#now shut up with your personable demeanour angsty gaze and smiling-for-the-first-time smile which i can do nothing about | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

besanii · 4 years

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oh god i just saw the angsty shippy prompts you just reblogged and now i have to brace myself for angst for DAYS ㅠㅠ and because your writing always makes me feel All The Emotions i just know i'm going to feel like i've been punched in the solar plexus each time i see (and read, and re-read) an update and its reblogs... anyway i feel like this would be a fun one "i can't always help when you're in trouble" whichever ship you choose! ^^

He wakes to a dull, rhythmic throbbing in his head. There’s an itch on his nose that is growing more and more irritating by the second, but his body feels like it’s being crushed by a dead weight and his arm won’t move. The most he achieves is a tiny twitch of his right hand; it brushes up against something warm, and then he hears a sharp intake of breath close to his ear.

“Wei-xiansheng,” a familiar voice says. “Wei-xiangsheng, are you awake?”

He groans.

“My nose itches,” he croaks. His lips are dry and his mouth feels like sandpaper. “And my throat hurts.”

“That would be the anaesthetic wearing off,” another voice says. “If you’re not feeling nauseous, we can probably get you something to wet your mouth.”

‘Thanks’ is what he tries to say, but it comes out more like a garbled ‘auuaagh’. Nevertheless, a cool, wet cloth is pressed to his lips and he sighs gratefully at the soothing sensation. He opens his eyes slowly once it’s taken away, wincing at the way his eyes seem to have been caked shut; the first thing he sees is a very handsome, albeit very concerned pair of pretty honey-coloured eyes watching him.

“Hey,” he rasps. “Hey, gorgeous.”

A tiny frown appears in between those perfectly shaped brows.

“Wei-xiansheng,” Gorgeous says. He frowns.

“Don’t call me that,” he complains. “You should call me by my name.”

Gorgeous sighs. Put-Upon is a very nice expression on him.

“Wei-xiansheng,” he says again. “How are you feeling?”

“Mm,” he says coherently. “Better now that you’re here.” A deeper frown, and a pressure around his hand. “Ooh, you’re holding my hand. That’s nice. I like that.” He pouts when the hand is quickly retracted, but is rewarded by the adorable sight of reddened ears instead, so he lets it pass. “Fine. I’m uh—dizzy, kind of. Thirsty. Oh—uh, my shoulder hurts?”

“That would make sense,” the other voice says from somewhere on his other side. “Considering that’s where you were shot.”

A woman with a stethoscope around her neck is poking at the tablet in her hand as she studies his chart. She gives him a Look over the top of her glasses as she details the extent of his injuries.

“You were very lucky this time, Wei Wuxian,” she says sternly. “A couple of millimetres off and it would have nicked a major artery. I’m a world-class surgeon, but I can’t work miracles—not if you insist on putting yourself in unnecessary danger all the time.”

“In my defence, Qing-jie, it was completely necessary this time,” he says cheerfully.

Wen Qing raises the tablet over her head as if to smack him over the head with it. Wei Wuxian pouts and gives her his best puppy dog eyes, but Wen Qing does not buy it. She usually doesn’t, but her features soften anyway and she pats him on his uninjured shoulder before she leaves.

“Don’t let him get out of bed,” she instructs his companion. “Got it, Lan Wangji?”

Lan Wangji nods. “Thank you, Wen-daifu.”

And then it’s just the two of them, in this too-sterile hospital room, staring at each other. The little crease is still there between Lan Wangji’s brow, and Wei Wuxian’s nose is still itchy, but it feels a little too awkward to be taking care of that particular problem now. He clears his throat and looks away with a wry grin.

“Hey,” he says again. “Thanks for today, Lan Zhan. Really. Don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Lan Wangji says nothing, but the hand resting on the sheets beside his curls into a fist. His face is impassive as always, but there is a twitch in the muscles of his sharp jaw that gives away the extent of his displeasure. Wei Wuxian shifts around, adjusting his position in bed and winces at the discomfort in his shoulder still dulled by the effects of the anaesthetic. Being the subject of Lan Wangji’s disapproval has never been a pleasant experience, but it feels different this time.

He stretches his index finger and taps the knuckles of the fist resting beside him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t be upset, Lan Zhan. I’m fine. Look!”

Lan Wangji’s frown deepens and the corners of his mouth turn down imperceptibly as he drops his gaze to the bed.

“You should not have done it,” he says stiffly. Unhappily. “You were the target, you should have stayed behind me—”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says with a click of his tongue. “I couldn’t stand back and do nothing, could I? You could have been shot!”

“And now you’ve been shot!” The force behind his words startle Wei Wuxian into silence. “Wei-xiansheng. I am your bodyguard. My job is to protect you. Not the other way around.”

Wei Wuxian gnaws on the inside of his cheek and looks up at the ceiling. The tiles are plain and white, as sterile as the rest of the room. It makes his skin crawl.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he says finally. “Not for me.”

“That is my job,” Lan Wangji reminds him. He sighs, frustrated. “Wei-xiansheng, we’ve been over this. Your personal safety should be at the forefront of your concerns.”

“Your brother tells me to leave the worrying to you,” Wei Wuxian says with a wry grin. “That as long as you’re here, I’ll be in safe hands. Or is that not true?”

It is clearly the wrong thing to say, because Lan Wangji’s knuckles turn white and the sheets crumple and twist beneath his fingers. He’s shaking so hard the bed begins to trembling, just slightly, but enough for Wei Wuxian to feel it rattle. He opens his mouth, ready to placate him, but Lan Wangji is faster.

“We cannot protect you if you do not protect yourself first,” he bites out through gritted teeth. “You keep—throwing yourself into dangerous situations without thinking. It was pure luck that you weren’t hurt, or killed any of those times before—”

“Well, not just luck. You’re just really good at your job,” Wei Wuxian interjects. He shrinks under Lan Wangji’s glare, chastened. “Sorry, please continue.”

Lan Wangji exhales and relaxes his grip on the bedsheets.

“I’m doing the best I can to protect you,” he says in a small, defeated tone that weighs heavily on Wei Wuxian’s chest. “But I can’t always be there. I-I can’t always help you when you’re in trouble, Wei Ying.”

Oh. Realisation hits him like a tonne of bricks and he lays there, craning his neck against the terrible pillows, looking at Lan Wangji. His shoulders are slumped, his head bowed; there are dark circles under his eyes and the faint hint of stubble along his jaw, a far cry from his usual crisp, professional demeanour. Wei Wuxian grimaces as a wave of nausea hits him, although he’s not sure if it’s due to the anaesthetic or the guilt churning in his stomach.

Lan Wangji is there immediately, the hurt on his face replaced by concern.

“Is the wound hurting?” he asks. “I will call Wen-daifu—”

“No, no don’t,” Wei Wuxian says quickly, grabbing onto his hand before he can leave. He feels Lan Wangji’s hand jerk beneath his as if to pull away, and is grateful when he doesn’t. “I’m sorry.”

He chances a look at Lan Wangji and finds his honey-coloured eyes wide and his mouth soft and open with surprise as he stares down at him. It lasts only a second before it disappears behind a mask again, but it’s enough to send his heart tripping over itself and blood rushing to his cheeks. He looks away, chewing on his bottom lip.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he continues, staring determinedly at the railing on the other side of the bed. “I just…I didn’t even realise I was moving until I was, you know? I saw the gun pointed at you and my body just…reacted.”

He laughs, blinking back sudden wetness in his eyes.

“I just didn’t want to see you hurt,” he finishes quietly.

He doesn’t dare look at Lan Wangji to gauge his reaction, but he hears the sharp intake of breath and feels the hand in his shift. It turns over and returns his grip, engulfing his hand in a warm, gentle grip.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji breathes. “Wei Ying, look at me?”

His eyes are warm and gentle, tinged with sadness. He lifts Wei Wuxian’s hand and clasps it in both of his, bringing it to his cheek and brushing his lips over the knuckles. The brief contact sends tingles rushing down Wei Wuxian’s arms and his heart does an involuntary little flip. And then Lan Wangji smiles, no more than a tiny little quirk at the corner of his lips, but it is enough to send his heart rate skyrocketing—which is embarrassingly reflected in the sudden spike on the ECG machine still beeping away merrily by his bed.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says softly, the words ghosting over his fingers. “I don’t want to see you hurt either.”

The matter-of-factness in his tone fills Wei Wuxian with a warm, fuzzy feeling he’s quite sure does not relate to the anaesthetic. He offers him a sheepish little smile and strokes his thumb over the back of Lan Wangji’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a small voice. “I won’t do it again.”

Lan Wangji huffs.

“Yes you will,” he says with a hint of fondness in his voice. “But thank you.”

Notes:

xiansheng (先生) - Mr

daifu (大夫) - Doctor, nowadays used mostly as a title suffixed to a doctor’s name, rather than referring to a doctor in general (which is yisheng 医生)

This is set in my old Bodyguard AU verse from that prompt list that went around a while back. Uhhh...set somewhere between #2 and #3 probably. But you don’t really have to read them to understand it?

// buy me a ko-fi //

#wangxian #mdzs #angst prompt meme #bodyguard au #my writing #this is set in my old bodyguard au verse #lan wangji #wei wuxian #hurt/comfort #hospitals cw #WWX gets shot #because he tries to block a bullet for LWJ #who is his bodyguard #tsk tsk tsk #🔪#like #minimal knives #to balance out the megaknives from the last three prompts

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emeraldtawny · 5 years

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Edgar x OC (Eleanor): Masquerade (Pt. 3/5)

...these chapters are getting longer and longer each time. I have no self-control hoorraaaaaaayyyyyyyyy~!

I....may have been a liiiiiiiittle bit angsty with this chapter. Not a lot...just enough to hopefully tear your heart out like I did mine while writing this :^) The next chapter will likely be the last, but who even knows what will happen so we’ll just wait and see......ANGST TIME! >:3

These two people who were brought together on a whim and under very unnatural circumstances were quick to find answers to the questions they had of each other. At first, it was simply business - finding information on their target keeps them safe while also discovering the other’s weaknesses - but over time, both Edgar and Eleanor realised just how similar they were. Fabricated discussions in sparse moments of free time eventually shifted into genuine conversations with set meeting dates and times.

The two would talk about everything and nothing, probing each other to discover the type of person they were. Over time, they learned of the other’s quirks and mannerisms, their likes and dislikes - things that should’ve been pointless information was stored away in their thoughts and memories. Why? Because they wished to remember it personally.

Eleanor learned quickly to distinguish Edgar’s crafted smiles from his genuine ones, when he was stressed or otherwise emotionally compromised and, eventually, Edgar divulged to her in more detail about his work with the Bright Family and his uncle. Suddenly, pieces that had no place fit together perfectly and the anomaly that is Edgar Bright made more sense to her, almost frighteningly so.

Of course, this exchange was not one-sided. Edgar picked up quickly on Eleanor’s self-driven and occasionally stubborn personality, yet he couldn’t help but laugh when her meeker, more reserved side emerged on weary days. He noticed the way she poked her tongue out slightly between her lips whenever she was deep in thought, and he laughed like a fool when he would tease her and she would retaliate by calling him every name under the sun. And, as was only fair, she spoke of her past and revealed her secrets, a conversation Edgar could not forget even if he tried.

[ “As you guessed, I am from that Lancaster family. My entire bloodline is basically comprised of compulsive gamblers and master con artists. From birth, I was trained mercilessly and shaped into another set of hands to swindle and deceive people into handing over their money.”

“That explains your impeccable poker face. However, that doesn’t explain how you knew of my business.”

“Being a con artist means you need a stable and reliable information source. How else do you know who to target and steal from? While our main operations were in Black Territory, we had connections in the Red Territory as well...where we found out about a man called Claudius Bright and what he was the ringleader behind.”

“And you found out about me through that.”

“Exactly. After I got away from my family, I had nothing. Still kept contact with the information dealers and happened to hear about a certain party you were targeting and...well, you know the rest.”

“Indeed. One query with your story: the Black Army found the Lancaster family’s operation and shut it down, imprisoning everyone involved. How were you spared?”

“Simple. I was the one who ratted them out.” ]

She didn’t tell him everything, neither did he tell her everything. However, a mutual understanding was achieved between the two; that they were more alike in their upbringings and the way they view themselves than either could have ever guessed.

…

Edgar sits silently in the faux leather armchair that he has made his own in Eleanor’s quaint little house in the Central Quarter. His eyes flick to the clock on the wall, its ticking rhythmic.

1:46pm.

(How odd. She’s never late.)

While not one for worrying needlessly, he couldn’t help but feel an emotion bubbling inside him that he thought was long since dead. Fear.

(Something must have happened. She wouldn’t draw out a prank to this extent...she wouldn’t even try to prank me to begin with.)

Edgar’s lips press together, his eyebrows drawing taught as he contemplates leaving to search for her. The thought is immediately halted by the abrupt crashing of the door as it’s unceremoniously thrown open. Eleanor flies into the room and shuts the door in the blink of an eye. She leans against the door, her breathing laboured but gradually calming. Edgar blinks, his face illustrating his genuine shock at how dishevelled and frantic Eleanor appears to be, two words hardly fitting to describe her.

Eleanor’s eyelids open and she tenses upon noticing Edgar, her pupils shrinking similar to a prey’s when face to face with a predator.

“What are you doing here?”

Choosing to ignore the thread of venom in her question, Edgar responds, “The same reason as many times before. To meet with you.”

She huffs a sigh and pushes herself off the door, discarding and throwing her jacket to Edgar before walking to the small kitchen. He barely flinches catching it, keeping his sea green eyes on her form as she moves on steady legs. But Edgar knows better. He can see the almost non-existent twitching of her fingertips as she grabs a mug off the bench to fill with tea.

Edgar stands and walks to the bench to stand next from her, keeping his analytic gaze on her face. He knows he’s pressuring her, that she’ll catch on and give him hell for it. But at this point in time, he will take her complaints as long as he can be certain that she’ll be all right.

(Since when did I start being aware of your happiness?)

After what felt like hours, Eleanor finally lifts her gaze to Edgar. The red veins pop against the whites of her eyes, her purple eyes more dazzling and distressed in contrast. He frowns, his hand moving not from his own accord to brush his thumb under her eyes, tracing the faint dark circles outlining her face.

“What happened?”

The sound of her hand smacking his away seems to echo in Edgar’s mind, the physical pain almost non-existent to the weight gradually settling on his heart. She turns to walk away, but Edgar grabs her wrist and holds on tight, correctly anticipating her attempt at wriggling free.

“Eleanor.”

He can feel the muscles in her wrist move as she clenches her fist tight. Her shoulders bunch up around her neck before letting them fall with a long, exhausted sigh.

“They’re out.”

Whatever he was expecting her to say, that was not it.

(“They’re”? Meaning...no, surely not her family.)

“What? But I thought you said that they would be locked away for years, possibly decades. How could they be out?”

“How the hell would I know?! Don’t ask such stupid questions!”

Edgar recoils at the bite in her acidic words, his grip loosening enough for Eleanor to rip her hand free. She turns to face him, her eyes burning with a myriad of emotions: anger, confusion, panic.

“What matters now is that they’re out and they’re coming to get me! I’m not safe here and I need to find somewhere where I will be! Which is next to impossible since they used to run this entire fucking town!”

Her words spill from her a mile a minute, Edgar’s expression falling at her slowly unravelling calm demeanour.

“It’s okay, Eleanor. I can give you refuge in the Red Army for the time being and we can find a more permanent residence with time. Getting desperate isn’t going to help in any way.”

She knows he’s right, but her better judgement is outcompeted for control by her storming emotions. The agony and pure ferocity in her eyes make Edgar tense.

“Of course you can say that,” she says darkly, her teeth clenching in barely repressed rage, “You have no idea what I’m going through! You’re still stuck under the thumb of your family! You’re safe! Mine are out of prison and probably already have a plan to murder me! Don’t you fucking dare try to say things are okay because they’re far from it!”

Edgar’s eyes darken at Eleanor’s words, the barrier he erects as his uncle’s cold-blooded killing puppet surrounding him fully, “Stop. Don’t speak like you’re worse off than me.”

She laughs, the sound empty and mirthless accompanying her plastic smile, “Forgive me, but I think I have a reason to be fucking petrified right now. Nowhere is safe, I can’t trust anyone and the only one I can trust is someone who’s as fucked up as I am! Sorry for feeling entitled to a fucking mental breakdown over you!!”

As swift as the wind, Edgar closes the gap between them, grabbing Eleanor’s wrists in a death grip. She stumbles back, regaining her balance to bring her knee up to connect with his stomach. Edgar side-steps before she can make contact and he pulls her with him, the two of them tumbling to the ground in a mess of limbs fighting for control. Edgar’s leaner, more agile body pins Eleanor’s below him, his legs straddling her waist and her wrists still tight in his grip pressed hard to the floor on either side of her head. She glares daggers at him from close range, his face impassive yet the determined fire in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What the hell is this going to accomplish, huh?! Nothing you do is going to help me! I’m going to be murdered in cold blood by the family I betrayed!” She screams at him, her voice hoarse with torture. Her attempts at breaking free of his shackles lessen in strength each time, her voice following suit as her previously impassioned shouts now become nothing more than meek whimpers, “...I deserve this. I knew this was going to happen eventually. What does it matter, right? No one will care if a broken, impure monster gets her karma.”

Eleanor bites her lower lip, the strain in her face to hold back her tears and onto her dignity tearing down Edgar’s emotionless barrier. He blinks down at her, watching mesmerised as a single tear spills from the corner of her eye and trails smoothly down her cheek.

“I...I deserve this. God, I really deserve this. I’ll die as corrupt as I lived.”

“Stop--”

“Why? So you can remind me that you’re as fucked as me? At least you’re not in danger--”

“Eleanor, stop!”

She winces as Edgar’s grip tightens on her wrists. He stares into her eyes, the unadulterated pain and dread swirling in her usually calm and clear lavender eyes unsettling Edgar in a way he’s never felt before. He leans over her, their noses hovering a hair’s width away from each other, his breath ghosting over her skin as he murmurs to her.

“You’re here, you’re alive. We can get through this. No, we have to get through this, because there is no way in Hell I’m letting you go.”

(What am I saying?)

Edgar’s thoughts congeal into an uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach, unsure of why he feels so strongly about this woman’s presence in his life. Eleanor stares trance-like at the man above her, barely registering the words that fall from her lips.

“I...want to live. If not for myself, then for you. You...I don’t know why, but I need you.”

(What am I saying?)

She squeezes her eyes shut, another rogue tear spilling free to roll from her face to the floor. With a sigh under his breath, Edgar loosens his hold on her and moves off of her before pulling her gently upright. His hands slide to her waist to pull her into an embrace, his cold hands tingling through his gloves at the warmth of her body. Eleanor rests her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as her hands move to clutch weakly at the collar of his shirt.

Who knows how long they stayed like that, both sinners seeking the phantom warmth of the other. Eleanor is the first to move, leaning back to meet Edgar’s eyes. While puffy and red, Edgar relaxes at the clear focus in her eyes that he so fondly recognises.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for and I didn’t mean to attack you.”

Edgar chuckles softly, his relief palpable as he wipes a gloved finger under her eye to catch a remnant tear on her eyelash, “I know.”

A comfortable silence passes before she speaks again, her confidence faltering, “Do you really think you can help me? The last thing I want is for you to get caught up in my business.”

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. Like I said, I’m not letting you go.”

After so much turmoil and agony, finally, Eleanor smiles. And despite the obvious strain in the action, Edgar couldn’t be more relieved.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? How people like us still manage to find solace even when we both know we don’t deserve it.”

He smiles, his hand moving to stroke her glossy hair, “I think us being impure is precisely why we can find solace in one another.”

“Hm,” Eleanor hums her agreement, “Finding comfort in the darkness of another, huh? How fitting.”

They both laugh together, the sound neither jovial nor melancholic. They remain that way, both keeping each other close as they let the other’s impurity transfer to them - the shared darkness between them a shared burden, a lifeline to both Edgar and Eleanor to stop them being consumed and eaten alive by the impurity tainting their hearts.

#ikerev #ikerev fanfic #edgar bright #original character #masquerade #angst angst ANGST #did I mention ANGST #I'm torturing these poor souls

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hexusproductions · 5 years

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Jackdaw’s Phone

Summary: The owner of the apartment that Jackdaw’s staying in checks in and finds something revealing about Jackdaw, something he’d very much been trying to hide Author’s Note: I was going to write angsty BNHA fic but I ended up writing this instead?? Wtf???

He entered his apartment, everything quiet and untouched in a while. There was an uncomfortable twinge in his shoulders from his battle with another supervillain yesterday, one that he was barely ignoring as he ducked into the kitchen to check what was in the fridge. Suspicions confirmed that he’d have to go grocery shopping later, or at least leave some cash behind for groceries, Riley left the kitchen and instead waltzed into the guest bedroom where a lump was breathing rhythmically under a pile of blankets.

Riley glanced at his watch before lightly whacking the bare foot sticking out of the soft mound. The not-quite-snoring stilled as a result, followed shortly by a soft groan.

“Rise and shine, it’s past noon.”

A pillow was grabbed and shoved over the area presumably belonging to the lump’s head. Riley whacked the foot again and it zipped under the protection of the covers. He patted where he hoped legs were - god knew the situation would get irreversibly uncomfortable if he was actually hitting an arse - and there was another groan, this one more irritated, before an arm snapped all of the blankets down, exposing the true identity of the lump who had a terrible case of bedhead.

“Good morning.” Riley smiled cheerfully. Jackdaw flipped him off. Riley laughed at the sight of it before circling around the bed so he was closer to Jack’s head.

“It’s time to get up.” He continued with that sickly-sweet tone, ideally intended to encourage Jackdaw out of bed but more so because Riley low-key enjoyed annoying the hell out of him. Jackdaw grumbled something unintelligible in reply as he flipped over onto his stomach, burying his face back into the pillow. Riley frowned but took the opportunity to yank the blankets all the way down to the bottom of the bed. If Jackdaw’s clothing - more specifically his pants, considering his shirt and shoes had been stripped off - was anything to go by, he’d come back and collapsed after another long-winded nightly patrol.

“You gotta get better hours, man.” Riley commented, more-so speaking to the open air since Jack might have already fallen back into his usual coma, “I know most heroes are nocturnal but this is just ridiculous. I’d peg you for an insomniac if I didn’t already know you don’t even try to sleep.” Jack shifted an arm to cover his head as if that would somehow tune Riley out. Riley shook his head before shifting his attention to what Jackdaw had thrown haphazardly onto the bedside table. His weapons, mask, a phone with the notifications light blinking insistently. Interest piqued and not at all thinking about the possible consequences for his actions, Riley grabbed the phone and turned it on so he could check what the message was and who it was from.

“…Who the hell is ‘Love of my Life’?”

Instantly, Jackdaw’s head snapped up, suddenly more lucid than he had been ten seconds ago. He rolled over and all but kicked the phone out of Riley’s hands.

“That’s no-one.”

Riley’s face broke into a grin, one that made Jack consider taking back his kick to direct it at the fellow hero’s face instead.

“Ooo, tell me.” He jabbed Jackdaw in the shoulder, teasing, “Come on bro, don’t hold out on me.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” Jack snapped.

“I’m literally letting you live here.” Riley deadpanned. Jackdaw squinted at him in a glare, but Riley wouldn’t stop looking at him like a kid who’d found their hidden present early.

“I didn’t know you were dating anyone.” Riley glanced down to look at Jackdaw’s hands, checking for a ring.

“I’m not.”

“So who was that texting you then?” Riley pointed in the general direction of where Jack had launched his phone to as he sat down beside the fellow hero on the bed. Jackdaw kept his mouth clamped shut, lips set in a tight line. His persistent glare likely would have been more intimidating if he weren’t still lethargic, and that fact only pissed him off more.

“Come oooon, give me something.” Riley groaned, and grabbed Jack’s shoulders for effect in a decision that he was definitely going to regret in the next five seconds, “I think this is the first time I’ve known something, like, personal about you.”

“And it’ll be the last.” Jackdaw growled, sounding not at all vaguely like a threat. Riley faltered at that, but then a cautious but still teasing smile appeared on his face.

“You can’t scare me,” He said, not sounding at all convincing, before he leant over and added, “Not when I know you’ve been smooching someone behind my back.”

Jackdaw smacked him upside the head, which also sent him off the bed and onto his ass on the floor. Riley didn’t seem to mind, laughing again as he crossed his legs and looked up at Jack expectantly. Jackdaw looked at him for a second before groaning, this time more annoyed at himself than at his disturbed sleep. He swung his legs over the bed, slouching over them as he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

“Pain in my ass.”

“You know I don’t speak Spanish, dude.” Riley told him, almost sulking about it.

“Yep.” Jack scowled, looking at Riley pointedly to indicate that his switch to another language had been entirely on purpose. Riley pouted, and Jack’s hand shifted with the urge to hit him again.

“Tell me who she is. She? He? They?” He accentuated each pronoun with a stupid gesture with his arms, “Lemme know what boat we’re standing on so I don’t crash it into an iceberg.”

“The Titanic.” Jack answered without missing a beat as he rose from the bed. For some reason Riley hissed as if he were looking at a particularly bad and bleeding cut.

“Things are going that badly, huh?” The sympathy in his tone brought Jackdaw’s mind to a stop as he realised what Riley was taking from his answer that had been meant to tell him to drop the subject.

“No, it’s not- I didn’t mean-“ He cut himself off before he could say anything incriminating, giving a long and frustrated exhale through his nose. He was fully intent on not telling Riley anything about this. Anything at all.

“Hey it’s chill. I know a good couples counsellor if you need it.” Riley offered, gaze following Jackdaw as he walked across the bedroom, snatching his phone up off the floor and shoving it into his pocket.

“I don’t need it.” He answered shortly. He missed the disappointed look that passed on Riley’s face and was quickly joined by a sly smile.

“You gotta tell me something.” Riley said, “Otherwise I might just have to tell all the other heroes about it and they can dig up the info for me…”

Jackdaw whirled around, snarling as he stomped back towards Riley with eyes blazing in fury. Riley realised that he’d crossed the line and he scrambled back until his back connected with the side of the bed. Jack’s hand yanked Riley up by his collar, raising a fist towards the man whose eyes had now widened to the size of saucers.

“Okay I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He held up his hands and then tried to tug Jack’s hands off of his collar, “I’m sorry!” Jackdaw eased a degree and dropped him, the fury receding but still snarling lowly. Riley put a bit more distance between them to be safe, the only smart decision he’d made all day.

“I was only kidding.” Riley assured, hands still raised, sounding concerned but still whining for details, “I just want to know what’s going on with you, bro.”

“It’s none of your business.” Jack growled, “If I wanted to tell you then I would, and I don’t. It’s not your decision what you get to know about me, it’s mine.” Riley opened his mouth to speak again but Jackdaw was already turning, stalking towards the bathroom.

“I respect that, dude, I just got excited about knowing something about your life outside of…work.” Riley tried, suddenly looking very guilty. He was likely finally starting to realise that he’d gone onto Jack’s phone without permission and then hounded Jack for details when he was clearly uncomfortable with saying anything on the subject.

“I need a shower. Don’t come in.” A threat was once again implied as Jackdaw entered the bathroom, starting to close the door.

“Jack wait.”

He paused for a second, glaring expectantly through the gap of the almost-shut door. Riley shifted his weight to his other foot, scratching at his neck.

“I’m sorry. And when you feel comfortable about talking about it, just know that I’ll be right here.”

Usually, he would’ve just slammed the door. Instead, either through God’s miracle or because the sender of the still unread text message on his phone had worn down his prickly demeanour, Jack grunted and gave a short, quick nod. Riley started to smile again but the fleeting miracle had already passed and the bathroom door was shut on him before he could say another word.

#Villainous #OC #fanfiction #Jackdaw #Riley #who doesn't have a hero name yet but he's meant to based off one of the bg heroes we've seen on the show #references to a certain someone...#:3 #Rose doesn't care about titles at 1am: The Series #actually wanted to write about this roommate thing for a while but it was originally going to be more #Riley chastising Jack for his hero-ing methods #Buuut it's not it turned into this because of what's happened with Jackdaw overall/story-wise #anyways #enjoy

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