#GOd that reminds me of holding someones hand hostage in my pocket to keep it warm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

journalxxx · 3 years

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By Hook or by Crook (4)

Oh God, there’s another one.

The thought came unbidden to Toshinori’s mind, and it engulfed him in the closest thing to pure dread he had felt in years. It had taken two centuries, the sacrifice of seven One For All users, and two of his own major organs to take down a single All For One wielder, and now a brand new one had somehow sprouted right in front of him.

Now. Now that he had finally decided to tackle the hurdle of entrusting a relatively stable Japan to a successor, now that he was weaker and less capable than ever of defending it from a new threat. Now that the deadline of Nighteye’s prophecy was drawing closer and closer. His own gruesome death on the battlefield, and the sudden reappearance of All For One’s quirk. The unavoidable connection between the two facts almost robbed him of his breath.

Toshinori couldn’t tear his eyes away from the boy’s hand. It looked diminutive in comparison to his own, and completely inoffensive. It had the soft, unblemished appearance that suited someone who had never hit anything bigger than a fly, whereas the hero’s skin had long since been roughened by calluses, and his joints slightly thwarted by the occasional fracture. Yet, that single, unassuming dimple in the middle of its palm made it more potentially destructive than a hundred of Smashes combined.

A sort of choked whimper made Toshinori finally raise his gaze. He realized he had stopped trying to school his expression only when he saw his own strung-out stupor mirrored in Midoriya’s features.

“I-I… Sorry, I r-really have t-to…” The boy took a step back, his hand slipping from the man’s grasp, then he suddenly turned on his heels and motioned to sprint away.

“Hey, hey!” Toshinori reached forward, grabbing Midoriya’s wrist by sheer reflex. He had already wasted enough time and energy chasing slimy villains and rash teenagers all over the town that day, thank you very much. “Where are you going?”

Midoriya froze on the spot, as if shocked by an electric current. His arm was rigid in Toshinori’s grasp, pulling away from it but without any real conviction. His head turned slowly towards the hero but not fully, letting him see only half of the boy’s face. The unmistakable terror etched in those wide eyes made something constrict in Toshinori’s chest.

“I-I’m… I’m so sorry…” The boy’s voice was down a trembling, barely audible whisper.“I didn’t mean to d-do that… I’ve never… I won’t do it again, I swear, j-just…”

Midoriya’s free hand hovered over the hero’s, maybe having half a mind of prying it open, but he didn’t even dare to touch it. Toshinori let go of him immediately. The kid wasn’t expecting it, judging by his flabbergasted expression, and all he did with his regained freedom was backing away from him with a couple of uncertain steps, bumping into a nearby electric pole with his backpack and just standing there, pretty much like a cornered mouse cowering before a lion.

The sight jolted Toshinori back to reality with brutal efficiency. God, what was wrong with him today? He was handling this abysmally. That was no two-hundred-year-old manipulative slaughterer, that was a child. A child rapidly working himself into a panic, if his onsetting tremors were of any indication. Ironically, the realization grounded Toshinori even more. Frightened victims and distraught relatives were a daily occurrence in his line of work, and his professional composure slipped back in place almost subconsciously.

“You don’t need to apologize. Quite the opposite. You saved everyone. The hostage, the bystanders… even me. I’m not sure I’d have had the energy to keep up appearances after another smash.” He put up his hands and showed his palms with slow movements, keeping his voice low and level. “You did nothing wrong back there.”

Midoriya slowly slumped down the pole, his limbs huddled in a distressed heap. He blinked quickly as his eyes shied away from Toshinori’s, hands bunching up the fabric of his trousers nervously. “...I-I can give it back. The quirk. I want to give it back to its owner.”

“That can be easily arranged.” Something about the whole situation was nagging at Toshinori, but he pushed that feeling aside for the moment. The boy wasn’t holding himself in any way that hinted at specific injuries, but fear could be one hell of an anesthetic. He gazed up and down the road, finding it completely deserted. He still felt slightly abuzz with the adrenaline rush caused by his second encounter with the sludge villain and the recent revelation of Midoriya’s quirk. He gauged that he could probably (possibly, maybe, hopefully) abuse One For All for another twenty seconds or so if need be, just the time to scoop up the boy in his arms and power run back to the ambulances at the site of the accident. That was likely to cause even more distress to the poor kid though, so he’d rather hold off on it unless clearly necessary. “Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” The boy wiggled the backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it shakily, a few tears rolling down his cheeks and his hiccups becoming harder to contain. “I’m fine…”

“Hey, kid. Look at me. Deep breaths.” Toshinori finally ventured a step and a half towards Midoriya, squatting at a reasonable distance to his side instead of right in front of him, to make sure he wouldn’t feel too crowded. Toshinori offered him a couple of tissues (always plentiful in his pockets) while the boy tried to regain a semblance of calm. “It’s all right. I am here.”

That got the boy’s attention. The catchphrase had slipped out of him automatically, without his trademark panache or blinding smile or overflowing optimism, but Midoriya looked at him like he’d been thrown a lifeline nonetheless. The dam broke and big, shiny tears erupted from his eyes as he accepted the tissues and buried his sobs in them. They remained like that for a while, the kid quietly working through his sniffles while Toshinori sat cross-legged on the dusty asphalt, reminding him to take his time whenever he got a little fidgety.

“Sorry if I spooked you.“ Toshinori eventually offered with a small smile, after Midoriya had finally settled down. “I’m a little out of it myself, today. Not the most auspicious first day in my new neighborhood, but what can you do?”

“Uh? Do you mean you’re moving here?” Midoriya asked while he accepted the fourth tissue and wiped away the remaining dampness from his face.

“Mh-hm.” After the debacle on the rooftop, this didn’t feel like too much of a sensitive bit of information to share. Besides, the kid was a fan, so maybe throwing him a bone would help him relax a little more.

“Why? Isn’t it inconvenient for you? I thought you lived in a penthouse above Might Tower, in Tokyo’s Minato Ward, Roppongi 6-12-”

...Ah, he was that kind of fan. Obviously. “Indeed, but I’ve decided to move to… broaden my professional horizons, so to speak.”

“Oh! Are you planning to open a branch of your agency here? Or are you joining some local long-term operation?“ That spark of morbid curiosity in the boy’s eyes made Toshinori regret bringing up the topic in two seconds flat.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the matter, everything’s still under tight wraps. You’ll hear all about it from the news, eventually.” He stood up and patted some dirt off his hands and pants. “Do you live far from here? I’ll walk you home if you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, uh…” The boy gaped at him in surprise. “Thank you, but there’s no need for you to go out of your way! I’m fine, really!”

“Think nothing of it.” Toshinori hooked three fingers under the strap of the boy’s backpack and hauled it over his own shoulder. It hit his back with unexpected oomph. What did kids even put in those things, weren’t textbooks all digital these days? “Clearly this isn’t your lucky day either. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that you reached your house safely without being run over by a truck or abducted by aliens.”

The joke got a half-smile out of Midoriya, at long last. He held out his hand to the boy to help him back on his feet. The obvious hesitation and near disbelief he couldn’t hide before gingerly accepting the proffered hand gave Toshinori another small wave of unease. There was definitely something strange about all this, aside from the obvious. He gestured for the kid to lead the way, and they set off towards their new destination.

Toshinori granted him a few minutes of silence before breaching the pivotal subject. “So… you have quite the interesting quirk.”

“...Mh.” Midoriya visibly stiffened. So it had been the quirk talk to give him cold feet, rather than a generic reaction to the day’s stress...

“Why didn’t you use it against the villain the first time he attacked you?” Toshinori asked, opting for a more roundabout approach.

“Ah… I’m sorry. I really should have. You wouldn’t have had to waste your power if I’d-”

“Forget about me! Why didn’t you use it to defend yourself? Did you panic?”

“Uh, well, not too much.” The kid shoved his hands in his pockets and dropped his gaze to the ground, his voice lowering to a droning mutter. “I can take quirks, but I don’t automatically learn how to use them. The villain’s quirk looked like it may be difficult to handle. What if I couldn’t maintain a solid form and just turned myself into a puddle of goo? What if some parts of my slime got detached from the main body during the scuffle, and I found myself missing chunks of flesh upon turning back human? What if the sludge was only an outer layer over my body, and without fine control I ended up drowning in it? Stuff like that… I should have just taken the villain’s quirk without activating it, but I was afraid that he’d get even angrier and he’d just beat me up anyway. I’m not, uh, strong. Or fast. At all. I didn’t consider that he might freak out long enough for me to run away…”

Toshinori blinked. “...Sorry, how long had that guy been harassing you before I showed up?”

“Oh, not long at all. Twenty or thirty seconds, I think.”

“And you went through all of that in twenty seconds. While being ambushed and choked.”

Midoriya just shrugged.

“That is… some quick thinking, all right.” Toshinori commented. He omitted the fact that it was a brand of quick thinking that was more likely to get you killed rather than saving your skin during an emergency. Apparently Midoriya would hesitate to protect himself from a violent attacker, but he’d run for the hills the moment the Symbol of Peace gave him a bit of an odd look. The kid’s fight-or-flight response was all over the place.

“I would have used my quirk to fight back eventually, if you hadn’t arrived so soon… probably…”

“...But?” Toshinori encouraged, sensing the unspoken addition.

“But… not many people know about my quirk. Very few, actually. And I’d like to keep it that way. If it’s possible.”

“Why?”

“...It’s not a good quirk.” Midoriya frowned, hunching his shoulders a bit. “One could do really bad things with it.”

“I could squash a man’s skull with my thumb and level a city block with a punch.” Toshinori countered plainly. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

“It’s… it’s different. You can choose to use your quirk only for good, but mine requires…” The boy trailed off, then hazarded a glance at the hero. “You know what I mean. You understood as soon as I told you, I saw it.”

Toshinori couldn’t argue on that point, unfortunately. Still…

There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for Midoriya to wield All For One. For one, it could be a different quirk altogether, one that simply mimicked Toshinori’s nemesis’, but that wasn’t quite the same, maybe with some unmentioned limitations (although the palm marks made for quite the uncanny similarity). Moreover, much like look-alikes, duplicate quirks between unrelated people weren’t unheard of, although said quirks were usually quite simple ones, like basic physical enhancers or elemental emitters.

What really bothered Toshinori were the boy’s evident sense of guilt and fear of exposure. Virtually any moderately powerful quirk could be employed to ‘do really bad things’, but hardly any children grew up to be so blatantly scared and ashamed of their own abilities. Family and school usually nurtured a degree of confidence and trust in their own capabilities. Toshinori’s knee-jerk reaction was a byproduct of specific knowledge and experience, but Midoriya’s? If only few people knew about his quirk, it must mean he hadn’t used it much, if at all, in the past, ruling out peer pressure as well. What explanation, what innocent explanation could there be for such a strong negative bias, aside from knowledge and experience he wasn’t supposed to have?

“At least your parents know about your quirk, I hope?”

“My mother doesn’t. My father… isn’t really around.” Toshinori couldn’t decide if that last bit of information was a good or a bad sign.

“So… who did you tell?”

“Just one friend and my father.” Ah, we had one likely culprit then. A father that was around but not really. Suspicious. “And now you, I guess. And… everyone who saw what I did to that villain… including the police…” Midoriya looked just about ready to dig a ditch and roll in it.

“Well, as I said, everyone seemed to think I took care of the matter, so-”

Midoriya shook his head, utterly demoralized. “Kacchan will tell them.”

“Kacchan?”

“Ah, the hostage. He’s my friend, the one who knows about my quirk. I don’t think he’ll lie to the police for my sake.”

“Ah, I see. I hadn’t realized you two were acquainted.” Toshinori offered him a supportive smile. “I guess that explains your burst of heroism.”

“...No one else was doing anything. I saw you among the crowd, but… I thought you couldn’t help.”

The boy had an almost tortured expression, which reignited the deep-seated guilt that had plagued Toshinori in those harrowing minutes. “...I thought I couldn’t help either.”

“But you did jump in though. Even though… it hurts you?” Midoriya scanned him from head to toe in concern, as if looking for unnoticed signs of damage. “Why?”

“Why did you decide to intervene, despite your fear?”

“I… I just couldn’t let my friend suffer because I messed up.”

“Well, there you have it.” Toshinori simply said. The boy stared at him thoughtfully, apparently weighing his words carefully, before nodding slowly and resuming his perusal of the ground. Toshinori let the silence stretch for a minute. There was still plenty he wanted to ask, especially regarding Midoriya’s father, but-

“I really do want to give the quirk back.” The kid mumbled. “Should I just… go to the police and ask them? They’ll come looking for me anyway, I guess, but…”

Toshinori pondered the issue for a moment, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. The least he could do was make this whole ordeal as smooth as possible for the kid. “I think I can help with that. Give me your number. I’ll text you to let you know when we can visit the villain. If we’re lucky, it may be as early as tomorrow.”

Toshinori registered the boy’s contact information as they entered a quaint residential area with neat little rows of numbered buildings, pleasantly tinged with the warm hues of the sunset.

“Ah, that’s where I live.” Midoriya said afterwards, pointing at a nearby apartment complex. “Thank you for everything, All-”

Toshinori shushed him with a sharp gesture as he gazed around the street nervously. “Please, don’t call me that when I’m in this form.”

Midoriya froze, then bowed respectfully. “R-Right! Thank you, sir! I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble, and taking so much of your time, and-”

Toshinori waved the upcoming barrage of apologies off and bid him a good evening, waiting for the boy to leave. Which he didn’t do.

“Uhm.” Midoriya pointed at Toshinori’s shoulder with an awkward smile. “I need that…”

Oh, right, backpack. “Whoops, there you go.” He tossed Midoriya’s belongings to their owner and watched the kid bustle up the stairs of the building and into one of the apartments. Then he fetched his phone and picked the third number on speed-dial.

“Tsukauchi? Do you have a moment? ….Ah, fine, thank you. Listen, can I drop by your place this evening? Something’s come up and I’d rather not discuss it on the phone… No, but definitely worth looking into sooner rather than later…”

He hung up a couple of exchanges later, after agreeing on the time for the meeting. Toshinori decided he had enough time to make his way back home, shower and have some sort of passable dinner before ruining his friend’s evening. And then he would head back home and he would sleep, even if he had to repeatedly bash his head against a wall to achieve that. He inhaled deeply and let out a long-overdue, exhausted sigh.

What a day.

Hopefully tomorrow wouldn’t be quite as taxing.

“THIEF”

Izuku was stuck on the spot, his feet and ankles wrapped in a thick layer of sludge that stretched on the ground as far as the eye could see. The faint light filtering from both ends of the underpass gave it flickering, changing hues, now green like bile, now brown like vomit, now black like tar. It smelled like sewer and dirty toilets.

“BASTARD”

The slime clung to the walls of the underpass, climbing on them as if endowed with its own will. It crawled up higher and higher, and then went on to expand onto the ceiling. Its surface boiled and squirmed producing disgusting squelching sounds. Izuku looked away from the revolting goo-coated structure he was boxed in, he looked towards the exit, hoping that something, someone would show up to drag him out of that hell.

“GIVE IT BACK”

Someone emerged from the sludge, a few meters ahead of him. A man. A flabby, hairless, mucky man, with haunted eyes and a mouth open in a silent scream. He sweated slime, cried slime, drooled slime, from every orifice and every pore of his body. He waded towards Izuku slowly, an arm extended before him as if to grab him. Izuku couldn’t stand that sight either. He aimed his gaze at the ceiling, right when a huge bubble of gunk popped right above him, and chunky dollops of filth splashed on his face, into his nose and mouth.

“OR I’LL RIP IT OUT OF YOU”

Izuku coughed and heaved, trying to expel the repulsive substance from his pipes, but two cold, slick hands clamped around his throat, trapping it in his body. He could feel the ooze drip down into his lungs, his stomach- he could feel it wiggle and push, like a living parasite trying to break free from the flesh constraining it. Izuku scrambled to tear the man’s hands off him, but those too melted under his fingers like the same fluid that was everywhere, closing down on him, choking him, pulling him apart from the inside-

Izuku woke up with a whole-body lurch that nearly sent him rolling off the bed, sweaty and breathless. He took in the familiar shadows of his room, and the red numbers of his alarm clock floating in the darkness at his eye level.

6:20 AM.

Izuku turned on his belly with a frustrated groan, sinking his face into the pillow. Sure, he’d had a pretty harrowing day yesterday. It was bound to leave him a little shaken and maybe disturb his sleep for a while. But seven nightmares in the span of as many hours seemed slightly excessive. Especially seven instances of the exact same nightmare, sentient goo and Munch-like villain and all. The boy fumbled blindly for his phone to check if he’d received any new messages in the last fifty-five minutes. He hadn’t, of course. He prayed that All Might would contact him soon, it didn’t take a degree in psychology to guess the nature of the ‘unfinished business’ his subconscious was so keen on grilling him about.

He stared at the screen blankly, wondering, for roughly the hundredth time, if he should call his father. On one hand, he very probably should. If the man had deemed that little scuffle with Kacchan emergency-worthy, surely a mess this humongous in size warranted a call as well. On the other hand… Izuku didn’t really want to.

The previous night’s news broadcast had covered the sludge villain incident rather haphazardly, it being a relatively contained accident with no serious consequences or injuries. Izuku was sure they had bothered to touch on the fact in the first place just because All Might had been involved, and the number one hero would receive prime time coverage even for something as trivial as being spotted buying soda at a convenience store. Curiously, Izuku hadn’t been mentioned at all, not even indirectly. Kacchan had been named and shown as the victim, the other heroes had been acknowledged, but All Might had been appointed as the sole person responsible for the resolution of the mishap. Not a word about any irresponsible middle schoolers joining the fray.

Izuku had taken it as a promising sign. All Might had likely interceded for him with the police and obtained a modicum of discretion about his involvement, at least in regards to the media. The hero had been so very understanding the previous day - just thinking about it made the boy almost tear up anew. He had barely reacted to the shocking revelation of his quirk, he had tolerated his unseemly outburst, he had spoken to him as if… as if Izuku was just another innocent victim caught up in a bad situation, rather than a potential menace. He hadn’t hesitated even for a second to offer him his hand, despite knowing the threat that Izuku’s own hands posed. He had… he had made him feel safe, and trusted. He had allowed Izuku to hope that maybe, just maybe, this whole thing could be fixed, that Izuku could handle it with his help, even without subjecting his father to undue sniveling.

And, objectively speaking, what could Izuku’s father do at this point? Izuku doubted that, regardless of his governmental position, the man could prevent the truth from spreading once it had reached both the police and the number one hero. Izuku could make an educated guess about his reaction too, and it wasn’t all that encouraging. It was too late for stern recommendations about secrecy, or for disappointed sighs and gratuitous snark about Izuku’s blind faith in All Might’s mediation skills. And, to be perfectly honest, Izuku dreaded the possibility of finally and completely alienating the sympathy of the one person that had supported and advised him for his whole life, in his own peculiar way. Yes, it was childish of him. Yes, he would have to tell his father anyway, eventually. But he’d rather do it after the matter had been settled, hopefully for the best, and after he’d had a little more time to gather his thoughts and figure out how to word it a little less unfavorably for himself. So, there. It was the 28th of April too, he could wait another day or two, at least. No biggie.

By breakfast time, Izuku had reviewed the issue three more times, had another nightmare, and accepted the fact that this was going to be a long day.

School went by in that typical hazy fashion that was the result of intellectual activities synergizing poorly with a sleep-deprived brain. Izuku kept eyeing Kacchan warily throughout the first three classes, harboring the half-baked notion of addressing yesterday’s events. He regretted doing it the very moment he opened his mouth to greet him during recess.

“What?” Kacchan growled without sparing him a single glance.

“Uh, ah, I…” How are you was one possible conversation starter. A bad one, for sure. Worrying about Kacchan’s well-being implied that he may not be okay, which implied weakness, which invited aggression as a counter-argument. Did you tell anyone else about what I did yesterday was downright rude, as if Izuku’s quirk was more important than his friend being almost murdered. In fact, any reference to the villain incident was a minefield. Braver classmates than Izuku had already made their inquiries during homeroom, and Kacchan hadn’t taken kindly to their snooping. This really was a bad-

“WHAT?” Kacchan barked, turning sharply towards Izuku and banging his fist on his desk for emphasis.

“Uh, nothing! Just saying hello! Hi! Bye!” Izuku fled the classroom without looking back before Kacchan decided to force-feed him his own shoes.

The first bit of good news of the day reached him during lunch, under the guise of a text.

Hey kid! We can drop by the police station this afternoon at 5 if you’re free

Izuku brought up the virtual keyboard to reply, but he stopped with his finger poised over the screen. He blinked at the unlabeled string of digits identifying the sender.

He had All Might’s phone number. One of many, probably. Definitely one of the lowest priority lines. Or maybe just some sort of burner phone for communications with civilians only. Still. He had All Might’s phone number. All Might was texting him. The realization made him half-choke on his rice.

Should he save it? Would that be a breach of confidentiality? Even if he used a not-too-obvious handle? N1? SP? AM? Ante Meridiem? ...That would just make it more suspicious, wouldn’t it? He’d just… commit it to memory for now. In case he ever needed it again. For purely altruistic reasons.

Sure, I’m free! Thank you very much for the help!

Izuku’s phone chimed again a couple of minutes later.

We’ll come pick you up at your place

That ‘we’ raised a small wave of anxiety in Izuku, but he willed himself to suppress it. He couldn’t expect All Might to shield him from any and all interactions with the force. It’d be fine. He could handle this.

The perspective of visiting the villain revived Izuku’s attention for the remaining lessons, only for him to crash back into fidgety inactivity as soon as he got home and found himself without anything to do for almost two hours before the agreed time. Homework was out of the question, he was too distracted. He figured a nap would be the most inoffensive way to while away the time while also recovering some higher brain functions. And so it was only with a mild heart attack that Izuku was roused by the ringing of the doorbell at 4.50 PM.

“Young Midoriya! Good afternoon!” Even at a glance, Izuku could tell that All Might was in better shape than the previous day. He stood a bit straighter, his smile was a bit wider, his hair was slightly less chaotic. He was also wearing slacks and a button up shirt that, while still dramatically oversized, made him look a bit less like a phthisic hospital runaway. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes! Thank you so much for going out of your way to take care of me!” Izuku declared with a rigid bow to All Might and to the other man standing by his side - definitely a detective, judging by his stereotypical trench coat.

All Might patted the man on the back with an even bigger grin. “This is Naomasa Tsukauchi, my favorite detective on the force! You may speak freely before him, you won’t find anyone more trustworthy in the whole of Japan!”

“A pleasure to meet you, Midoriya.” Tsukauchi politely removed his hat and shook the boy’s hand with an amused smirk, a sign that he was probably familiar with the hero’s odd choice of an introduction. He then peeked behind Izuku’s shoulders towards the inside of the house. “Isn’t your mother going to join us?”

“Ah no, she had a doctor’s appointment booked for today. It’s fine though, I’ll just send her a text to let her know where I’m going.” Izuku had warned his mother that he may have to visit the precinct soon. He had had to justify his singed and grimy school uniform the day before, so he had told her that he’d been marginally involved in the sludge villain incident, and the police was likely to want to collect his statement on the matter. It was only by pure chance that the news broadcast hadn’t outed his abridgment of the facts.

“Ah… We were hoping to have a few words with her too, actually.” Tsukauchi glanced at All Might, whose eyes darted briefly between the detective and the boy.

“I… may have forgotten to mention that.” All Might scratched the back of his neck with an apologetic grimace. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped. We’ll catch up with her another time, if necessary.”

Izuku had the sneaking suspicion that being All Might’s favorite detective came at a price. Tsukauchi just sighed, before regarding him with a gentle smile. “Well, if you are sure you don’t mind coming with us all by yourself…”

“I don’t mind at all!” Izuku hurried to reassure them.

A minute later he was in the backseat of Tsukauchi’s speeding car, typing a message to his mother and struggling to suppress a monstrous yawn, courtesy of his interrupted nap.

“Tired?” All Might asked, intercepting his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“A bit. I didn't sleep well last night.”

“Ah, I know that feeling.” The hero’s expression mellowed in sympathy. “I’m sure you’ll rest more easily once this is over and done with.”

“I hope so.” Izuku pocketed his phone and gazed at the moving buildings out of the car window, mostly just to break eye contact. Somehow All Might’s open kindness felt undeserved, especially for something as trivial as a bunch of spooky dreams. He focused on more urgent matters. “So, uh… how are we going to do this? Does the villain know I’m coming, will I explain things to him? Will you, uh, keep an eye on things from outside or accompany me...?”

“Well, we were thinking of throwing you into his cell, locking the door and letting the two of you fight for dominance and ownership over the quirk- “ All Might grinned widely in response to Izuku’s exasperated gape.

“Yagi!” The detective reprimanded him, only mildly scandalized. The name bounced a few times around Izuku’s brain, plain and mystifying at the same time.

“Sorry, just trying to lift his spirits.”

“You have nothing to worry about, it’ll be perfectly safe.” Tsukauchi provided, clearly having a much better understanding of the state of Izuku’s spirits despite knowing him for a scant ten minutes. “The villain will be in his cell and we will escort you inside, of course. You won’t really interact with each other, as he’ll likely be deeply asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“Yes. The apparent loss of his quirk has upset him greatly. He’s barely spoken since we took him into custody, and he’s spent the whole night in severe emotional distress. We would have transferred him to a hospital this morning if you hadn’t agreed to help so promptly. As things stood, we simply had a doctor prescribe him a strong sedative. Hopefully he’ll settle down spontaneously after you return his quirk.”

The man’s words weighed on Izuku’s heart like a ton of bricks. Damn, that was… horrible. He’d been holding onto someone else’s quirk for barely a day, and it had already caused that much sorrow. That wasn’t how Izuku’s power was supposed to be used. It would never be, as far as he was concerned.

“I’m sure he will.” All Might commented, all traces of humour vanished from his demeanor. “Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be a matter of a minute.”

Izuku nodded, and didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip. When they reached their destination, he let All Might guide him towards the detention area of the complex while Tsukauchi wandered off somewhere else, probably taking care of the bureaucratic side of things. He reappeared relatively soon, and they entered one of the cells all together.

The cell was small and mostly barren, furnished with only the most essential goods and surfaces for a relatively short stay. Idly, Izuku wondered what systems they had in place to prevent a… slippery criminal such as the current occupant from escaping from toilets or sinks. Surely they were prepared to- he realized he was spacing out. He should just get on with it.

The villain was indeed sleeping, huddled in a small foldable bedding on the floor. Izuku had barely caught a glimpse of the man’s human form the previous day, yet he was identical to how he’d envisioned him in his dreams. His subconscious was just that observant, apparently. It suddenly occurred to Izuku that he hadn’t even asked for the man’s name yet. The news broadcast hadn’t reported- he was procrastinating again. Just do it, Izuku.

The boy glanced questioningly at the detective, who made a small gesture to indicate that he was free to proceed. He approached his assailant and crouched beside him. The villain’s hand was sticking out from under the blanket, next to his head. Izuku rested his palm against the back of it, and simply willed the quirk out.

Just like that, it was done. Izuku stood up and stepped back as the man’s body swiftly changed its texture and color, morphing and rearranging itself until a vaguely man-shaped, green heap of goo had replaced the slumbering human. The villain remained dead to the world throughout the entire process.

“...I’m done.” Izuku whispered, quite redundantly. He peered back at the two men at the opposite side of the room, and he didn’t miss the quick, sharp side-glance they’d just quietly exchanged.

“Thank you very much for your cooperation.” Tsukauchi said with the utmost honesty once they were again in the hallway. “While you’re here, would you mind if I collected your statement about the incident? It won’t take long, we already have a clear picture of the situation thanks to All Might.”

“Uh… Okay.” Izuku had hoped, rather optimistically, to skip that part, but he had no reasonable excuse to refuse. Tsukauchi led them to an empty room a couple of corridors further ahead, and held the door open for them. All Might lingered on the threshold.

“May I sit in?” His question was aimed at Izuku for some reason, rather than at his friend.

“Of course!” Izuku confirmed, when both adults just stared at him in silence, clearly waiting for his permission. The hero thanked him with a small nod and an equally small smile.

They all sat around the desk in the middle of the room, Tsukauchi on one side, and Izuku and All Might on the other. It struck Izuku as a little strange, automatically expecting the two upholders of the law to face him side by side. He wondered if it may be a setup for some sort of good-cop-bad-cop routine. Not that either of them seemed especially suited to the latter role. Tsukauchi was very much the embodiment of professionalism, and All Might… All Might looked especially non-threatening in that moment, almost meek. He was sitting very tidily, big hands folded in his lap and long legs pressed against each other, occupying a remarkably small space considering the size of his frame. It made Izuku straighten his back and sit more neatly by reflex.

The questioning did proceed very smoothly at first. Tsukauchi let Izuku narrate his version of the events without interrupting at all, just humming and jotting down a few lines in his notepad now and then. All Might was just as unobtrusive, volunteering a sentence or two when Izuku happened to stumble on his words, or when he openly allowed him to recount the little scene on the rooftop, since the detective was already in on the big secret. Smooth sailing all round, until the point when Izuku had to bring up his quirk.

“On the subject of your quirk… when did it first manifest, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked.

“A little less than two years ago.”

“Ah, you’re quite the late bloomer! And you’ve only shared that fact with your friend Bakugo and your father, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And your father is one... Hisashi Midoriya, right?” Tsukauchi fished out a sheet of paper from the folder he’d retrieved before beginning the interrogation. He slid it across the table so that the boy could read it.

“Yes.” Izuku blinked, an undefined sense of unease gripping him all of a sudden. “...Why did you bother printing his personal details?”

“You’ve been filed as quirkless in the national registry after a routine medical examination when you were four years old. Your registration hasn’t been updated since then, as far as I could ascertain.” Tsukauchi explained calmly.

“Y-Yeah. I know.”

“...That is a punishable offense, I’m afraid. An accurate quirk registration is mandatory for all citizens.” Tsukauchi’s expression softened when Izuku utterly failed to hide his dismay. “This has no consequence on you, as minors aren’t expected to take care of these things by themselves, especially since quirk recording is often carried out when they’re extremely young. Your mother bears no blame either if, as you say, she’s as clueless about it as the rest of the world. But if your father knew and neglected to sort out the necessary paperwork for so long-”

“Oh.” Oh. Oh crap. Izuku had never thought of that. Why on earth had he never thought of that? Why, in almost two years, had he never considered the legal implications of all that secrecy? Why hadn’t his father? “Are you going to press charges against him?”

“Not yet. We’re at least going to get in touch with him and hear him out before taking any further steps.” The detective gave him a genuinely reassuring smile. “But even if we did, there is no cause for concern. These bureaucratic hitches are usually settled with a small fine.”

“I-I see.” Izuku gulped. He wasn’t going to wait until May. He was going to call his father as soon as he was alone. This probably wasn’t going to snowball into a lengthy legal conundrum, but still…

“What’s his occupation? I’m reading ‘administrative assistant’ here, which is a bit generic…”

“I don’t know much about that. He works for the government, I think, and he always says that all his activities are classified, so I try not to pry... Too much…”

“That is very judicious of you. I wish you could teach some of that tact to my sister…” Tsukauchi sighed, only half-jokingly. All Might let out a low chuckle at that. “Does your father know that you’ve been so reserved about your quirk so far?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t find it odd in the slightest?”

“...No.”

“Why do you think that is?” Izuku was suddenly very aware of both adults observing him quite intently. He really didn’t want to make things look any worse for his father. He could… slightly reframe the truth, maybe.

“I, uhm… Mine is a bit of a unique quirk. Difficult to use without, uh, stepping on other people’s toes. And I’ve been quirkless for most of my life, and… it’s no mystery that I envied other kids a lot because of that. I was worried that my schoolmates could be wary of me if they knew that I could… act on that envy now.”

Tsukauchi hummed, twirling his pen slowly between his fingers. “I can understand your concern. But quirk counselling is specifically designed to help children cope with such issues, and you’ve been missing out on it because of this extreme discretion. Your father should have realized he was doing you more harm than good by letting these fears fester in your mind.”

Izuku dropped his gaze on his father’s profile sheet. Detective Tsukauchi had a point, but… the matter was more complicated than that, as well as intricately intertwined with his father’s job and the troubled history of their quirk, and… Izuku didn’t want to delve into any of that at the moment.

“We’ll definitely schedule some counselling sessions for you in the future, I’m sure you’ll find them beneficial.” Tsukauchi hesitated. “...Did something catch your attention?”

Something did, in fact. Izuku was idly skimming through the content of his father’s profile, and a couple of details were giving him pause. The first was, unsurprisingly, his father’s listed quirk. Fire Breathing.

...nor do I have it printed in bold letters in my personal documents…

Yeah, Izuku wasn’t going to bring that up. The other thing, a little more surprisingly, was his photo.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just… I haven’t seen any photos of my father in a long time.”

“You haven’t seen ‘any photos’ of him?” Tsukauchi cocked his head curiously.

“Yeah… I’ve never met him in person, he travels a lot because of his job and he never has enough time to stop by. I only know what he looks like because of an old photo my mother showed me. I haven’t seen it in years too, so…”

“Only a single photo, uh? And this picture here doesn’t strike you as familiar?”

Izuku observed it more closely... No, he was surely mistaken. “No no, there’s… there’s definitely a resemblance. Mine was a very old photo, taken before I was born. And it wasn’t even a photo of him specifically, he just happened to be in it, at an odd angle and in the middle of a crowd… I’m sure this one is more accurate.”

“Are you still in possession of that photo, by any chance?” All Might chimed in unexpectedly, his bright eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yes, I think so… Hang on, let me check.” Izuku fetched his phone, opened the internet browser… Crap, it really had been a long time since he’d looked at the thing. Back then, he’d saved the file his mother had passed him on a free online storage site that… hopefully still existed? He hadn’t used it in at least four years. Was his account still active? Could he even retrieve the credentials with his current email address? “Uh… Actually, I don’t think I can get it right away. But I printed a copy of it once, it should be at home… somewhere…” Stashed in one of those boxes of old notebooks and magazines on top of his wardrobe, right? Or had it been thrown away when they had moved to their current apartment…? He fiddled with his phone with growing discomfort, acutely aware of the utter unhelpfulness of his babbling.

“We’d certainly be grateful if you could retrieve that photo for us, when you have a minute.” All Might finally conceded, taking pity on Izuku's floundering.

“Sure! I’ll try to find it as soon as I get home.”

“Much obliged.” Tsukauchi flipped quickly through his folder. Izuku was about to ask why the mention of that photo had sparked their interest so much, when Tsukauchi put Hisashi's file back into the folder and closed it with a snap. “Well, I think we’ve covered everything. Again, you’ve been immensely valuable to us, Midoriya.”

Izuku let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. All Might positively beamed at him and flashed him a thumbs up, which was its own, heart-warming reward. They all stood up and made to leave, when Izuku remembered he owed the two men a proper thanks.

“Ah, I really appreciate that you used your influence to… to get the papers off my back. It was… unreasonable of me to ask, but I really appreciate you humoring my hope for discretion anyway. I hope that it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

Tsukauchi and All Might traded a puzzled glance.

“We did nothing of the sort, kid. What makes you-” All Might stopped, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Ah! You did mention it yesterday, didn’t you? That you were expecting your friend to expose your quirk…”

“Yes. I… I imagine Kacchan told the journalists, and you took care of, uh, correcting his version?”

“No, no, there was no need to.” All Might waved his hand dismissively. “Your friend didn’t mention you at all. He was on the verge of fainting when you rushed in, he’d been strenuously fighting back against the villain for a while by that time. He was too exhausted to notice your intervention, and you bolted immediately afterwards. He never realized you were there.”

Izuku’s jaw dropped half-way open, but he shut it immediately with an audible click.

“...Ah.” Kacchan hadn’t realized. The bystanders hadn’t realized. The police hadn’t realized. All Might hadn’t really realized. That meant that no one, no one, would know about his quirk right now… if he hadn’t gone and spilled the beans about it himself. If he hadn’t dumped an unnecessary confession to the number one hero out of sheer, emotional anxiety.

...Boy, that next phone call was going to be one for the ages.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #deku #izuku midoriya #All Might #Toshinori Yagi #naomasa tsukauchi

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wannabecoyote · 4 years

Text

Sasha woke up, she didn’t remember falling asleep but that’s just every Tuesday for her. Her whole body is sore and lethargic, also a normal Tuesday. What isn’t a normal Tuesday however is WAKING UP IN AN UNFAMILIAR CELL. She very much does not appreciate being imprisoned for god knows whatever reason or at all really. She sat up and tried to practice the breathing exercise she and her friends found.

Breathe in for four seconds. Hold for seven. Breathe out for eight.

Rinse and repeat.

She swallowed once she feels calm enough and looked around the room. She’s very surprised that she isn’t descending into yet another panic attack but she ain’t gonna question her good luck now.

She felt for her phone and breathed out a sigh of relief when she found it is still in her pocket. With trembling hands she typed a message to her friend.

‘dude I could be dying rn. im pretty sure I was kidnapped. no cap. idk where I am. keep my witch stuff.’

She took a picture of the cell and sent it to Dylan.

She pocketed her phone with another inhale to fortify herself. She looked around and found her cell sealed with a laser beam thing. Like a sheet of light keeping her in. Like some real Steven Universe shit.

She walked up to it and tried to touch it. She pulled her hand back with a curse when she was zapped unceremoniously by the rude laser. She started flicking her hand trying and failing to shake the pain off.

She put her singed finger in her mouth and looked around for something that could help her. To the opposite of the laser gate was her cot, a raised platform that comes up to her thighs and padded with cushion. To the right hand side was a sink with running water and a glass near it. She assumed that was for her to drink. All she found that are detachable from their posts are pillows, the glass, and blankets. She walked over and snatched the pillow from the cot to test it against the laser.

She held the pillow forward and slowly touched the other side to the laser. She was startled from this when a something moved in the hallway. She threw the pillow away and focused on the figure that slithering closer to her cell by the minute.

She pulled a face of disgust when a weird hybrid of gorgons, aliens from the movie Aliens, and freaking predators came in front of her. It was very disconcerting.

“Human, you are before your queen, bow.” The talking monstrosity said.

The audacity!

“I’m sorry but you ain’t my queen. My queen is Sappho and you don’t look anything like her,” she said and the guards beside the queen gasped.

The queen’s face distorted in anger. Sasha’s face showed her disgust at how uglier the queen became.

“Eugh, dude seriously ngl you look like someone punched your mother’s stomach when she was carrying you and then when she gave birth to you she somehow dropped you multiple times because she always gets surprised by how ugly you are,” she said with a shrug. If she was gonna die, she’s gonna make the most of what she has right now.

The guy on the left let out a noise that sounded a lot like a laugh. Sasha smiled proudly and gave the alien a wink. It feels good to know someone appreciates your humor. They stepped back a bit, spooked. The queen’s face becomes more distorted but this time she was looking at the alien that laughed.

“You find this amusing? You are nothing but dust in the cosmos. You are nothing. Remember your place [species slur]!” she shouted at them. The poor guy bowed their head and uttered a silent acquiescence.

“HEY DON’T YOU FUCKING SAY THAT TO THEM YOU NIGHTMARE IN ELMS STREET LOOKING ASS!” Sasha shouted. NOBODY, FUCKING NOBODY FUCKS WITH THE ALIEN GUY. HE IS B A B Y.

Both aliens looked at her, one with a look of horrified admiration, and the other with pure contempt in her eyes. Nine of them. Creepy. Why’s it gotta be a fucking odd? Why fucking nine? It’s fucking gross. Eugh.

She was startled out of her disgust for the nine eyes by the sound of someone pressing in the code for her cell…presumably. The laser wall disappeared and the queen loomed ominously over her. She bolted as soon as she can. Narrowly dodging the disgusting snake alien thing that tried to strike her. She took the alien’s appendage and ran. Dragging them along with her to wherever the fuck.

“Why are you doing this human? I am not an ideal hostage, no one cares about me,” the alien said. Sasha’s heart broke with the way that they said it. As if it was something factual. No one should be made to feel like that. If she was gonna escape she’s gonna take this bean with her.

“You are not a hostage,” she said. Behind them the queen is screaming profanities at everyone and the soldiers are gaining on them. “You’re a friend, I can see that you hate it here. You’re as much of a prisoner as I am. We’re gonna get out of here, yeah?” she looked back and her alien friend nodded with a look of disbelief on their face.

“Why?”

“Because they don’t treat you right.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with you, besides, I will slow you down.”

“Of course it does! I made you laugh, you’re my friend now.”

“What exactly is a friend? You’ve mentioned it twice now.”

“You don’t know what friends are?!”

“I do not. I am sorry,”

“No! Don’t be! I wasn’t mad at you or anything.” She sighed, this is difficult. “A friend is someone that you like, someone you spend your time with. Someone that you can rely on. Someone who can rely on you.”

“…and I am your friend? How?”

“Like I said, you laughed at my joke.”

“That sounds superficial, especially compared to what you mentioned friendship entailed.”

“It doesn’t have to be really deep, does it? I like you because I do. Do you not want to be my friend?”

“It is not that I do not, it is that I do not understand why you would want to be mine.”

“I just do okay? You’re a great dude.”

She looked at the soldiers chasing after them.

“How many?” she asked the confused alien. “Few. There aren’t much.” She nodded and asked where they are as they ran for their lives. They yelled out directions and she followed as best as she could.

She ran faster than she ever has in her life. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her alien friend tried but they couldn’t keep up with her. They lagged behind but she wouldn’t leave them. She couldn’t.

They reminded her too much of herself.

So she stood. In front of him. Shielding him from the soldiers that had caught up with them. Her friend told her to run. To leave them. To save herself. She didn’t.

The first soldier engaged her and she punched him. Remembering all those self-defense lessons from tiktok. They were bipedal and has almost the same structure as humans so she assumed they have similar anatomy. Her assumption proved true when the alien she punched in the throat gasped and flailed for air. Her confidence renewed she jumped to the next alien. She tore through them, using everything she has on her arsenal. Her hands, fingers, nails, feet, her teeth, and everything else that she has.

They were fragile. They were easy to destroy. She has cuts all over her body but she cannot feel pain right now. Her friend is looking around at the carnage she has brought with fear in their eyes. All the fight left her body when they looked at her with fear. She moved forward to reassure them that everything was going to be okay but the queen arrived.

She was holding a gun of a sort and she was pointing it at Sasha. She ran straight for the queen, her teeth barred, screaming at the top of her lungs.

The queen expecting her to run was thrown off guard when she slammed against her. Sasha rained punches on her captor. Blindly smashing and hitting. The sound of pounding of flesh and bones crunching filled the air. She did not stop until two arms wrapped around her and restrained her.

“…okay, it’s gonna be okay. It’s alright, you’re alright. You’re safe.” It was a familiar voice. She didn’t know whose voice. She can feel the strength leaving her body. She hasn’t slept in two days.

“Alien… friend… safe..?” she asked, slowly losing her consciousness.

“Yes, your alien fiend is safe.” He sounds like he’s smiling.

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are insane #humans are deathworlders #humans are adorable #earth is a deathworld #earth is space australia #aliens #alien #alien friend #friendship #violence kinda #gen Z #i dont fucking know aymore

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pillar--of--salt · 4 years

Note

18! There's so many good ones in there it was hard to choose.

18. “Would you quit moving around?” “It’s not my fault we’re tied up together!”

///

There was going to be an all-out war.

A whole world war, with the US and China on one side and... someone else on the other side. She wasn’t sure yet who. But once she found out, that person or persons or state actor was going to be in for a world of—

“Would you quit moving around?!”

“It’s not my fault we’re tied up together!” Elizabeth hissed. Petulantly, she twisted her body again. The rope was tight against her midsection, and held her ramrod-straight against the wooden chair with her arms pinned down to her sides. She was bound back-to-back to a second chair, in which sat a second person in what she imagined was a similar position. The rope ran around them both and when she moved, it pulled tight around him; when he moved, it pulled tight around her.

Out of a slight sense of desperation, she began to rock her body side to side, trying to loosen something or move something or break something. With a bigger shift of her weight, one of the chair legs lifted from the ground and rocked dangerously, threatening to send them both toppling sideways.

At her back, she felt as Ming Chen flailed a little, trying to reset his balance and keep them upright.

“Do you have a plan here, Elizabeth?” he snapped.

“Oh, I think I am the last person you want to be snapping at right now,” she said darkly. “And I don’t see you coming up with any brilliant solutions to get us out of this mess.”

“I would have thought these solutions were part of your CIA training.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“That seems like an oversight now, doesn’t it?”

“Analysts aren’t exactly in danger of being taken hostage, Ming,” she muttered. She twisted again.

“I thought we weren’t, either.” He sounded about as pissed off as Elizabeth felt. “Two heads of state. From nations that both carry nuclear launch codes. Who does that?”

Idiots, that’s who.

Chen let loose a flurry of Mandarin that Elizabeth knew could only be profanity. She didn’t speak Mandarin but she felt like she truly understood the gist of whatever he was saying.

China was probably going to start a nuclear war after this.

Hell, Elizabeth was probably going to start a nuclear war after this.

Once he had calmed down again, Ming said slowly, “I have a folding knife in my pocket.”

That got Elizabeth’s attention. “Did they not search us before they tied us up?” she said in surprise.

“It seems we’ve been snatched by idiots.”

“Okay.” She was thinking. “Okay.”

“I can’t get to it. But if we…” He sighed. “If we tip over onto my left side, your right side... it might give me the room I need to reach it.”

Elizabeth nodded, though she was already dreading how much that was going to hurt and how sore she would be tomorrow. “Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

“Remind me to call my chiropractor tomorrow,” he muttered. They began to rock their weight side to side.

It only took a few tries before they were crashing to the ground.

God, the indignity.

Elizabeth grunted as her shoulder absorbed the brunt of their fall, taking her weight and Ming’s and lancing pain all the way down her arm. It stole her air for a moment.

Once she could breathe again, she seethed, “This is the stupidest thing that has ever happened to me.”

Ming was cursing again. In English this time—using words she had never heard him say before.

“Can you move?” she asked him.

He wriggled around, shifting and scrabbling. After a moment, he made a noise that signaled relief. “Got it,” he said. She heard a metallic flick as he pulled the knife open. A slight fumble, and then the sound of the blade biting through the fibers of the rope, sliding back and forth.

Elizabeth held herself carefully still so that he wouldn’t accidentally nick or gut her. Suddenly, she felt all of the rope go slack. She rolled over, scrambling to her knees, and then Ming was standing in front of her and holding out a hand to help her up.

“Thanks.”

“Nothing dislocated or broken?”

She rolled her shoulders carefully. There was pain, but mostly just a blunt ache. Nothing debilitating or sharp or particularly worrisome. “No, I don’t think so. You?”

“I don’t think so.” He bent down to pick up his knife, fold it, and slip it in his pocket again. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s figure out how to get out of here. We have a war to start.”

#ty for the prompt!#god i hope you like it lmao #madam secretary #elizabeth mccord #fanfic #drabbles

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pappydaddy · 5 years

Text

Say It (Three Words pt.2) (s.h)

a/n: gosh! i wrote this so long ago, look at baby pappydaddy’s first ever imagine! so much has changed since i posted this, it’s kinda crazy to look back upon this. anyway, i am here to say that i am going to revamp this fic! i’ll rewrite it eventually, but for right now, i am making it look somewhat like my newer fics!

and yes, i reused the a/n from part one since now, i would have just made this one part instead of two😅!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

not requested

tv show/movie: stranger things

warnings: angst, just basic relationship things.

part i | part ii - you are here!

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

- not my gif -

The entire drive over to the Henderson residence, where this weeks movie night was being held, was filled with Robin talking endlessly about the plan she concocted to give Steve the perfect time to tell y/n he loved her. Robin was excited, her hands moving wildly in the air as she talked, too busy to look at Steve as he drove. While Robin couldn’t help but feel excited, Steve couldn’t help but feel like he was driving to his death - his own personal Dooms Day. With each passing second the tires of his maroon BMW rolled closer to Dustin’s house, he feel the pending doom looming over him more and more, like an ugly black coated monster.

“This is going to be perfect, as long as you don’t mess it up,” Robin spoke through an exhale, her hands falling to rest on her jean clad thighs. Steve hummed, not really listening to what she was saying. He was too caught up in the fact that in a matter of one minute, he could wreck his relationship. Robin finally looked over at him, shooting him a glare as he turned onto Dustin’s street. “You have to do it tonight, Steve. Just do it and whatever happens happens, you two are both adults, you can talk about it if it doesn’t go perfectly.” She reminded him.

“Yeah, you’re right, we can talk about what happens next if she isn’t ready yet. That’s an option. Or we could break-up and I could die.” He spun out, slowing his speed down to make the drive last longer, not wanting to pull into the Henderson’s driveway just yet. He wanted to prolong the drive as long as he can, wanting to think out every scenario, especially the one where she says she doesn’t love him and Steve’s heart is ripped out of his chest and stomped on once again.

“You’re not going to die, y/n loves you - even if she’s not ready to say it yet, sh does,” Robin told him honestly. “Besides, the worst thing that could happen is she says she’s not ready, doesn’t mean you will break up.” Robin felt like a broken record at this point, but she knew she had to keep saying it in order for it to get through Steve’s thick head.

“No, the worst thing that could happen is that I die because she thinks I’m creepy.” Steve told her. Robin groaned loudly, slamming her head back against the headrest, her eyes squeezed shut in annoyance. She had him convinced in the store that she wasn’t going to say no, but the second they started to drive, he was right back to thinking she was going to shatter his heart.

“I am this close to punching you out and telling her you love her myself, Harrington,” Robin seethed, lifting her head. Steve slowed down even more, the Henderson's driveway only a lawn away. “Turn into the damn driveway and get in there, take y/n into your arms, tell her you love her and kiss her. Stop overthinking, just do it.” Robin basically yelled at her best friend, clearly frustrated with him.

“But-” He started, finally pulling into the driveway, parking the car.

“I swear to god, Harrington,” She threatened him, gritting her teeth as she gave him a wild look. Steve looked at her with wide eyes, slowly turning the car off and pulling the keys out of the ignition as if any sudden movements would set her off like an attack dog. “It’s almost like you want to be scared of love your whole life. Can’t you admit that one tiny little part of you wants to feel love again and doesn’t want to shy away from love? You love her and nothing is going to change that,” She took a deep breath, her voice becoming compassionate. “I know you’re scared, but no matter what you do at this point, you might end up getting hurt; if you don’t tell her you love her, she will never know and your relationship will end eventually and she will move on while you kick yourself for not telling her it soon enough.”

“You know, that’s not really helping, Robin.” Steve shot back, opening his door, the cold night air rushing into the car.

“Steve Harrington, you were scared shitless when we were held hostage in a Russian base, but you didn’t let it stop you from trying to get out even with you knowing that we could die if we were caught, this is practically the same thing,” Robin pointed out, giving Steve tough love now. “We were damned if we did and damned if we didn’t, but we did try and escape and we are still up and walking - free from the Russians,” She paused, her eyes pouring into Steve, her tone dropping. “You are feeling the same way now, damned if you do and damned if you don’t, but from someone seeing everything from outside your relationship, you’re completely damned if you don’t.”

“You’re right, I am damned if it don’t say it,” Steve breathed out. Robin could have cheered out in celebration. He finally was back on track. “I would be even more of an idiot if I don’t say it.”

“Hard to argue with that logic,” Robin chirped, opening her car door and sliding out into the cold air, slamming it while Steve just stared at the Henderson’s front door. “Let’s get a move on Romeo, before you start overthinking again.” Robin walked around to his open door, yanking on his arm to get out. He complied, unbuckling his seat belt, forcing himself not to think about it. Mentally pumping himself up, playing positive affirmations over and over again as he followed Robin to the front door. He tried to smother the looming monster manifestation of his fear, taking deep breaths.

“I can’t believe you put butter on this! Popcorn seasoning is better!” Lucas’ shout greeted them as soon as Robin pushed the front door open. They shared a look, kicking their shoes off and shrugging out of their jackets.

“Butter is better, that’s what you always get at the movies - a large popcorn with extra butter, why is this any different?” Mike shouted back. Robin and Steve rounded the corner into the living room, seeing Mike and Lucas standing there, Mike holding a large bowl of freshly popped popcorn in his hands.

“Because I want popcorn seasoning, not butter and this isn’t movie theater popcorn, dumbass!” Lucas shot back, pointing to the popcorn. Max and Dustin just start on the couch, watching the fight, not saying anything. Steve looked around for y/n, but his search of the living room came up short.

“You’re the dumbass! Popcorn is popcorn!” Mike argued, shoving the bowl towards Lucas who pushed it back, a few pieces spilling out of the bowl at the forcefulness of the push.

“Hey! Don’t spill buttered popcorn all over the floor, my mom will kill me, Dipshits!” Dustin yelled, interjecting himself into the kerfuffle. Just like an angel, y/n rushed into the hallway from the kitchen, a second bowl of popcorn in her hands. She smiled, seeing Steve and Robin standing in the doorway to the living room as she slipped by them, holding the bowl out to Lucas.

“There, freshly popped popcorn with popcorn seasoning, now you two can stop fighting. Mike, sit at that end of the couch, Lucas, on that end,” She instructed, pointing to opposite ends of the couch. “Whoever wants to eat buttered popcorn, sit by Mike, whoever wants to eat seasoned popcorn, sit by Lucas. Everything is settled.” She breathed out a sigh, her hands coming to rest on her hips as she turned to Steve and Robin.

“Why don’t you go get some fresh air, y/n, I will take care of things in here.” Robin suggested, taking y/n by her shoulders and directing her towards the front door. Y/n went along willingly, slipping her shoes on once Robin let go of her shoulders. Behind y/n’s back, Robin sent a warning glare towards Steve, nudging her head in her direction, telling him to go with her.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, thanks Robin.” Y/n announced, sliding her coat over her as she opened the door, slipping out it.

“Take your time! No rush,” Robin told her, glaring at Steve as he shook his head wildly, panic building back up in him. Robin pointed to the door, her eyes narrowing as it closed behind y/n. “Get out there and say it!” She hissed.

“Shouldn’t I just give a like a minute to chill-”

“Harrington, if you miss this opportunity I am hauling your ass into the psych ward to have your head examined. Just remember what we talked about in the car and you will be fine.” Robin cut him off abruptly, her frustration showing. Steve blinked, shocked by her outburst. He nodded, his mind set on his mission.

“Okay, yeah, just- don’t lose your mind.” He muttered, brushing past Robin who watched him slip his shoes back on, walking out without his jacket. He took a deep breath, twisting the door handle and stepping into the night. The cold breeze made him shiver slightly, but he pushed through it as he gently closed the door behind him, his heart racing. His mind batted away the negative thoughts that kept trying to slip in and ruin his confidence, but everything melted away when his eyes landed on y/n leaning against the side of the house by the door.

“Hey, Steve! I haven’t talked to you all day, I missed you,” She smiled up at him, not noticing how he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he slowly walked towards her, swallowing thickly. “What’s up?” She furrowed her brows, her heart jumping in fear at his nervous facial expression, her mind automatically thinking the worst.

“I, uh,” He started, jamming one hand in his jean pocket, the other one clasping the back of his neck, rubbing it. He cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to his feet. Taking another deep breath, he gathered his courage. “I just wanted to talk to you about something.” He told her, looking back up at her, their eyes connecting.

“Sure, what is it, babe,” She asked, her hand coming out to rest on his arm gently, her eyes soft, showing him that he could say anything. He swallowed once again, nerves bubbling up in his chest. She was so sweet and caring, Steve had to question what twist of fate allowed her to even think about going on a date with him, let alone loving him. “Whatever it is, just say it and we can go from there.” She told him. Her mind raced, thinking he wanted to break up with her. She started to question how she was going to explain to the kids why she had to leave once Steve broke up with her. How she was going to hold it together long enough to leave with at least a sliver of her dignity.

“I’m just going to say it,” He mumbled to himself, almost as if to push himself to do it. “Just say it, Steve,” He repeated, taking deep breaths, making y/n even more nervous. “Just,” He paused, pulling his hands in front of him and pushed them forward as if it would help him say the words. “Say it.”

“Steve, if you don’t say it, we aren’t going to be able to talk about it-”

“I love you,” He blurted out, his eyes closed as he waited for her response. Y/n filtered in her step closer to him, not expecting him to say that. She was expecting for him to tell her he wanted to break up, not that he loved her. Her heart felt like it was floating, trying to rise up to the clouds drifting in the night sky. Drift into the sparkling stars, to float around the planets of the universe. Steve pried his eyes open at her silence, taking in her shocked expression. “And you don’t feel the same, I am so stupid! I told Robin that this was going to go bad, but she insisted that you loved me too-”

“I do,” y/n finally spoke, her voice firm. Her eyes looked into Steve confused ones. His mouth opened to ask her what she meant, but she beat him to it. “I love you,” She clarified, stepping even closer to his body, her arms snaking around his torso, pressing her body against his. “I was shocked because I thought you wanted to break up with me, that’s why I didn’t say it back right away.” She told him, nuzzling her cheek into his chest as his arms wrapped around her, swaying them back and forth gently.

“Why would I ever break up with you? You’re amazing.” Steve questioned, wondering how she would ever think he wanted to break up with someone as perfect as her. She shrugged, pulling her face away from his chest to look up at him.

“I dunno, I just thought you were acting weird and then when you came out here looking nervous and not wanting to say something, I automatically thought you were breaking up with me,” She confessed, stepping back so she could look at him better. All the tension and stress in his body was gone, his normal goofy smile on his lips, his body relaxed. “But I’m glad you said you loved me.” She smiled up at him, rolling onto her toes to press a kiss to his chin.

“I’m glad I said it too.” He agreed, dipping his head down to press a long, lingering kiss to her lips.

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagines #stranger things #fluff #angst #love #imagine #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #robin buckley #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #steve harrington x y/n

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tefanfics · 4 years

Text

Anonymous requested:

Request idea! Reader is friends with Taron and has feelings for him. Taron only sees reader as a friend, genuinely friends. Reader tells him how she feels and Taron has to break it to her he doesn't feel the same. They still are friends because they still care about each other. Reader helps Taron thru breakups and what not. Then on a set of one of his films, reader is there to support him cuz she's his bff. She still loves him and gets upset at a love scene. She sees the love scene and T confronts her about it. She tells him she still loves him after all this time and he tells her he feels the same. He started realizing how much he appreciated her after she told him the first time and grew feelings over the years❤️ sorry this is so long

I really love this idea. I debated first person but... We’re going a little more third person than usual so hopefully you still love it, Anon!

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

Y/N sat with one leg crossed over the other, her elbow on the table with her cheek resting in her palm. She sighed as she watched him. He sat across the table with a script open, murmuring his lines.

“So you’re cool with running lines?” Taron asked without looking up. Y/N gave no response. Instead she stayed in la-la land, her mind running wild. “Earth to Y/N!”

“Huh? What?” She perked up, dropping her hand to her lap.

“Lines?”

“Yeah, sure,” she answered, smiling a little.

“Move your chair over here then,” Taron said as he gestured to the spot beside him. Y/N obliged and moved around the table. They shared the script, reading off lines. Normally Taron didn’t show his scripts but he knew how trustworthy Y/N was. She’d never given up any of his secrets in all of the years they had been friends.

When they were content with the work they had done, Taron packed his stuff and stood up.

“Thanks for your help. I’ve got to go meet my other half,” he said with a sheepish grin.

Y/N gulped and nodded, trying to hide her true emotions. “Yeah, no problem. See got later, T.” She waited until Taron was out of ear shot before letting out the heavy sigh that had filled her chest. She gathered her things and made her way out of the coffee shop they had met at.

She wanted nothing more than to tell Taron how she felt- how she really felt. She’d had feelings for him for a long time now but between Taron’s job and the occasional relationship, Y/N couldn’t convince herself that any time was the right time to lay that truth on him.

—-

That night, Y/N sat in her apartment with her phone at her side. She tried to focus on whatever show she had put on while she ate but nothing held her attention. She found herself checking for messages, though none came from the person she hoped for.

“A watched pot never boils, Y/N,” Nicole, Y/N’s roommate, spoke up as she left the kitchen.

Y/N rolled her eyes before giving a defeated nod. “Yeah I know.”

“Isn’t he with his girlfriend tonight?”

“Yup. Thanks for that reminder.” Y/N sighed and sank further into the plush couch.

“You need to move on. I know you two are friends, but, hun, that’s probably all it’ll ever be.” Nicole was careful with her words, treading lightly. She didn’t want to hurt Y/N but she was tired of seeing her friend hurt and long for someone who didn’t seem to reciprocate those feelings.

“Yeah, I know,” Y/N mumbled.

Nicole flashed her a knowing look before disappearing to her bedroom for the evening. Y/N tried even harder to focus on the TV now. She laid down and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over her legs. She pulled the pillow close and tucked it under her head. She started to drift off to sleep but was pulled from it by a knock on the door.

Y/N grabbed her phone and checked the time, realizing just how late it had gotten. She stood up and approached the door, looking through the peephole.

“What the...?” She muttered as she unlocked the door. “T, what are you doing here?”

Taron stood outside of the apartment. His shoulders were slumped and his expression was sadder than Y/N had seen in a long time. His eyes were red and he looked absolutely defeated.

“Get in here,” she said as she took his hand, pulling him inside. She shut the door and locked it again before leading them to the couch. “What’s going on?”

“She dumped me,” Taron sighed. “I thought it was supposed to be a nice date but nope. I went to pick her up and she just called things off.” He covered his eyes and groaned, falling back against the couch.

“Oh no,” Y/N said quietly. “I-I’m sorry to hear that, Taron.” She hated seeing Taron this way, so sad and down on his luck. But she couldn’t help the tiny, inkling of a feeling that was happy that he was no longer with his girlfriend. Even if it made her selfish. “What can I do to help?”

Taron shrugged, letting his hands fall down beside him on the couch. “You can tell me what’s wrong with me that made her want to call it quits.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Don’t even start,” Y/N argued. “You’re smart and funny. Really talented. You can sing! Like really well! You’re so boisterous and fun. You always make me smile, T. You’re caring and genuine.” She stopped herself, knowing that she could’ve listed another twenty things easily if she had allowed it. “None of those things are bad things.”

Taron stayed quiet as he listened to Y/N. Every few words a little smile would try to fight its way on to his face. “Thanks,” he finally said. He sat up and looked at Y/N. “Sounds like you’ve had that list prepared for a while.”

Y/N let out an awkward laugh. Her cheeks turned red as she sat there. “Jus-Just being truthful, T. That’s all.”

“You sure about that?” Maybe he was joking, maybe he wasn’t. Taron had always had a small suspicion that maybe Y/N felt more than their friendship but he had never pushed it or pried.

Y/N sighed and looked away, her hands folded in her lap. “No,” she said quietly. “I know this isn’t the best time but I- Taron, I’ve always kept it inside. I do have feelings for you but I love our friendship too much to risk anything. Plus you just got out a relationship and I-“

“Please don’t,” Taron said a little too quickly. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t feel the same. You’re my friend. That’s all it’s ever been for me... I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have come here. I- I better go.” He jumped up and started for the door. “I’ll talk to you later.” With that, he disappeared out the door.

Y/N sat frozen on the sofa. The lump in her throat grew larger as tears began to well in her eyes. She forced herself up to lock the door before falling into the sofa again. She covered herself with the blanket as the tears began to fall. She stifled her sobs and ignored her phone as it buzzed beside her. It wasn’t long before she fell asleep.

—-

Months had passed and while it had been awkward at first , Y/N and Taron had managed to get back to normal. Taron was working on sat now for the movie that he had been running lines with Y/N for.

Today was a lucky day because Y/N was allowed to come on set and see some of the behind the scenes stuff. Taron passed her off to one of the assistants on set so he could go through costumes and get ready for his scene.

Y/N followed the assistant around, taking in what she could. She always loved visiting Taron on set. Each movie was so different that it always made for a completely different experience. Eventually they found their way back to where the scene was going to be shot.

Y/N stood off to the side as she watched the actors take their places. The director yelled action and things began to fall into place. The scene was taking place on a balcony covered in plants with a little cement bench.

Taron walked onto the balcony and sat down on the bench. He pulled a phone from his pocket and sighed as he started to play on it. A few seconds later, a woman came practically flying into the balcony. She was grinned and beaded in sweat, laughter escaping from her.

She spun around, stopping immediately as her eyes landed on Taron. “Hey, what’re you doing out here?” She asked, still grinning.

“Needed a breather,” he answered with a little shrug. “Got kinda hot.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” the woman laughed. “I tried to leave the dance floor like ten minutes ago but Nat was holding me hostage.”

Taron chuckled, standing up and walking to the edge of the balcony. He rested his forearms on the metal railing. “You’re lucky you escaped.”

The woman nodded and took the spot next to Taron, standing almost too close to him.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably as she watched the two. They began to flirt, though still acting. It was cute and innocent, both of them now carefully leaning on the railing and facing one another. But the innocence ran its course until the woman playfully grabbed the collar of Taron’s shirt and pulled him close, pressing a hot and heavy kiss to him.

Y/N looked away immediately. No matter how hard she tried, there was still a pang of jealousy that rang through her body. She had gone so long without her feelings rising up. She knew she was watching Taron and this woman act but there was something about it that still felt like a punch to the gut.

She turned and began to walk away. She bumped into someone on her way out, blurting out a loud apology. She was almost back to her car when she heard her name. She hesitated before stopping, her keys still dangling in her hands.

“What was that?” Taron called, jogging to catch up with.

Her shoulders shuddered as she stood there, trying to keep herself composed. “That was me leaving,” she answered, a cool tone to her voice.

“Yeah, I gathered that. You just barged out in the middle of the scene. Thank god it was the end of the take. The director things we can still use it.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to?” Y/N held her breath. She refused to turn around, to look at him. She knew she’d lose it all together.

“Because you just took off, Y/N. Is something wrong?” Y/N could hear the concern in Taron’s voice. She frowned, knowing that she couldn’t tell him what was really going on. “You know you can talk to me. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

Y/N nodded a little as she started to turn. She still couldn’t quite bring herself to look at Taron.

“I’m your- your friend,” Taron managed. There was something about the way he said friend that rang in Y/N’s ears but she couldn’t place it. Taron began to move, stepping in front of her. He put his hands on either of her arms with a gentle grip. “Something is bothering you. Please talk to me.”

Y/N shook her head. She did all that she could to avoid Taron’s gaze but finally she caved. With tears brimmed in her eyes, she met his. “I know it was just acting, T, but I just...” She sighed as she mulled over the words. She knew as soon as she said them, things would change permanently this time. “My feelings never changed, Taron. I still love you. I still feel the same as I did a few months ago when I told you. I didn’t want to say anything because our friendship is so damn important to me but I can’t... I can’t keep it in, T. It’s killing me.” She reached up and wiped the wet streams that had appeared on her cheeks. “And I know you already told me you don’t feel the same and I’ll just have to-”

As Taron listened, he felt his heart sink into his stomach. He hadn’t realized just how much this had been eating at Y/N. Guilt started to sink in. But when she brought up his feelings from the last time, Taron shook his head quickly. “No, Y/N, no,” he interjected. “That... I was stupid and in denial.” He sighed and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. “When I came to see you that night, I wanted to tell you what happened between me and my ex. She ended it because she thought I had feelings for you. I told her, and myself, that I didn’t because it was easier to prove her wrong. Everything you do for me, all the ways you’ve been there for me? How could I not feel the same?” He sighed and shut his eyes as he took a deep breath. “Y/N, I’m sorry I hurt you the way I did.”

Y/N froze in his arms. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in everything that Taron had said. Was he admitting what she thought he was? Carefully she pulled herself away from him, meeting his gaze again. “What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying is I should’ve just told you that I love you too.”

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remywrites5 · 5 years

Note

Oh I love all of your drabbles and always go through your feed to make sure I didn’t miss any! Could I get a meet-ugly for wolfstar? Like something goes horribly wrong but it makes them meet and laugh?

Remus was sitting in the chairs by his terminal waiting for his plane. He’d finally snagged a spot near an outlet so that he could charge his phone. He had passed out the night before without charging it and was just lucky he’d remembered to set his alarm or else he might have missed his flight. The term was over and Remus was on his way back to Wales for the Christmas Holiday to visit his parents. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing his dad, as he’d gotten enough chilly silences for a lifetime, but his mum would kill him if he elected to stay in London for Christmas.

He had already scrolled through all the usual social media apps and watched a few Youtube videos. With nothing better to do, Remus opened Tinder with usual amount of trepidation. Lily had forced him to sign up for the app, claiming it wasn’t as bad as he thought. It had led to a few awkward dates that usually resulted in Remus getting ghosted, and a few even more awkward one night stands that also led to Remus being ghosted. His track record wasn’t the best.

He was scrolling through, trying to remind him of what Lily had said. “Not everyone is going to have your same interests, Remus. You have to give people a chance.” Remus thought he had given quite a few people a chance and that hadn’t exactly worked out for him. No matter how much he tried he couldn’t swipe right on someone whose entire profile was pictures of them at the gym.

His finger hesitated over a picture of someone who absolutely couldn’t be real. He had long, dark hair that fell well past his shoulders and grey eyes that Remus thought must have been either contact lenses or photoshopped. High cheekbones and sinful lips the man looked like a model. Remus was not about to get catfished by a picture that was probably of someone famous that he just didn’t recognize. Besides, what kind of a name was Sirius anyway? It was obviously fake.

He swiped left. Not today, Satan.

“Hard pass on that guy, huh?” Someone said from above Remus. “Ouch.”

Remus glanced up and the first thing he noticed were grey eyes. He felt his own eyes widen in surprise as he took in the rest of the guy standing in front of him. It was the guy he had just swiped left on. Here, in the flesh, very much real. “Oh my god,” he said, feeling a blush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks.

“I’ll try not to take it too personally,” the guy said, sitting down across from Remus and crossing his legs.

“I-I didn’t – “ Remus said, tripping over his words from his absolute mortification. “I-I thought…”

“It’s okay,” Sirius said, realizing quickly that Remus was struggling and letting him off the hook. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I thought you weren’t real!” Remus said, finally able to get the words out and saying them a bit louder than he’d originally intended.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m just that stunning, huh?” he joked, sliding an elastic off his wrist and putting his hair up into a messy bun.

Remus swallowed thickly. “You have to be careful with stuff like this,” Remus explained, pretending that seeing Sirius’ hair up like that wasn’t doing things to him. “You see a Tinder profile with a name like Sirius and the picture looks like you…it doesn’t seem all that realistic, does it?”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Okay, I’ll give you the name, it’s been a pain in the arse my entire life.”

Remus found himself leaning forward in Sirius’ direction. “Mine’s not much better,” he assured Sirius with a knowing grin. “Remus Lupin.”

Sirius grabbed his bag and moved, sliding into the seat next to Remus. “Nice to meet you, Remus Lupin. I’ll have to remember the name so I can tell my mates all about the guy who broke my heart at the airport.”

Remus ducked his head down. “I don’t think it’s anything as serious as that.”

“Oh you wound me,” Sirius said, clutching at his chest. “So what’s your chat up line on Tinder? Anything good?”

“I usually say hi my name is Remus.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “No wonder you’re still on there.”

“Well what’s yours then?” Remus challenged, bumping his shoulder against Sirius’ lightly.

“Usually something like call me Jaffa cake because I’m looking like a snack!”

Remus burst out laughing. “I can see why you’re still on there too.”

Sirius smirked. “Call me biscuit because I wanna be filled with your custard crème.”

Remus laughed even harder, doubling over and clutching his sides. “Oh god, I can’t breathe!”

Sirius laughed with him, Remus’ mirth spurring him on until neither of them could stop laughing. By the time Remus calmed down he had tears in his eyes that he quickly wiped away.

“You’re mental,” he informed Sirius, shaking his head.

Sirius slung his arm around Remus’ shoulders and pulled him in close as if they were about the share a secret. “It runs in my family,” he said, whispering against Remus’’ ear and making Remus shiver. “In fact it practically gallops.”

Remus turned his head slightly and looked into Sirius’ impossible grey eyes. “Okay Cary Grant,’ he teased, recognizing the Arsenic and Old Lace reference.

Sirius’ eyes lit up when Remus called him out. “Fuck, it’s a real shame you passed on me. I think we would have been good together.”

Remus bit his bottom lip nervously. “Maybe considering we’ve met in real life, we could skip the whole talking on Tinder thing and go right to having each other’s numbers?”

Sirius considered it for a moment. “You’re not going to give me a fake number, are you?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Remus insisted. “Besides, I’m the one who initiated it. Why would I do that if I was just going to give you a fake number?”

Sirius hummed. “Good point. Although I’m already so wounded by you it’s difficult to think rationally!”

They swapped mobiles and Remus programmed his number into Sirius’ phone before handing it back to him. “Really?” he said, seeing what Sirius had put in his phone. “You labeled yourself as Sex God Sirius Black?”

Sirius shrugged. “Oh ye of little faith.”

Remus blushed. “I’m changing it the first chance I get.”

“No!” Sirius said indignantly. “You’re going to deny my claim as a deity? That’s very rude, Remus.”

They called for Remus’ flight to start boarding and Remus found himself disappointed that he couldn’t continue talking with Sirius. At least there was the promise of more conversations to come.

Remus laughed and got to his feet. “Fine, I’ll keep it. But it’ll be under review after the first time we shag.”

Sirius’ jaw dropped. “Remus! Now you’ve put quite a bit of pressure on me for our first time together.”

Remus grinned and bent down so he was mere inches away from Sirius’ face. With a courage he didn’t know he had, he just barely brushed his lips against Sirius’ and enjoyed the little inhale of breath he got in response. “You put the pressure on yourself by programming that as your name in my phone. I’ll have expectations now.”

Sirius rose to the challenge Remus had set down. He grabbed Remus by the front of his jumper and kissed him fiercely. Remus put his hands on Sirius’ shoulders to steady himself as they snogged in the airport. When he finally pulled back, he was breathless with kiss-swollen lips. “I have to go,” he said softly.

“Don’t go to Wales,” Sirius begged, tugging lightly at Remus’ jumper. “Wales is rubbish. Stay here with me.”

Remus chuckled. “What are you even doing here then if you’re staying in London?”

“I’m going to Paris for the week to visit my uncle Alfie,” Sirius explained, pressing kisses along Remus’ jawline.

“Then you’re not staying here either,” Remus reminded him in amusement. “Unless you’re offering to whisk me away to Paris.”

“Now there’s an idea.”

“Sirius, no,” Remus said, laughing softly. “Absolutely mental.”

“Fine,” Sirius said, pressing a kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth, “I’ll let you go if you promise to be back for New Years and be my date.”

“So now I’m to be held hostage, is that it?” Remus joked, nipping playfully at Sirius’ bottom lip.

Sirius balked. “No, I just – “

Remus silenced him with a kiss. “Yes, I’ll be your date for New Years. Now will you let me board the plane, please?”

“Fine,” Sirius said, releasing his jumper. “Text me?”

“I will,” Remus promised, straightening up and fixing his jumper where it had gotten a bit rumpled from Sirius holding it. He grabbed his bag before getting in the queue to get on the plane. He gave Sirius a smile and a little wave before he disappeared through the door.

He had just found his seat when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and smiled at the name on the notification.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’d like to put an unexpected item in your bagging area.

Remus chuckled and shook his head.

Remus Lupin: Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. I rescind my offer to be your date on New Years.

Sex God Sirius Black: NOOOOOOOO

Remus Lupin: Also an unexpected item makes it sound kind of rapey.

Sex God Sirius Black: It’s unexpected because of how large it is.

Remus Lupin: They all say that.

Sex God Sirius Black: Haven’t you learned not to doubt me?

Remus Lupin: I think you have a tendency to over-exaggerate.

Sex God Sirius Black: Me? Never!

Remus Lupin: Plane is about to take off. Talk to you later. Plonker.

Remus arrived in Wales less than an hour later. When he got off the plane, his mum was waiting for him and pulled him into a big hug. His dad was nowhere to be found but that suited Remus just fine. He was in the middle of hugging his mum when his phone went crazy with notifications buzzing.

“My, aren’t you popular!” Hope said with a grin.

Remus pulled his phone out. He had fifty-five text messages from Sirius. Shaking his head, he followed his mum out to the car and read them on the way home in between answering questions from his mum.

Sex God Sirius Black: I miss you already.

Sex God Sirius Black: Come back I want more kissing.

Sex God Sirius Black: Fuck, my flight is delayed three hours.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’m bored! Come back!

Sex God Sirius Black: This is a real injustice, Remus. I’ll never forgive you for abandoning me in my hour of need.

Sex God Sirius Black: Just kidding I forgive you.

Sex God Sirius Black: Do you want to get coffee because I like you a latte.

Sex God Sirius Black: Is that one better? More your speed?

Sex God Sirius Black: Fuck this is intolerable.

Sex God Sirius Black: I realize now that I’ve sent you way too many messages and you’re going to be very worried about giving me your mobile number.

Sex God Sirius Black: GO BIG OR GO HOME!

Sex God Sirius Black: I wish you could respond. I like talking to you.

Sex God Sirius Black: How long does it take to get to Wales?! I could swim there faster than this!

Sex God Sirius Black: In case you were wondering, I swiped right on you.

Sex God Sirius Black: Because I’m not a HEARTLESS MONSTER.

Sex God Sirius Black: And I thought you were cute.

Sex God Sirius Black: Although I need to teach you how to take better selfies. You’re absolutely pants at it.

Sex God Sirius Black: The selfies will just be for me though. No more Tinder for you!

Sex God Sirius Black: Or at least I hope.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’m thinking about deleting it myself. Is that too fast? I wouldn’t want to put any more expectations on this than I already have.

Sex God Sirius Black: Bollocks.

Sex God Sirius Black: I deleted it. It’s not like I can’t download it again, right?

Sex God Sirius Black: You probably think I’m a crazy person.

Sex God Sirius Black: Not probably. You definitely think I’m a crazy person.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’ll stop now and leave you alone before I scare you off.

Sex God Sirius Black: Well that lasted all of ten minutes.

Sex God Sirius Black: I went and got a Pumpkin Spice Latte at Starbucks because my chat up line made me want one.

Sex God Sirius Black: Yes, I am 100% that bitch.

Sex God Sirius Black: I hope you don’t think less of me, Remus.

Sex God Sirius Black: Not sure how you could though.

Sex God Sirius Black: I think I’ve probably scared you off. I have a tendency to do that.

Sex God Sirius Black: Not that this kind of thing happens to me a lot.

Sex God Sirius Black: Fuck!

Sex God Sirius Black: Sorry. I’m freaking out a little bit.

Sex God Sirius Black: I like you.

Sex God Sirius Black: Why was it so acceptable for people to write love letters back in Jane Austen time to people they hardly knew but it’s weird if I bombard you with text messages after meeting once and a few snogs?

Sex God Sirius Black: Mr. Darcy wrote Elizabeth Bennett a letter and it was romantic as shit!

Sex God Sirius Black: Did I just make myself Mr. Darcy in this scenario?

Sex God Sirius Black: I feel like you’re much more a Mr. Darcy type than I am.

Sex God Sirius Black: and hey we met because of a misunderstanding!

Sex God Sirius Black: I don’t have a bunch of sisters though. Just a brother named Regulus. We don’t really talk.

Sex God Sirius Black: My Uncle Alfie is sick. Colon cancer. I don’t normally see him for Christmas and just spend it with my friend James.

Sex God Sirius Black: Reg wouldn’t even come with me to see Alfie even though it’s probably going to be his last Christmas.

Sex God Sirius Black: Doesn’t that fucking suck?

Sex God Sirius Black: I’m sure he has his reasons.

Sex God Sirius Black: I don’t really get on with my family.

Sex God Sirius Black: Fuck this is some heavy shit. You running for the hills yet? Blocking my number?

Sex God Sirius Black: Sorry. This isn’t what you signed up for.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’m a bit of a hot mess.

Sex God Sirius Black: Emphasis on the hot.

Sex God Sirius Black: Sorry. I couldn’t help it.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’ll leave you alone until you can actually respond to me.

Sex God Sirius Black: Just know it’ll be difficult for me.

Sex God Sirius Black: If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever.

Sex God Sirius Black: Okay, I’m really done now.

Remus read them all and then went back and read them again. He tried not to laugh out loud because he didn’t exactly want his mum asking him questions. He didn’t want to share the fact that he had snogged a stranger at the airport and then given him his number. He didn’t think his mum would approve.

Remus Lupin: Oh my god!

Sex God Sirius Black: Moony!

Remus Lupin: What?

Sex God Sirius Black: I was bored so I was thinking up a nickname for you.

Remus Lupin: And that was the best you could come up with?

Sex God Sirius Black: Don’t be mean. I was distraught without you!

Remus Lupin: Yes I can see that.

Sex God Sirius Black: Well you’re texting me so I hope that means I haven’t frightened you off.

Remus Lupin: I was slightly alarmed when my phone went crazy in my pocket. But you won me back with the Jane Austen. I do identify with Mr. Darcy because I too hate speaking to people I don’t know and unnecessary dancing.

Sex God Sirius Black: You spoke to me.

Remus Lupin: Rare exception.

Sex God Sirius Black: Aww that makes me feel special.

Remus Lupin You should.

Sex God Sirius Black: I do

Remus Lupin: I’m sorry about your Uncle. And your brother. And your family. That all really sucks.

Sex God Sirius Black: Thanks. I’ll go into my sordid tragic backstory some other time. But for now my plane is boarding so you get to suffer the way I did.

Remus Lupin: At least I’ll suffer silently.

Sex God Sirius Black: Rude!

Remus Lupin: Have a safe flight.

Sex God Sirius Black: We’ll always have Paris.

Remus Lupin: Here’s looking at you, kid.

***

Remus Lupin sat outside with Sirius on the front steps of Sirius’ flat that he shared with James. He was cold and a little bit tipsy, but happier than he could remember being in quite a long time. Their gloved fingers were intertwined as they waited for midnight and the fireworks to start.

They could hear people counting down but Remus’ world narrowed to just Sirius. His nose and cheeks pink from the cold, his head covered with a beanie he’d stolen off Remus. They’d texted continuously over the holiday and since they’d both returned to London, Remus’ life had been filled with Sirius. They fit, in a way Remus had never felt he did with anyone else. Sometimes it made his stomach twist painfully at the thought that now he had something to lose.

But Sirius kept coming back, greedy for Remus – his time and his attention – and it eased the anxiety Remus felt. He thought back to that day at the airport and how he had almost missed this. He’d never been so happy about a mistake before in his life. He wasn’t sure if matching with Sirius on Tinder would have had the same effect that meeting him in person had. But then again, the overwhelming force that was Sirius Black felt kind of inevitable. Maybe they would have ended up here regardless of which was Remus swiped.

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Sirius said at five seconds to Midnight.

“Hey, that’s my line,” Remus teased at three seconds to Midnight.

Smiling, they both leaned in towards each other, cold lips and warm mouths as they greeted the New Year together.

#wolfstar #I write things #anon prompt #long post #sirius black x remus lupin #flirting #kissing #tinder #texting fic

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inosaku-ask · 5 years

Text

Yo Ho! On the Beach I Spot a Siren

This was the life for her! The salty water spraying all over her, the churning of her great vessel against the thick and hard waves, the shouting her men giving out orders, and all of it complete with a swing of a hearty ale. Ino Yamanaka loved this life and she wished it would never end.

…well, that would change if she didn’t get away from the navy pursuing her for the successful robbery of the nearby port. She felt pretty calm about the whole thing, given that she decided to grab a pint of ale before giving her men the orders to make head towards their secret island once they escape or disable their pursuers. No need to kill, the entire crew already had gained a terribly high bounty as it is.

Captain Ino tossed her mug overboard, not really caring about pollution. It was the 17th century after all, nobody cared if you threw diseased hacked-off limbs or a entire corpse overboard. She rather drunkenly wandered over to a cannon and watched as her crew loaded it up. Ino reached into her coat’s pocket and pulled out a book of matches. She struck one alit and then threw it down onto the cannon’s wick. Her man ran off before the cannon jumped back from the recoil of the shot. The cannon flew into the portside of a navy ship, causing a minor explosion. Not enough to sink it right away, but enough for it to run off back home.

The men laughed the entire way to their private island, reflecting on their successful raid of the port and their easy victory over an navy vessel. Their beloved Captain downed some more whiskey before they landed, and took a entire bottom of the best stuff with her as she strolled alone on the beach. She swung the bottle back and forth as tried to sing a familiar shanty the best she could in her drunken stupor. Her voice was wobbly as was her movements and her alcohol-laded mind constantly made her forget the next verse in the song.

Something caught her eye. She paid no mind to it, Ino just thought it was one of those pink India Elephants she saw she really got hung over. But she couldn’t help but to stare at it. Well, a part of it was pink, but not entirely. Just the hair. The rest of the body appeared to be human…but the bottom…

…ye gods, a actual beautiful siren of the sea. On the beach, sun-bathing. Ino licked her lips, wondering if perhaps she was seeing a mirage. But no, mirages don’t reflect on the water’s surface. The thing looked real…so maybe it was real. The over-worldly voice did sound real to her…

Ino reached into her coat and felt some rope she placed in there some time ago. Matches and rope, the very things any great pirate should have on her at all times. One of the few things her mentor told her before she ran the traitor through with a enflamed sword. Ino dived over into a nearby bush and spied on the pink-haired mermaid for a bit to watch her movements. No way she wasn’t going to let this beauty escape.

With the mermaid’s back turned towards the land to gaze out to the sea, Ino left her hiding spot and approached slowly, making sure to not spook the creature. Right behind her back, Ino sprung upon the siren. The mermaid gasped and tried to swim away to the sea, but Ino dragged her in to dry land. Ino applied her weight down upon the beached siren and bought her arms together to bind them in thick rope. As much as the lady of the sea tried to struggle, the mighty pirate captain was able to bound her arms and keep away from the water’s edge.

“Oh my…” Ino exasperated as she watched her new siren pet growl at her. “Shall I call this my lucky day?”

“Perhaps it’s better if you call this your last day.” The siren grunted.

“I dunno why you didn’t recognize this place as a pirate’s fortress, mistress of Davy Jones.” Ino hiccupped. “We don’t fly flags up high to call attention to us, but I’m pretty sure someone like you would check to make sure you didn’t land on any civilized place…”

The mermaid’s response was to raise her tail up and smack Ino in the face. Being a strong swimmer to go against the intense weather of the region, the kick was enough to send Ino flying into a tree a few feet away. But unfortunately for the siren, Ino’s drunken state didn’t make her feel much pain, so the pirate captain was able to get up and quickly capture her prey again before the mermaid could return to the office.

“Now then!” Ino clapped her hands together after propping the mermaid against a far away tree and placing herself away from the range of the tail. “I believe we should get to know each other a bit better. My name is the…”

“Boar of the Sea?” The mermaid asked with a nasty smirk.

“No!” Ino shrilled with a rage-full expression. She calmed down and started again: “I’m the Feared Captain Ino Yamanaka. Feared because I can raid at any time and take whatever I want without remorse or without much trouble. And you are?” The siren went quiet but kept her gritting expression solid on her face. “Come on. This will be easier if you explained who you are.”

“…Sakura.” The mermaid admitted with a growl.

“Good!” Ino sat down and went quiet for a good long minute. Sakura stared at her captor in confusion. Ino finally spoke up: “…I’m not to sure how to go on from here.”

“Maybe?” Sakura grunted. “Let me go, you kidnapper?”

“Pirate.” Ino reminded.

“Pirates.” Sakura sighed and got comfortable on the tree. “You pirates pollute the ocean with your waste and gunpowder…”

“So does the navy.”

“Yeah, because they’re hunting your kind first!”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Ino finally admitted.

“Oh.” Sakura groaned, lifting up her tail to firmly remind Ino. Ino’s response was to start laughing like crazy at the stupid pun she inadvertently made. Being drunk, her laughter wouldn’t stop and just got wilder and wilder the more she rolled around in the sand. Sakura wanted to remain tight-lipped, but the endless guffaw caused her to start giggling. So, the two girls started to bawl their eyes out from pure and stupid joviality.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t hold ya captive.” Ino burped out. “Even as a greedy pirate, I know if you love something, you should let it go.”

“Love?” Sakura questioned.

“Yeah.” Ino shrugged as she dug out her dagger…the one she stole off her dead mentor’s burning body. “I mean, have you seen the standards of male pirates? Stinky, hairy, and to act as unappealing as possible. Good men, my men, but there’s a good reason why I don’t share a bed with them.”

“And you want to pursue a relationship with a creature known to drag men to their deaths?” Sakura pointed out, holding up her bound hands.

“Why not?” Ino giggled. “It’s something different! Besides, it’s not like the navy is going to send men out to hunt you down and hold you hostage. You could follow us around and we could…” Ino’s path of thought got cancelled by her brain asking to be shut down. Ino managed to undo the rope bonds before she collapsed onto the soft sand.

“Cap’n!” Called out a gruff voice followed by a very firm shake. Ino awoke with a great splitting headache and blurred vision. “Oh, she’s awake. Back to ye posts!”

“Oh.” Ino moaned. “I drank too much of that ale. Remind me to not get that bottle again…’tis too powerful to have around.”

The crewmate nodded in understanding and lifted his captain back onto her feet. Ino’s head reeled back in such a way she nearly barfed but managed to keep it in. As she was lead back to the ship, she couldn’t but think about Sakura…if she even existed in the first place. Ino was so drunk, she had lost track of time. So it’s possible she just imagined the whole thing…

…but then she noticed something sticking out of her coat pocket. She yanked out some bits of cut rope and a note written on soggy paper. And written on the paper: “I’ll be following you.”

Plastered on the note was a lock of pink hair.

#inosaku #sakura haruno #ino yamanaka #sakuino

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heartofsnark · 5 years

Text

The Brat’s Birthday (Tsuneko/Platonic Bidders)

Notes: October 27th is Tsuneko’s birthday, as such I’ve written a little one-shot type deal about her first birthday with the bidders. We’re kinda going on Voltage rules of yeah, it’s her birthday, no it doesn’t affect main plot and she’ll just turn 22 every year forever

Summary: It’s Tsuneko’s first birthday since she was sold at that auction, she doesn’t expect it to be any different than any of her other birthdays these past couple years. But, the bidders are never the type to meet her expectations.

Pairing: Tsuneko isn’t with anyone, it’s pretty platonic, but if you look you can see ship teases of Tsuneko/Eisuke and Tsuneko/Baba (They basically get the most love from her in this)

Word Count: 3124

Warnings: Cursing, hatred of Gudetama and....cake? It’s pretty much just fluff.

Cool autumn air fills Tsuneko’s lungs as she makes her way to employee housing, she stops off at her little mailbox in the lobby, it’s practically stuffed full. It’s all coupons and gift offers for her birthday, companies she uses often shoving discounts at her. It’s her birthday tomorrow, October 27th. There’s nothing from her dad, even though she made up an excuse for him to send things to her new address. He’s going to be late this year. She chuckles at the thought, she adores her dad, but he has the memory of a goldfish and always forgets her birthday. It’s either early or late every year. Her mom was the one who always had to keep him on track with dates.

“Hey, Tsuneko,” Sakiko suddenly speaks out and Tsuneko casually holds the mail to her chest, hiding what they are.

“Hey,” she doesn’t want to mention her birthday, but it might be nice to hang out on the day, “are you doing anything after work tomorrow?”

“Yeah, actually, I’m going to a mixer, gonna try to score myself a hottie.”

“Oh, do you know if Chisato is up to anything?”

“I’m pretty sure her and Itsuki are going out to a concert or something, guess it’s just gonna be you and Kiyo, sorry.”

“Eh, worst things have happened to better people.”

Their conversation ends, a small pang in Tsuneko’s chest, that she curses for existing. She has no right to be hurt, she’s spent most of her birthdays without anything or anyone. It’s stupid to act like a baby about it. Tsuneko spends her night cuddling with Kiyo and taking advantage of birthday coupons, maybe she’ll buy herself some cake tomorrow. She doesn’t need an excuse for cake, but she might as well take advantage since she has one.

Morning and her birthday arrive, nothing out of the usual. Until Kenzaki pulls her aside and asks her to skip the morning cleaning of the penthouse.

“Why?”

“The penthouse guests had a late night and would rather not be bothered until this evening.”

“Okay…”

She shakes her head, but goes on about her day, knowing those dumbasses they got shitfaced last night and are hung over. One less trip there just means less of a headache for her. Tsuneko gets to work; cleaning rooms, making bed, helping out guests, and every other mundane thing her job entails. Her customer service smile never dropping despite the childish ache in her heart.

It’s her own fault, she knows that. She never tells anyone her birthday, the only two people who know her birthday are her dad and Shinobu. A man with a terrible memory and a man that’s just plain terrible. But logically knowing something doesn’t stop the little pang she gets as the hours move on and on with nothing out of the ordinary.

Her pager buzzes in her pocket, oh god, now this shit.

“Penthouse, five minutes.”

“Stay out of the penthouse, rush up to the penthouse, make up your mind asshole!”

If he heard her bitching, he doesn’t dignify it with a response, and she starts her way up to the penthouse. Assuming she was right, and the dumbasses did binge drink or go nuts last night, she’s going to have her work cut out for her, cleaning it up. She can see the mess in her head already and a migraine is already building in her temples. Tsuneko makes it to the lounge and a little over five minutes, because fuck Ichinomiya.

“Happy birthday!”

Voices ring out along with loud pops, confetti and glitter spraying into Tsuneko’s face and hair. She blinks a few time, thankful no glitter found its way into her eyes yet. Baba and Kisaki have party poppers, there’s a banner up that says happy birthday, Tsuneko with a painting of a dog beside the text.

No.

Not from them, nope.

“Bye.” Tsuneko promptly turns around and tries to leave the penthouse, but Baba wraps his arms around her in a bear hug just to lift her up and spin her back around.

“We went through all this trouble and you’re trying to leave, that’s not even fair, Koro.”

“I didn’t see you doing anything,” Oh calls him out,

“I painted the banner, otherwise Baba would have covered it in hearts or some other garbage.”

“It’s okay, I plan on showing Tsuneko my love in other ways.”

“Like holding me hostage?” She glares up at him and he finally lets her go, she doesn’t run, clearly, they’re not letting this go.

“Take a seat, princess, you don’t need to lift a finger for the rest of the night.” She rolls her eyes, well aware that if it’s not tonight, then tomorrow she’ll be cleaning up glitter which is a nightmare in itself. Nonetheless, she plops herself into a chair.

“Ain’t kids supposed to be excited on their birthday, stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” she says with a pout.

“Happy birthday to you~ Happy Birthday to you~” Baba brings out a cake, candles alight on top of it as he sings.

“Baba, you’re the only one singing, it’s just sad.” She presses a hand to her face, hiding the small flush on her cheeks, it’s sweet, cringey but sweet.

“Blow out the candles, princess.”

She wishes to get out being owned by them, the only thing that pops into her head, and blows them out. It’d be nice if blowing out candles actually granted wishes.

“What did you wish for?” Kisaki asks her.

“To get as far away from you lot as possible.”

“Well, if you tell someone it won’t come true, so that’s great news for us,” Baba teases as he starts to cut out pieces of the cake, she rolls her eyes, “here made with love.”

“Gross.”

But she’s already taking a bite, despite his sappiness. She can’t help the noise of pleasure as she takes a bite, sweet vanilla cake and chocolate chip cookie dough flavors mingling on her tongue.

“Do you like it?” Baba’s grinning because he already knows the answer, little shit that he is.

“You’re really good at baking.”

“Well, the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

“Then you go and ruin it with that shit.”

“Can we drink now?” Kishi buts in, more concerned with how sober he is at the moment than being pleasant.

“I’ll get the drinks,” Baba says, it’s starting to feel like he’s the errand boy when she’s not around and guilt eats at her heart that she’s just sitting while he runs around.

“I can h-”

“Nope, you aren’t lifting a finger, Tsuneko.” She sighs, watching him play busy bee while the others relax with no concern.

“You guys are just using my birthday as an excuse to get drunk, aren’t you?”

“Took you long enough.”

She rolls her eyes as Baba comes back into the lounge, serving the other men booze while he puts a mug of what smells like Chai Latte in front of her. Tsuneko didn’t even need to tell him that she wouldn’t want to drink, he just knows. It’s either sweet or creepy, she’s not sure. She murmurs a thanks and takes a drink, before a question pops into her head.

“Does the Hatter know it’s my birthday?” She knows he rarely if ever leaves the tearoom, but she hates that he might be getting completely left out of the celebration.

Kisaki lets out a loud groan, annoyed by her even mentioning the Hatter. Then she sees Ichinomiya smirking.

“Told you,” the hotel owner says as Kisaki hands him money.

“I thought she could at least go a day without mentioning that freak.”

“This is why you don’t bet against Eisuke.”

“Look here, you-”

“I told Maddy about your party,” Baba cuts her off, “he didn’t want to leave Wonderland, but he got you a present and wanted you to have a late party with him tomorrow.”

“He got me a present?” She can’t help but smile, knowing the Hatter, it’s something weird but sweet.

“We all did, of course.”

“You did?” She can’t help her confusion, the party is one thing, Baba basically did everything, and they all got an excuse to drink. But, each of them getting her a gift seems like more effort than she expected.

“What kind of cheapskate, do you take me for?” Ichinomiya sneers and shoots her a look of pure offense; how dare she even imply he wouldn’t buy someone a birthday gift.

“Knowing Eisuke, you won’t want his gift,” Oh warns her.

“Oh god, I didn’t even think of you all getting me purposely awful gifts,” dread settles in her stomach, “I think it’s time for me to go.”

Baba puts a hand on her shoulder and doesn’t let her get up, she pouts. This is going to be awful, nothing but insulting or degrading gifts, save for Baba’s and the Hatter’s.

“Don’t be like that princess, here, do you wanna open Maddy’s gift first.”

It’s a little box, wrapped neatly in teal and blue. She opens it carefully, inside is a little drawstring bag and a note. Tsuneko grabs the note first, the Japanese writing is rough and a little sloppy, he’s not great at it. Even that makes her smile, she can imagine how much effort he put in getting this as right as he could.

Dear Alice,

The happiest of birthdays to you~ I’m sorry I couldn’t leave Wonderland to celebrate with you, I’m afraid I’m just not capable of it. I hope you’ll come down tomorrow and we can celebrate then; you, me, and Cheshire of course. The gift I sent with Baba is more so from Cheshire than me, I’d rather save my present for you when we can meet in person. But, just a day or two ago, Cheshire came back from her walk with this beautiful stone. The moment I held it up to the light, I saw spectrums of violets and amethyst that reminded me of your eyes. I knew it must have been meant as a gift for you, Cheshire and I care for you deeply and hope you have the happiest of days today~

Her heart melts, that he would be so convinced that Cheshire was getting her a present. She undoes the little drawstring and find a rock, rough and jagged but she can see the glimmers of purple that he spoke about. Every little bit of dread she had about the others is gone.

“He got you a rock.” Kisaki says in disbelief.

“His cat got me a rock.”

“So, he didn’t get you anything?” Kishi chimes in.

“Now, now, we don’t need to question Tsuneko and the Hatter’s special relationship,” she glares, not liking the way Baba says special, “now, this one is from me.”

“At least the bar is set low,” Kisaki grumbles as she starts to unwrap Baba’s gift, his wrapped in red.

She expects something gross from Baba, either over the top sappy or something sexual. So, she’s pleasantly surprised when she sees a purse. It’s soft white, rectangular with a baby blue spade on it, meant to look like an ace of spades card. She was complaining just a week or so ago about how the strap on her favorite purse had snapped.

“It’s so cute!”

“I couldn’t find one with a three of spades card, but it still looks adorable on you.”

“Thank you, this is actually really practical and nice.” She’s already tucking the Hatter’s letter and Cheshire’s rock into the purse for safe keeping. Tsuneko is dreading the rest of these gifts.

“My gift next, I worked really hard and handmade this, so you better appreciate it, Koro.”

“It’s a collar isn’t it?” She cuts through the bullshit, not trusting dog boy for even a second. The glare and pout she gets tells her she’s right, this fucker really made her a collar.

“Just open it.”

She’s less careful opening this one, but once again she finds herself pleasantly surprised. She expected an actual dog collar with the buckle and a name tag, but instead it looks distinctly more like a fashionable choker. A soft baby pink band and a little gold heart shaped medal on it. It looks like something she’d actually wear.

“I hate that this is cute.”

“You think I’d give my pet something ugly?” Kisaki is the second one to sneer at her today.

“I’m not your pet, ass-”

“Who wants to go next?” Baba is once again there to stop the part from being a screaming match, he should

“We’re saving the best for last,” Ichinomiya comments, not moving to give his gift, clearly convinced his is the best. Knowing him it’s expensive and stupid.

“Here, brat,” Kishi throws what looks like a gas station plastic bag at her, she peers inside seeing four gashapon capsules you get from coin machines.

“Really, Mamo,” Baba scolds, but Kishi is snickering.

“What, kids love those kinds of toys.”

She pops open the first one, a little Hello Kitty figure, maybe it was a Sanrio themed machine? The second is Cinnamoroll, so that’s nice, she’s not crazy about figures as a whole. Tsuneko has always preferred stuffed animals, she’d rather they be nice to hug and cuddle with. But, she can’t deny how cute the characters are in any form. Next figure is Pompompurin, another cutie. Fourth and last one she pops open and her face falls, Gudetama. Ugh. By far her least favorite Sanrio character. Who thought an egg man was a good idea?

Not one to hide how she feels, she throws the Gudetama mini figure right into the trash. Everyone except Kishi, burst into laughter at the admittedly childish display of unappreciativeness, but she hates that fucking yolk man.

“What’d you do that for?”

“It was Gudetama.”

“So, you just throw away part of my gift?”

“Sanrio characters are supposed to be cute. If I wanted to be around something ugly and lazy, I’d just spend time with you.”

“You fucking brat.”

“Sor, you’re next,” Baba’s back at damage control duty.

“Here,” he tosses what looks to be a bullet proof vest at her, “you’ll need this for when you mouth off to the wrong person, again.”

“Those aren’t the kind of gifts you give women, Sor.”

“It’s practical, especially for her.”

“Thanks, I guess…”

“I can help test out it’s effectiveness if you want,” he says with the sinister little smirk he gets sometimes, she’s sure he’d love an excuse to shoot her over and over again.

“I’m good.”

“Well, that leaves you, Boss.”

“It’s not much, but here,” Ichinomiya shoves an envelope at her.

She tears it open and pulls out the document inside, her eyes go wide when she reads it. How did he, what? Tsuneko blinks a couple times as if that will change the document and reveal what it really his, but no matter what it doesn’t change.

“He probably bought her a deed to some land.”

“Or a company.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, those can wait for her next birthday, which I have no doubt she’ll be spending with us again.” He’s smirking but her usual desire to hit him is absent in the light of his gift.

“You payed off my student loans?” She asks, despite having the proof of it in her hand.

“That’s not even fair, Boss, how am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You aren’t.”

The back and forth between him and Baba is just white noise to her. She really didn’t think she’d ever get out from under her student loan debt, a huge factor in why she hasn’t tried to get back into school. But, just like that Ichinomiya wiped the debt clean. She could question it, how he got the information and clearance to do. Or this could be a ploy to get more control of her. But she doesn’t question or ruminate on any of that, instead she throws her arms around him in a sudden move, hugging him tight to her.

“Ah,” he makes a small noise of surprise, taken aback by the sudden affection, she finally managed to surprise him, “is that all it took to get you to throw yourself at me?”

“I’m too happy to yell at you, thank you, thank you so much,” she gushes as she nuzzles her face into his chest, she can feel his hands hesitant on her back, like a part of him wants to hug her back but he’s unsure if he should. Who knew one hug is all it would take to make to unnerve him?

“It wasn’t that much, besides I own you, so your debt became mine and I don’t like having debts.”

“Don’t care.” She finally pulls away after another squeeze of Ichinomiya’s thin frame, he’s so bony. Tsuneko thinks she catches a hint of red in his face, maybe he’s drunk too much or is overheating?

“You know, I could have paid those off for you too, pretty lady,” Baba says, and she wonders if he wishes he had gotten a hug.

It does seem unfair, when she thinks about it. Baba went to the trouble of all of this, but Ichinomiya is the one who got a hug just because he decided to go all out on her gift. He deserves more appreciation, as much fun as it is to tease him, he deserves some genuine affection.

“But, you didn’t,” Ichinomiya retorts, but his smirk falls when Tsuneko has her arms around Baba next.

“Thank you for doing all of this, I really appreciate it.”

He wraps his arms tight around her, surer and more confident in showing affection than Ichinomiya was.

“Anything for you, princess.”

“Ugh, get a room.” Kisaki pretends to gag at the sight of them and then Baba unceremoniously lifts her up. She can’t control the flush of heat in her face at being picked up, it’s rare that people can manage to lift her. Ichinomiya was able to do it for a brief time before, but he seemed to be struggling. Baba, however, has no trouble.

“If you insist,” he teases and acts like he’s going to pack her off into another room, not without spinning her around in his arms and making her laugh. She playfully hits his shoulder between her giggles and he instead dramatically drops into the chair she was sitting in, Tsuneko in his lap. The rest of the men are smiling or cracking up at his antics too.

Her heart is lighter than it has been in years. She never thought she’d feel this happy and content with this group of idiots, but here she is. Despite everything, it’s the best birthday she’s had in years.

#kissed by the baddest bidder #kbtbb #black market wonderland #tsuneko tomori #eisuke ichinomiya #Mitsunari Baba #Soryu Oh #mamoru kishi #Ota Kisaki

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blackleatherjacketz · 5 years

Text

My Brother’s Keeper: Chapter 17

Negan x Reader/ King Ezekiel x Reader

Summary: Your brother runs away from the Sanctuary and you pay the price. This Chapter: Morgan confronts you about your whereabouts.

Featuring: Morgan Jones

Warnings: Feels, Comfort, Angst, Mentions of Rick Grimes

Word Count: 1600

Read the rest of the story HERE!

Three knocks rapped lightly on the cedar door before the twisting of the brass knob squeaked over them. It was quiet but just loud enough to jolt you from the sporadic dreams you could barely call sleep. This morning’s events were too much for you to take in without giving your identity away to the rest of the Kingdom, so you convinced Dana to give you the rest of the afternoon off.

“Maria,” Morgan whispered, his timbre soft and gray like rain in the middle of the night, “Maria, it’s me.” He let go of the door handle before pushing it open, waiting on you to permit him entry.

“Yeah, come in,” you said against your better judgement, sitting up and wiping your eyes. The sweet release of sleep didn’t do you any favors as the scratches on your back continued to throb. You cleared your throat and wracked your brain for some believable story to give to Morgan, but could think of nothing.

“Dana said you weren’t feeling well,” he started, pushing the door open with one hand as he held a bowl of soup in the other.

“Not really, no.” You ran a hand down your lower back and winced. “You should go,” you grumbled, trying to push him away. “I don’t want to see anyone right now.”

“Nah, I won’t do that.” He set his staff against your dresser and closed the door behind him, slowly stepping into your safe space. “You need to eat, and I know you’re too stubborn to come and get some yourself.”

You laughed, amazed at his audacious generosity that never seemed to falter. How could someone like him exist in a world like this, with all the darkness and evil surrounding you? How could he be so sweet as you continually pushed him away? You didn’t deserve him, there was no way in hell that you could. You didn’t deserve any of this.

“Okay,” you nodded reluctantly, collecting the sheets around your waist as you sat up straight against your pillows.

“That mission Ezekiel sent you on today, what really happened?” He took the container off the bowl of soup and sat down in the middle of your bed, springs groaning from the extra weight.

“Nothing,” you lied, trying to keep the conversation light as he pulled a plastic spoon from a napkin in his pocket.

“Nothing?” he repeated, dipping the spoon into the chicken broth before cautiously blowing on it. He smiled and brought it to your lips, the aroma reminding you of the soup your mother made on those cold autumn nights in the middle of the school year. You remembered the leaves were brown and orange then, crispy as they fell off their branches in unpredictable patterns, the cool breeze tossing them in and out of your neighbor’s yard. If you closed your eyes long enough, you could almost convince yourself that you were back there.

“What do you know about the Saviors?” Morgan poured the broth into your mouth, his other hand under your chin.

“The Saviors?” You feigned confusion, swallowing the bland broth gratefully.

“Maria,” He leaned forward, setting the soup down on your bedside table. He looked at you with hardened features, his face stern like your father’s when he found out you got your first B-.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded, letting your head hang down by your chest. You didn’t want to tell him, to ruin this pristine image he seemed to have of you. “I uh… you were so quick to protect me that day on the road, I didn’t want to tell you where I actually came from.” You swallowed hard, envisioning the shame and judgement about to shape your friend’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he paused, biting his lower lip. “I didn’t exactly tell you where I came from either.”

“And where’s that?” you asked, wondering if you’d actually get an answer from him.

“I was part of a community called Alexandria,” he started, clasping his hands together. “The Saviors were terrorizing a different group, stealing half of their goods, killing their men, holding them hostage. Rick wanted to…”

“Rick?!” You felt a shiver run down your spine, forcing all the hair on your body to stand on end at the sound of this man’s name. “You mean Rick, Rick… Rick the Prick?” You couldn’t stop yourself even if your wanted to, your ex-lover’s words leaving your lips.

“You know him?” Morgan braced himself, leaning forward as he stared at you. Oh, shit. You’d gone and said the wrong thing. The two of them were clearly close. “Rick Grimes?” He clarified.

“I uh…” you looked around the room for clues on what to say next, anything to change the subject before Morgan’s eyes zeroed in on yours. “I’ve heard of him, yeah,” you confessed, your voice cracking under the pressure.

“Rick wanted to retaliate against the Saviors, stomp them out for good.” He ran a tired hand over his face, shaking his head. “I couldn’t be a part of that, so I took off on the road and ran into you.” He sighed. “How do you know them?”

You let out an exasperated breath, wondering just how much of your story you should actually tell him. If he and Rick were really that close, your history might ruin your friendship altogether. But then again, if they had a falling out over what to do with the Saviors, maybe he’d understand more than anyone. Ah hell, you thought, Ezekiel already knew and he didn’t hate you. And trust goes both ways, doesn’t it?

You decided to tell Morgan the truth. “My family and I were on foot after our van broke down in Kentucky. The Saviors were the first sign of refuge we could find, taking us into the Sanctuary with food and shelter. I was a nurse there, that part wasn’t a lie. The rest of my family had skills useful enough to earn enough points to live decently,” you explained.

“You lived there?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I did,” you nodded, breath still bated. “Things were tolerable for a while until my brother took off with my mom and his wife in the middle of the night. He didn’t say goodbye, he didn’t…”

Morgan blinked slowly as he listened to your story.

“Negan demanded payment for the loss of resources, and he said he was going to burn my dad’s face off unless I…” you trailed off, looking at your feet. Morgan didn’t want to hear this part, but you had to tell it anyways. “Negan did what he wanted with me, dressed me up, brought me here to look for him, made him listen to us while he…” you stopped short, wiping your eyes before any tears could fall onto your cheeks.

Morgan’s breath came faster as your words progressed, his nostrils flaring in anger as he remained silent.

“We found my brother just outside the Kingdom that night,” you paused, looking down at Morgan’s bouncing knee. “I thought Negan was just going to burn his face off when we got back to the Sanctuary, but he… he used his bat instead. When it fell on him, all the sudden everything was…”

“Red,” Morgan offered, placing a trembling hand on yours. He nodded slowly as he squeezed your hand, biting his lower lip again as he tried to keep the rest of his words inside. “All you saw was red.”

“Yeah,” you let a tear fall down your cheek, still amazed at how comforted you were by his presence. “He’s gone now, and so is she.” You closed your eyes as more tears streamed down your face, rippling as they hit the back of Morgan’s hand. “The scratches on my back are from Negan. He sent me here to spy on the Kingdom so I can keep my dad and sister safe.”

“You were with him today?” he whispered.

“While you were at the drop?”

Morgan nodded.

“Yeah,” you admitted.

There was a heavy silence as you watched him process all this information, the details you’d rather him not figure out all coming together as he continued to hold your hand.

“I’m sorry you went through all that. Truly, I am.” He surprised you, blinking a few times as his eyes filled with tears, wiry lashes catching most of them. “The world wasn’t supposed to be this way, Maria.” He shook his head. “We weren’t built for this, but we can go on... for your brother, for my family. We can be better.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” you started, apologizing for whatever wound your story had opened up for him. God, you really were the worst spy on the planet, weren’t you?

“It’s okay.” He smiled without showing his teeth, grinning at the floor. “When you were there… at the Sanctuary, did you hear anything about him hurting Rick or Carl?” His eyes were desperate, searching your face for answers.

“No,” you sniffed up your tears and wiped your face. “Rumor has it he actually likes Rick and Carl.”

“Good,” Morgan nodded solemnly, squeezing your hand one more time before letting go and standing up. He took in a deep breath and pointed to the soup at your bedside table. “I made that for you, you should eat it.”

“Morgan?” You sat up straight as he walked over to the doorway and grabbed his staff. “If Rick does what he asks, they should stay safe.”

“Yeah,” he clenched his teeth, “I’m not so sure that’s gonna happen.

__________________

Tags: @genevievedarcygranger @letsby @negansdirtygirl22 @annablack1102 @irrelevantwriter @avengerswon @negans-network @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @rasa1945 @chamberofsloths @namelesslosers @collette04 @bishsposts @haleyea @bodhi-black @mblaqgi @ptite-shit @jamiekingofmen @ibelongtonegan @chloejanedecker1 @divadinag @you-are-electric-temptation-girl @dxloverpunk @tylersblurrylittleface @marriedtonegan @astrobabezblog @death-unbecomes-you @toxic-ink

#Negan x reader #king ezekiel x reader #morgan jones x reader #Negan's thirst squad #the walking dead #the walking dead fan fiction #my brother's keeper #negan #king ezekiel #Morgan Jones

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trainwreckedconductor · 4 years

Text

🎞️ Confessions 🎞️

“Yer said ya want ta talk?”

Scarlet lowered her head. Even though the waitress had just delivered their food, Scarlet’s appetite had completely disappeared, replaced by a sinking pit in her stomach. Part of her wished he would have waited to ask until after dinner—this was likely to be one of the last dinners they shared, and she didn’t want it to be filled with negative emotions. She took a deep breath, then broke the news.

“Yes. My internship is finishing at the end of this month.”

The statement was met with confusion. Shouldn’t that have been a happy announcement, the Conductor thought? “Congrats, but… what’s the catch?”

Scarlet clenched her hands together tightly beneath the table. It took her a minute to gather her courage before speaking. “I… I-I haven’t found an apartment to move into. Every place I’ve found is really expensive.” Her beak clicked. “I-I asked the other girls at my internship about rooming together, but…”

The Conductor’s shoulders fell. “They said no.”

Scarlet shied away, offering the smallest nod. “Blake and Jasmine are going in together and Lila is moving in with some friends.” God, she felt so embarrassed for having to confess this to him. He likely made more money than he knew what to do with. Having to associate with someone who could barely make ends meet…

“I’m… so sorry ta hear that, Scarlet.”

“I-It’s fine.” She lied. “I-I mean, I’ve been looking into apartments on the outskirts of the city. They’re a bit cheaper. I can afford those ones…” At least, for a while. She’d been saving up since her internship started, but even with the money in the savings, she’d likely be living paycheck to paycheck, living on nothing but bread and water. “B-but they’re quite a bit far away from the studio and the train station.”

At first, the Conductor didn’t say anything. Scarlet could feel the lump in her throat getting larger with each passing second that the silence lingered between them. When his hands rested on the table, her heart began to accelerate. “Scarlet, I think yer a strong an’ independent woman. I don’t doubt that fer a second.” His brow furrowed. “But… I can’t believe ya when ya say yer gonna be fine.”

Scarlet couldn’t even fake a smile. She averted her eyes. She should have known he’d see right through her lie.

“Yer wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation wit’ me if ya were fine. It would just mean us havin’ ta travel a lil’ further ta see each other, but the way yer talkin’… Yer makin’ it sound like we’re ne’er gonna see each other again.”

He’d seen through her façade. She had no way of responding to his argument—he was right, and she wasn’t sure what she could say to convince him otherwise. She didn’t want him to grow any more attached… not when the fear of leaving the country was looming over her head. She loved him so much, and she knew he loved her, too. That was exactly why she didn’t want him to become stuck with someone he’d likely never see again. All she wanted was for him to be happy, even if that meant having to let him go.

“Scarlet.” The Conductor pulled the chair around to the side of her, taking her hand in his. Feeling his soft feathers touching hers put her on the verge of tears. No… she didn’t want to give this up. She wanted this man all for herself… but she couldn’t hold him hostage and keep him from happiness. Why was he making this so difficult?

“I know this might be presumptuous o’ me ta ask, but…” He gave her hand a light squeeze. “Would ya be willin’ ta move in wit’ me?”

Scarlet’s eyes immediately shot up, looking at him. “Wh-what?”

“I know it’s forward, an’ I understand if ya don’t want ta, but…” He lifted her wing up. “I’m scared o’ losin’ ya, Scarlet. Yer unlike any bird I’ve ever seen.”

The snowy owl began to tremble. She wanted to immediately jump on the offer, to scream ‘yes’ and leave everything else behind. A part of her had been secretly hoping he’d offer… Yet she was too scared to say anything in fear of coming off as a freeloader. “I-I would love to, but… I-I can’t afford to split the rent.” The Conductor lived in a loft in one of the high-end districts of the city, where the monthly rent was several thousand pons a month. She was struggling to make enough to afford a five hundred pon rent price.

“Don’t worry about the rent.” He gave her hand another light squeeze. “I’ve already been able ta support meself wit’ that rent. What’s havin’ one more person there gonna matter?”

“But… It doesn’t feel right. I can’t just have you support me without me having any way to repay you back.”

“Then yer can just pay me in whatever ways ya want an’ we’ll leave it at that. Yer can pay whatever price ya can afford, or yer can pay by doin’ house chores—whatever works best fer ya. I just—!” He choked on his words, then lowered his head. “Scarlet… I love ya. I want ta be yer boyfriend. I know it’s incredibly forward, but—I cannae give up on ya. I don’t want ta give up on ya.”

Every word out of his mouth was making it harder and harder for her to retain her composure. She wanted to say something—anything—but the lump in her throat had her vocal cords completely silenced.

The Conductor lifted his head back up, his eyes locking with hers. “I’ve known ya long enough to know where yer tryin’ ta take the conversation. I cannae let ya give up on everythin’ ya’ve been workin’ so hard fer. Ya said it yerself: Bein’ a graphic designer was yer dream. That’s why ya took yer internship out here instead o’ somewhere closer ta yer home—ya wanted ta design posters an’ ads out in the big city.” A determined look briefly replaced his worried one. “I’m nae gonna let ya return home before ya’ve seen that dream ta the end.”

God, it was times like these that reminded her of why she fell in love in the first place. That big heart in his chest that was always going out of its way to make sure she was happy… She didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with the same person again and again, but every time he kept proving her wrong.

“Scarlet, please… Will ya move in wit’ me… An’… Would ya be me girlfriend?”

“Yes.” She finally got it out. She could feel her heart pounding out of her chest. She wanted to scream it louder, but her anxieties were holding her back. “Both. Please.”

The Conductor’s anxious expression quickly turned to relief at her answer. He took the wing in his hand and brought it close, giving it a light kiss. “Thank ya…” He held it for a second longer before releasing her hand. He gently put his own on her shoulder. “Aye, d’ya need ta go ta the bathroom ta calm down?”

“N-no, I’ll be fine.” She picked up her fork. “I-I’m just… I-I think if I eat something I’ll feel better.” She looked up to him. “Th-thank you… for helping me out.”

“It’s no problem.” He moved his chair back over across the table, picking up his own fork. “Let’s eat before our food gets cold…”

-----------

After leaving the restaurant, the two owls left hand in hand. The Conductor refused to let go of Scarlet’s hand, knowing full-well that she was still trying to absorb everything that was happening. Even though the burden was now off her shoulders, she still looked very distressed, and he didn’t want her to feel alone for even a second.

As they waited at the bus stop, the Conductor looked up towards the sky. It was such a beautiful evening. Clear skies, full moon… it was a shame that the stars weren’t around. They always looked so beautiful back at his childhood home. The next time he visited his parents, he was going to have to bring her along to show her the beautiful view—

Out of nowhere, Scarlet suddenly flung her entire weight onto him. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, a sudden, loud wail leaving the smaller owl. There was no hesitation from him as he returned the embrace, quietly nuzzling her as she cried into his shoulder. It seemed the stress of everything that was going on had finally caught up to her. He gently rubbed her back, chanting quietly into her ear tuft, “Let it out, Scarlet. Let it out.”

She spent a good several minutes unleashing her emotions in the agonizing cries she let out. It had gotten some looks from passerby’s, but they were mindful enough to leave the couple alone. When the cries had finally died down and the snowy owl raised her head, the Conductor pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed away at her sodden eyes. “Yer feelin’ better?” He asked with a soft smile.

“A lot better.” Scarlet leaned her weight into him. “Thank you for all of the help… and I’m sorry I tried to call things off between us.”

The Conductor gingerly brushed the feathers on her face back. “Don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge.”

Her wings clenched his jacket tightly. “You saw right through my lie. You were right.” She sniffled. “I wasn’t fine. The apartments I mentioned… Even the cheap ones... they were still going to be too much for me to afford. My plan… my plan was to gamble and pray that I would get enough revenue for commissions to continue living there. I have enough saved up for three months’ rent, but… without my internship to advertise me, I had to hope that the old clients I had would either pay me again for more work or would put word out about me so that I could start making more money than I do now.” She let out a small grunt. “It’s so hard to get your name out there without someone backing you up.”

“Scarlet…”

“A-and you were right… If I didn’t make ends meet, I was going to have to move back to Sub-Zero Central. I’d likely never get to work for any more movie or TV shows ever again.” She was beginning to tear up again. “A-A-As soon as I realized I wasn’t going to be able to afford living out here, I got this horrible pit in my stomach!” She hugged him tighter. “I-I-I-If I had to move back to Sub-Zero, I’d never get to see you again! That m-m-made me feel worse than anything else!” As soon as another tear rolled down her feathery cheek, the Conductor once again pulled the handkerchief to her eyes to catch them. “I-I-I love you so much… A-a-a-all I want is for you to be happy… b-but I can’t do that if I’m thousands of miles away from you! It hurt so much to think of you with another girl… but it hurt just as bad to imagine you never finding your happiness because I kept you locked up in a long-distance relationship! S-So I was going to plan to call things off!”

“Scarlet, ya could have asked me ta let ya move in wit’ me from the get-go.”

“I-I-I thought about it, b-b-but… I…”

The Conductor pressed his beak up against her cheek. “Yer were worried about me thinkin’ yer were usin’ me.” He knew as soon as he’d asked that that was the answer she was going to give. She’d been doing it since they met, avoiding asking him for things because of that fear lingering in the back of her mind. He understood where she was coming from—he was becoming a celebrity, especially now after netting his third movie award in a row. He had to be careful with who he associated with nowadays. Sure there were plenty of people out there who were far more famous than him, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t people out there ready to wring him for his fame and then leave him dry. He knew Scarlet wasn’t one of them, though. Scarlet was always going out of her way to show that she loved the owl, not the celebrity.

Scarlet gave a meek nod. “I-I’m sorry… I should have trusted you from the beginning. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it, Scarlet. Like I said, it’s water under the bridge.” He gave her a light kiss on the beak. “Here, if it’s not too much trouble ta ask, why don’t ya stay wit’ me tonight?” He began to lightly rub her arm. “I don’t think it’s a good idea fer ya ta be alone tonight.”

Scarlet looked up, her damp eyes meeting his. She gave one last sniffle. “Y-you don’t mind?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be offerin’.” He tucked away his handkerchief.

Scarlet finally gave a warm smile. “Th-then I would love to, Sweetheart…” She visibly twitched, her feathers puffing out slightly. “S-sorry, I should ask before giving nicknames…”

The Conductor chuckled. “Nae, yer fine.” He nuzzled her once again, inciting a giggle from the other. “So long as I get ta call ya ‘Sweetheart’ too.”

“Hee hee!” She gently nuzzled him back. “Alright. It’s a deal...”

“… Thank you…”

#Short Film ( Drabble )#long post #Light O' Me Life ( Scarlet )#Lights! Camera! Action! ( IC )

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elisaphoenix13 · 5 years

Text

Protecting You Is My Calling

They were only running errands.

Sure, it was getting dark, but Quill wasn't worried and Scott and Cassie trusted him to keep them safe. He always did. Tonight was different though. They had to take the subway back to the tower since Tony wanted to add a couple of upgrades to their car, but no big deal. It was a little crowded in the station, but the three of them stuck together while they waited.

Of course that's when shit hit the fan. Some lunatics walked into the station waving around guns, demanding everyone to empty their pockets and bags, and Quill's first instinct was to push Scott and Cassie behind him. If bullets went flying, he was putting himself between them and his family. His second instinct was to slowly back them away and out of sight behind a wall while peering around the corner to watch the thieves.

"Hey Spaceman...now would be a good time to use your powers." Scott whispers.

"That's a terrible idea. Look where we are." Quill motions around them.

"You're choosing now to be the voice of reason?!" Scott whispers incredulously.

"If they piss me off while I use my powers, I could bring the whole station down! If I don't do that, I might turn on innocent people after I take care of those douchebags."

"Shouldn't there be security guards or something?" Cassie asks and Quill looks around the corner again.

That was a good question, but it was very likely these guys took them out before they came down to the platform. They were already having everyone sit on the ground against the wall and taking bags, purses, wallets...anything of value, and the reality was that only Quill could do something about it. Scott didn't have his suit or his portable shrinking and growing discs, and Quill might not have his guns but he did have his powers. He couldn't go into his god mode, but he had enough control over his powers that he could use them in his hands. No light pillars this time.

A hand at his bicep pulls his attention from the lunatics nearby and Quill looks down at Scott who points behind them at what looked like a power box. It was a power box. Well that's convenient. So Quill motions for Cassie to keep and eye out as he moves over to the box and carefully pries it open when he finds it locked. He bites his lip when the metal screeches just the smallest bit and the two of them freeze, waiting for the thieves to come tearing around the corner, but Cassie waves her hand at them. The criminals probably thought it was usual subway noise. Once they get the box open, Scott positions himself at the switch and Quill moves back over to his previous position, moving Cassie behind him again.

"Wait, it's going to be pitch black if we turn everything off." She whispers.

"Don't worry." Quill assures her before nodding to Scott who throws the switch.

As Cassie predicted, the entire station went pitch black and everyone screamed at the power outage and the thieves started yelling at each other. Quill also had enough control over his powers that he could use his galaxy eyes to see in the dark, and when he stepped out from their corner, collective gasps resounded from the hostages and the thieves aimed their guns at him. They couldn't see him but they could see his glowing eyes.

"What the fuck is that thing?!"

Quill didn't give any of them the chance to shoot though. He briefly slipped behind a pillar so they would lose him and then snuck up behind the closest man and grabbed his gun as he knocked him out. With the gun he stole he pistol whipped the next guy, and Quill continued with his assault as grunts (followed by thuds as bodies hit the ground) filled the station. He took down all six of the perpetrators in a matter of seconds and made sure to keep the guns away from them and the hostages. He didn't need a fear driven innocent to get trigger happy.

Quill turns toward the wall that Cassie and Scott are hiding behind after making sure the situation isn't dangerous anymore. "Hey! You can turn the-"

Gunshots echo through the station and the celestial gasps loudly as bullets not only pierce through his back and come out the front, but some even remained buried in his body. Quill grunts and fights through the pain as he turns to his attacker and finds a seventh man that must have been standing guard and then came when he heard the commotion. Quill sends a single orb of light at the thief to disarm him and quickly follows through to grab him by his throat and slam him into the wall. It took a lot of willpower not to lose his shit and let his god side take over, but the man's head hit the wall and instantly knocked him out so that helped Quill keep control. As soon as he drops the body, he makes sure to look around thoroughly while holding his bleeding wounds that were dripping blood onto the ground with every step he took. The wounds caused by bullets that went all the way through were already healing, but the ones where bullets entered and remained stayed open.

"Sh-shit..." He mumbles as he leans against a wall. "It's safe now." He calls out and the lights turn back on.

The hostages murmer amongst themselves when they finally get to see what, who, saved them, and there were more collective gasps that followed. Either because Quill wasn't the monster they probably expected or that there were seven unconscious people littered across the platform. Maybe both. Sirens reach his ears as Quill wills his galaxy eyes away, and then he hears Scott.

"Quill!" Running footsteps approach him and Scott moves close to examine his boyfriend's wounds. "Cassie, call Stephen."

Everything from then on was a blur for Quill. He may have been a god...he may be immortal...but it was still a lot easier to kill him than it was to kill Ego. He could still die from these bullet wounds and blood loss if they weren't taken out soon so his body could heal itself. Noises were a jumbled mess, he was only vaguely aware of Scott trying to keep pressure on his injuries, but he did remember having to slide down the wall so he could sit on the ground because standing was becoming a chore. The floor seemed to fall out from under him but he just chalked that up to him hallucinating from the blood loss, and then more pain followed from being poked and prodded at. That's what it felt like at least.

When he became more aware of reality again, he wasn't in the station anymore. He was in the medbay. So maybe feeling the floor give out from under him wasn't a hallucination. Stephen probably portaled him here and the poking and prodding that followed was the sorcerer digging the bullets out of his body. Quill winces as he pushes his blankets away from his bare chest to check his wounds, and sure enough they were bandaged. The bandages could probably come off since he only felt a little sore, and he knew that wasn't because of drugs. Stephen and Bruce still haven't made any painkillers that Quill's celestial powers wouldn't burn through as fast as they gave them to him, so it always sucked when he got hurt.

He looks to the side at one of his arms and reaches over with his other hand to grab the IV, but a smaller hand stops him.

"Don't. It was helping you stay hydrated while you...regenerated." Cassie pulls his hand away from the IV and Quill instead brushes her hair back.

"Hey sweetheart. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Not even a scratch." She confirms and Quill looks around the room. "Dad's taking a shower. He was covered in blood."

Quill's eyes widen. "What?!"

"It was just yours! He doesn't have a scratch on him either. He was just trying to slow the bleeding."

"Good..." Quill covers his face. "Can I get out of here now?"

"You're officially the most impatient. Peter is a close second." Bruce says as he walks in.

He checks Quill's wounds, and like the celestial suspected, they were completely healed over and only a couple of them left behind a scar. No big deal. Quill thought scars were pretty badass. They were proof of what someone survived. He felt the same way about the scars on Scott's neck, but that was still a little different and it always broke his heart whenever he looked at them. The self blame never really went away. Quill was convinced he could have saved Scott from that whole mess.

As soon as the bandages and the IV were removed, Quill sat up and slid off the bed. He was always voracious after his body healed itself like that, and he was very intent on getting back up to their floor so he could eat everything he found in the fridge. Eat and then sleep for a couple of days. It was a solid plan. Except Cassie had other ideas. She followed him up to their floor, promptly pushed him up to his and Scott's room where he could hear the shower running, and threw one of his tank tops and sleep pants at him. Cassie left him blinking down at his clothes after demanding him to change and take a nap, and promised to wake him up for a proper meal. He wasn't going to complain. An actual meal sounded much more appealing than grazing through the fridge.

So he changed, flopped onto the (much more comfortable) bed on his stomach and immediately passed out. He briefly woke up when Scott came out of their bathroom and got dressed, pulling the younger down on the bed next to him so he could nuzzle Scott's neck before dozing off again. Not before hearing him huff fondly and say something along the lines of 'You're such a suffocating teddy bear'.

Quill knew. Not only because Scott constantly reminded him, but also because he lived to have the younger thief in his arms. He lived for that weird scent of mint and oranges that he always smelled on Scott. His eyes that shined gold in the sunlight...his smile. Fuck. Everything. Once upon a time, he loved Gamora...but Scott? Quill lived for him. Scott was the reason he believed in soulmates, and he would do anything to keep him and Cassie safe. They were his family. Not like the Guardians were his family, but family.

When Quill woke up again, it was to Cassie knocking on their bedroom door to let them know that lunch was ready (as he had slept through the night after the subway incident). Scott moved to get up, but the celestial wasn't having it. Not yet. He wanted a couple of minutes to hold him while awake.

"Come on Spaceman. You need to eat...and no, I'm not an option."

Quill smirks as he opens his eyes and pulls Scott tightly against him so he can gently nip at the unblemished parts of Scott's neck. His breath hitches at the attention and he unconsciously tilts his head away to give the god more space to work with. Quill prided himself in knowing just what buttons to press. He knew what spots got Scott frisky, which ones had him turning into a boneless heap, and he knew how to help Scott relax. Giving attention to his scars or just his neck in general always turned Scott into a boneless mess...as long as the scars weren't bothering him.

"Quill..." Scott murmers as he fists his hand in the pirate's hair.

"I've got you Sugar." Quill purrs into his ear. "I always got you."

He slips his hand under Scott's shirt and his hand makes it halfway up to his chest when they're interrupted by a shout.

"NOW!" Cassie yells from the kitchen and Quill huffs.

"She's lucky I love her." He grumbles and Scott laughs as he bats Quill away.

"You do need to eat Spaceman. You can have me all to yourself later."

Quill sighs. "Fine."

He releases his hold on Scott and they both get out of bed, and Quill grabs him around the waist to stop him again when they get to the door.

"Are you kidding me Quill?! You're-"

"Completely and totally in love with you? What gave it away?"

Scott opens and closes his mouth for a few stunned moments before finally deciding to turn to Quill and pull him down into a kiss. When he pulls away, a small smile graces the younger's face, and blush creeps up his cheeks to his ears.

"I love you too big guy."

"You know I would move heaven and earth for you right?" Quill whispers.

"I do now."

#peter quill #scott lang #antlord #cassie lang #celestialfamily #bruce banner

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aconitemare · 5 years

Text

[jaydick] Before That, And Colder

Chapter Three

Previous Chapter

AO3

A large mirror — a looking glass — or so it seemed to me — now stood where it had not been before. As I walked toward it in terror I saw my own form, all spotted with blood, its face white, advancing to meet me with a weak and uncertain step.

Four knocks sound at the door, quick and heavy, impatient: Suzie Su. Jason glances up from his book, a collection of Poe’s works mailed to him from Wayne Enterprises, Office of Bruce Wayne, C.E.O. It’s no library book — an expensive collectible, probably, judging by the silver-edged pages, embossed cover, and massive size. Jason is more tolerable of this gift, however, compared to the first edition volumes of Great Expectations sitting in a box in his bedroom closet. Sometimes he has the urge to bring them outside, douse them in kerosene, and roast marshmallows over them. He once got as far as unearthing the box and running his hand gently over the topmost volume, registering its rough texture beneath his weathered palm, before he lost his momentum and tucked the box away again.

“What is it?” he calls out. The doorknob jiggles. “It’s locked,” he drawls, tipping his chair back a little with his toes. Upside down, he looks out the wall-to-wall windows behind him. The final dredges of sunlight bruise the Atlantic Ocean purple.

Suzie Su kicks the door futilely. “No kidding,” she gripes.

Jason sits back upright. He shifts the paperweight off his open book, moves to close it, and is promptly reminded of the photos spread across the desk. They’re why he had begun reading. He had grabbed a book off his shelf and slammed it down, burying the bodies. Now, dead boys stare up at him, their dark hair rusted with blood and their hollow bones crunched. They look like crows, like a murder, infused with tragedy and beating broken wings.

“What do you want?” he asks roughly, eyes transfixed but mouth still — as always, he knows — moving ahead of him. He needs to get these out of his sight or he’ll lose his mind.

“Well, it’s not a social call,” replies Suzie Su.

“Be right there,” promises Jason. He shoves the photos into the book, crushing his doppelgangers between the final pages of William Wilson. Then he bats the book away, towards the corner of his desk for later.

Jason unlocks and opens the door to reveal Suzie Su in a plain, button-down shirt damp with sweat. It pools beneath her pits like dolphin fins halfway down her sides. He raises an eyebrow. “What, no little black dress?”

“You don’t pay me to be beautiful, ass,” says Suzie Su, brushing past Jason into his office.

“Shit, am I supposed to be paying you?” he jokes, watching her over his shoulder. He’s about to follow when James darkens his doorway next. James is less sweaty but sporting a badly busted lip. Of course, the interesting part is the man he’s got wrapped in his arms with a potato sack over his head.

Jason spreads his palms in delight. “Oh, good, you’ve found someone for the internship,” he says with cheer. He cocks his head to check around James’ hulking form. “Any other incapacitated applicants? No?” He sighs and shakes his head remorsefully. “Low turnout.”

James just stares at him, unamused. Probably sour over the punch Potato Sack got in. “Let me in, please,” he says. Jason courteously steps aside, closing the door behind him. James immediately releases Potato Sack, who sags to his knees and leans against James’ leg for half a second before regaining his balance. He’s more conscious than Jason would have thought for a bound and gagged kidnap victim.

Jason points at him. “Who’s the fool? He just come from the county fair’s three-legged race?” he inquires. Potato Sack is dressed nicely; his outfit is a tad disheveled, but there’s no blood or sweat on him, at least not from the neck down. His peachy pocket square is halfway out his paisley blazer. The cuffs are folded to his elbows, exposing muscular, nicely tanned forearms.

Suzie Su flops into one of Jason’s chairs, the white leather one with too much cushion. “The sack came straight out of Big Guy’s car. I don’t even know,” she remarks. She sounds tired despite being uninjured, like she might’ve chased Potato Sack all the way here.

Jason contemplates making a Karate Kid reference, something about chasing chickens, when James chimes in. “We can’t have suspicious figures knowing where your office is,” he justifies. “Especially right now with the — photographs,” he finishes, visibly uncomfortable.

Jason shrugs and shakes his head in amused mystification. “A suspicious figure?” he repeats, making a “so what?” gesture with his hand. “Is that all he is?”

James grimaces. “Not all. He’s weirdly… agile. Freakishly quick.”

Suzie Su laughs, a husky and wheezing sound in her current state. “Agile is right. He pirouetted James right in the face.” Pirouette, Jason thinks. The word spins into his mind, a flurry of movement, and then neatly halts on a striking thought. Jason turns his attention to the well-dressed man on his knees.

Meanwhile, James is sending Suzie Su a glare across the room. “It was a roundhouse kick,” he corrects as if the name affords him more dignity. “Just a really spinny one. I don’t think he was actually even on the ground — ”

Impatient, Jason rips the sack off the man’s head. His jaw clenches so tightly he’s aware of the ache. Dick is noticeably unharmed, except for perhaps a small patch of dirt accentuating his sharp right cheekbone. His hair is in disarray, silky strands breaking from what once must have been perfectly molded curls to fall smoothly into his alert blue eyes. He looks more like a pampered socialite returning from a joyride with the windows down than a hostage. Dick blows a rich black lock of hair out of his eyes and gives a toothy grin that positively dazzles. “Hiya, Hood. Fancy seeing you here,” he greets and, for added impertinence, he even winks at Jason.

Claustrophobia looms over Jason’s back like an invisible but palpable enemy, breathing down his neck, crowding him against Dick and Bruce and Tim. He never should have contacted Tim, this was the respect they showed, the audacity. He has a flash of himself yanking Dick up by the throat and dangling him out a window, letting him drop to the icy ocean. Then he sees Dick’s golden face turn cold, eyes white and face pale, and the horrifying vision is gone just as fast.

“Everybody out,” Jason orders. He feels stiff, his spine stiff, his voice stiff. He’s still staring at Dick, the smiling piece of work. Suzie Su stands up and lumbers towards the door, but James lingers.

“Is he one of your, you know,” James starts out. He brings his fingers to his head and Jason knows he’s about to form little bat ears, but fortunately, James drops his hands to his side instead. James swallows dryly. “I’ll be outside.”

“Yeah, way outside,” Jason agrees sharply. “Outside the casino, if you can.”

Dick watches the two of them with glass-blown eyes. He smiles cheekily at James and says, “Maybe you can keep an eye on the parking lot, make sure no one touches Hood’s bike.”

James narrows his eyes at Dick but says nothing more. He turns around and stalks out the door, trailing after Suzie Su. “The door, ” Jason adds, mildly amused when James grabs the doorknob and slams the door shut. “Touchy,” Jason tuts.

Dick springs to his feet and begins undoing the knot around his wrists. Jason just barely resists shoving him back to the floor. “What the hell, Dick!” he shouts. “What happened to the fucking parking lot!” he demands, waving his arms.

Dick’s wrists come free, the rope falling to his feet in one final and fluid motion. “I got lost,” Dick says. He smoothes out his shirt, which draws Jason’s eyes properly to how the pink highlights the rosy warmth of his skin tone. He looks good.

“Oh, my god,” Jason mutters, turning away from Dick and pinching the bridge of his nose. There’s tension building there, a volcanic tension Jason is always pushing down, keeping dormant. Stupid, stupid, letting the Bat in. He can only blame himself because if he blames Dick he’s going to go on a rampage, and anyway, holding the bats accountable has never worked for him before.

“You know what,” he says after a moment wherein Dick wisely stays silent, “it’s my fault,” he informs, holding his palms up in surrender. “I, despite many opportunities to learn from my mistakes, entrusted your hegemonistic troupe with private information and somehow expected you to respect my rules.” Jason holds a hand over his heart and leans forward in apology, causing Dick to have to tilt his chin slightly upward. Jason stares intently at him, going for venomous sincerity as he says, “This is on me for thinking what I said matters to any of you psychos.”

Jason watches Dick blink owlishly at him. He’s still in Dick’s space, waiting for a response, when finally Dick smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “Woo!” he says, wiping his forehead, “Glad we got that over with! Very mature of you, Hood,” he chirps, stepping around Jason. Jason imagines grabbing him by the neck and holding him in place, pinning him still like one might do to a butterfly that lingers too long for safety. Jason does not do that.

Dick begins rooting through his desk, wiggling drawers to find they’re locked and checking beneath his Poe book like he’s in a clue game. Jason can’t help but release a weary sigh. Jason begins, “Would rather you just let me die, if we’re being hon — ”

“By the way, what you say does matter,” Dick abruptly interjects, looking up from another locked drawer to stare Jason down. Dick’s hair has fallen into his eyes again, providing a thin buffer between their gazes. Jason awkwardly shifts his weight and suspects, with some bitterness, that the terms of the mission have just switched hands. Then Dick is pushing his bangs out of his face and wrestling his curls out of their mold. “It’s just that your life matters more,” he explains, and the whole line is just so nonchalantly sentimental, so easily spoken, that Jason wants to throw them both out a window. At least Dick has stopped staring at him, and he looks like slightly less of a prick now that his hair is closer to its naturally relaxed wave.

“The curls make you look gay,” Jason informs, trying not to pout like he’s sixteen again and Nightwing is refusing to partner up with him on a case.

Dick smirks. “Those who live in glass casinos, Jay,” he retorts. “Feel like unlocking any of these for me?” he asks.

Jason crosses his arms. “Not particularly, no,” he replies, shaking his head.

Dick twists his lips in irritation before, apparently, moving on, expression blasé. “That’s fine,” he dismisses. “What’s not fine is that security of yours,” he adds, unimpressed, as he scoops the Poe collection into his hands. Jason’s heart seizes in his chest.

“Hey!” he protests, marching towards Dick and reaching for the book. Dick’s shoulder cuts between them, blocking Jason off.

“Your bruisers couldn’t land a real hit on me — and they just take me to you without, apparently, informing you ahead of time?” Dick criticizes. He’s sifting through the silvery pages now, fanning them with his thumb. “What if I had been your stalker? What then? They deliver me unto you where I’m free to shoot you point-blank?”

Stalker, Jason thinks, is a tad dramatic. “What, they didn’t pat you down?” he asks, already knowing they did. James is too paranoid not to and Suzie Su knows who lines her pockets.

Dick purses his lips unhappily. The overall effect is charming against Jason’s will; it’s a beautiful mouth, full and fair, and easily admired when idle. But then his lips are framing around words, as they frequently are, and Jason has to focus. “Well, technically, yes, they checked me for weapons,” Dick admits. He holds a finger up and points at Jason’s chest. “But there are other ways of killing you.”

Jason pats his chest and then holds out his arms like wings. “And yet I am not dead. Security seems just fine to me.”

Dick’s expression sobers. Jason can barely keep up with Dick’s emotive face, the ups and downs of his duel humor and sincerity. “You’re not dead because there’s been no attempt. You’re the endgame and these boys are just,” language fails Dick here.

“Pit stops?” Jason offers, raising both his eyebrows. Dick clearly doesn’t appreciate his word choice, because his brows knit and he turns his fine cheek further away from Jason. He wants to keep pushing, though, so he says, “How about appetizers?”

Dick has reached the end of the book, but before Jason can feel relief, he starts fanning the pages again. “Sure,” Dick concedes, albeit moodily.

Jason leans against his deck and watches Dick flip through. He considers ripping the book out of his hands, but he doesn’t know if it’s worth the trouble, so he holds back and drums his fingers against the edge of the table, letting his anxiety bleed out through his tips.

“Appetizer makes sense,” Jason proposes. “Sociopath like him, he likes to whet his hunger when he can, but he’ll never be full,” he explains, almost absently, his mind drifting away from the office and towards the ocean facing him, and across that ocean, too, all the way to his return to Gotham. He remembers his own hunger.

He hears Dick slap a page down. Jason doesn’t bother looking; he knows Dick found the photographs. A tiny sigh escapes from Dick beside him. Jason glances at him from the corner of his eye, sees Dick tapping his fingers against a face, communing with some boy’s preserved pain. Jason looks away.

“Except he’s not ‘whetting’ anything,” Dick says. “These kids aren’t for his benefit. They’re for yours.”

“None of these kids died,” offers Jason, partly as an agreement with Dick’s point, partly just to remind himself. They’re all alive. They’re breathing. They didn’t lose everything.

Dick hikes himself up on the desk and sets the book down in his lap, legs pretzeled. The white slacks curve keenly around his thighs. “Makes sense for a reenactment, which the assailant’s going for. You didn’t die, after all.”

Jason’s jaw flexes. “I did.”

Dick does not respond, which Jason is grateful for. Having the photos open, their bodies inspected while he stands off to the side, is such a keen breach of privacy. He feels it like a direct violation, yet he knows better than to snatch the evidence from Dick’s hands. Dick always comes bounding back after a rebuttal, Exhibit A: this whole thing. The only way Dick would be gentler is if he needed to be, and Jason refuses to give him a reason.

After a minute, Dick breaches the silence. “Full discretion?” he says.

Jason hangs his head and braces himself. He’s never noticed before, but there are tiny fishes painted onto the ceiling. “Yeah?” he asks, figuring Dick is seeking permission, or whatever.

“I watched the tapes.”

That gets Jason’s attention. He faces Dick whose fingers rest on the open pages, whose brow is furrowed in what must be guilt or nervousness. Jason opens his mouth, closes it, and then shakes his head. “What tapes, Dick?”

Dick taps his index finger on the first kid: Terry Weind. The name he learned from a news report the same day his picture was stuck to his bike. No pictures were released to the public, but Vale spared few details in her verbal description. Jason didn’t have to do much digging for the boy’s identity. He had shown up at the hospital with flowers, telling Terry’s mother that he was just a concerned citizen. He also told her that Gotham’s heart went out to her son, that there was a community right outside that hospital room, even if it felt the only souls around were her and her son’s. He hopes she believes it better than he does.

“B has had Park Row Memorial recorded around the clock for years. He has — every one of the attacks on camera. We watched them while he was prepping me for this case.” Dick says this like it’s a confession and Jason has the power to pardon him.

Jason nearly scoffs. “Yeah, well, it’s your job,” he says instead. If he was stronger, Jason would hold this breach of privacy against him. He would take advantage of the one aspect in all of this that Dick appears penitent for. He should be sorry. Dick got to watch not just three kids brutally beaten, exploited helplessly, he got to watch Jason. Jason had to experience his death completely alone and now he had to experience it again on a stage. Neither Bruce nor Dick were there for him as partners, but they are here as an audience. Jason’s grave has been violated by more than just a hooded figure in an alleyway, but Jason does not have the energy to be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have the energy to give Dick what he wants.

“So, what’s the plan?” asks Jason, propping his elbows on the desk. Dick doesn’t answer, so Jason says, “You must have one since you went to all the trouble of getting James to deliver you personally to my office like a sack of potatoes.”

“Who keeps a potato sack on them, by the way?” Dick asks. Jason shrugs. “That’s just weird,” Dick comments.

“Yeah, he’s kind of weird,” Jason agrees. “But so is everyone in your corner. Those who live in glass batcaves should not throw batarangs?” he asks, irony lacing his words.

“Wingdings, actually,” Dick corrects, which reminds Jason of the Microsoft font and he wonders if Dick’s stupidity is contagious. He’d hate to start calling his guns ‘bat-barrels’ or ‘Times New Hoodlum.’ “Also, the plan might just take place in the aforementioned glass house,” Dick adds.

Jason shakes his head. “You’ve lost me.”

Dick sighs, the perfect picture of put-upon. Jason knows where this is headed: he’s the unreasonable one here, somehow, despite arriving by car like a normal person instead of on a suspicious person list. “Your hired muscle isn’t the best,” Dick begins with an insult, so Jason knows it’s going downhill from here. “Bunker’s observational skills are decent, but not up to par. Your ‘James’ is sloppy. And the, uh,” Dick licks his lips here, “ lady — insulted you about five times between the budget interrogation and the bumpy ride to your office. Wherever her loyalties lie, they’re not with you.”

Jason groans dramatically and pushes off his desk. He reclaims his book from Dick’s lap, closing it shut and walking towards the whale-shaped bookshelf mounted on a non-windowed wall. “Su’s loyalties lie with her money, and her money lies with me,” Jason refutes. He gently slides the book between a copy of The Orphan Master’s Son and Hamlet. “You tell me where a man gets his corn-pone, and I’ll tell you what his opinions are. Mark Twain,” Jason cites.

Dick watches him from his seat on the desk. His lips are pressed in wry amusement, although the amusement may be wishful thinking on Jason’s part. He’d like to say he put something on Dick’s lips, and humor is good enough. “Yes,” says Dick flatly, “that sounds familiar, thank you. But money only goes so far when another pocket reaches farther. Me, telling you she’s bad news,” he cites himself.

“Alright, fine,” Jason says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. He moves them so his jacket fans out in a textile shrug. “Tell me then — Suzie Su the figure you caught on tape? I assume it’s only a figure and not a clear profile since you’re sitting on my desk like it’s your college dorm bed and not out there apprehending my so-called stalker.”

“So-called because they are stalking you, Jason,” Dick says gravely.

“Thanks for the clarity, dickhead, the situation could’ve been really lost on me. Almost forgot I’m the Case of the Month.”

“Sorry,” says Dick, wincing.

“Ugh,” Jason says, hanging his head back with the burden of Dick’s personality. The confession-booth sincerity might be ingratiating if Dick wasn’t as oppressively righteous as an Elf on the Shelf.

“And no,” Dick resumes, “the figure is definitely not Suzie Su. Average height, it looks like, although he’s — bent, most of the time, so it’s guesswork. His frame is neither slim nor broad.”

Jason laughs. “Really? That’s the best you got? Not tall, not short, not big, not small?”

“Well, he’s wearing a hoodie, which obscures a lot of their physique,” explains Dick. He raises his eyebrows then, a questioning movement, and glances out the windows. The room has crisped to an orange color without Jason noticing. In a few minutes, the sunlight will be directly in Dick’s eyes, and then shortly afterward night will fall. “Specifically, he was wearing loose-fitting denim jeans, black combat boots, and a red pull-over with the hood up,” Dick describes.

The last revelation pulls a clownish ribbon of laughter from Jason. It’s a nervous one, which must be obvious to Dick, but he can’t help it. The laugh bubbles in his chest, acidic, and pops on his tongue with acerbic heat. “I bet,” is all he says.

Dick musters a half-smile and says, “Points for theme?”

Jason snorts. “Yeah, sure, he can get all the points for theme. But why?” he asks. “What the hell is this theme? He’s dressed himself like me to kill me. Am I killing myself? Is that the idea? Is he saying it was all my fault, that I got myself killed?”

Jason envisions himself as he is now, face veiled in red, bring metal down on Robin. The warehouse builds itself around the nightmare, boxes stacking atop boxes, men milling about indifferently, and then running out. Except that it’s not the warehouse, it’s Crime Alley, and the walls collapse revealing narrow city streets. The Joker falls away and Batman stands in his place. Jason looks down, expecting a bloody crowbar, but he holds in his grip a simple, slightly rusted tire iron. Both are red though, in the end, aren’t they?

Jason flexes his empty fingers. The floor beneath him is plush, white carpet that’s been bleached more times than he can count. “Why Park Row?” he asks.

Dick’s voice is muted, almost hesitant, actually, or perhaps just attempting to hush and soothe. “It could be coincidence. Park Row is conveniently vacant, especially at night, and he wouldn’t know there were cameras watching,” Dick speculates. He approaches the next possibility more tentatively. “Or he might know what Park Row means to you, to Robin. He could even be showing off how much he knows.”

Jason blanches. “He knows a fucking lot then.”

Dick does inventory: “If Park Row is coincidental, he wouldn’t necessarily know you as Jason Todd. He would just know that the Red Hood was Robin and that the Joker killed — ”

Jason cuts him off. “With a crowbar, he got it to the exact weapon .”

The weapon troubles Dick as well, Jason can track the rumination on his face. The crowbar is specific, purposeful, and not common knowledge. The details of Jason Todd’s untimely death were not released to the public — and as far as his other identity went, Robins may change but they don’t die. “Bruce has a theory about that,” Dick shares.

“Oh, yeah?” Jason asks. He can’t keep the sarcasm from entering his voice. Rationally, he knows Bruce can help him and that’s why he’s willing to work with him. But also, what aspect of Jason’s life hasn’t Bruce analyzed through a microscope, poured into a beaker to see if it would blow up, and uploaded for his future reference? What aspect of any of their lives has Bruce not thought through for them?

“Joker, or someone who worked with him that day,” Dick supplies. “They would know about the crowbar, and if it’s the Joker, he makes almost everything Batman does his business, he might even know about the cameras. He could be taunting B by making him watch.”

What a theory it is, too. Jason starts laughing until Dick trails off and asks, “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jason says, holding up his hands in mock apology. He pretends to wipe away a tear. “That is just some crazy narcissistic bullshit. I’m getting the photos of these mutilated kids and he’s the reason why?”

Dick must know Jason has a point because he flounders briefly before restarting. “Maybe not the reason, but logically Batman is connected. I know it doesn’t feel, I don’t know, satisfying, but it’s the only plausible theory so far. The Joker’s games almost always lead back to him. He used you to get at Batman, it’s at least worth considering how Bruce might factor into — ”

Jason holds up a hand to shut Dick up before he loses his patience. “So, none of this is about me?”

Dick’s expression turns confused. “That’s not what I’m saying. I know this is about you.”

“But my death wasn’t,” Jason practically spits. He shrugs, tries to play this casually, but he wants to upend the desk Dick is still sitting on. He’s overcome with the suspicion that everything in this room is a prop to Dick, a piece to a gameboard he’s playing with Bruce alone. The both of them are entitled to waltz in with some half-baked disguise, lounge on his furniture, look through his books, watch his death over and over again. Jason himself is just another clue.

“You can say it,” Jason encourages, “I died for Bruce. It was never about me, it was always his war and I,” Jason pauses for the right words and when they arrive, the anger building up in him blows away. “I was just a good soldier.”

Dick’s eyes don’t sharpen with recognition; they cloud over with it. Jason repeats the plaque’s inscription in the Batcave: A good soldier. It shines, encased in gold, commemorating Jason’s death while in defiance of his life. Here, in this conversation, it is soaked in venom. Jason doesn’t mean it as an attack; nonetheless, Dick shifts physically away as if to hide the bite mark.

Jason takes a fortifying breath. This isn’t where the conversation is going, he vows. “This isn’t the Joker and this isn’t Batman’s case,” he says steadily enough. Dick has slid from the desk and finally stands, his gaze level with Jason’s. Jason gestures broadly, indicating everything around them that Jason has built for himself the past few years. “ This isn’t Bruce’s life and I’m not about to give him mine again.”

Jason thinks he’s made his point. He just wishes Dick didn’t look like he had slapped him. “No one expects that,” he assures before amending with a tiny frown, “I don’t expect that. I won’t speak for Bruce.”

“That’ll be a first,” Jason replies wryly.

Dick actually laughs, kind of, more of a huff but it’s not without humor. “That’s fair, I suppose. I know everyone thinks I’m his champion, but I try to support everyone in our bat-themed infantry. Family, or so I like to call it. I defend you, too, Jay. I hope you know that. I guess he just seems to need me in his corner the most. Or maybe his corner is where I’m used to being, I don’t know, either way — it was just his theory and I thought it was worth sticking to the wall.”

Jason’s impulse is to criticize half of what Dick just said, but he leaves it be. Dick may be here for Bruce, but more importantly, they’re both here for the case. “I get it. But it’s a theory for Batman, not for Red Hood. I know Bruce is already halfway to commandeering the case and you’re here as a favor to him because we infamously don’t get along, but if you’re going to work with me, you gotta respect what I’ve got going on. Because whoever this person is, they’re not going to all this effort over the Joker or Batman. I’m not a soldier caught in their crossfire this time around. They know me as Robin and as Red Hood. This is very, very personal.”

Dick’s eyes drift to Jason’s bookshelf. He’s thinking of the pictures and how these kids were hurt because of Jason. Jason is, too. Dick folds himself across his chest and nods. “You’re right, you’re right. This is your case.” When Dick looks back at him, his face is intense. “I am here for you, not him. Well, I’d like to think we’re all in this together and so in a way I’m here for both of you, but. I don’t see this as a favor to him. Just so we’re clear.”

Jason breaks their gaze before he can accidentally believe him. When Jason became Robin, Dick avoided him because he was upset with Bruce. When Jason became Red Hood, Dick chased after him because he wanted to help Bruce. And when Dick faked his own death and told Jason nothing, it was because of Bruce. Why Dick wants to expand their relationship now is beyond him, but he’ll take help where he can get it.

Besides, he does like the idea of Dick leaving Bruce’s corner for his. If Jason plays his cards right, Bruce’s plan for a middleman could backfire with Dick not apprising him of every time Jason’s nose twitches. Even Dick can’t resist a mission in Gotham without the Bat breathing down his neck.

“Good,” Jason finally says after moments of Dick patiently awaiting the reception of his little olive branch. “Well, if it’s not a favor to him, then you won’t care that one of my caveats is keeping B on a strict need-to-know basis.”

Dick furrows his brow. “Define ‘need-to-know.’”

“Uhh, unless I say, ‘hey, Bruce needs to know this,’ he doesn’t need to know this.”

“Bruce is a good resource, Jay,” Dick insists. “You’re important to him, believe it or not, he’ll want to know everything is developing safely and efficiently.”

Jason cocks his head left and right like an unbalanced scale. “Yeah, well, I don’t want what he wants and it’s my case.”

Dick purses his lips thoughtfully. His forehead relaxes as does so, and it occurs to Jason that Dick is actually quite expressive. He can see the reluctance fall off his face, track the movement of thoughts across his gray-blue eyes. It’s strange to think that this man with all these open emotions and mercurial playfulness was raised by Bruce and his shadows. “Okay,” Dick eventually says, somewhat pensively, “what do you want?”

It’s an honest question, not rhetorical in the slightest, and that catches Jason off guard. He isn’t equipped to answer it. Jason knows what he doesn’t want, but that’s easier. He’s learned not to want things. He remembers wanting immensely in the life before this one. Jason is more careful now. If he was reckless, he would say he wants Dick here. He likes that Dick has all but literally chased him down to give him that help. He might want Dick to keep chasing him. He wants to be found, to be saved. But Jason knows from experience that those wishes don’t come true.

“I want you to leave the Bat out of it,” Jason reiterates. He says it because it’s easier, and on the outside wanting an absence is like wanting nothing at all. But it is a want secretly, a real one, because he wants to know if Dick is chasing him like he suspects, or if he’s holding a scalpel behind his back, ready to scrape off a sample of Jason and deliver it to Bruce.

Dick doesn’t roll his eyes or argue. In fact, he doesn’t react to the sarcasm Jason had safely wrapped his answer in at all. Instead, he breathes in through his nose, inhaling the terms and conditions, and then breathes them out through his mouth, fully processed. “Within reason,” he acquiesces. It’s not enough and Jason is about to say so when Dick holds up a hand. “I will not contact him without telling you first. And if he sends me anything about the case, I’ll forward the information right away,” he modifies.

That’s another fear to pile onto Jason’s plate. Dick doesn’t even plan on Bruce being forthcoming about whatever he might find on Jason’s rogue. “Yeah, Dick, details are kind of life-or-death here!” he exclaims, utterly bewildered. “I would freaking hope you don’t let Bruce hijack my case.”

Dick has the social graces to look contrite, although Jason knows he’s no different from any of the bats when it comes to secrets. They’re all hard-pressed to feel real guilt over things as petty to them as privacy. Boundaries, like all obstacles, are easily circumvented with a just cause and some zipline.

Once Dick’s done pretending he’s sorry with his face, he sticks out a hand. “Our case,” he offers.

Jason laughs quietly. “Nah, but sure,” he agrees, shaking Dick’s hand. Then he leans back and crosses his arm, shifting his weight to one leg. “I guess the only thing left to sort out is for you to meet the in-laws.”

Dick tilts his head. “In-laws?” he repeats curiously.

“The Outlaws,” Jason specifies as Dick nods and makes an “ah” sound. “Or what’s left of them at least,” he says.

Dick finds his way back to Jason’s desk and hikes himself up. He begins swinging his legs like a child. “I think I already did meet them. What did you call them? Sweaty Su and Fat Lip?”

Jason doesn’t think he’s heard Dick roast nearly enough people to be satisfied. “Yeah,” he says, grinning despite himself. He really should defend them, they’re all he’s got at the moment, but also they suck. “You should call them that to their faces, they’ll love it.”

Dick points at him and winks like the two of them are onto something. And maybe they are.

#jaydick #dickjay #dc #fanfiction for the void

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yandereshit · 6 years

Text

Izaya x Reader: salad. [Durarara]

So! A story I wrote in 2k15 and translated to english... well, today. The translation may be a bit weird since I’m not used to doing these, but... well, yes. Here we go lololol have fun with this weird ass shit.

Evening ritual always looked the same. The very moment the night fell upon the city – which happened quite late during summer – you showered and, wearing your cute pink pajamas, you took out the cucumber-meat salad from the fridge and pouring its small amount into a special, porcelain bowl and putting a spoon inside as well, using the lack of interest from your parents’ side, you quietly left the flat, wearing your plushy flip-flops to stay warm and quiet at once.

Luckily, no neighbor has seen you in this weird state. This time your hair was still wet, which made you even more willing to stay unnoticed. You went up the six-floor building and opened the roof’s door. According to the ritual, you’ll sit at the edge of the roof and, staring at the bright, night city, eat the heavenly gift as known as your mommy’s salad.

The door creaked when you stepped outside. The wind started to move chaotically, unwittingly drying your hair. You shook your head, trying to move the strands aside to clear your sight, because the wind hit you from behind, covering your face with the mess of hair. And when you finally managed to do so… well.

“Huh? You’re not Magenta-san.”

Eeeeh...?

You looked up and stared at the silhouette standing a few meters away and staring back at you with concern on his face.

Magenta, Magenta, Magenta... Um…

“It’s shade of pink…?” you guessed, reminding yourself of the hours spent in Ikea on choosing the right color for the curtains.

The silhouette blinked, a bit disoriented. He scanned over your body and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, tilting his head to the side with a smile and apparently waiting for what YOU were about to do.

“I… u-um...” you stuttered, because the man was standing in your way to your favorite spot on the roof. “I wanted to eat only...” you muttered and, with your face red from embarrassment (wind, why are you not covering my face NOW?!) you circled around the person and sat with crossed legs at the edge of the roof, about to start your meal.

There was a silence. You took a bit of the salad on the spoon, stared at it and sighed deeply, trying to suppress the will to look around at the stranger. You probably should ask him what he’s doing here. But right now, you definitely preferred to take care of the salad and assume… that you’ll keep ignoring him till he goes away. The taste of your favorite meal was so tempting that you really wanted to believe it’ll just work.

One way or another, you lived here since forever. Officially, no one was allowed to enter the roof. And this stranger definitely wasn’t a neighbor since you’ve never seen him before.

You pressed your lips together, putting the spoon in the bowl and carefully taking the phone out from your pocket. You raised it to your eyes’ level to use the reflection to see the other person behind you.

But as it seemed, the person disappeared from your sight. You shrugged, putting your phone aside and finally deciding to take care of the salad.

“You have a cute dog” you heard suddenly right behind yourself and jumped (quite comically, considering you were sitting), letting go of the spoon and miraculously not losing the bowl as well. The spoon screamed drastically and a few seconds later, landed as a bloody stain on the pavement dozens of meters lower. Or maybe you just imagined that. Either way, you lost it.

“Oh dang it” you muttered, standing up and turning around, only to notice that SOMEONE barely a meter further stared at the screen of a phone. You glanced at the spot next to yourself. And yes, it was YOUR phone. You had the photo of your dog on your lock screen.

Automatically, you reached in the thief’s direction, he though, not even looking up, spun around, whirling away from your grasp. It forced you to use more strength and as a result, you lost your balance. And before you managed to stop, both you and the salad’s bowl flied in the floor’s direction.

However, unlike you, the bowl never met the ground. But a few moments later you realized in terror that the stranger has two hostages now. And – by the way – that the roof is quite dirty and you’ll have to take a shower again.

“Give back my salad!” you yelled in annoyance. Well, priorities differ. The stranger snorted and moved away a bit more, extending the hand with the phone in your direction. You hesitantly took it and put in the pocket, but it was obviously not enough. You wanted your salad!

In the meanwhile, the man moved aside and started eating the salad with his fingers.

You screamed in despair, feeling the anger boil inside of you. No one. Is. Allowed. To. Touch. Your. Salad.

You raised your fist in attempt to hit the man’s face. At that moment, the food lost its value. The revenge was what you craved for. It was a fight for honor.

Unfortunately, the man dodged. You tried to hit him a few more times, then kick, you generally tried everything you could. And he – barely amused – without hurry dodged all your attacks, making sure that nothing would happen to the salad and (if that was not enough) he even found time to keep eating it. At least he was aware what kind of treasure he’s holding!

Eventually, you let out a weird, frustrated growl and grasped his jacket with both hands, putting all your strength in not letting go. But he didn’t even try to break free.

“And what now?” he asked with a childish smile on his face, watching every single feature of your silhouette. Ah well. Your hands were busy. The first thing you thought of was kicking him, but he quickly made you unable to do so, standing on your toes. Your flip flops had no chance in comparison to normal shoes so an attempt to break free turned futile.

You pressed your lips together, thinking of literally ANY possibility to rub that annoying smile off his face. And finally, when the man probably thought you’re about to give up… you pulled him to yourself and with all the strength left, bit into his neck

He screamed, letting go of the bowl which shattered on the ground.

"O-oi, it hurts! ヘ（。□°）ヘ", he whimpered, trying to push you off himself. But it made him only hurt more, because you bit into him like some tick. He closed his eyes tightly, focusing on bearing the pain.

Suddenly, you felt a weird, metallic taste. Not fitting to the bitter taste of his cologne you were feeling for the few seconds till now. You pulled your teeth out of his neck, staring in disbelief at the slightly bleeding wound on your victim’s neck.

“Finally...” the “victim” muttered, flopping onto the ground.

“Um...” you whimpered, covering your mouth with your hand. You licked over your lips, and then… “Oh my God! I will catch something!” you yelled, spatting out as much of your saliva as you could. You started to cough in despair.

The man glared at you, carefully touching the wound. The skin in that place was weirdly jelly in touch. He stared at you for some time, clearly not willing to interrupt.

You in the meanwhile, hardly got yourself together and finally stared at him angrily.

“Youuu...”

“You’re not done yet?!” he asked in panic, covering his neck with hands.

“Look at what you’ve done!” you yelled, pointing the shattered bowl and your dead salad around it. “You killed it!”

“You bit me!” he noticed, standing up and brushing the dust off his trausers.

“I-it was in self-defense!” you announced. “And because you stole it from me! You’re the guilty one!

He sighed, rolling his eyes, which for some reason pissed you off even more. You gathered the rest of your despair and you were about to throw yourself at him once again… when something glistened in front of your eyes and stopped by your neck, informing you that any attempt to move will end tragically. Your heart stopped for a short second and you held your breath, as if fearing that any uncontrolled movement can cause something you pretty much didn’t want to happen. You felt a slight pressure and backed away in panic, tripping and landing back on the ground.

“Maybe I should return the favor, vamp?” he suggested enthusiastically (which seemed, in your opinion, pretty creepy), tilting his head so that you could see the wound on his neck. And it looked pretty ugly. The scar would probably stay there for a few weeks or even months...

He stared at you for a few moments, analyzing the emotions appearing on your face. Shock, then confusion, still lasting anger mixed with fear for your life. The man you just really painfully bit stood in front of you with a blade pointing at your throat, ready to end your life with a short movement. Every blow of the wind made you feel as if he’s already done so.

Not a comfortable situation.

You stared at him as well. He looked like some creepypasta sociopath. Actually, he looked like one from the very beginning. His dark eyes moved slowly along your silhouette, analyzing every single piece of your body. He seemed to seep through you with his stare, yet his face stayed firm. His arrogant smirk distracted you.

Suddenly, he put the knife in the pocket of his jacket and stepped back, not looking away from your face.

He chuckled.

“There, you don’t have to be scared… that much. I’m glad I could see that many of your emotions in such a short amount of time. They were really entertaining.” He laughed and turned around, moving away as if he couldn’t care less about what you were about to do. “And now excuse me, there’s one more person I need to play with today.”

You let out an annoyed grumble and got up, eventually ignoring him and going to the building’s door. Then finally it got to you, how late, cold and windy it became in the meanwhile.

“Ah, one more thing” the man added suddenly, just before you closed the door behind yourself. “Next time, I’d like to also see you laugh.”

As if on call, you laughed.

Hysterically.

You shut the door behind yourself and went back to your flat. You entered the kitchen, took out the whole pot of the salad and, reaching for a new spoon, decided to take all the accumulated anger out on your digestive system.

#durarara #izaya #izaya orihara #durarara izaya #izaya x reader #izaya orihara x reader #xreader #fanfiction #reader #mc #x reader #durarara x reader #drrr #durarara fanfiction #durarara ff #drrr ff

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blackrose-ffxiv · 6 years

Photo

10/15

Anselme de Haillenarte was not dressed as nobility nor as a Knight. A soldier, maybe, but the more likely assumption would be adventurer. He was running errands in the Jeweled Crozier and it seems he already had a decent haul judging by the travelling pack that hung on his side well-stuffed with his purchases. At the moment he was finishing up another purchase with a purveyor of food stuffs, yet at the last moment he pointed to an apple nearby. The rest of the food went into his pack but he turned away from the counter and rubbed the apple idly against his sash as he took a look around the somewhat busy street, full of Ishgardians and outsiders alike. It was a heartening sight. Still rubbing the apple against fabric as he started up the stairs to look at the next few stalls.

Ishgard is not exacly a small city, and "he went shopping" is not much of a lead for tracking down a person Michaux Vidal has never seen in his life. But since he couldn't find the Ishgardian at the Academy, here he is, searching for a needle in a haystack. As he makes his way down a set of stairs, he nearly collides with someone and has to side-step nimbly to avoid him. "My apologies," he murmurs, glancing up at the Wildwood, and then he pauses. His crimson eyes widen slightly behind his spectacles as he sees a face that is not quite familiar, but not entirely strange to him, either. "Anselme de Haillenarte?" he guesses in a low voice.

The Knight instinctively turned as smaller body came hurting towards him, putting his pack behind himself and blocking slightly with his hand. Naturally assuming a pickpocket looking to pull one over on a foreign adventurer. Yet the impact where the grab would be made never came and the dark elezen danced gracefully aside to avoid it. “Quite alright.” Anselme offered with a smile, though the expression froze somewhat and shifted to amused puzzlement as the stranger guessed his name. “And quite right. My apologies, this is a bit rude to ask, but have we met before?”

Michaux stares at him for a moment, blinking slowly, and then he lets out an almost hysterical laugh. He lowers his head, covering his smile with a gloved hand and says quickly, "Sorry, sorry. You surprised me." His expression is serious again by the time he lifts his head. "I'm the one being rude. I'm a heathen from the Shroud, so please excuse the fact that I have no manners. We haven't met, but I'm a friend of Idristan's. I was hoping for a chance to talk to you... about your brother."

Thick brows knit in mild concern as the other elezen made a rather unsettling noise. As though he’d said something terribly funny. Anselme’s eyes were the same bright blue as his brother’s, but rather than chips of ice his were closer to summer skies. They darted quickly over the Duskwight, making a brief assessment. Nice coat in a flashy color that almost perfectly matched his eyes, a well-kept looking weapon at his hip. Certainly not Ishgardian. And, oh hells, he knew one of his brothers. The chances of this being a Bad Situation had just increased exponentially. Clear sky blue clouded over as his gaze darkened and the amusement smile left his face. “I have already told Idristan all I can, truly.”

"I don't doubt that," Michaux says grimly, "but I'm not here on Idristan's behalf. He and I… are not exactly of one mind when it comes to your brother, let's say. I was hoping to speak to you and… understand a few things." He grimaces, noting the darkening look in Anselme's eyes. "I'm not here to cause trouble. Full disclosure: I'm really, really good at causing trouble, but I'm actually here in this snowy hellscape freezing my arse off in good faith. Is there somewhere we can talk in private? I'll try to be brief.”

Anselme seemed torn. It was plain on his face as his dark brows furrowed once again and his lips pursed as he bit lightly at the inside of his own mouth. He reached up with the apple-holding hand to scratch thoughtfully at short cropped hair with two fingers. “I don’t know…” He began hesitatingly. “Well. Maybe we can have a small chat. A little discussion over a mug of mulled wine or hot cider can’t hurt, right?” The clouds broke and the sunny grin returned. “I’ll warn you up front that hurting me or holding me hostage won’t flush him out of hiding, just in case that was your hope.” He noted before he gestured up the stairs. “Still want that talk?”

Michaux combs his fingers through his own spiky hair, feeling a bit nervous at Anselme deliberates. The tall Ishgardian looks too much like the knight he is, and his current expression of displeasure reminds Michaux that he's not the kind of man a knight would deign to befriend. He's the kind of man who ends up on other end of their blades. But the mention of mulled wine makes him relax slightly. And the suggestion that he's here to hurt or kidnap Anselme draws out another brief laugh, albeit a slightly anxious one. "I don't need to flush him out of hiding. I know where he lives. And I try not to attack people in the streets of Ishgard when I can avoid it. Turns out the guards don't really like that. Let's go."

The Knight managed a cheerful grin in return at that. “Of course. And I would have to defend myself. It wouldn’t end up well for either of us. Great! Now that that’s settled.” He started down the stairs instead of up and tilted his head into a small bow. “I’ve forgotten my manners again, excuse me.” He apologized as they walked through the chilly streets. “But you already knew my name. Please just call me Anselme, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” If this man already knew where Lebeaux lived yet still came all the way to snowy Ishgard to talk, it was certainly worth hearing him out. “And you are?”

Michaux seems to approve when Anselme leads his away from the heights of the Pillars, where he knows all too well he does not belong. At least here, among the common folk of Ishgard, he feels slightly less out of place. "Oh," he says suddenly when asked for his name. "I warned you that I'm the one with no manners. Michaux Vidal. I'd give you my card, but I have it on good authority that it's dreadful. Besides, I think I forgot to carry one again." He pats his pockets briefly, then shrugs. "Anyroad. Right. Lebeaux. I suppose you're aware that he and Idristan would happily murder each other?"

Along the way the apple was tucked into the safety of his pack and a few gil was handed over to a vendor in exchange for two steaming mugs of hot spiced cider. He kept the mugs in Michaux’s view the entire time as he handed one over. Proving he had no chance of slipping something into it. Instinctively used to dealing with paranoia, most likely. “Yes.” He agreed with a solemn nod. “Which I absolutely don’t want. Idristan and I have fought side by side a few times now against Voidsent, I suspect there’s a good man under the prickly exterior. He doesn’t deserve to die like that.” He explained as he took a small sip of his own cider, enjoying the warmth of the spices and the alcohol. “Lebeaux is family, I plainly don’t want him to die either.”

Michaux accepts the mug and immediately takes a deep gulp. He doesn't care that it's still hot enough to burn his tongue - if he doesn't warm up somehow quickly, he's going to start shivering violently, and he doesn't exactly wish to start shaking like a leaf in front of someone he's meeting for the first time. If he happened to notice the fact that Anselme was keeping the mugs in full view, he certainly shows no sign of it. "Idristan is a good man. A pig-headed one sometimes, but still a good one. But I'm less worried about him at the moment. He's not facing Lebeaux's threats alone anymore. His girlfriend is one of my closest friends as well, but I'm not afraid to say that she is dangerous and ruthless. I made a promise to Lebeaux. Well, more like a suggestion than a promise, but I meant it as one. I told him that if he's ever in grave danger, he should call me. I'll help if I can. But now I don't know if I can keep that promise. Not if helping him means fighting my best friends. Solenne has already told me that she is not afraid to go through me if she has to." His expression is earnest throughout this explanation. In his eyes there's a mixture of weariness, pain, fear, and anger, but also, honesty. His voice is quiet, steady, and just a touch beseeching. "I heard from Idristan that you still care about Lebeaux. Or... I don't even know if that's his real name, but never mind. I just want to know if it's true."

Anselme had found them a quiet spot where an open fire warmed the small terrace and they were afforded an unobstructed view of the Steps of Faith and the Arc of the Worthy. It also gave him something to look at as he sipped his cider and listened to Michaux. The Duskwight sounded earnest enough and honestly there was nothing there that didn’t smack of Lebeaux being… himself. He stole a small glance aside, seeing the strange look on the other’s face as he mentioned a promise. “I can’t control him or influence him, nor can I apologize for him.” Anselme explained quietly, as though the admission hurt him. “He’s my brother. I care for him and want nothing more than for him to return home.” He curled his fingers around his mug and let his gaze settle on Michaux. “That’s why I can’t help Idristan kill him or have him arrested, but why would you want to help Lebeaux? Especially since he has threatened your friends.” He seemed genuinely baffled by that one.

Michaux drinks a bit more cider and then cradles the mug close to his chest. As usual, his lean body isn't doing a good job of holding in warmth. Gods, he hates this city. Then a flicker of dry amusement flashes across his features at Anselme's words. "No one is expecting you to control him, I imagine. I'm certainly not." Then the amusement dies. "That would be impossible now anyroad," he mutters to himself. He gives his head a shake to clear away the horrific impression of the presence in Lebeaux's mind and turns his attention back to Anselme. "Help him? I don't know if I can truly help him. I certainly don't want to play a part in any of his schemes. But I want him to live. And if there was a way I could help him on a deeper level, I would not hesitate. I…" He lets his voice trail off, uttering a wry laugh. His runs his fingers through his hair again and then looks down into his mug to avoid Anselme's gaze. "I care about him. Much more than I should. I often don't like him, but I always care. If he dies, I'll grieve him."

Anselme’s look of bafflement slowly faded as Michaux explained. Whoever this strange man was, he had encountered Lebeaux and rather than be horrified or disgusted, seemed to actually care whether the Knight’s brother lived or died. Anselme smiled at that, a bittersweet look that plainly said he felt for Michaux. It was difficult to tell if it was sympathy or pity that he was feeling, though. “O-oh. I see. Umm…” He chuckled a bit sheepishly and raised a hand to scratch at his hair. “I suppose now as the elder brother, I’m supposed to warn you that should you hurt him I will come to find you. Me and my axe.” He joked lightly as he let his hand fall away. Plain that his whole heart wasn’t in the joke. “But really I should warn you that he will hurt you. It would be for the best that he is left be until he comes to terms with the end of the War, he really hasn’t been the same since. I am… very aware that he can be charming when he wants something. But I ask of you to take care of yourself, Idristan and I believe you mentioned a Solenne. I will mind my brother, as best I can. I can’t ask you to shoulder that burden.”

Michaux can see the rather pitying look in Anselme's eyes, and he offers him a rueful smile in return. "Yeah, I know. I've got great taste. Everyone says so." His expression then falters at Anselme's joking threat, as he can't help recalling the time he did hurt Lebeaux. Anselme doesn't need to know about that, though, because Michaux doesn't need yet another Ishgardian noble finding out about his magic. Of course, without that background information, he can't really explain to Anselme how his overpowering attraction to Lebeaux turned into actual feelings, but hopefully he won't ask.

At Anselme's next warning, Michaux can feel his exhaustion setting in again. His eyes prickle, and he has to blink hard to keep tears from rising. "Thanks for the advice, but everything about this situation already hurts. That's not my chief concern. There's no way this can end that won't cause me pain. But you're right, I can't shoulder the burden of your brother's safety. Not alone, anyroad. Not when it's likely to mean standing against Idris and Sol. If they decide Lebeaux has to die, Sol will keep her promise. She'll go through me to get to him. There's no peaceful way for me to intervene, and given that Lebeaux is a genuine threat to them, I can't actively take his side." He lowers his head when tears begin to flow despite his best efforts. "I came here because I need to know he has someone else who cares."

Anselme’s fingers tightened slightly on his mug of cider as Michaux explained. Admitting that he had poor taste in men and that whatever was going on between him, Idristan, Lebeaux and Solenne was bound to end in misery. Michaux seemed utterly miserable about the entire thing already, blinking hard to keep his eyes clear. “Oh, hells. I’m sorry.” The Knight offered quickly as he stepped closer and gave the Duskwight a few small pats on the back before he rested his hand there to give the other’s chilly jacket a light rub. Here was someone mad enough to risk themselves for Lebeaux, even if it meant standing against his other friends. Something was very strange here, he was beginning to understand that he understood nothing about the situation.

@secrets-and-aetherlight

#anselme #michaux #the other brother #michaux can't deal with genuinely nice people #it's adorable

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