering the right side of your face once it was time for marksmanship drills. The upside though was that this marked the halfway point of training for the day. And fortunately for you, Marco, who had been outshining everyone in this practice, stood right next to you, cheerfully readying his firearm.
…Somehow the image of his expression while holding a deadly weapon did not stir you the right way.
Eyeing the cutout of the human figure in front of you, you pulled back the trigger and raised the weapon up, closing one eye to aim.
BANG
A bullet cut the wood seamlessly in the left shoulder. You lowered the firearm. Staring at the residue, you began to readjust your grip, and readied yourself to shoot once more.
“Hey, [Y/N]? Hold on a second.”
Marco’s voice halted your actions. You turned over to glance at him when he trotted over to you.
“..Is something wrong?”
He didn’t say anything as he examined your stance. He silently circled around your body, making his way to your frontside. He then hummed.
“You’re holding it wrong.”
…Huh?
“Pardon?”
He chuckled.
“Lemme see your aim.”
Slowly readying the rifle, your cheek leaned in while closing an eye. When you caught Marco’s lingering stare, you warmed.
“Now what?”
You felt his hand move your right elbow upwards and rearranged your finger on the trigger, making sure it was firm rather than the soft grip you originally held.
“There. Your elbow had to be more leveled with your shoulders, and you had a weak hold. Try it now.”
He stepped away from your weapon, giving you space to shoot, and with a squeeze…
BANG
…A clean shot right in the forehead.
Your mouth hung open.
“That actually worked.”
Looking over to Marco, he grinned at the bewildered expression in your eyes. He didn’t move to adjust you any further, instead finding his way back to his own post. You watched as he walked away.
Marco had done nothing but surprise you since your first conversation with him, and yet he continued to do so. The skin between your brows cinched.
“Why are you so nice to me?”
The boy paused. Flitting his dark eyes to meet your seeking ones, he cocked his brows.
“That’s kind of a hard question to answer, [Y/N].”
A sheepish smile had you tilting your head.
“There’s no real reason. We’re friends, and friends treat each other nicely, right?”
Your eye contact trailed off to the side.
“...But even when you first talked to me, you were nice. You didn’t know who I was.”
Marco hummed.
“I figured with joining the military I could take another leap of faith and talk to new people on the first day. I mean, how could I ever serve the King if I didn’t know how to introduce myself?”
He laughed while facing his cutout target, gun preparing itself in his grasp.
“And…I don’t know, I saw you sitting by yourself, and you looked anxious. I thought talking to you could help you feel more at ease. Did I…read that situation wrong?”
His voice sounded worried, making you slightly panic. He almost appeared guilty from where you stood.
“Of course not…! I thought it was nice. I’m glad you did.”
Peering at you over the rifle, you could spot his warm eyes and signature smile. You found yourself smiling back the same way.
“That’s good to hear.”
BANG
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮
By the time curfew knocked on the dormitories, your body weighed down on itself like a pile of lead, refusing to budge. The muscles beneath your blood throbbed, and the harness had carved lines of bruises all over your frame. You found home in the comfort of your pillow, eyelids permanently shut and not finding any desire to reopen them ever again.
“Hey, [Y/N, look what I have.”
Sasha practically moaned from beside you. It took every will power in you to simply turn your head in her direction.
“I saved a piece of bread from dinner! I swiped it off Mikasa’s plate. She didn’t even notice!”
Sasha’s lips drooled as she devoured the loaf, crumbs flying all over her face and mattress. Your slow blinks had your eyelids shut again, not really caring about the mess she was making.
“Sasha, what are you eating?”
Mikasa’s piercing voice startled both you and your bunkmate. You heard her gulp.
“Oh, y’know…jush a schnack.”
She pitifully spoke with the bread still in her mouth. You uneasily reopened your eyes to peek up at the girl who stood behind the ladder. Her tense aura leaked out in shadows that filtered over you and Sasha’s bunk, killing any space of warmth.
“I remember specifically having a piece of bread with my dinner. Do you know what happened to it?”
It was hard to tell if Mikasa was genuinely upset with Sasha or if she was just messing around.
“I..uh, ya know. I-”
Sasha fumbled over her words in a frenzy. This wasn’t the first time a confrontation over her food thievery crimes had happened. Her hunger didn’t keep her from Annie and Mikasa, the two scariest cadets in the whole regiment, but actions have consequences. Perhaps this was her learning lesson.
“I ate it.”
Sasha made a noise of shock at your words. Mikasa appeared surprised as well, eyes darting over to your tired body.
“I’m sorry. I apologize for Sasha too because she originally thought of the idea, but I took it.”
Mikasa stared at you before closing her eyes with a sigh.
“Make sure to eat your own food next time.”
Turning over her heel, the girl sauntered off back to her own bunk, the shadows leaving with her. Sasha’s hands trapping yours yanked you towards her.
“[Y/N]..! You saved me! But why? You knew it was me.”
You shrugged, a timid smile on your face.
“Just felt like it. You should probably stop stealing Mikasa’s bread, though. She actually seemed a little sad.”
Releasing you, Sasha settled back down on her bed and wiped her crumb-covered face.
“I know, but I can’t help it! It’s just too good.”
You chuckled, turning over to rest on your back.
“Well after that, I’m pooped. I’m going to sleep. G’night.”
Sasha tossed over to lay on her arm, spine facing you. The cabin was soon laid to rest as well as the candle blew out, signaling the curfew in effect.
Staring at her back for a brief moment, a pang of fondness hurt your chest, making you nestle deeper into the pillow, feeling its arms wrap around you.
“Goodnight.”
#altruistic#altruistic story#attack on titan#attack on titan x reader#aot#aot x reader#armin arlert#armin x reader#armin arlert x reader#marco bodt#marco bodt x reader#marco x reader#armin x you#armin x yn#shingeki no kyojin#shingeki no kyojin x reader#snk x reader#attack on titan x you
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I've been very burn out lately which has made me think about scene where the reader (human/omnic/cyborg, your choise!) has scolded Ramattra for overworking many times and needs (again) to remind them to charge properly once in a while. Then the tables turn and this time Ramattra finds reader trying to do too much at once and is the one who needs some reminder to rest properly. Maybe they both feel that they can and have to do more to help those who need help but just forget that they also have needs and time to rest so they have to remind each other about that fact. Thank you for making this blog and thank you for sharing your writings!
I hope you will feel better soon. 🥺 And here you Go enjoy.
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Ramattra x burnout!s/o
You always tell him to take a break between his work knowing how stressful it can be as a leader especially in a war.
At first he didnt really take the advice maybe because He never really had someone to look after him.
But slowly He listen to you knowing you only mean well for him.
So he made it that he would always work for 5h and than take a 20mins break. Its not much but he trys it at least.
Sometimes you tease him being a "workaholic" He didnt knew what it means at first but after some explaination He understood it.
But now the tables have turned.
He is now looking after himself so well and all that now you arethe one doing to much for your own good.
"My dear, did you take a break and more important ate something today?"
He was worried. He never was bothered if He did took a break and rest. But when it comes to you he is always worried He always wants to make sure you are healthy and at your best.
"Sorry Ram but Jack asked me to finish the last few reports and you know how he is."
You didnt even looked at him while talking and He didnt liked it.
So without a warning he walked over to you and turned the computer off.
"You have done enought. You worked on this the whole week. You need rest."
You know he is right but you dont want to admit it. Funny this is probably how He felt at the beginning.
You tried to turn the computer back on but Ramattra just blocked the button with his Hand.
"You and i will take the rest of today and tomorrow free. You need it Dear."
You knew better Not to argue with him so you just nod with the head.
Ramattra picked you than up and carried you to the shared bed laying down with you.
"Tomorrow we can do everything you would like to do. And for today we just stay Here."
Smiling at him you gave him a small kiss
"Have i ever told you you are the best."
"Just this week or the whole month?"
"oh shut up" you both know by teasing each other its your way to say that you care and Love each other.
"I love you, Ramattra."
"And i love you, dear. Now lets rest you will need it."
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Heyyy hope it turned out the way you hoped for it. And that you all enjoyed this.
#fandom#fanfic#overwatch#overwatch 2#ramattra#x reader#character x reader#character x y/n#character x you#gender neutral reader#ramattra ow#ramattra x reader#ramattra overwatch#request
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Edible Arrangements 36
First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3
A/N: I'mma keep it real with you chief I didn't feel like editing so I didn't. enjoy this in all its raw glory and experimental bullshit. I'm having fun with POV stuff. suffer. <3
I will probably be returning later on to edit this more properly!
Summary: [name] finds somewhere to stay. The world moves on.
Warnings: man I never know what to warn for. this whole chapter is basically an out of body experience complete with ✨conflict✨though so watch out!
Word Count: ~3800 words
Hitoshi does not know what happened, but he has a sinking feeling that it wasn’t good.
For one thing, [name] is asleep on his couch with a duffle bag he’s never seen before at their feet. For another, they look like shit. For a third thing, he can’t get into contact with Izuku, and [name] hasn’t answered any of his questions since they got here. In fact, they’ve hardly said much of anything, just stared at him, dead-eyed and confused.
All the explanations had come over text yesterday.
Can I stay at your place for a while? I can’t stay here anymore. It’s not safe.
It must be because they were so shaken up from the attack, right? He can see Izuku explaining how unsafe it is around him, with the way the guy’s been blaming himself for every so much as paper cut that [name] sustained since they met. And given the guy’s history with serial killers, it’d make sense.
Maybe [name]’s just upset by that.
Except, that wouldn’t explain why their eyes are so dead, why every time Hitoshi has tried to ask them a question, they’re somewhere far away. He doesn’t know where to take it, but it’s been a full twenty-four hours and they still haven’t made a move to even eat anything.
They’re just laying on his couch, staring at the ceiling.
So, Hitoshi brings them food. He recalls them mentioning how they liked spaghetti once, so spaghetti he brings. They’re still sprawled over the couch, so he sits on the other side of the coffee table and stares. “Are you going to eat?”
They make a weird half-shrug, restricted by the sling. His heart sinks at the wince they give. “I don’t think I’m hungry.”
It’s the longest sentence they’ve said since they got here.
“You should eat something. You need your strength to heal that stab wound.”
“Stab wound…?” they echo, a tilt to their head.
“Yeah. You don’t remember being stabbed?”
They turn to meet his eyes at last, and not an emotion reads on their face. They shake their head just slightly.
Oh. That is what we in the business would like to refer to as a “problem”.
“Will you eat something?” he tries again. He hates to do this, especially to someone like [name], but if they won’t eat…
“Not really hungry,” they reply, more firmly this time.
The fact that there is almost no change in expression is horrific and jarring. He’s not even sure his quirk has actually taken hold on them until he commands them to sit up and they listen perfectly.
“Eat the food I gave you,” he orders, feeling a pit settle in his stomach as they begin to obey before he even finishes. “Be careful to chew it properly and not choke on it.” He hates using his quirk. Hates the guilt it churns. Hates the control. He knows it’s a deep-seated thing instilled in him from years of shitty living, but he can’t help it. The hollow expression on their face as they eat is just too much.
While they eat, he slips into the other room and pours a glass of water. Sets that in front of them, too, and when they’re done, he orders them to drink it slowly.
When at last the glass is drained, he releases his quirk. Again, he’s barely certain that it’s worked—they have the same empty look in their eyes. When he brainwashes someone, he thinks of it like temporarily shattering their mind.
And here [name] is.
Sitting on his couch looking absolutely shattered.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, mostly in an attempt to figure out whether they have their autonomy back.
They give another awkward, wince-y, half-shrug, seeming no better than before.
Well.
At least he got them to eat.
~
To say that things are fine would be an inaccurate assessment of the situation at hand.
See, [name] isn’t picking up their phone or texting anyone back, and people have been texting them a lot. They’re only eating when Hitoshi brainwashes them and forces them to, only drinking when he does the same. If anything, the situation seems to be worsening—he’s not sure if it’s his quirk or their condition, but what was at first able to be “eat the food” becomes more and more complicated each time.
As their phone blows up (charged only because Hitoshi made sure it would) Hitoshi sits with his dinner and theirs and tries not to think too heavily about the past week.
“Are you going to eat?” he asks, like he has the past several days.
They shake their head. “No.”
He’s growing better at telling when his quirk washes over them. Part of him wants to think it’s because they’re getting better—just slightly, their expression when under his influence and their expression when just staring at his ceiling are drifting apart. He wants to believe that. In fact, he does believe that. [name] is getting better. Their condition is improving.
If they were responsive, maybe they’d catch him lying to himself. He settles in for the work he's about to do:
"Pick up the fork."
"Now put a bite's worth of food on the fork."
"Now put the end of the fork holding the bite of food into your mouth."
"Remove the fork from your mouth."
"Chew the food in your mouth."
"Swallow the food in your mouth."
He won't lie. The fact that he has to do this is... bad. He's not sure how to fix this. Depression wouldn't put [name] in a state like this. He's not sure what would, but he knows depression.
He checks his phone, in between instructing them to eat.
Mina to Hitoshi at 7:43 PM
Mina: hey have you heard from [name] at all?
Mina: they're not picking up or texting back and I can't get ahold of izuku
Mina: I am one missed call away from breaking down their door
Hitoshi: yeah, [name]’s been at my place
Hitoshi: for like the past week
Hitoshi: I’ve been trying not to pressure them but honestly you should get over here
Hitoshi: it’s bad
He sends his address and goes back to work. “Pick up a bite’s worth of food with the fork in your hand.”
Like that, he works, making sure that they chew and safely swallow every bite. When Mina arrives, it is with Tsuyu, and they nearly push their way into the apartment.
“How bad is it?” Mina demands. “Actually, don’t answer that. If they’re not responding to texts it has to be bad.”
“They’re not going to respond when you talk to them yet,” he explains as he leads them in and closes the door tightly behind them. If he had been worried about security before [name] got attacked, he had become neurotic about it ever since they showed up to dissociate on his couch. “I’ve got them under my quirk.”
“Why? What are you doing?”
He rubs the back of his neck as they find [name], sitting on the living room couch with fork hovering above plate. Unresponsive.
“It’s the only way I can get them to eat anything. If I hadn’t been brainwashing them into regular meals, they’d be suffering starvation by now.” He glances their way, directing a command. “Put the fork on the plate.”
They obey, robotically, and he releases them from his hold.
Hazy eyes roam over the room a moment.
“[name]…?” Mina calls.
“Mina, Tsuyu,” they croak. Just the slightest light returns to their eyes. “Finally someone I recognize.”
A chill settles over the room, or maybe that’s just Hitoshi feeling it.
“Someone you recognize…?” Tsuyu says. “[name], you’ve been living with Hitoshi for a week. Are you saying you don’t recognize him?”
A tiny, tiny nod. “Do you know how I got here?”
“No? How?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
Okay, the talking is progress. The information, however, is damning.
“Are you saying you’ve just been quietly sitting here not remembering who I am for the past week?”
A nod.
“Shit, [name], why didn’t you say anything?”
A half-shrug.
Mina and Tsuyu cast him worried looks. “They don’t remember you?”
Yeah. Maybe this is bad.
“Okay. We need to figure out what happened to them. [name], hang out here and eat something.”
They don’t respond as Hitoshi leads the girls away.
“Alright. So obviously something happened.”
“They’ve been like this all week?”
He nods. “They texted me out of nowhere asking to crash on my couch for a bit because they couldn’t stay at Izuku’s anymore. They didn’t give any indication that they were like this, and they just kind of showed up at my door with a duffle bag. I figured Izuku was getting too worried about their safety and asked them to hide out somewhere for a while.”
Mina wraps her arms around herself. “Tsuyu, do you remember when [name] and Tenya broke up? Er, when Tenya enthralled them?”
She nods. “This is worse. Much worse.”
“So what, do we think they were enthralled again?”
“They’d be double-enthralled. Between forgetting their childhood friend and whatever they would have forgotten this time, that’s a huge stress on the brain.”
“I think we need to bring in Neito on this conversation,” Tsuyu says.
“Really?”
“If [name]’s been enthralled again, there’s a few candidates,” she explains, eying him warily. “No offense, but you’re one of them. Neito can copy [name]’s quirk and tell us for sure who is and isn’t involved. I’m calling him.”
So they call him. And they wait. And when Neito arrives, he’s quick to stand in front of Hitoshi after brushing a hand against [name] in passing. “What am I asking him?”
“Ask him whether he enthralled [name].”
He jolts in shock. “Enthralled them? You think they’ve been enthralled?”
“It’s our running theory. We’ll update you on what we know once we know it wasn’t Hitoshi.”
“Alright. Hitoshi, did you enthrall [name]?”
“No. I have brainwashed them with my quirk repeatedly over the past week to force them to eat and take in water, though, because I believed that they wouldn’t eat otherwise and I was worried about their health.”
“He’s clean. How do you know I didn’t enthrall them, though?”
Tsuyu tilts her head. “We still have [name]. We’ll ask them.”
“Yeah. Tell me, Neito, did you enthrall our friend?”
“I’ve never enthralled anyone.”
Mina drags him into the living room a moment. “[name], is this guy glowing to you?”
They shake their head. “He’s clean.”
“Great, thanks!”
“[name] says he’s clean. So where do we go from here?”
Neito hums thoughtfully. “We need to start by determining what they’ve actually forgotten. You said that they didn’t know who Hitoshi was or how they arrived here, right?”
“Right.”
“Then we’ll need to speak with them. Figure out what memories they’ve lost. That’ll help us narrow down who did this to them and why. Once we’ve got our list, we’ll start with the questioning.”
So they sit down, a circle around the catatonic [name], and begin to ask questions.
“How are you feeling today, [name]?” Neito starts.
They shrug. He reaches out to touch their arm.
“Can I ask you to answer me verbally?”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“Liar.”
He laughs. “It’s just so we can figure out what’s going on with you. We think something happened.”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“What do you remember?”
“I lost my job. I wasn’t going to be able to pay rent next month.”
Mina looks about as pale as a pink girl can get. “[name], that was months ago. You lost your job in August.”
The others share a look as they blankly tilt their head. “What month is it? September?”
“Honey, no. It’s February.”
There’s a long moment where the four of them get to watch as they process the statement.
“Why aren’t you lying to me?”
“Why don’t you know what month it is?”
“Hold on, if [name] thought it was September, then…” Neito looks up from his notes. “[name], do you remember who I am?”
“We haven’t spoken before. You’re That Guy in my ethics course, though. You’re always arguing with everyone.”
“We both passed that course already. We’ve been… friends…? …for months now.”
Mina darts out a hand to cut in. “Hold on, doesn’t this mean… [name], what can you tell me about vampires?”
“They’re fictional monsters. They drink blood and turn into bats. They’re like, classic horror novel creatures.”
This time, everyone feels the chill settling over the room.
“[name]. Do you remember Izuku?”
They furrow their brow, tears springing to their eyes unbidden. “Who’s… who’s…”
The picture of them falling apart is something out of the Renaissance, an artful deconstruction of their emotionless state as the falling tears turn into a stream.
“[name], honey. Talk to me. Why are you crying?”
They shake their head, scarcely able to breathe through the tears. “I don’t know. I-I don’t, I don’t know! Don’t—don’t talk to me about that person. I don’t know them, I don’t like how that name makes me feel, don’t don’t don’t—“
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Let’s take a few deep breaths.”
As Mina crouches in front of them and begins talking them through the breakdown, the others share worried looks.
This is a big problem. One that demands answers.
~
The first doorstep the [name] protection squad ends up on is Tenya’s the next day.
“Are we really sure it’s him?” Tsuyu mutters as they approach. “I don’t think he would do this.”
“He’s the one with a history,” Hitoshi replies smoothly. “Too bad Neito’s quirk can’t copy [name]’s that long. This would go much faster that way.”
He reaches up and raps on the door firmly, quickly.
“It really is a nice house. Didn’t realize he was such a rich boy.”
After a few moments, the door opens. A woman stands there—shorter than Tenya, but with the same glasses, the same face. Short, bobbed hair. “Can I help you?”
Neito steps forward. “We’re looking for Tenya. It’s really important that we speak to him right away. Is he here?”
“Why, yes. I’ll go get him for you. What’s this about?”
“Something’s happened to [name],” Hitoshi replies.
“[name]? That sweet kid? Why, we haven’t seen them since something happened between them and Tenya after the two went away for college. Is everything alright? Tenya’s stopped talking about them.”
“Everything’s fine, Mrs. Iida,” Tsuyu says. “We just really need to talk to Tenya.”
She nods and disappears into the house. Minutes later, Tenya is there, staring them down with worry.
“What happened?”
“You tell me,” Hitoshi demands. “[name] doesn’t remember anything. They’ve been catatonic on my couch for a week and I’ve been having to brainwash them into doing the basics of eating, drinking, and using the restroom. Do you have any idea how hard it is to instruct someone to change clothes with my quirk without looking at them in the meantime?”
“What?”
“They’ve been enthralled. They thought it was September. They don’t know who I am, or who Neito is, or who Izuku is. We asked and they had a breakdown they couldn’t understand. Let’s make this quick: what the fuck happened?”
“Keep your voice down,” Tenya says firmly. He slips out the door and shuts it behind him. “I don’t know, exactly, what happened. What I do know is that I had nothing to do with it.”
“Great. Very helpful and not suspicious at all.”
“Really! If you’re so worried about it, you should speak with Izuku. See what he has to say. He’s the one who made it very, very clear that he was going to do everything to protect them.”
“Are you saying Izuku was the one who enthralled them?”
He pulls his best polite smile, not reaching his eyes. “I’m saying that I was not, and that Izuku had great concern for their well-being after they were attacked by the serial killer that targeted him. Is there anything else you needed from me?”
“No,” he says. “I guess not.”
They leave him on his doorstep with a mission in mind.
~
The rage only builds as they approach Izuku’s doorstep. Hitoshi knocks on the door, this time with hard, accusatory knocks. Mina is dialing his number as Hitoshi knocks.
The phone is not answered. The door is not answered. Mina calls three more times before she just starts shouting.
“Izuku, open the fucking door!”
Izuku doesn’t seem to understand why he opens the door, but he does. He stands there, looking like absolute shit. His shirt is stained, bags under his eyes dark enough to give Hitoshi’s serious competition, hair unwashed and unbrushed. He stares at them with dead eyes as the yelling begins.
“Tell me it wasn’t you who enthralled them.”
He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t look remotely surprised, either. Any defense he had is gone in that moment, until all there is is to rip him apart for this shit.
“Are you serious? We’ve been working our asses off trying to get [name] to have all their memories back, and you fucking undid all of that? Do you have any idea how much you’ve wrecked them? Do you have any idea how much they’ve fallen apart? Do you have any idea how fucking stupid you’ve been?”
And Izuku takes it.
“You know, you made [name] really, really happy. They’ve been happier since meeting you than I’ve ever seen them. We asked if they remembered you while we were trying to figure out what happened to them, and they broke down crying on the spot! It took forty-five minutes to calm them down.”
And Izuku takes it.
Neito steps up to the plate, too: “You know, I have been doing my utmost to avoid making assumptions going forward. Ever since I've been turned, I've been trying to convince myself that we can be good people. I've been TRYING to convince myself that we can live without hurting other. So what the hell is this?” He has a threatening tilt to his head, fangs flashing with each word.
And Izuku takes it.
Hitoshi is the one to finally step forward. "You're not going to say anything? You're not even going to try to convince us that you were not the one who did this?"
He lets out a bitter laugh and takes it.
"It would have been better if they'd never met you. They might have been happy, but if you could see them like this? It would tear you apart."
Nothing.
"You get that, don't you? This has nothing to do with them being assaulted and everything to do with the fact that your pathetic ass left them broken into pieces and unable to even understand why. You haven't been the one having to force them to eat for the past week. You haven't been the one having to sit them down and use your shitty quirk that you hate to instruct them through every single bite because they can barely conceive of the steps needed to eat anymore. They're going to need a full-time caretaker, to say nothing of the fact that they can't attend classes anymore. They can't remember anything they're learning! They can't do shit! Because of you."
"I am protecting them," he hisses. "What do you know about that?"
"Protecting them? Are you fucking kidding me? You can't protect shit like this. You're not a god. You're not even armed. You're sending them out into the world with no memories, no will to even eat, and no idea what they're being protected from. You can't protect anyone. If you would just ask for help for once in your fucking life, your parents would be alive and [name] would be here, where you could do anything for them. You're useless on your own. It's time you figured that out, doctor."
Hitoshi jolts back when Izuku stalks towards him, eyes ablaze. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You think you can even begin to understand what this is like for me?" His fists are clenched, green sparks wrapping around him. His quirk. The first anyone here has seen of it. "You don't know a damn thing about what you're talking about. You didn't watch that man slaughter your parents."
"You're right. I didn't. But I've watched [name]. For a week. You know I have to teach them how to do the most basic things? You know you erased me and Neito, too? You know you probably erased Tenya, again? How do you think he feels knowing that he's lost them again?"
"At least Tenya understands what it means to love someone so much you force them to forget you entirely! If someone any of you loved and cared for got dragged into this, you'd—"
"News flash, asshole! You are not the only person on this planet who cares about them! You are not the only person on this planet who wants them to be safe! You are not even the only person in this conversation who wants to protect them. We all want that, and now we're stuck with a friend who's completely catatonic, doesn't remember half of us, and barely remembers how to breathe, and you're acting like Tenya would be on board with this? The difference is, he learned from his mistakes! He has spent every second of his life ever since he enthralled them regretting the moments they don't remember him. Understands? He learned! You, on the other hand, haven't learned shit! You're sitting here determined to repeat history and fuck all of us over for the sake of your petty revenge quest!"
Izuku's voice drops into a low growl. "Petty? That man has killed hundreds of people. Were their lives petty? Were my parents? Is [name]'s life petty to you?"
"What about their mind? Their personality? Clearly that didn't mean shit to you."
The glare of Izuku Midoriya is a powerful thing. His rage is enough to knock a grown man over, if he directs it, and, based on the state his front door is left in when he slams it, it's enough to send four adult humans to the ground. The door itself is barely on the hinges anymore, holding on more out of willpower than anything.
They help each other to their feet, and when it's clear Izuku won't hear them out any longer, Hitoshi turns on his heel. "If you need us, we'll be fixing your mistakes. Don't bother thanking us."
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For the winter prompts: Essek Theyless with # 16.
And that’s the last of the Winter Prompt Requests! I've not written for Essek in a hot minute and damn did I miss hot boi! It's a whole bunch of tooth rotting fluff of pining mages and good dreams only. 😘
It is an unnecessary luxury for elves to have a bed to sleep in. They don’t sleep like other beings of Exandria. Instead they enter a trance for a mere four hours to rest up from the day’s events. Sometimes Essek wishes he could sleep like that. To be in oblivion for hours on, off in the world of dreams to wander beyond what he is capable of. It’s not that he is incapable of dreams. It’s just different. He wishes he could be floating among the winged creatures of the skies while they speak their wonders, where the colours of the world are warped and the bounds of reality are nonexistent. He wishes to experience the magic that is the subconscious of the dreaming lives. There are potions and substances and even spells that can mimic the effects, but it’s never the same. It’s different when you’re living through it first hand and cannot compare properly with someone else who experiences things wholly different. For the sake of the illusion Essek lays in his bed. He stares at the ceiling; one of constellations drawn beautifully but that’s the only expanse he finds when his mind slips from the waking world and into that trance. His eyes close and so comes the vastness, or so he expects but instead he finds a world of wonder. Is he dreaming? Yes.
Essek finds himself at the balcony of a tower on a cliffside overlooking the sunset. He raises his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light as a force of habit, but finds instead the rays do not bother him as they normally would. He hears the sounds of songbirds and the crashing of waves against the rock below. The wind blows gently batting at his heavy cloak. That cloak seems all too much for the tropical weather but he’s not bothered by it. The temperature is warm but not bothersome. His feet are firmly on the ground too, he realises. There’s no need for pretence. It feels homey here, like he can let go of his burdens and worries for once in his extended life. He takes a breath of fresh air and just watches the sunset.
He knows where he is. He knows he’s safe. He’s been here before, this tower, he knows it well. He knows of the teleportation circle on the third floor hidden under the finely crafted carpet. He recalls each line like second nature. He knows of the study the floor above with the comfortable couches and the precious collections of latest research in mid progress. Never less than twelve books at once, and always heaps of disorganised notes; on the low table, high table, cabinets, shelves and stacked on top of books. Writing utensils, just as much. Any available surface has to have at least one within arm’s reach. He’d found the disarray maddening in opposition to his clear and tidy structure but Essek won’t deny his own tendency to get a little messy when he’s caught up in work. He also remembers the laboratory with all its ongoing projects and experiments and of course the selection of materials of all kinds and rarities is certainly more extensive than his own. He doesn’t find himself in either of these rooms nor does he wander there. He knows they’re there as if it’s a fact because it is.
Overlooking this beautiful site from this balcony, he knows where he is. He knows what’s behind him through the stained glass doors; where the pillars make bookcases, and the hearth is always alight. Where a variety of crystal decanters sit unused but filled among the few perpetually almost empty ones, with the carved glasses next to them. Through those glass doors lie couches with comfortable pillows one could philosophise the matters of the world all day and night, or perhaps fall asleep on if one’s not careful. The table between these couches always has some form of snacks available; a scholar’s brain food as some might claim. Simple sustenance he’d say. Regardless of chamber, one thing is always certain. When Essek is here he is never alone. That proves right when a presence walks up next to him.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice he could pick out of thousands speaks to him and carries him through the worlds like a tether. He doesn’t have to look to his side to know it’s you in all your magnificence. Still he does though. He looks away from that sunset to take in another view perhaps unrivalled by anything or anyone else in this world and beyond, though Essek would deem his opinion severely biased. “You think I got it right?”
“You see this sight more often than I do.” He states as a matter of fact but with a hint of humour as you know him to do. You laugh softly and smile. He finds himself smiling.
“Every day is different. No two sunsets are the same.” You try to use the same tone but pour in just a little too much jest.
“It’s the last sunset I was here. You insisted we watch it. We did.” He looks past you to see the same set up of table and bench you’d sat together at some weeks ago. You’d dragged some of the pillows from inside to make it more comfortable. Together you used Essek’s cloak as a blanket and watched until the final rays settled beyond the horizon and the stars came out. Only then you’d sprawled across that bench and watched the constellations pass you by. It was strangely intimate for his standards and perhaps even yours. Anyone might have deemed the big bad shadowhand insane should they have seen him so relaxed, so mundane. Only here, only with you.
“You remember.” You smile as your heart flutters a bit and you feel cold skin press against your fingers, tenderly lacing together.
“Is this what it feels like to be dreaming?” Essek wonders out loud. You squeeze his hand and guide him along to the bench. Before you sit down you unclasp his heavy mantle and take it from his shoulders, exposing the Xhorhasian attire underneath. You allow your fingers to run over the structured designs of silver thread stitched on the deep navy, purples and greys. You take the cloak onto your lap as you sit down, pulling your legs under yourself. Essek follows suit but holds a more proper posture. Together you keep watching the sunset.
“I better hope so. It took me three weeks to not only learn how to cast this spell but also modify it actually work on elves. Do you know how hard it is to cast any sleep related spells on elves? Near impossible that’s right.” Essek laughs and shakes his head.
“Laugh, of course you do. You do not want to know how many quills I had to pluck from sleeping birds!” You cannot hide your own amusement. and when you subconsciously brush over your lower arm, Essek catches the markings still somewhat midway through healing. Looks like the birds got you good and were not so happy with you stealing their feathers. He takes your hand in his once more and offers a comforting squeeze.
“I appreciate your efforts.” He speaks earnestly.
“It was worth it.” You admit easily and a flush spreads across your cheeks. Essek raises an eyebrow and you bit the inside of your cheek raising an eyebrow back. No more than a questioning ‘hm’ sound leaves your throat as you play innocent or oblivious to the fact he noticed.
“Do you have something to say?” You might as well have been a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. A light smirk pulls at his lips and he does not fight it despite putting on his shadowhand visage that compels answers from those who face him. You offer a silent ‘really?’ and he insists. It’s not long before you break You play with a seam in his cloak still bundled on your lap. It seems to have gained your attention. This is the gaze of avoidance not because a harrowing subject or the need for secrecy, but simple avoidance in something you both dance around plenty of times; feelings.
“Fine. I was just thinking, that maybe we could do this more often and we won’t have to go weeks without seeing each other or sneaking around as much.” You huff as if the weight behind that statement isn’t what it is. As if your heart has not stopped and frozen in your chest. As if you do not feel Essek’s eyes on you and know that his lips have parted upon the breath that catches. You dare not look at him until you feel that cool touch under your chin where it lifts and turns your gaze to his until you look into those violet eyes that shine so bright with the mind of someone far beyond his years, with wisdoms and secrets that could topple empires and rise new ones. You look at him not as all those things, not as the prodigy or the shadowhand or the powerful mage. You look at him as your friend and confidant, your colleague and enabler of all the crazy things you do, your research mate but most of all, you see him as your heart.
“I’d want nothing more.” Essek sees right through you, through the layers that paint you to the outside world as a mage of repute, a bright mind and a dangerous one, one of many secrets and sometimes questionable morale, one of an adventurer with a good heart, one who favours a reclusive life over the business of sprawling cities, one that threw away a chance of a life of influences and riches in favour of some abandoned tower overlooking the most beautiful sunsets and rises. Essek sees you the way he knows you; as his friend and fellow bookworm, as a scholar and mage of high repute, but beyond that he also sees the passion in everything you do, your stubbornness and determination to do better, to be better. You’re his moral compass. When he goes wandering too far you are the one to pull him back. You are… He’s afraid to admit it because such a thing is frightening to someone who has some comprehension of what the true meaning of matter and existence is. You are his everything and he doesn’t know what he’d do without you.
The lives you both live are ones on thin ice. You have your own banes and confide in him as he does you with his. It’s not just mutual understanding but the knowledge that no one should bear these burdens alone and a willingness to share them and remind each other that this is real and you are not turning into the monsters some others might want you to become, for their own gain. You remind each other of the sacrifices you might make and the risks beyond every decision. Essek wishes he had found you in his life earlier because if he had you, if you had know you might have threatened to counter spell his ability to glide and float only to drop him into the waves below for his stupidity. He sees that now and you make him feel remorse for his actions. He’d thought he’d hate the feeling but when he’s with you he doesn’t. There’s more than just kinship here. He has bared his heart to you over time and you had allowed him a glimpse beyond that curtain. You’d grown closer and closer and became something more. This, this is real. These feelings are real and he does not want to run away from them. You don’t want to run away from them. He sees right through you as you see right through him and that tether grows more taut.
“May I kiss you?” You ask. The world might as well have burst because Essek never expected this kind of warmth to fill his body, to- to make him feel so happy. He’d thought it something from a childish past but not meant for the life he lives now, he thought it the path of the naive and oblivious and if that’s true he’s okay with that. He realises he must have missed a beat as you aways an answer in suspense.
“Yes. Yes, I’d like that.” He chuckles and softly you place your lips on his, right as the final rays of the sun pass beyond the horizon and the stars shine brightest above. All is well.
This is a dream but it is real in every way possible and Essek never wants to wake up. He could stay here with you forever in this land of dreams.
#essek thelyss x reader#essek x reader#critical role x reader#mighty nein x reader#critical role#essek#essek thelyss#mighty nein#the mighty nein#critical role fanfic#critical role fanfiction
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Sleep
"Before he knew what he was thinking, he scooped her sleeping form into his arms and promptly thought he might die all over again when she made a small sound, her head falling against his shoulder. Her heart continued its steady beat. He could feel it thrumming throughout his own body. Once she was in his arms he had no idea what he ought to do with her."
Myrnin had always struggled with finding a balance in his focus. As a boy he had received his fair share of beatings, too distracted by the stars to see wolves picking off the sheep. It hardly got better the older he got. So focused on the task at hand he often failed to recognize his own needs before hunger or exhaustion overwhelmed him. Or his attention would be drawn so rapidly from one idea to the next that nothing would get done properly.
But worst of all was how often he neglected to notice things about those he cared for. Certainly, he had caught on that Claire was staying in the lab far later into the night than was typical, but it wasn’t until she smacked his hand away from her most recent project that he realized she no longer wore her engagement ring. His attempt to broach the subject made the smile drop from her sweet face so fast he hadn’t dared to mention it again in the following weeks. Judging by the fact that all pigmentation had returned to the band of skin around her finger he probably ought to have noticed far earlier than he did.
If his focus hadn’t been so dominated by his own wasted shame for having missed something that obviously distressed the poor girl, then perhaps he would’ve noticed when her heartbeat began to slow and her tinkering came to a stop.
They were working in a calm peaceful sort of silence, or at least as close to as one could get with a human. And yet only when the quiet became true silence, interrupted only by Claire’s soft shallow breaths and steady heartbeat did he risk looking at her and ruining the moment.
When he saw her there, her head tucked against her arms, parchment, and opened books scattered across the table he thought his unbeating heart may burst. He had only ever seen the girl sleep a handful of times before and never once had she looked as though she were truly at peace.
“Claire?” he called tentatively across the laboratory, making his way toward her. Could that position be comfortable for her? The way her neck lay crooked to keep her head in her arms, and the pen making indentations in her face made him think otherwise. Excuses. He knew. He knew he just wanted to be closer to her, in the rare opportunity when he could allow himself to be without fear of being deemed too close by her. He just wanted to be near her. Close, close, close. He wanted to hold her close.
He felt it, somewhere deep inside him, that sick, horrible, delightful urge to take advantage of the opportunity the girl provided for him, trusting him too much. Perhaps she wasn’t as smart smart smart as everyone gave her credit for after all, nobody with a modicum of intelligence would trust a monster let alone enough to find themselves asleep in the monster's lair, any chance of defense or escape lost that vulnerable state. No, not so smart smart smart at all. His fangs snapped down, the sweet, so sweet, scent of her overwhelming his senses as he continued his approach.
And then he stopped, all at once realizing his intentions. He couldn’t help the flicker of relief that coursed through him. She really did make him better. There was just something about her that made him need to be better. If only she had come along long ago. Perhaps he never would have become a monster at all. He shook his head. That was hardly fair to her. What pressure to put on a single human, to fix generations of madness, centuries of his own insanity.
Recently he’d let himself tell her a story of his childhood, his father in particular. (For someone who frequently protested her dislike of history, Claire was very curious.) His arm still tingled where her touch had lingered several moments longer than usual, her gaze filled with more sympathy than he, or his father, deserved. Her mouth had opened, in that way that had become so familiar to him, when she hesitated on what to say next.
He’d been caught off guard by a strong rush of desire to kiss her. Kiss her before she could speak and rekindle any emotion he’d long since blocked off in regards to his childhood. Kiss her because her lips were warm and ever so inviting. Kiss her because he hadn’t done it right the first time. Kiss her because dear god he loved her.
Coward and fool that he was, he’d rushed abruptly away from her, making some excuse that mere days later he couldn’t recall, all the while seething with self-hatred. For hours after she’d gone he wondered at what might have been. Not the kiss of course. He knew how that would have gone. Even though she avoided going home with increasing desperation he knew her decreased love for that boy would still never translate into love for him. He had never been quite so lucky. Had he kissed her then she would have rejected him. He could handle being her friend, boss even, so long as he never had to face such an intimate rejection from her.
No, instead he wondered what might have been if she’d been there when he was but a boy. If they’d grown together. She would have saved him, of that he was certain. And in those moments, when she held more power over him than she ever knew, he was fairly certain she could have saved them all. His father, his wicked mother, even his sisters whose names flickered in out of memory like flames in the wind. Claire could have saved them all from themselves. How indescribably cruel of him to believe her capable of the impossible.
Before he knew what he was thinking, he scooped her sleeping form into his arms and promptly thought he might die all over again when she made a small sound, her head falling against his shoulder. Her heart continued its steady beat. He could feel it thrumming throughout his own body. Once she was in his arms he had no idea what he ought to do with her.
He could carry her back to her home, but he wasn’t certain how good an idea that would be. Myrnin knew that boy had always been… distrusting of their relationship, even when he himself believed his feelings towards her were merely professional. He didn’t know what was going on between the two, but the last thing he wanted was Claire blaming him for making it worse.
For a moment he considered waking her, or at least putting her back where she’d been and letting her sleep without disturbance. But she was so warm and the stool she’d fallen asleep upon so cold and perhaps it was pure selfishness but he couldn’t fathom abandoning her to that. He held her tighter as her breath swirled against his cheek, wishing he could just hold her forever. But she’d be upset with him if she woke in his arms. He’d hurt her enough that she wouldn’t trust that his intentions were purely innocent. The silvery glint of the scars upon her neck served as a good reminder of the pain he caused when allowed to get too close.
He didn’t use his bedroom very frequently. Even as a human, he’d preferred to stay awake, avoiding the darkness that came with the closing of his eyes. Nonetheless, the door swung open with nary a sound. Her scent, overpowering in the main areas of the lab as it was, still lingered in this space, though it had been years since she’d occupied it and he’d attempted to wash the smell of her out several times.
He could not bring her home. He could not allow her to sleep in the cold discomfort of the lab. And he certainly could not hold her. But he could lay her here, in the bed he had used no more than twice since she’d last used it, hoping that it would be familiar enough for her to remain unfrightened upon waking.
“Myrnin?” Claire’s voice called, groggy and thick with sleep. He moved to step back, having just finished tucking her under the threadbare covers — he ought to invest in better blankets, in case she ever needed to rest there again — but she caught his fingers before he could get away.
“Hush now,” he murmured, stroking her hair out of her face with his free hand. “Go back to sleep, fy annwyl.” He didn’t know how awake she truly was, but when her grip on his hand tightened, tugging him gently toward the small bed, he wasn’t strong enough to pull away. And when she spoke, voice soft but insistent, he could do nothing less than oblige her request to stay.
With Claire held safely in his arms, Myrnin found that for the first time in all the centuries that he’d been alive, the oppressive darkness of sleep brought no terrors to wake him.
#clyrnin#myrnin#claire danvers#the morganville vampires#clyrnin fanfiction#one shot#fanfic#fanfiction#sleep#one-sided clyrnin I guess?#but also like#know in your heart#that she loves him too#I wish I didn't make my ao3 and ffn so specifically for my last fandom#cause now I have to do something about that before I post anything there#but hey have this here for now#also like genuinely please#please comment or review or whatever cause I love Interaction
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Hey love you mason dad series have you considered what it would be like at matches and training with the kid x
Hi! Thank you 🥰 In the end it came out as a Mason reflection about matches and training, but anyway I also plan to write something with an actual training/match day. In the meantime though I hope you like it x
"I quit" silence fell in the room, everyone looking at him as if he had suddenly grown another head. He knew that dinner wasn't meant to be about spending time together as usual, they've been discussing the same thing for days now. Everyone worrying about his future, about how to help both of them by keeping up with his schedule when by eliminating the source of so much stress everything would disappear. Everything would be easier.
"What?"
"Well yeah, I have enough money to raise Alice properly until she goes to school. Then I'll do other stuff... I guess - I don't know" he looks impatient, as if none of that touches him in the slightest, when in fact he has a pain in his chest that gives him no peace.
"Mason you're delusional" his mother is already prepared to reason with him but he quickly stops her.
"I'm not!" the cutlery jumps slightly and the bottles wobble from the fists hitting the table hard - "I'm fine. I've made my decision... end of story" his tone drops at the end as he gets up from the table causing his chair to scrap against the floor. And the woman signals for everyone to let him go, they all know where he is headed.
-
"You're my little baby, my little mounty, yes you are" Mason leaves a kiss on the little girl's forehead inhaling her baby smell, the shadow of a smile on her face as she snoozes in his arms. "Daddy won't let you down, he will always be with you"
"You're right, you shouldn't let her down. But don't you think that will happen when you teach her that it's okay to give up at the first opportunity?!"
"How can I do that if I'm always away?" the boy sighs defeatedly as he sits on the rocking chair in the room looking at the little girl in his arms.
"Just... don't make any rash decisions, okay? Take some time to think about it"
"Mom she's my daughter. I don't want her living with her grandparents, with her aunts and uncles... anyone but me"
"Mason, let us help you - the woman lays a hand on her son's shoulder - This is a particular time, both for you and for her, and you need all the help you can get. The time will come when you will be able to cope on your own, but it's not now. So stop feeling guilty"
-
Eventually Mason took his mum's advice and thought about it. Very hard, to the point of not sleeping at night. Nine times out of ten the right choice is to hang up his shoes and take care of his daughter. Right, except it wasn't what he wanted. Ugh was he selfish if he didn't want to give up his dream?
He had cried after being honest with himself. In the darkness of his room he had felt so fragile and in need of someone to hold him and remind him that everything would be alright. But he was alone, there was no one there for him and he had suddenly realised on his skin what it would be like from then on. It was going to be up to him to pick himself up out of the dark times, pull himself together and sort out all the crap; him and no one else to share all that weight with.
That night however had triggered something inside him and despite not having had much rest, he had wrapped the baby to his chest in the early morning and headed for the training ground. Determined to discuss a good solution to everything and above all to manage on his own.
They had been quite helpful, saying that he could bring the little girl to the facility any time he needed to. There were some really capable and helpful people there and then it happened to everyone from time to time to have to take their children with them and they certainly didn't interrupt training every time.
He was determined to be as professional as possible, try not to get too distracted by everything. After all, he too needed time to wrap his head around that new reality and let his mind and heart heal above all. And if at first he had started to take her with him every day, then he had started to let his mother or sister take care of her, not wanting to take advantage of those people's helpfulness.
Gradually he had learned to manage his time, his emotions and to let go and build a routine in the new life that lay ahead of them from now on. When he was in training he had to have his mind on the next game, on the next goal, while when he was with his little girl he could devote as much time to her as she needed.
Only on one thing had he been adamant, coming to terms with the fact that he would need a big hand from his family. He had begged them to bring Alice to every one of his home games. It didn't matter if she was still too young at the time, it was for him. Seeing her there every time served to remind him that they were making it, that all the sacrifices and late nights had a purpose.
Seeing her smile in his mother's arms first and run towards him then, each game made him realise more and more how much she was growing and above all that they were both doing well.
Little Mounty
#little mounty#mason mount#mason mount imagine#mason mount imagines#mason mount one shot#football imagine#football imagines
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I loved your hc and fic so much, Could I request a short fic of Tssm!Quentin and the reader going on a lil date :D
YES YESYEYSYSEYS
yes. 100% 1000%
Partially for myself because I wanna be Quentin's gossip partner but I can re-write it to be more romantic if you so desire my friend (also this was written on mobile too, so it will be properly formatted later i promise)
Warnings: a lil body horror in Quentin's story?, Reader + Quentin go on a cute date and do.. idk date things (man I'm aroace idk how dates work)
Reader - Mostly gender neutral but Quentin uses masc compliments
"What happened to 'hanging low'?"
Quentin scoffed at your question, dismissing it with one of his signature smirks. For someone who had the smartest person in the city as his bestfriend, he didn't make the smartest decsions sometimes. His ego wouldn't let him and he was lucky you liked that about him. If you didn't, Quentin would be minus a partner. "Please, Mysterio never hides, especially not when it comes to bringing his handsome partner on a date, my love."
"Mhm," You hummed, taking a sip of the expensive champagne he'd bought, "and what will the wonderful Mysterio do if Spider-man happens to crash our date?"
"Ah-" Quentin got a look on his face, an odd flurry of panic and concern. He'd obviously not thought of it, and it had you biting back a smile from the otherside of the table. It'd been his idea, or rather, his insisting that ended you two in this high end restaurant. It really was nice, expensive as all hell, but nice nonetheless. You were lucky you talked him out of going to another one down the street, a semi-formal dress code was much more appealing than a black-tie one. "Well- he'd beat him, and take his date to a much better restaurant."
"You mean like how you beat him last night?" You were teasing, of course. Quentin could tell from a mile away when you had that glint in your eyes that you didn't mean harm. He flushed with a pout, before clearing his throat and sitting up straighter.
"That was Shocker's fault, he shot at me." You nodded at his words, deciding against pointing out how it was in fact Quentin who got in the way of the blast. "Oh- did I tell you about what happened before the fight?"
That was another thing you adored about you villainous actor, he gossiped. So much it wasn't funny, but oh, it was more than just a little entertaining. Being his partner meant you were told everything he knew... which meant you basically knew everything about the Sinister Eleven.
It'd probably be best if you didn't meet them at this point, anyway. You don't think you could look Sandman in the eyes after learning how his clothes work...
"So, Flint, O'hirn, Adrian, and Mason are all in the like.. living room area?" You raised an eyebrow and he waved his hand, something, you learned, he did often. "Not important, anyway. You know how Rhino can take off the chest and pelvis piece, right?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah, you told me." You had to think about it for a moment, but he most definitely had told you at some point.
"He'd taken off his chest piece because he needed to cool down, so he's laying on his and Ox's designated area, cooling down." Quentin was in it now, hands moving as he talked. You'd have to start making a list of all the things you liked about him, you realized. How animated he was would definitely be one of the top 5. "Sandman goes over, and says something along the lines of 'do you think i can fit in the rest of the armor?' So of course Alex wants to see if he can."
"Oh god."
"It gets worse." Quentin's smile was on the edge of being sadistic, eyes lit up as if this was the funniest thing in the world. "Sandman slips into the armor, and its all fine and dandy. Until he realizing, he, for some reason, is moving."
"No. Please don't tell me he-?"
"It took them two hours to sort him out of Rhino's tissue." You cringed, the little details given being enough to give you the full picture. Quentin giggled like an insane person, and you couldn't help but chuckle in response. "I mean- why would they even thing that was a good idea?"
"Aren't these the same two guys that Spidey used to beat on a daily basis back before Mysterio?" His nod had you shaking your head in disbelief. "Jesus you'd expect them to know better."
"Exactly!" Quentin's sudden raise in volume had people looking your direction, but you just glared in response. So your boyfriend was loud, so he could be a bit chaotic. So what? That didn't mean they could say anything, especially not while you were here.
A blissful sigh had you looking back at him, your eyes finding his in a stare that had you blushing. Another thing you liked about him, you noted, was how he looked at you. Like you were some kind of deity. It was equal parts embarrassing and adorable. "What?"
"I like it when you get angry for me." Quentin reached over, smirking like the little stuck-up idiot (affectionate) he was, and picking you hand up in his own. "It makes me happy I found someone to brag about."
"Wow," you flushed, chuckling, "that's a hell of a change of pace."
Quentin smiled, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he downright purred his next words. "Its why you love me."
With a roll of your eyes, despite how your heart was fluttering and your face rivaled the color of a peach, you scoffed.
"That and a couple 100 other reasons," You pulled his own hand to you, flipping the script as you kissed the ring finger knuckle, "my love."
#quentin beck#tssm#tssm mysterio#the spectacular spider man#tssm quentin beck#mysterio#i litterally couldn't wait to write this#i'll edit it in the morning i promise#but oh my god#Quentin <33
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A Patchwork Powder Keg - Ch 12 of 14
Tubbo learns to drive. A car gets blown up.
[CW: injuries]
crossposted to ao3
Ch 1
Ch 11
Ch 13
Mafia AU Masterpost
~ Another Collective ~
Quackity stumbles back from the impact, heart no longer pressed to his lips. He hits the ground hard as a second shot rings out, Quackity vaguely seeing the wood of the coffin splintered as the shot embeds itself there instead of in his chest. Quackity also focuses on Jack Manifold pinning him to the ground with grim, irritated determination.
The room has devolved into utter chaos, more screams, more gunshots. The moment Quackity was hit Tubbo’s gaze had instead turned to the crowd, where he saw one man standing with his pistol raised, pale and eyes wide with horrified fury. He knew that face. He’s one of Schlatt’s. Tubbo wants to follow him, watching him struggle to flee the scene among a crowd of hysterics.
“Tubbo!” Jack shouts.
Tubbo turns back to Jack, to Quackity still bleeding on the floor despite Jack’s current attempts to slow it. There is blood on Quackity’s mouth and for a moment Tubbo is panicked by the thought of how deep an injury must be for blood to fill his lungs that fast, until he realizes, the bloody thing which remains clasped in his hand. Oh.
From the crowd, a few of the party are not running away from the stage and instead to it. Ponk wants to help, but all the knowledge in the world doesn’t change the fact that their arm is in a sling, they had started running, grabbing Foolish’s sleeve, pulling him along with them, Foolish following meant Puffy followed, Eret and HBomb behind Ponk, Bad and Ant following suit, Fundy is also there, from his panicked expression largely because he doesn’t know what else to do and doesn’t want to be alone right now.
“Foolish, help carry him into the back, someone call an ambulance, we’ve got to get pressure on it,” Ponk says quickly.
Foolish, who Tubbo does not remember being this big, scoops Quackity off the ground like he weighs nothing, uncaring as his pale clothes are rapidly stained with blood. Quackity’s weak groan at least tells them that he’s conscious. The group crowds into the back room, Tubbo frantically clearing off a table so Foolish can lay him down, Puffy grabbing the phone off the wall to call for an ambulance, Ant and Bad currently watching the doors, but there has been no more fire from the crowd, the chaos now largely in the civilians attempting to flee. Fundy now holds onto Eret’s arm, largely to reassure himself rather than help her.
“Okay, Puffy is calling, we’ll get an ambulance, and he’ll be alright. Beacon Hospital isn’t far. And they’ve seen a lot of bullet wounds, he’ll be– He’ll be better in no time,” Ponk tries to offer reassurances as everyone continues to remain at least slightly panicked. Other than that, no one is acting. “I said put some goddamn pressure on it!” Ponk says again more sharply now, frustrated that they can’t do it on their own with their arm in a sling. Jack reaches forward.
“No,” Tubbo stammers, others gathered give him a bewildered look. “I– I can do it,” he clasps his hands with almost practiced precision, clamping down on Quackity’s shoulder, wincing when Quackity cries out. “Jack, I need you to reach into my jacket pocket.”
“You what?!” Jack says panickedly.
“I’m a bit fucking busy, so yes, Jack, get into my jacket pocket, there’s a list, there’s a list with mug shots, get it out, please!” Tubbo says frantically, still pressing down onto Quackity’s bloodied shoulder. The bullet wound is higher than he initially had feared, cutting through his chest a few inches below his collarbone.
HBomb leaves Eret’s side now that they’ve stopped running, Eret piecing together what’s happened the best she can, knowing there isn’t time for someone to explain properly. HBomb tears off his jacket. “Here, use this,” he passes it to Tubbo, who accepts gratefully and uses it to soak up the blood.
“Okay! Okay, I have the bloody list, Tubbo, what’re you on about?!” Jack says with a hint of hysteria, the paper crackling in his fist as he shakes it.
“Go through it!” Tubbo says frantically. “Faster, please! No, stop!” Tubbo nods to the mug shot of the man he had just seen flee the church, smoking pistol in hand. “Jack, I need you to go outside and follow that man. If you can’t find his face, he drives an ugly as shit brown Pontiac. Do not engage, but don’t fucking lose him. If he stops moving you find a payphone, you call the house, got it?”
Jack nods, shoving the papers into his pocket, half falling over himself to do as he asked, scrambling out the door. Tubbo feels like the past minutes have been hours, and he knows even this time is enough for that man to have disappeared. His only hope is he got stuck in the crowd trying to cram through the front doors and Jack will be able to catch up running out the side door.
“Quackity? Big Q, you still with me?” Tubbo says frantically.
Quackity’s eyes are shut tightly jaw tense, he manages something like a nod and a weak hum in the affirmative.
“Ambulance is on its way,” Puffy calls.
“Good, good, you’re gonna be fine, Bossman. You’re good,” Tubbo says.
“I know…” Quackity says raggedly. “I know I’m good…”
For a moment, Tubbo almost expects Quackity to continue with something sentimental about knowing he’s in good hands.
“...didn’t get me in the face, so… so I’m still hot… don’t even worry about it…”
Tubbo laughs a bit too loudly, his arms starting to burn from how hard he’s pressing down on the blood still seeping slowly through his fingertips. “Y-Yeah, you’re good.” Tubbo has known Quackity for a long time, but he’s getting a bit tired of panicking over his injuries while waiting for an ambulance to arrive.
“You… you wanna swap out?” Foolish’s voice is more like what Tubbo remembers, not at all gruff, almost sweet. “Look, man, I bet you can do it, just, your arms are starting to shake. A little bit.”
Tubbo feels like Quackity is his responsibility. He doesn’t want to let go.
“Fucking hell, Tubbo, let him…” Quackity rasps.
Tubbo reluctantly lets go, allowing Foolish to take over. Not long after, they hear sirens. Most present are surprised. This is an East Side church. It usually takes longer for ambulances to get over here. Tubbo connects some dots, realizing that former Police Captain Puffy had been the one to call.
“I-I’m gonna go outside. Show them where to go,” Fundy flees the bloodied scene. The man has never done well with blood.
“I’m gonna go make sure he doesn’t just panic and run,” HBomb follows.
“Hey!” Fundy says indignantly.
Ant and Bad seem to be having a silent conversation, exchanging looks by the door. Some conclusion must be met, as Bad speaks up.
“We’re going to disappear before they get here. You know the drill, we aren’t much use to you anyway, and we’re not sticking around to talk to the police,” Bad at least sounds apologetic. “Badlands policy, I’m afraid.”
“Thanks,” Tubbo nods shakily, far more focused on Quackity as the pair of Badlanders make their leave out the same side door as the others. Puffy and Foolish remain, Foolish particularly occupied, Ponk and Eret stay as well, and not just because their driver just ran out with Fundy. Tubbo remains beside the table, tense and ill, he goes to hold Quackity’s hand before stopping himself, pulling back as if he’d been burned by the sight of the messier gore still clutched in Quackity’s fist.
“Anyone got, like, a baggie?” Puffy says dryly.
“Why would… why would you need a baggie?” Eret frowns.
“I don’t know if you want to know,” Foolish says, voice just a bit higher, still focused on his bloody task, just as his father replies instead.
“Quackity has… something he took out of Schlatt,” Puffy explains.
“Uh… what?”
“It’s his heart,” Quackity isn’t looking at any of them. He stares at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pain in his left shoulder. His right hand remains curled around his chosen souvenir.
“And… and Quackity is the one who was shot, yes?” Eret asks.
“Yeah, he was–” Ponk turns to look at her, baffled. “You didn’t know who got shot?!”
Eret shrugs, irritable, “how the hell would I?!”
“You could’ve asked–”
“There was a lot going on, seemed like, so I thought I would just wait!” Eret huffs.
Their bickering is background noise, Tubbo far more focused on Quackity, not quite judgemental, but still wary.
Quackity glances over at him, he grimaces. “Yeah… yeah, I know,” he says, taking a painful, deep breath.
“Know what?” Tubbo asks quietly. Foolish, despite being right there, unable to move, is doing his best to look away and pretend he can’t hear them, looking around the boring back room with excessive focus like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen.
“I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have done that without asking you,” Quackity doesn’t clarify if he means the spectacle or taking the heart at all.
“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” Tubbo says. He sounds weary.
“No? It’s… it’s not?”
“I should’ve talked to you. Before I… before I did what I did with Schlatt. He was yours too. And I took that from you, so,” Tubbo nods to the heart before quickly looking away. “You had to improvise.”
“Huh,” Quackity almost laughs, before sharply stopping himself with a wince, breathless from sharp pain piercing his chest. He takes a moment to just breathe. “Actually, Tubbo… I’m glad you… I’m glad you didn’t.”
Tubbo looks him in the eye once more, eyebrows furrowed together. “You are?”
“I dunno for sure, guess we… we can’t know, can we? But I’m… I’m scared I might’ve tried to stop you. So, I’m glad you didn’t.”
Before Tubbo can attempt to piece together a reply, the side door bursts open, Fundy and HBomb enter, followed by two medics. Quackity almost looks annoyed by the interruption, even as they take over for Foolish, and get him properly prepped for the trip to the hospital.
“T-Tubbo…” Quackity calls, reaching out for him even as the medics try to move him onto a stretcher.
“Yeah?” Tubbo goes to follow, assuming Quackity wants him in the ambulance with him.
“No, no, you…” Quackity needs to talk fast, even as every breath sharpens the pain. “You go help Jack with… you just go help Jack. I know you want to, and honestly, I kinda want you to too,” a weak, bitter smile.
Tubbo only now notices Quackity has taken his hand. His right hand, still bloody, but currently only holding a pair of car keys, which he presses into his palm. Tubbo accepts. “I’ll see you at the hospital later. I promise.”
“We’ll go with him,” Ponk speaks up as Quackity is taken out to the ambulance.
“Thank you, Ponk, I- I mean that, thank you,” Tubbo nods, staring down at the slightly bloodied car keys. He scans the rest of the room, particularly the floor, as the others begin to leave. It isn’t exactly something he wants to find, but the last thing they need is to leave a bloody old heart laying around.
Puffy glances back toward the ambulance, “I’ll talk to the cops, that should give you enough time to leave. They can just assume you ran with the rest of the crowd.”
“Thank you, Puffy.” Tubbo waits for her to leave first, and only once alone does he take out a small, clear trash bag full of plastic communion cups and used napkins, brace himself, and pick up the heart through it, wrapping it up and tying it off. He thinks Quackity has lost his mind a bit, surely, but he also firmly believes it’s Quackity’s insanity to choose. He at least owes him that.
Tubbo is quick to make his exit around the other side of the building, away from the flashing lights and urgent crowd. He goes to Quackity’s car, keeping his head down, incredibly grateful that they had swung back for Jack to get his car before the funeral so Jack hadn’t needed to take Quackity’s. The thought of having to ask some of the fancy rich people and-or mob people for a ride might have killed him. He already doesn’t know how to feel about them all rushing to his and Quackity’s aid, especially considering the events leading up to the gunshot. Puffy maybe he can understand, Quackity had gotten her out of some trouble around her retirement from the Police Force, Ponk as well, but the rest of them, Tubbo doesn’t understand. There’s no fucking way they’re actually forming some sort of community here or whatever nonsense. Bad and Ant following the group doesn’t change that they are still in regular disputes with Manberg over territory. Manberg. It’s an antiquated, bullshit name that Schlatt made to pretend like he was the king of his own little country, but Tubbo has no idea what else to call it.
He’s stalling, sitting in the driver’s seat of Quackity’s car, that’s both literally and figuratively stalling, as one tiny issue is, Tubbo is not a very good driver. To be fair, no one had really been around to teach him, save Quackity once or twice in a parking lot, and Niki letting him drive the delivery truck for all of five minutes before Tubbo went over a curb and he told her she should drive instead. Tubbo has a license, but, well. One he bought off Ponk for ten dollars.
“You… you just got to get home. It’s like, it’s like ten blocks, how hard can it be?” Tubbo, one last shred of procrastination, shoves the plastic bag into the glovebox.
~
“Nice one!” Tommy cackles, looking at Wilbur’s messy efforts to carve into the side of an old mustang that Tommy swears he saw parked outside Tubbo’s place one time.
Wilbur has, poorly, written Cunt in cursive in the door of the car, adding a heart at the end for a bit of flair. The kid is at least taking his mind off of things. Such as the utter obliteration of all of his plans for the future. They were limited plans, far from long-term, but nonetheless. Not an ending by any means, but certainly a road block. There’s plenty of other danger to find in this city.
Tommy scuffs his feet, this time serving as lookout while Wilbur cleans up his work. Niki had been kind enough to give Wilbur his own key to the flat, and he is a bit worried he’s going to break it doing this. Tommy doesn’t have any keys at all, he’s making do with a sturdy, short blade on a multitool he conjured from his many pockets, which he said was his key to many, many places.
Tommy isn’t particularly creative today, but at least he’s consistent. All their other target vehicles are now adorned with at least one dick.
“There!” Wilbur stands, satisfied. “Who next?”
Tommy eyes a familiar and incredibly fancy car, sleek and black with tinted windows. “That one doesn’t belong to any of Schlatt’s, but… well, it does belong to a rich fancy fucker.”
“Eh, fine by me,” Wilbur takes a step toward it.
“I dunno. She’s blind and shit, that feels fucked up and pointless. She can’t even see it, and she won’t know it’s there to like, take care of it or whatever with her buckets of money,” Tommy explains.
“Oh, that’s Eret’s car?” Wilbur presses on brightly.
“You know Eret?” Tommy is quick to keep up.
“Yep! They hung around Niki a lot. You know, with their cool voice and handsome face and-and charming good looks…” he crouches down beside the car door. “Prick…”
“Did you have a crush on ‘er?”
“What?! No!” Wilbur blusters. “They were– She was annoying! And, uh, snobby. But no, Niki thought she was so cool,” he rolls his eyes.
“You had a crush on Niki, then?”
“No , no she’s like my little sister!”
“Dunno about little. She’s way stronger than you.”
“Yeah, now she is, Niki– I mean, she wasn’t then,” Wilbur assesses the car door.
“Come on, now, it’s not like Eret can see it…” Tommy still has doubts.
“But her driver will, obviously, and then she’ll have to take care of it!”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot she had a driver.”
“Forgot she–? Yes, yeah, she’s not blindly driving herself, oddly enough. Honestly, it’ll probably make her laugh, considering money is no fucking object to her,” Wilbur scratches one line into the car door before he hears a muffled gunshot. “The fuck–” Wilbur grabs Tommy’s sleeve, dragging him to the ground.
“Don’t worry, it was a ways off, I think,” Tommy is unbothered, perhaps a bit cautious as he cranes his neck to scan the carpark.
That’s when the screaming begins, and the parking lot floods with people dressed in black.
“Oh, fuck, come on, kid, we should not stick around to see what all the fuss is about,” Wilbur grabs onto Tommy’s jacket, head down, dragging him through the cars.
“Wait–” Tommy pulls against him. “M-My– My friends, they’re in there–”
“What?” Wilbur glances back. “Then you’re better off clearing out and not getting in the way,” he continues to drag Tommy by the scruff, about to take off down the street with him stumbling in tow.
“Oi! Wait a fucking minute!” Tommy roars furiously, yanking away. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” He snarls. “My friends are back there, and you’re here, and you’re fuck all to me, so don’t fucking touch me!” Tommy looks like he has half a mind to start swinging, but Wilbur doesn’t move, just stares at him, wide-eyed. “What gives you– You don’t have the fucking right. And you’re not gonna get in your thick head that you can stop me! If you wanna run like a little bitch, feel free,” Tommy roughly fixes his collar, “but I’m not,” he turns around, storming determinedly back toward the throng of hysterical civilians.
Wilbur paces from foot to foot, torn between running for the streets or after Tommy. “Oh, fuck it,” he grumbles, jogging after the boy before he loses him in the crowd. Tommy actually makes a sharp left, Wilbur struggling to keep up.
“Jack Manifold!” Tommy shouts, slipping through people easily, well-versed from stealing wallets, in pursuit of a face Wilbur finds familiar.
“Tommy?!” Jack jumps, almost dropping his car keys, barely sparing either of them a glance, eyes instead locked on a brown Pontiac that most definitely has the word Cunt carved into the driver’s side door. “A-And Wilbur Soot– Okay, fine, fuck, that might as well happen–”
“Hello?! Jack, where’s Tubbo?!” Tommy grabs Jack’s shoulder, turning him around whether he wants to be or not.
“He’s fine, Tommy! Safe, but he asked me to– oh fuck,” Jack scrambles into the driver’s side, and without question, Tommy gets into the back seat, so Wilbur follows. “What the hell are you doing?! Oh, fuck it, I don’t have time for this,” he starts the car, all but ignoring them, eyes still locked on the ugly car struggling to get out of the lot.
“What’s going on?!” Tommy leans forward, still shouting in Jack’s face.
“All you need to know is, that man shot Big Q– he’s gonna be okay, don’t worry about it, they’re getting an ambulance and shit–” he says quickly as Tommy looks like he has half a mind to duck and roll out of the car, “and Tubbo has sent me after him, alright?” Jack turns sharply as the car forces its way out, running over some scraggly bushes on the way. Jack keeps him in his sights.
Among the many other cars currently fleeing the scene, the Pontiac doesn’t show sign he knows he’s being actively pursued.
“Oh, we’ll fuck him up, alright,” Tommy growls.
“What?! No, we’re– Tubbo said to keep an eye on him and call him when he settles. You wanna help? Just– Do what Tubbo asked, alright?” Jack says.
Tommy grumbles wordlessly, “alright, fine!”
Wilbur leans forward to greet an old friend he hasn’t seen in quite a few years. “Ayup, Jack. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, alright, thanks, mate. Er, you know, new job and all that,” Jack glances at him, very much embracing an attitude of this might as well happen as Tommy “Innit” and Wilbur Soot have decided to make themselves at home in his backseat, unprompted, among the chaos already rioting throughout the day. He continues to drive methodically behind the Pontiac, keeping his distance, occasionally risking a turn and rejoining another block down. Thankfully, the chaotic traffic of funeral-goers gives them some coverage, but it won’t last.
“Oh, fuck,” it takes five minutes for Jack to mess it up.
“What?!”
“I’ve lost him.”
“You had one fucking job, Jack Manifold! One fucking job!”
“It’s not my fault! I am doing my best here, why are you even here?!” Jack shouts back frantically.
“Both of you shut up!” Wilbur shouts. “Christ… Jack, just… just circle the block, work your way out, he can’t have gone far.”
Jack nods, tight lipped and tense, doing as he says, even Tommy grudgingly keeps his silence. They almost miss it.
“Oh, cunt!”
“What?!” Jack turns back to look at him bewilderedly, almost hitting a curb.
“No, Jack, look,” Tommy rolls his eyes, pointing to what Wilbur had just spotted.
Jack stares, mouthing hanging open slightly, at the car he had been following, plainly marked out as he can now see by some foul language cut into its side. The car itself appears empty.
“Right, that’s… great. Where the fuck is he, then?” Jack sighs.
“Can’t have gone far,” Tommy starts to open the car door. Jack has not stopped, even as he’s moving slowly down the side-street.
Jack and Wilbur’s protests overlap, Wilbur scrambling to reach over him and shut the door.
“What the fuck were you planning on doing?!” Wilbur says scoldingly.
Tommy gives him a look. “You know, looking around?”
“No, no, this is my job, I’ll– I said I was gonna call Tubbo and tell him, and you lot should clear out,” Jack, the car now stopped and parked a halfway down the street from their target, gets out of the car.
“I want to help Tubbo, man, come on, let me!” Tommy whines, following him.
“No! No, this is getting really dangerous, and you’re not dying on my bloody watch! You and… and Wilbur, who you’re hanging out with for some fucking reason that I cannot fathom, and… you’re both gonna clear the fuck out of here, aright? And I dunno, I’m gonna find a payphone!” Jack storms off toward the payphone he’d spotted just around the corner, shouting over his shoulder one last time, “keep your distance! I mean that!”
“Ugh, fine! Fuck off, Jack Manifold, we’ll clear out!” Tommy groans dramatically.
Jack shouts one last, “don’t mess this up for me!” Before resuming his irritated pace.
Tommy watches him go, rolling his eyes. “Ready for some reckon-essence, Soot?” Tommy nods smartly.
Wilbur looks at him, baffled and a bit endeared. “Reconnaissance?”
“That’s what I said, dickhead,” Tommy scoffs, creeping forward, intent on lurking in the alley as near to the car as he can get.
“I thought we were supposed to clear out?” Wilbur repeats Jack’s warning mockingly.
Tommy snorts. “Day I take orders from Jack Manifold is the day I die. And Tommy “danger” Innit doesn’t die.”
Wilbur has no retort. He is wildly aware this is not a good idea. He follows anyway.
~
Tubbo has a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, hypervigilant as he slowly moves through the streets, the traffic of others fleeing is both terrifying and a useful guide. He just has to try not to hit anyone. All other traffic laws are a footnote. He stops the car in the middle of the street outside of the townhouse, halfway down the block. He runs the rest of the way, inside the house, and down the hall to Schlatt’s– to his office.
He opens his desk drawer.
He takes out his bomb.
Tubbo stares at it, his heart beating louder in his ears.
The phone rings, and Tubbo gets so scared he almost drops it, pins and needles of cold-blooded panic rushing through him as for a moment he’d been convinced he’d been about to get blown up. He sets it down carefully on the desk before scrambling for the phone.
“Y-Yes, hello?!” Tubbo manages to speak coherently.
“Hey, Tubbo, er, Boss.” It’s Jack. “We’re stopped by his car, he’s not in it. I’m guessing it’s a hideout or some shit. I’m watching the car, though, and if he comes back I’ll keep following, but nothing yet.”
“Okay, right– yeah, of course. I will– Where are you? I’ll be there soon,” Tubbo stares at the bomb. He really cannot risk crashing the car this time.
~
Quackity passes out some time getting wheeled into the hospital, but he manages at least to rasp out the phone number for his apartment, Ponk promising to call Karl, that last comfort is enough that he stops fighting to stay awake. Karl will be here soon.
Quackity hasn’t been in the hospital for a while, especially not for something severe enough he blacks out, but he wakes soon enough, fortunate that he’d stayed unconscious long enough for some doctor to dig the bullet out and stitch him up.
Quackity wakes, and the first thing he feels is someone holding his hand. He opens his eyes, squinting in the white lighting, Karl coming into view.
“H-Hey, babe…” Quackity mumbles hoarsely.
“Quackity… you are totally the worst sometimes,” Karl smiles weakly.
“Aw, you don’t mean that,” Quackity grins back, sheepish.
“I do. I do mean it,” Karl sighs, leaning forward, kissing Quackity’s hand.
“Aw, but you love me anyway.”
Karl gives him a weary look, eyes watering, and Quackity realizes Karl had been crying. “I do,” Karl says softly, a wavering in his voice he half tries to bury. “I love you so much, you know that, right?”
“I do. I know,” Quackity softens, reaching out, brushing against Karl’s face. “Hey, I’m okay, Karl. I’m not going anywhere.”
Rather than prevent tears, Quackity’s attempts at gentle reassurances seem to usher them in. Karl leans forward, a sob escaping, quiet, just a shuddering in his chest as he cradles Quackity’s face. “Y-You’re– You’re not okay, Q, you’re not okay, you– you got shot. You got freaking shot in the chest. In what world is that okay?!”
Quackity leans into Karl’s touch, covering his hand with his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispers gently into his palm. “I love you too.”
“You’re… you’re the worst. Totally the worst…” Karl says, not meaning it in the slightest.
Quackity smiles. “Yeah. And it wasn’t… it wasn’t really my chest. It’s more like… more like my shoulder, okay?”
Karl sighs exasperatedly, gesturing to his bandaged shoulder. “Oh, alright, in that case, never mind! You’re fine, then!”
Quackity laughs, trying to bury a wince as it sends sharp pain through his bandaged shoulder. “Y-Yeah… told you I was fine.”
Karl sighs, taking Quackity’s hand again. “Are you gonna tell me what happened? I saw Ponk earlier, I think they went with Eret and HBomb, but like, they didn’t explain, really? Just like, talked about some general weirdness at the funeral, that somehow ended in you getting shot.”
Quackity winces. Maybe he should feel like he’s made progress in some way with communicating with Karl. He’d told him about the funeral, at least. Even if it had been mostly to explain why he didn’t want him there, not in terms of danger, but more so, “I don’t want you to be in that part of my life, Karl. I want that part of my life to die with him, and after this– it’s– it’s almost over, okay?”
Karl had grudgingly accepted that, although he seemed to be regretting it considering.
“I went…” Quackity sighs. “I went a little… a little overboard at the funeral, y’know?”
“A little overboard?” Karl repeats skeptically.
“Believe me, I’m kind of regretting it…” Quackity mulls it over, trying to think of how to tell him. He’s tired of secrets, especially from Karl, but it’s not exactly easy. “I will explain, Karl, I mean that, I just… I don’t know how to just yet, alright?”
Karl grudgingly accepts this, nodding. “Alright.”
Quackity looks at him, always so patient, so understanding even when Quackity scares him half to death. Karl will give him shit when he deserves it, and Quackity wouldn’t have it any other way, but Karl will also wait and give him time, especially with things like this.
“Do you wanna–” Quackity stops himself. Now isn’t the right time. It’s not the eloquence Karl deserves, but Karl can clearly see he wants to say something.
“What?” Karl looks so earnest, too genuine and open and sometimes Quackity almost can’t bear it when he looks at him like that.
“Uh, never mind, don’t worry about it,” Quackity lays back down.
“Don’t worry about what, Q? You don’t like, you don’t have to tell me about it right now, but you don’t need to… to hold back for my sake or anything, okay?”
Quackity takes a deep breath. He wishes he had planned ahead, that he had a ring or something or anything or he at least didn’t feel this yearning in his chest right now, that this feeling could wait for a moment more beautiful, more worthy of everything Karl had done for him. Lying pathetically in a shit hospital bed will have to do.
“Now, don’t feel pressure just ‘cause I’m wounded, only say it if you mean it, Karlos,” Quackity gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Karl, will you–”
The phone on the bedside table rings, scaring the hell out of both of them, Quackity being startled hurts more, jumping enough it strains his injured shoulder.
“Do you… do I answer it?” Karl stares bewilderedly at the phone.
Quackity groans, annoyed, “shit, yeah, I’ll– Can you hand me the phone? It’s probably important.”
“Important?”
“Yeah, let me– Once I get news, I’ll… I can fill you in on that bit, just–” Quackity motions for the phone. Karl passes it to him.
“Hey, Quackity?”
“Jack?”
“Yeah, I just updated Tubbo, he’s coming to join me. I just thought– Well, we’re following the guy that shot you. I’m watching his car.”
Quackity processes Jack’s uncertain and meandering reply. “You’re… okay, okay where are you exactly?”
“A side street of Centennial. Like, right past that one Deli with the ugly cow on the sign.”
“Yeah, yeah I know it, okay, I’m coming–”
“Here?! You just got shot?! Are you– Really?!”
“Yes, fucking really, Jack! Don’t– Don’t do anything I wouldn’t–” Quackity struggles to sit up, “or anything I would!” He adds sharply into the phone, hanging up before Jack’s stammering protests can continue.
“What do you mean?” Karl stands, looking almost panicked. “Q, why does it– Why did it sound like you’re planning on–”
“Going somewhere? I gotta, alright?” Quackity swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “Oh, shit-” he immediately regrets it, “oh, fuck–” He stops, wincing, a hand going to his shoulder.
“Whoa! Whoa, careful! What– What is it?!” Karl paces from foot to foot, reaching out like he wants to help in some way but doesn’t know how.
Quackity grimaces, giving him an apologetic look. “I know you’re already putting up with a lot of shit, Karl, but I gotta go–” Quackity tries to stand.
“Quackity– Quackity, oh my god, you can’t actually be–” Karl moves like he wants to stop him, but unwilling to grab him considering his wounded shoulder. “Quackity, Q, don’t!” Karl actually shouts at him.
Quackity stops, staring at him, surprised.
Karl almost doesn’t know what to do with an attentive audience, but Quackity isn’t moving. He waits, listening, if not weary.
“Quackity, please. You can’t keep–” Karl stops, taking a shaky breath, “you can’t keep doing this. And– And I can’t keep doing this.” Karl stares at him, waiting for Quackity to give some sign of taking his words to heart, all he gets is that Quackity is at least still listening, still waiting. “Where…” Karl gestures uselessly, his hands falling back to his sides. “Where are you even going?”
Quackity looks remorseful, but that isn’t enough. He clearly hasn’t changed his mind. “I… I need to go help Tubbo.”
“With what? Why?” Karl is demanding answers, and Quackity knows he won’t be able to get past him without giving some.
“Tubbo is going after the man who shot me,” Quackity’s voice remains level, accepting of whatever reaction Karl will give. “His idea, not mine, although I’m not exactly opposed. He is there, so is Jack, but I think he still needs me.” A weighted pause, Quackity trying to find the words, and definitely not the words for a proposal, especially not now. “I am going to get out of this, Karl. I mean that. Not just– Not just some bullshit hypothetical I’m stringing you along with, not anymore. Schlatt is dead and I fucking swear to you that means something. I just–” He sighs, eyes closed for a moment. “I need to know Tubbo can do this on his own first, that he’ll be okay. And after that, I’m done. No more Manberg or whatever the fuck, none of it. We buy the old bank across the river, and… and I live a morally upstanding life as a casino owner,” he gives Karl a weak smile.
Karl sighs, stepping forward, pressing a kiss onto Quackity’s forehead. “I don’t care about morally-whatever, I care about you being safe.”
“I know, Karl. I am so sorry you’ve gotten stuck in all this,” Quackity murmurs, hands resting around Karl’s waist. “If you tell me to stay here, I will, but I need to–” He stops. “I want to go help Tubbo.”
Karl sighs, looking grim. “I’m driving. Obviously.”
“You’re–?”
Karl cups his cheeks, gentle, insistent, unyielding. “I’ve decided. We’re going, Q. We are both going, okay? I’m not gonna stop you, but there’s no way I’m not coming with you.”
Quackity feels weak, holding onto Karl’s hand against his own cheek, looking up at Karl, his hair a bit messy, cheeks red, and eyes gleaming. Beautiful.
Breathless and lovesick, Quackity can’t stop himself. “Marry me?”
Karl giggles, even as his heart beats a little faster. “Oh my gosh, Q, is this your idea of a proposal?”
“Maybe?”
Karl kisses him, tender and a little giddy, Quackity can feel him smiling. Karl pulls away. “Ask me again later.”
“Oh– Okay,” Quackity is in a bit of a whirlwind, unsure of how to take that.
“I mean, you know what I’m gonna say,” Karl bounces back on his heels, “but ask me again anyway.”
Quackity staggers to his feet, Karl putting a hand lightly around his waist, sure not to hold on too tight, keeping him steady. Quackity puts his good arm around his shoulder. “Of course, mi amor.”
~
Tubbo gets to the sidestreet Jack told him, alive and in one piece. Well, mostly in one piece. He loses Quackity’s right mirror getting too closed to a car parked on a side street, but considering Quackity’s crushed front bumper, he’s not too concerned with the condition of the vehicle. He parks just around the corner, outside the nearby deli which is thankfully closed. The side street is deserted, which does make all of this simpler. Jack is sitting in his own car, slouched down in his seat, keeping the shitty Pontiac in his sights. He screams when Tubbo knocks on the window.
“Uh– Uh, hey. He– He hasn’t moved,” Jack tries to pretend he hadn’t just jumped out of his skin, getting out of the car.
“Good,” Tubbo stares, puzzled, at what might be letters carved onto the driver’s side door of the targeted car. “What’s that say?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jack waves him off, then he notices the large box in Tubbo’s hands. The box lacks a lid, exposing wiring and metal casing in a rather recognizable array. “What’s that?” Jack stares at it, despite it being quite obvious.
Tubbo adjusts his grip on the box, holding onto it tighter. “...a bomb.”
“A– a bomb?!” Jack sputters. “You– oh, fucking hell–” He spins around, as if hoping someone will appear on the street to make this less of a nightmare for him.
“Yep,” Tubbo says grimly. He makes towards the car, Jack frantically trying to cut him off.
“Whoa whoa whoa, hey! Hey, Quackity said don’t do anything he wouldn’t,” Jack says warningly.
“You called Quackity?!” Tubbo says exasperatedly. He ducks past Jack, “well, that doesn’t change my plans, currently,” he says sarcastically.
“Hey! He– He also said don’t do anything he would!” Jack points at him like he’s raised some grand epiphany.
Tubbo gives him a look, mulling it over. “Well, Big Q’s motivations and machinations are often a mystery to me, so!” He raises the bomb cheerfully and continues over to the car.
“W-What are you planning on doing?!” Jack follows him, voice just a bit higher.
“Gonna crawl under the car, and I am going to wire this thing into the ignition.”
Jack’s voice is cracked and hoarse as he says something incomprehensible, that might just be incredulously repeating what Tubbo had said. Jack tries again. “And– And you know how to fucking do that, do you?!”
“In theory, yes.”
“In theory?!”
“I suggest you stand at the other end of the block, Jack Manifold!” Tubbo says brightly.
“The other end of– No!” Jack says smartly. “No, actually I’m not gonna do that. I am– I am gonna stay right here, and you are not gonna blow either of us up!”
Tubbo is touched by Jack’s willingness to die beside him, even as Jack’s hopes were probably to convince Tubbo to abandon the bomb idea, so nonetheless he continues. “That’s the spirit,” Tubbo has placed the bomb on the sidewalk, dug out some pliers and a small torch from his pocket, and is now crawling underneath it, small enough he just manages it.
“Oh my god…” Jack says weakly, once again looking desperately around the deserted street. Quackity nor Tommy and Wilbur appear to save him.
“Hand that to me, will you, Jack?” Tubbo’s muffled voice reaches him.
“Hand what–? The bomb?!”
“Yeah, what else?”
~
Tommy and Wilbur had quickly abandoned their watch of the car from the alleyway.
“This is boring,” Tommy whines. “And stop smoking! You’re gonna blow our cover,” he slaps the cigarette out of Wilbur’s mouth.
“Oy!” Wilbur says indignantly, startled, but not surprised by Tommy’s audacity. “What cover? There is no one here. I think Jack might just be taking the piss.”
“Jack doesn’t have the smarts to trick me.”
“Right, sure.”
Tommy sneaks a look around the corner, the car remains empty a few yards away. “What building do you think he went into?”
“What? I dunno, could’ve been any of them.”
“Probably the one he parked in front of.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Um, yes necessarily, there are like, no other cars parked here, he didn’t have to park there, so that’s probably the building he went into!” Tommy nods smartly. “It does look like it’s got a garage, maybe a warehouse or storage building or something? Dunno why he didn’t park his car inside of it then, that would’ve been smarter.”
“Right.”
Tommy scans the alleyway, assessing the side of the building he’s deemed most likely to contain whoever they’re after. He starts treading toward the back of the alley, where a rusted fire escape hangs with half a broken ladder swinging forlornly from the bottom of it. “Get over here, Wilbur!”
Wilbur glances agitatedly from the car they’re actually supposed to to be watching to Tommy. He sighs, following the kid. “What is it? And shouldn’t you not be shouting in case you blow our cover?” He says teasingly.
“Yeah, yeah sure, come on, give me a boost up,” Tommy nods to the ladder.
“Why?”
“Because, dickhead, do you not see how busted up that window frame is? I can totally get in there,” Tommy nods to the second floor again.
“Into the building. Where we think the guy who shot your friend is hiding?” Wilbur says skeptically.
“Yes, obviously. Reconnaissance, remember?” Tommy bounces from foot to foot, having made up his mind and now restless to get up there. “Fine, if you’re gonna be a pussy about it…” Tommy backs up down the alley, eyeing the ladder carefully, before running at it at a full sprint. He actually makes it, jumping high enough to grab the second to bottom rung, which with an agonizing screech, promptly becomes unattached in a shower of rust, Tommy instead smacking into Wilbur at dangerous speeds.
Wilbur squeals, hitting the ground hard, Tommy unharmed as he basically lands on top of him. Tommy laughs, staggering to his feet. Wilbur remains laying on the filthy alley floor for a moment, weary.
“Thanks for the catch, Wil,” Tommy says smugly. “I mean, I could’ve made it if you’d just given me a boost like I asked.”
“No, no even this is better than you getting up there, ‘cause you would get yourself shot, and it would be my problem,” Wilbur says grumpily, slowly sitting up, not wanting to put his bare hands on the dirty pavement, its foliage made up of broken glass and even a few old needles, thankfully Wilbur did not land on any.
“Perhaps,” Tommy shrugs. “Come on, then, let’s go back to keeping watch,” he offers Wilbur a hand off the ground.
Wilbur stares at it warily, recalling earlier that same day Tommy brightly confessing to offering him a hand up just to let him fall. Wilbur accepts it, deciding if Tommy tries to let go and drop him, he’ll drag the kid down with him. Tommy doesn’t, he doesn’t even seem to try, just pulls him off the ground and heads back down the alley.
“Let’s check out the back.”
~
Karl parks around the corner, near the deli, scanning the street carefully. “Okay, so, we’re just– They followed the guy that shot you? Now what?”
Quackity winces, and not just from his freshly bandaged shoulder being jostled by the car stopping. “I mean, I doubt Tubbo is planning on throwing the man a birthday party.”
Karl nods, “yeah, alright. Honestly,” Karl glances over at his wounded boyfriend. If the bullet had been six inches lower, Quackity would be dead. “I’m kinda on board with that.”
“That’s the spirit,” Quackity says, going to get out of the car.
“Whoa, whoa whoa, just– Oh my gosh, babe, just let me do some of the work, please,” Karl reaches out to stop him, before quickly getting out and circling the car, his arm around Quackity, supporting him as he leads the way down the street.
The two of them almost crash right into Jack and Tubbo, Jack looking like he’d rip his hair out if he had any, and Tubbo covered in dirt and motor oil.
“What’re you– What’s going on?” Quackity asks.
“Me? What’re you doing here?” Tubbo stares at him.
“Making sure you’re not getting yourself fucking killed!” Quackity is having a harder time sounding authoritative, even walking around is enough to sharpen the pain from his shoulder.
“Uh, guys, I’m guessing that’s the dude–?” Karl nods behind them, where the face Tubbo had seen, livid and horrified and holding a gun, is quickly going to his car, duffle bag in hand.
“Oh, fuck, come on,” Tubbo grabs Jack’s sleeve, pulling him around the corner of the deli, Karl and Quackity following.
“Weren’t you gonna kill the bastard? Why are we running?” Quackity asks.
“Because I’m killing the bastard a bit elaborately,” Tubbo hisses, pressing himself against the brick wall. “I have no clue how big of an explosion we’re gonna get, so–”
“Explosion?”
~
The alley ends with no other entrances into the building. Tommy is doing his best not to feel disappointed.
“Come on, then. We should resume our watch,” Tommy kicks an old beer can, turning on his heels and rewalking the length of the alley.
“Yeah, like we were supposed to be doing?” Wilbur bumps shoulders with him.
“Oh, like you knew what you were supposed to be doing. Not like you know Tubbo or Big Q!” Tommy scoffs. He approaches the corner and stops, reaching out to hold Wilbur back. “Hold on, he’s out!” He hisses. Tommy watches him carefully. The man gets into his car, throwing a duffle bag in the back seat. He’s definitely planning on getting the hell out of town.
“What’s he doing?” Wilbur whispers, unable to see around the corner from here.
“He’s just getting in his car. He’s probably gonna fucking disappear, and Jack Manifold is nowhere to be found, of course, not doing his fuckin’ job,” Tommy huffs. “He’s j–”
Wilbur does not hear what the man was doing next, as instead Tommy is once again thrown against him, both of them flung to the alley floor. Wilbur’s ears are ringing. It takes him far too long to realize an explosion had just taken a chunk out of the building and thrown the two of them back.
“F-Fuck–” Wilbur’s own words come out muffled. Tommy is still laying back against him. “Come on, we should– We should clear out before this pulls in more trouble–” Wilbur starts to stand. Tommy doesn’t. “Tommy?!” Wilbur shakes him, turning the kid around, coughing in the smoke, it stings his eyes but he can still see clearly Tommy is bleeding. There’s a cut across his forehead, his eyes are closed.
“Oh shit, you cannot be fucking dead, that would be so fucked up–” Wilbur fumbles for Tommy’s wrist, weak with relief to find a pulse. “Oh my god, Tommy, you’re– Fucking hell, oh shit, just– I’m gonna get you help, alright?” Wilbur’s hands are shaking, sticky now with Tommy’s blood. He’s weak, he’s shaken up, he still can’t hear properly, but he struggles to pull Tommy into his arms, standing and staggering toward the only way out, a destroyed street. “You just… you stay with me, man, you’re… you don’t die, remember?” Wilbur cannot bring himself to look at Tommy’s unresponsive expression, he looks only into the smoke. He doesn’t bother shouting for help. He can barely breathe, and if he collapses now, neither of them get out of this. “You… you don’t die.”
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