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auteurdelabre · 3 months

Text

So Much to Lose dark!Joel x f!Reader

rating: 18+

words: 4.6k

summary: After your explosive last patrol with Joel, you and Joel return to Teton Village.

tags: Enemies to EWB (enemies with benefits), slow burnish, oral (M receiving - no swallowing), Joel is emotionally stunted.

a/n: So strangely outta all my stories on the go, this one is the fic that plays in my head the most. I've written an outline, the final is already written out despite us havin' a bit of a ways to go to get these two seein' clearly. Reviews help me work, I don't get paid for this stuff, so if you wouldn't mind reviewing I'd really appreciate it!

masterlist here

Chapter 4 here

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Chapter 5: You still want this?

Jennifer sees you walk into the dining hall a short while later and calls you over with an exaggerated wave. The group she’s sitting with wave at you also. All of them are like Jennifer; young and pretty and smiley.

They set you a bit on edge with their intrigued gazes when you approach with your tray, taking a seat next to a tall man with an easy smile.Jennifer introduces you to everyone before doing the same for you.

“This is Peter, his wife Margaret,” a brunette couple at the end of the table give waves before going back to their chatting. “On your left is Lee and the guy to your right is Luke.”

The tall man – Luke – gives you a small nod and shy smile. “Nice to meet'cha.”

“He’s new like you,” Jennifer explains. “Just moved here last month. He used to be in construction.”

“Oh wow,” you say trying to feign interest and failing. Luke chews his food and gives an awkward nod at you before he starts to speak across the table to Peter.

You want to be engaged with the faces around the table, but your mind is still with Joel in the stable. You still can’t believe you told him you wanted him to fuck your mouth. That you verbally agreed to it. He gave you an out and you still said yes! What the fuck is wrong with you?

The rest of the group chats around you and you don’t mind the chatter. It fills the space normally punctuated with silence that you’re used to and it momentarily distracts you from your dilemma. You find you much prefer conversations with Ellie though – she has more interesting things to say on the whole.

Jennifer is obviously the leader of this group, weaving tales and telling jokes that has the rest of the table (including you) chuckling. When the rest of her friends finish their breakfasts and bid the two of you a good day, she waits until you are both alone before fixing you with a smile.

“Isn’t Luke nice?”

“Mhmm.”

Jennifer loves to talk and doesn't seem to mind that you don't. She likes regaling you with stories about folks living in the town. She's been settled in Jackson almost as long as Maria and Tommy and subsequently she has seen quite a bit.

"The Butcher used to date the lady that sorted the incoming items," she tells you over her tea. "But then she fell in love with the guy who works in weaponry. It was really messy for a bit."

You listen with fascination at the social milieu of the community you now inhabit. Being in Jennifer's orbit also means that others are starting to take notice of you. More people wave and give you passing greetings. You can only shyly nod and give mumbled hello’s in return.

This morning a tall man with patchy eyebrows gives you and Jennifer a nod, tilting his cowboy hat in your direction as he saunters past your table.

"That's Greg," Jennifer says with a voice low in secrecy. "We dated for a few months a year or so ago. Super nice guy but very clingy."

You suppress a smirk at this, amused at Jennifer's disgusted expression. Dating seems like something from a lifetime ago, almost juvenile in concept.

"You date a lot?" Jennifer asks as she sips her tea. "Before the outbreak, I mean."

"Nah," you shake your head. "Dating scared the shit outta me. I was always a really shy kid."

"I could see that," Jennifer muses. "You don't really talk much."

You shrug, feeling strangely embarrassed, as if this quiet observation is somehow a scathing criticism of character.

"What about around here?" Jennifer asks with playful lilt to her voice. It's asked in such a way that reminds you of slumber parties with giggling and strawberry lip-gloss. "Anyone catch your eye?"

"Not really."

You know that you answer too quickly but you also know that Jennifer won't follow up on it if you change the subject to her favorite topic: herself.

"What about you?" You take a bite of toast before casting your eyes over the crowd. "Got a lot to folks to choose from."

Jennifer glances around the bustling dining hall before wrinkling her nose up, obviously unimpressed with her choices presented.

"I'm gonna stick with Joel Miller," she nods to herself. "All the other guys here kinda pale in comparison."

Joel Miller.

"Might have you work cut out for you," you murmur. "Seems like a lot of work just to get him to be civil."

"I like a challenge," Jennifer winks at you. "And since you two are partner’s maybe you can introduce me sometime?"

Oh yeah, that'll go over well. You wish she’d drop this whole Joel thing. But then again because of it she’s being kind to you, she’s taken an interest. She’s introducing you to people, she’s helping to chase away the loneliness. You’re both getting something out of this, so why not continue?

Then again, its Joel.

"I think you should pick someone easier," you offer. "Plus if you go with him you'll be a stepmom to Ellie."

"I don't think she needs a stepmom," Jennifer laughs.

Your brows furrow and you go to reply when the girl of the hour walks into the dining hall. She sees you and waves before she walks over grab a tray of food. Her ponytail bobs behind her as she collects her breakfast items.

"She's so sweet," Jennifer tuts with what sounds like adoration when she witnesses this. You hold in a frown, not liking the condescending way Jennifer says it. It’s very likely she doesn’t mean it that way, but something about it irks you.

You watch Ellie saunter up to the end of your table, casting a look in your direction. You try to ignore her, remembering what Joel said you to earlier. He doesn’t want you interacting with Ellie, answering her questions.

He all but said you weren’t an influence he wants on his daughter. But it feels wrong to ignore her, wrong to pretend she isn’t standing beside you looking at you with beseeching eyes.

"Hi Ellie," Jennifer chirps as the girl stands awkwardly at the end of the table, looking at you. "Join us?"

Ellie shoots you a look that you can't quite read. You raise your eyes to hers and see the insecurity there and it breaks your heart. There’s no way you can turn her away. You motion to the table with your head that the invitation is indeed valid and she gives you a tight, relieved smile.

Ellie takes a seat next to you, tray clattering. You don’t miss the two milks on her tray and you hold in a smirk. Ellie begins to dig into her eggs and Jennifer is all warm smiles and sweet words for the sleepy teen.

"I heard that you're working on your baking," Jennifer offers abruptly, surprising both of you. You turn to look at Ellie, brow raised.

“You are?”

"Who told you that?" Ellie snaps, irritation laced in every letter. Her dark eyes are narrowed in obvious distaste for the blonde seated across from you.

"Oh uh, Rita in the kitchen mentioned it," Jennifer says with an uneasy laugh, eyes darting to you and then back to Ellie.

You think about Joel not wanting you to interfere, but this is something you know about. Baking is something you can actually bond with her about without making her long for the past.

"I didn't know you liked baking," you tell her. "If you want I can ask some of the-"

"Can we just drop it, please?" Ellie asks, cheeks burning. It's clearly something she didn't want other people knowing and you wince. You know the feeling of wanting something private for yourself.

"Of course," you nod.

The table lapses into a tense silence with Jennifer trying to smile at Ellie and the girl trying to look everywhere but at Jennifer. Ellie stabs a bit of sausage with her fork, the action almost violent. She’s tired and her hair is knotted in her ponytail. You wish you had a brush you could run through her thick tresses. Once a big sister, always a big sister you suppose.

"How's Joel?" Jennifer asks lightly, as if the answer isn't really a big deal. You want to roll your eyes at her lack of subtlety but Ellie beats you to it.

"S'fine."

Jennifer looks at you, silently begging for help, but you leave your eyes on your plate. If Jennifer wants to pursue this whole Joel thing she’ll do so without your help. While you’ll let her rope you into talking to Joel, there’s no way you’re going to bug Ellie about this.

"Doesn't he usually have meals with you?"

"Not breakfast usually," Ellie offers with a bored look on her face. "Only sometimes."

She remains tight-lipped for the rest of breakfast, sitting sullenly next to you as she eats. This cloudy disposition exits only when Jennifer announces she has plans with her friends and bids you both a farewell.

"She's such a phony," Ellie cites as the woman leaves the dining hall. "She doesn't give a shit about me. She just wants to know about Joel it’s so fucking obvious."

"I'm sure that's not true," you say without feeling. You feel a twist of guilt in your gut. Jennifer is nice to you and yeah, she’s a bit of an annoyance, but you don’t think she’s particularly harmful.

However as soon as the words leave your mouth Ellie stands abruptly, bristling. You give her a confused look.

"I told you I don't like liars."

She leaves her tray next to you, looking disgusted as she marches out of the hall, sure to go in the opposite direction of Jennifer.

///

The ride to Teton village that afternoon is a tense one punctuated by the occasional whinny from Midnight and Chestnut. You and Joel haven't spoken since your patrol shift started, not even a hello when you both mounted your horses.

Now you ride behind him a few paces, body bobbing along with Chestnut who seems to be reinvigorated after his re-shoeing.

The sky is a bright grey today, the chill of the weather deep in your bones. You're thankful for the warm clothes you've put on, including the red scarf hidden deep in the depths of your jacket. You know how much Joel hates it.

Your eyes drift to your patrol partner and his broad shoulders holding a backpack and gun.

You still want that mouth fucked dumb?

Your admission to Joel earlier makes your heart continue to thrum well after you've been riding for hours. Every turn of his head that showcases his severe profile sets your stomach jumping.

You wonder if he's going to say something about it. If he's going to jeer at you or worse, guide you both off to the side of the road and insist you suck him right there.

But he doesn't make any move to do so. He just continues on ahead of you atop of Midnight like some modern cowboy in a winter jacket.

How did Ellie get through to him?

This sticks out in your mind. Ellie is abrasive and loud and seems to be everything Joel would despise in another person. And yet, the brief times you’ve seen a look of tenderness he shares with her is something so loving it makes your heart crack. He’s her father in everything but blood. His daughter is gone. Is that why? Was there a daughter-sized hole in Joel desperate to be filled and Ellie fit the bill? The thought humanizes him in your eyes.

By the time you reach the village you almost pity Joel. A man who lost a daughter, desperate to take care of another living being. You wonder if there is a wife-shaped hole missing in him too. Would Jennifer fit that bill? Would he be happy if that empty spot was taken up by a beautiful blonde woman? If so a part of you wants to help.

You tie up your horses and Joel watches you unlock the door. He doesn't comment when your fingers tremble clumsily to punch in the code. He doesn't jeer when you stumble in over the floorboards. You watch him saunter ahead of you with the Thermos and your lunches and you observe him not as Joel Miller, asshole. You work to seperate his body from his person. He's a man, a strangely beautiful one in his ferocity and broad frame.

His body is graceful despite its bulk and your eyes rove the planes of his form as he makes his way ahead of you, bag and gun still draped over his shoulders. Is he attractive? Maybe. He isn’t hideous to you. But attractive is a hard thing to measure when you don’t really enjoy the person.

Joel disappears with his bag upstairs muttering that he'll be back and you go to the small back room to sign your names in the log. You feel confident doing it now, your fingers not trembling when you hold the pencil. You glance around the small room, looking at the boxes at the side. You pull them out, curious. Inside one are a few blankets. Inside the other are two pairs of boots. Another box yields a gun and a box of bullets.

Back up items you think, in case something happens.

Joel is still working away upstairs and so you take the opportunity to explore a bit of the old building, walking aimlessly from room to room. You walk into the room with the old couch covered in one of the blankets you recognize from Jackson City. It faces an ancient looking fireplace that holds dried wood and shavings to start a fire. This surprises you considering they don’t want attention drawn to the building.

You wander into the ancient bathroom that hasn't had running water for months, glancing at the shower free of mildew and the toilet that you don’t dare lift the lid off of. You make your way through the variety of other empty rooms, looking at portraits hung on the walls before you hear Joel's heavy boots coming back down the steps to your level.

You watch him return and wordlessly follow him to that small room in the back so he can glance over your log notes with an unreadable expression before pulling out the Thermos and bag of food from his backpack.

Lunch is consumed with you sitting across from one another at the warped table, noting that a quiet Joel is just as intimidating as a speaking one.

Your mind drifts to the window upstairs. The one that was broken last time. It's quiet which means that is what Joel must have been working on it earlier.

"Did you fix the window?"

"Patched it. When the right supplies come in we'll repair it properly." Joel bites into his sandwich, swallowing quickly. You wonder if he's always eaten this quickly or he's trying to speed things up.

"I don't know much about repair-"

"You won't be doing anything," Joel cuts in without looking at you. "I'll come out on a different day with a few others."

"Oh. Okay."

You lapse into silence again. Joel is a loud chewer you notice; another thing to add to the growing tally of ways he annoys you when he's not intimidating the hell out of you. You shrug off your jacket, finding it strangely warm in the small room.

You finish your lunch quickly, anxious about whether this is going to happen. Will Joel fuck your mouth? Will he make you ask for it? You don’t think you could even if you wanted. The thought is too intimidating.

As if reading your mind Joel wipes his crumby fingers along his jeans before clearing his throat. He sits facing you and you watch as his legs slowly widen.

That's when you realize it's going to follow the same pattern. In the same room and at his leisure. And despite the fact that you can't stand Joel and despite the fact that this is patrols, you feel your core tighten. He moves his tongue to his cheek, staring at you for so long you visibly falter, eyes dropping to your hands.

"You still want this?"

He says it so quietly you're not sure he said anything at all and it takes you a moment to understand what he's referencing. But then you know your answer, you know from the telltale pull below your navel and the way your nipples tighten under your sweater.

You lose your voice and find you can only nod shallowly. When you glance up after a beat to see Joel frown at your lack of a verbal response you sit up a little straighter in your chair.

"Yes."

Joel nods slowly, sucking at his teeth as he stares at you. Your thumb digs into the cuticle of your ring finger nervously.

No, not nervously; anticipatory.

You feel arousal begin to pool in your lower belly and you are made absurdly aware that you want this, that you want him. Not outside these stolen moments when he feels like the most frustrating person you know. Just when he promises a release from the loud world and its horrors.

"Gonna listen?”

His voice is firm, but hushed. You glance up the length of his body slowly, taking in the tapered waist and the long neck before and your eyes lock briefly before his. He holds his eyes on you before they flit to your shoulder. You finally nod, voice cracked.

"Yes."

He nods before surprising you by standing. He tilts his head, a silent follow me signal and you do as he walks out the door and into the room with the couch and fireplace. He leads you to the old sofa, the one that's been stripped of its fabric and left with what looks like a poorly tufted blanket over top. Likely an addition by one of the patrols but you can't understand why.

Joel eases onto it and it creaks as he settles himself. The air is gone from the room, leaving you breathless as you watch Joel unbuckle and then unbutton his jeans. You hold your breath as the zipper is pulled down and you see the flash of Joel's dark boxers underneath.

He beckons you closer with nothing more than his middle and pointer finger curling into his palm and you shuffle closer, approaching him slowly and warily as if he were a wounded animal.

And then it's like last time, only instead of angry, Joel just looks passive. As if this is something he did with all his former patrol partners.

Who knows, maybe he did.

You’re still wearing your red scarf and he takes it in his left fist before he tugs it gently, pulling you towards him. You stumble into the vee of his parted legs, looking down at him and swallowing. Despite the fact that you’re standing, you feel completely at his mercy.

He tilts his head, regarding you silently before he drops his hand from your scarf.

"On your knees," he says sibilant.

You sink to the floor between his legs without question. You don't hesitate. You hit your knees quickly, not caring that the floor is cold through the denim of your jeans. You don’t care if your eagerness is obvious.

Your hands tremble in equal measure anticipation and fear as they reach for Joel's boxers. As you did last time you pull him through the slit at the front, keeping the base of his cock still partially hidden. He seems to prefer that, letting you only see glimpses of him. You think you prefer that too. Still you feel your eyes widen a fraction at actually seeing his hard cock up close in your home. You'd only felt it that night on patrols.

“Stroke.”

You move your hand forward cautiously, waiting for your fingers to curl around his hard shaft. It twitches when you touch it. He raises an eyebrow slowly, his head tilting as his eyes move down to where you stroke him. He watches your hand move there, his tongue coming to drag over his lower lip. It glistens.

You swallow nervously, eyes on his cock as you tilt forward. You let yourself observe the bead of pre-come at the tip, the stiffness of his length. Without thinking you dip your face forward and run your lips from the base of his cock, grazing them to the tip. You’re rewarded with a quiet hiss from Joel.

“Lick.”

You do. Soft little kitten licks along the head tasting the salt of his pre-come. Joel breathes sharply through his nose at the sensation and when your eyes flick up they find his intensely staring down at you. A shiver goes through your body at the heavy desire reflected back to you. It emboldens you.

You don’t even wait for him to tell you to suck. Your parted mouth simply dips forward and circles the rosy head immediately. It stretches your lips, straining to take him. He's heavy on your tongue, thick in your mouth. You'd expected him to be rough, to thrust himself to the hilt but he's still. He's so still you're not sure he's okay with it.

With your mouth still full of him your eyes travel up his body to his face, brows raised in question. His face gives nothing away and you still, preparing to pull off of him when one large hand comes to the top of your head stopping you. He seems momentarily thrown, mouth curving into a frown. His hand goes to your neck and you wince in surprise when he unravels the red scarf from your neck.

"Close your eyes."

You do, letting them flutter shut. You don't say anything when he folds the scarf in half lengthwise before tying it around your eyes, securing it snugly at the back of your head. Your mouth is still stuffed with his cock, stretching your mouth almost painfully as you wait for him to knotting it at the back of your head.

If you opened your eyes you would see nothing but a murky red. As it is you see only the inside of your eyelids. You can smell the scent of sweat and soap and coffee. You feel disorientated kneeling there on the cold wood floor and you want to grip his thighs for purchase but don’t dare.

His heavy hand is still resting on the crown of your head and now you feel it slowly urging your mouth to take more of him. You hear Joel’s steady breathing.

"Keep goin’," Joel whispers and judging by the direction of his voice you think he must be looking down at you.

He pulls out slowly, his breath ragged.

"You want more?"

His cock is dragging along your bottom lip and you can imagine it glossy and reddened. He urges it onto your waiting tongue before slipping out again, teasing you. He doesn’t wait for you to answer before responding on your behalf.

“Yeah, you want more,” he says sliding his cock back, the head hitting the back of your throat.

You begin to suck him with vigor, bobbing your head along his length with gusto. You're rewarded with the low murmuring groan from him. You begin humming gently around him, .

It feels good, it feels so fucking good to have this again. To feel a cock in your mouth, to hear a man groaning above you as you take him deeper into your throat. He begins to thrust now, trusting that you can take him. His movements are quick, his hips jerking.

Your saliva coats him, his pelvis quickly inching towards you and then away, back and forth as he saws his cock between your lips.

It could be anyone, you tell yourself. You've just missed this so much. This connection, this lust, this palpable heat that makes Joel snap his hips and makes you respond in kind, tilting back and taking him until your nose brushes the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. He smells amazing, musky and masculine.

"Christ," he murmurs, eyes closing. "S'good."

You feel saliva begin to drool out the corners of your mouth as he thrusts more rapidly into you, hand still on the crown of your head.

"Yeah that's right," he says in a husky drawl. "That's fucking right."

You wonder how you look right now. Not in a performative way, but you wonder if you look in command of yourself. Like you're not secretly terrified. Or do you look scared? Maybe Joel likes that. You hope not.

You moan as he slides deeper into your throat. At the sound Joel withdraws, letting himself rest heavily on your tongue. His hips shift and he bobs his cock along your tongue, like an engine being primed.

"You like that," Joel says, slipping in and out between your lips. "Like me fucking your pretty mouth."

Never a question, always a statement. He's talking to hear himself talk, not because he actually wants to know if you like it. You continue to bob your head along his cock, your mind going blissfully blank.

"Gonna come," he suddenly announces from above you.

You moan approvingly, his length aching in your mouth as you slide the tip of your tongue to flick at the head of his cock, your mouth stretched full. You know this part, you anticipate this part. The rapid unravelling, you only wish your eyes weren’t covered. Watching Joel unravel on your tongue would be interesting.

"Gonna come," he grunts at you again, harsher this time.

When you continue sucking, his wide palm comes to press against your forehead, pushing you back harshly.

You pop off of him, falling back onto your elbows. You give a yelp before pushing up your blindfold and looking up at him in confusion. You've never had a man pull out, always tasted them salty and sharp over your tongue.

But Joel's eyes are closed and his wide hands are gripping his thickness, curving around the head, stroking furiously and it's only seconds before he lurches forward and comes with a ragged gasp in great warm ropes that spill over his knuckles and onto the wood floor.

You watch the steady dripping, the silent admission that Joel would rather his spend go there, onto the wood floor, because it's more deserving than your mouth.

Useless.

“I….” Joel croaks before licking his dried lips. His cheeks and neck are flushed with red. "I didn't know if you'd want it.”

“Oh.”

“Thought you were doing it ‘cuz you thought you had to."

"Oh."

You wish you could offer more than that. But you’re still in shock, still laying there on your back, propped up by your elbows in some strange tableau of relaxation.

His breathing starts to regulate before he stands abruptly. You look away, saying nothing as he moves to the washroom with the water canteen from his bag. You imagine he’s washing his hands the best he can.

You take a moment to stand, legs shaky and jaw sore. It’s been a while since you did that. And your surprised at how much you enjoyed it, considering the person the cock was attached to. When he exits moments later he’s tucked away and he tells you quietly that it’s time to head back.

Wordlessly you both gather your belongings and Joel locks up the place behind you both. You feel strangely unsettled, not because of what happened but because of how it ended. You feel somehow cheated.

You reach your tethered horses at the same time. You work on untying Chestnut, feeling Joel’s eyes on you as he does the same for Midnight.

"You like sucking cock?"

His voice is so nonchalant you could be talking about taxes or the weather.

"Sometimes," you say as you shrug. Your cheeks burn, despite the cool air.

The two of you mount your horses and head back. It’s not until a half hour has passed that you finally find the words you’d wanted to say earlier.

“I like it,” you say, face burning as you stroke Chestnut’s mane absently while you trot behind Joel and Midnight. “Uh, finishing in my mouth. I like that.”

Joel turns his head slightly until you can see his strong profile silhouetted in the setting sun. He gives you a half nod.

“Alright then.”

You say nothing more the rest of the ride back to Jackson City. Your horses take you back home, the path trod so many times before. Joel and you make no attempt at speaking more about your time, it seems pertinent it remain unspoken.

The secret stays in Teton village.

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taglist: @cosmic006533-blog1 @joeldjarin @elegantduckturtle @orcasoul @valkyreally @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @multiversed-daydreamer

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #dad joel miller #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel tlou #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel

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greatstormcat · 8 months

Text

TF141 x f!oc Monster AU

Part 5

Master List

TW: blood, violence, horror, death, necromancy

The flight carrying them to Villeneuve left late in the afternoon the following day. Gaz strode out onto the tarmac in his combat gear, baseball cap shielding his eyes from the sun along with a pair of sunglasses, and caught up with Winter as she neared the plane.

“Shouldn’t you be on fire?” she teased him with a smirk looking up at the brilliant blue sky above them.

“Shouldn’t you be getting there by broomstick?” he countered with his own grin and elbowed her gently.

“Alright you two, break it up,” Ghost muttered as he stalked past them both up the ramp into the belly of the plane. The Lieutenant had become more on edge the closer they had come to the mission, his mood making the very air around him frigid. It had been getting hard to keep electrical devices working around him. His ability to disrupt and affect electrical impulses around him went unchecked as he focused on the mission intel, and Price had needed to get Soap to speak with him.

Witch winked at Gaz and followed Ghost, taking a seat beside Gaz and buckling in. She noted that Ghost and Soap shared a quiet conversation before taking their own seats. In her brief time on the team it was clear there was something between the two, with Soap being the one that could smooth the sharp edges of the deceased man. She shot Gaz a curious glance.

There’s something going on between them, isn’t there? She asked telepathically.

Yeah, you're right. We don’t talk about it though, as it makes them uncomfortable, he explained. If anything is ever said they’ll tell you Ghost struggles keeping his body warm sometimes, and Soap helps him.

“Well, if that’s how it works then who am I to rock the boat?” She replied out loud. “None of the normal rules apply here, do they?”

He chuckled, “Not many of them, only the ones that help us get the job done. We look after each other and do what needs to be done.”

The plane took off, and a comfortable silence settled over them. She took the time to meditate, strengthening her control and preparing for what was to come. From time to time she felt Gaz’s gentle touch against her mind, smiling inwardly, she let him dip inside slightly.

There was a subtle gasp from beside her as she let Gaz touch her thoughts properly, and he returned the gesture. His humour flowed into her, making her smile. She saw snippets of his past, Victorian England, his travels around the world, always alone though... As she explored further into his thoughts the images he showed her changed. She saw herself held in his arms, his lips pressed against hers in a tender kiss, her heart rate increasing in response. Clearly encouraged by how she lingered on this, he deepened the intensity of the image letting her taste his tongue on her own. She moaned.

Winter snapped open her eyes, meeting the gaze of Soap who was sat opposite her, looking at her with intense interest and clearly having heard her moan.

“Havin’ some vivid dreams, hen?” he asked, seeing her flushed face and grinning. “Might have to tell me about ‘em later.”

She turned and looked at Gaz. “What was that?” she hissed, eyebrows raised. He shrugged nonchalantly in response.

“Hey, you went looking. Can’t blame me for my idle thoughts, you know how minds work.” He did however wink at her, clearly enjoying the reaction he got from her. She tried not to dwell on the fact his hands were clasped in his lap covering his crotch now.

The remainder of the flight passed with nothing but idle chatter, and prep for the mission. Price walked through as they prepared to land and went over the final details.

When the plane landed they loaded into a truck and headed to the mountains where Villeneuve was located. The atmosphere became more tense as they neared the town, Soap commented on the scent of death in the air. Gaz in particular seemed uncomfortable.

Something bothering you? Winter asked silently.

Yes, I can feel another vampire but somethings not right. Its hard to describe, he replied and gave her an unguarded, concerned look. "Captain," he said aloud, "I'm getting an odd feeling about this, I think we're up against a Vampire but… I dunno, somethings off." Price nodded.

The team exited the vehicle to continue on foot towards the perimeter of the town as the light faded from the sky. The Alps loomed over them, painted in the dusk light and looking like they were painted with blood. Price breathed in great lungfuls of air, scenting the landscape around them. "You're right Gaz," he said simply. "Everyone be careful, watch eachothers' six."

They headed through the surrounding woodland, using the trees as cover to shield their approach. Price held up a hand, halting their progress as he caught a scent on the breeze. He looked at Gaz and Soap who nodded that they had caught it too. They moved forward cautiously, but to no avail as gunfire suddenly rang out, a bullet exploding a chunk of tree above Winter's helmet.

As bullets flew around them, they returned fire instinctively. Gaz moved with unearthly speed and reached the furthest foes in the blink of an eye, killing them with ease.

Winter returned fire along with Price, Soap and Ghost, until she was tackled from behind, hearing them at the last possible moment but not turning in time to do anything but grasp the hand holding his knife. As the attacker bore her to the ground she drew on her Magick, purple light dancing around her, and she used her grip on him to force as much energy into him as possible. He screamed as his insides heating beyond measure, body swelling up until with a wet pop it exploded, showering chunks around her. The gunfire ceased, the ambush overcome.

"The fuck was that?" Ghost muttered as she stood up, brushing lumps of charred flesh from her uniform. The others were staring at her as well, and she casually picked up her rifle and moved into position beside Gaz who was grinning at her with pride.

"Nevermind," Price said, kicking over one of the bodies. "They're in KorTac uniforms. Simon, lets talk to one of them."

Ghost nodded and pulled off a glove as he knelt beside one of the dead soldiers. The Phantom put his hand on the corpse's forehead and Winter felt him reaching out to pull back the spirit of the dead man to his body. With a sickening shriek the body opened its eyes and mouth, staring around it wildly.

"Tell me what's going on in Villeneuve and I will let you go back," Price barked, clearly used to this necromantic interrogation technique. The corpse opened and closed its mouth like a fish, no words coming forth. Ghost grunted and his shoulders curled forward with effort. On an impulse, Winter moved closer and placed her hand on his bicep drawing some of her own power and channelling it into him. His posture relaxed, and he was able to control the spirit more easily.

"Konig was turned by the vampire we were meant to capture," the corpse blurted out, "but he was already half way there from the experiments KorTac were doing. He’s insane, twisted, out of control now…."

"Shit," Price muttered and punched his fist into a nearby tree. Gaz also swore under his breath and rubbed his face. "Let 'em go, Ghost," Price growled. The Lieutenant released the spirit of the soldier and sat back on his heels, then looked up and nodded his thanks to Winter.

"What does he mean by experiments?" she asked. Soap took a breath and answered her.

"KorTac have been rumoured to be experimentin' on humans to recreate supernatural abilities. Sounds like their Colonel Konig was a successful guineapig," he said with undisguised disgust.

"And if a fledgling vampire tried to turn him, not knowing his wasn't fully human, they will have created something terrifying," Gaz snapped furiously. "Stupid fucking humans always messing with nature," he spat, then glanced at Winter before shaking his head and turning away again, anger etched on his face.

"So, we need to take him out then," She said, looking at Price.

"Come on, mission's not over. Just a lot more fucking complicated," he growled. “I need to radio in for back up.”

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obsidiancreates · 1 year

Text

Icewild (Part 2)

(There should be a Read More link but if it doesn't show up tell me because that's been happening lately and I don't know why.)

The arrival of the newcomers is... interruptive, but not halting. There's still the matters of making sure the ogres don't turn on the humans, of tending to wounds, of having a new day.

Of breakfast.

Barnabos keeps Kremy in the corner of his vision as he works on the monkey bread. The lizardfolk clearly knows his way around a kitchen as he pulls a chef's hat out of a bag of holding, and then a little pencil which he uses to add curls to the ends of his mustache. Then he pulls out a strange belt of some kind, fastening it around his waist.

"Alright Gid. Just light me a little fire here and then hang around in case I need ya."

"Sure thing man." Gideon lights the little fire below the pot and then steps back, crossing his arms and keeping his own eye on Barnabos.

"Not the trusting sort there, Mr. LeCroux?" Barnabos asks. "No need for a bodyguard, as long as ye don't strike first."

"Who said anythin' about a bodyguard? I just like havin' Gid around."

Barnabos sees Gideon puff up a little at that with a smug yet proud smile. Ahhh, well, that makes sense. Always better to have one's lover looking out for them, even when it might not be needed.

"I'll be servin' up a feast myself this morning," Barnabos says, tossing some pork into a pan and deeply inhaling the scent as it sizzles and pops. "All sorts o' fine foods, sweet an' savory alike."

"I'll be cookin' up some Agwe classics myself." Kremy pulls a small bag of flour from his belt, as well as a small glass jar of oil. He measures both out carefully and mixes them together in the pot. "Sausage and chicken gumbo, and maybe a tarte. We'll see, I dunno if I wanna risk a beezleberry infestation here."

"... Did you hit your head when you landed here, lad? I don' understand half the words yer saying."

"Oh. Right, well, a beezleberry is some kinda... horrible Feywild monstrosity. Tastes real fuckin' good! But kind of otherwise really horrible in every other way."

"I thin' I speak for everyone when I say you'd best leave that out."

"Yeah, probably."

"Is Agwe a Feywild city as well?"

"What? No, it's a fuckin' normal city."

"No need to get up in arms, Mr. LeCroux! Was just askin', I don't recognize the name is all."

"I guess it is pretty inland for someone like yourself to visit."

"It's where you wanna go if you're lookin' for a good time," Gideon says, pulling out a cigar and lighting it with his magic. "Gamblin', sleepin' around, scammin'-"

"Sounds like you should tell Mr. Stabbaskotch about it!" Barnabos declares with a grin. "He's the scammin' and gambling sort!"

"Not surprised." Kremy just keeps stirring his flour and oil mixture. "I could taste fiendish magic all around that little fella. Hope he got himself a good deal out of it."

"We may never know." Barnabos pops the bread into the oven. "He's got some sort o' beastie after 'im, but if you ask me he just needs to face it."

Gideon takes a drag from his cigar. "Sounds like he got a shitty fuckin' deal. Hey, how big is this fuckin' breakfast gonna be?"

"I'll be makin' a feast for the whole camp! It'll be plenty to fill up on, don't you worry."

"I'm making enough gumbo for seconds too, Gid." Kremy gestures back at Gideon. "His stomach's made of fire and stuff, he needs extra."

"Well I'm also keepin' up some fuckin' gains." Gideon flexes and grins.

"I'm not so scrawny myself, lads, I know what I'm doin'. ... Speakin' of, Mr. LeCroux, are you ever going to add any food to that there slurry?"

"The rue's barely there! It's only a light caramel, I'm looking for milk chocolate."

"Yer burnin' it on purpose?"

"Cookin' it. Keep your hands away though, this stuff is fuckin' Agwe Napalm."

"... And that's a common dish there? Something that they call napalm?"

"Can find it all over, none's as good as mine though."

"... Maybe don't tell Mr. Stabbaskotch where to find your city, on second thought."

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

The breakfast is a hit.

Kremy made enough gumbo just for his own family and their "hosts", so to speak, while Barnabos fed the rest of the entire camp. Not a single crumb or droplet was left behind of either of their meals, the gumbo being a highlight.

"Holy shit!" Skrimm literally bounces in his set a bit. "How have I never had that before?!"

Jornir places his bowl away. "It was... very good." He nods at Kremy.

"I'll admit, I 'ad my doubts watchin' the process, but it was well worth it." Barnabos sops up the last dregs of it with some bread. "I'll be tryin' to make my own take on it soon enough."

"Lookin' forward to tryin' it." Kremy leans over to Gideon and, less subtly than he thinks it is, whispers, "I saw him fuckin' drown everythin' in that Ancient Estuary shit Duncan had, I'm not fuckin' eatin' that so I'll just give it to you."

Gideon tries to laugh in quiet gleeful agreement. It's also louder than intended. Everyone graciously ignores this little conversation, for the sake of the ogres and their new holiday. Otherwise Barnabos and Skrimm might be rolling for initiative over the slight against Ancient Estuary.

"Oh! By the way, not to uhhhh impose," Gricko says, making a strange hand gesture, "But um, the big fella, there."

"I am called Jornir."

"Jor-nir-aye."

"... N-no."

"Anyway! Um, I noticed you've got a little funny shedding going on," Gricko says, lowering his voice and running his words together at the tail end of his sentence as he tilts his head. "And if I'm not mistaken, my friend Kremy here should have some nice bananyas leftover because he never used them in his pie, and I think it would make a nice, salve." he folds his hands and gives Jornir a funny little smile.

"Oh, yeah, I think you're right." Kremy reaches into his bag and pulls out Bananas.

Daisy gives Kremy and Gricko a look of perplexion and judgement so strong that it's a wonder they don't take psychic damage.

"They're fuckin' magic healin' bananas, alright?" Kremy tosses one at Jornir.

Jornir catches it, and examines it. "This is... infused with magic." He looks at Gricko. "I did not believe you when you said you were a druid."

"Oh, that's fair, I'm not the usual kind." Gricko pats Hootsie on the head as she, with an intelligence more humanoid than animal, pulls a plate of muffins closer and begins eating, picking out any chunks of fruit she finds like a picky child.

"Well... thank you. I will go use this." Jornir stands and leaves the table, and just as pointed out there's a fine dusting of fur on the seat as he leaves.

When he returns, there's sure to be... more visible damage.

But in the meantime, things settle a bit.

"Well," Taishen sighs, "Before all of this happened I'd told Myelin I'd check on an issue with the plumbing system, so I'll be going now. They gave me a wonderful outfit to do it in, too!" He holds up a pair of blue overalls and a fetching red cap.

"Oh, you guys got plumbin?!" Gideon leans in. "Why didn't anyone say so, we're fuckin' filthy!"

"Well, it's not working right now-"

"Oh, I'll get that workin'." Gideon stands up. His chains fall to the floor with a heavy clang! "Just fuckin' watch. Take me to the ogre sewers, dragon guy."

"Oh, company! Excellent news!"

"Go get 'em Gid." Kremy calls after them.

"Jackasses," Skrimm snorts.

Queenie glares. "They're fixin' your water, Skrimm."

"They're also working when they could be relaxing."

"But a hard day's work can be rewarding!" Twig bounces in her seat and holds up a hand. "You get to have things working right, you get to feel all nice after you get cleaned up, you get to lick frogs you find whole cleaning out the cupboards-"

"Lick frogs?" Skrimm's face scrunches.

"Didn't you try snake poison with the ghosts, Mr. Stabbaskotch?"

"Totally different."

"Yeah, snake poison tastes bad." Twig shrugs. "Anyway, I think it's gonna be better once they get the water running."

"Yes, I... am in desperate need of a bath. I'm still... messy, from Julia and Bobby's... acts."

Torbek makes a low sound of both disgust and intrigue. Frost wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.

"Well, I'm sure they'll be returning with good news for us," Barnabos says, leaning back in his chair and puffing on his pipe. "Oh, Mr. Jornir! Lookin' much better. What do you think about all this, sending the fire lads to fix the plumbing."

"I think that it will not work," Jornir says, sliding back into his chair and smelling of smushed bananyas. "And that we will need to have everyone move before we go to take the Armament from the Princess. ... And after the blood sacrifice."

All mouths at the table fall open.

"... Talk about a mood killer," Gricko mumbles.

There's a long silence.

And then Daisy raises her hand and signs, "I nominate Bacon for the sacrifice."

#legends of avantris #once upon a witchlight #icebound #my attempts at fanfic #fanfic

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party-gilmore · 9 months

Text

absolutely wild learning about my austistic leanings later in life because like

my parents just thought i was “eccentric” and found me rather entertaining, weirdness and all (plus their own probably undiagnosed AuDHD making their benchmark for normal skewed anyway) and my mon specifically was always so “mever change for anyone just be you” from a very young age so i just…

never experienced the concept of masking i guess?

Not as masking, I mean.

i would read accounts from autistic people talking about their experiences and struggles and pressure to conform and masking and the mental effects thereof and i would feel empathy because i “went through similar issues” but i th

i thought i was just being bullied for being Weird. just in general. like kids do. that this was a case of “well this sounds a lot like what i go through, but im not actually autistic so it probably isnt my place to join the conversation.”

it just never clicked that, “um. hi. these are the exact same behaviors you do. and there were moments in your life that almost led you to masking. because thats what it would’ve been. masking. but your dumb ass thought it wouldve just been ‘changing how you act and who you are in order to be bullied less’ which okay TECHNICALLY yes that is an accurate if watered down description of masking too, but.

Then you refused to on principle, because bullying is bad and fuck you and got angry about it to the point of overcompensating and INCREASING your Behaviors (tm) until you completely skipped over one of the key experiences that wouldve helped you identify with other people on the spectrum later in life.”

I just rolled through life like a steamroller of righteous, spiteful confidence that my preferences and actions were nobody’s business but my own and vice versa unless they clearly and directly affected others - so much so that I never actually set any kind of benchmark pattern for the way (NT) people around me act.

So I never had a benchmark for masking.

like im going back through all my memories of friendships that soured because i took everything at face value instead of trying to read deeper into cues. because I would always just say what i wanted people to know, straight up. like if i wanted attention i would ask for it if i wanted them to know i was hurt i would tell them. That made so much sense to me i assumed that was the norm. Because clearly. Thats logical. and obvious. So certainly other people are doing the same.

I got blinsided a LOT by the games my school friends and later some early adult friends played, yeah, but AGAIN (see: steamroller of self confidence) I simply assumed that was THEIR problem, not mine, and just… grieved the friendship and hoped for their sake they’d eventually sort their shit out 🤣

I literally thought they were the ones having difficulty with social contracts and cues and relationships.

Then over the past couple years the more I see accounts from other people in the AuDHD spectrum, like “yeah neurotypicals actually [thing i had been assuming was just an asshole trait for years without questioning it], heres what they really mean and a good script for responding” and “its funny how i [exact behavior i did for years] and no one realized i was austistic till later” im like… 🙃

And the last kicker was the post about food touching with the tag response “sometimes masking your autistic traits ends up more autistic than the unmasked trait” and my gut reactions were, in order:

…why would you bother to mask that, why is the way you eat anyone elses business?

i mean i guess it would ease up the pressure a bit, i got bullied for that too, i can see how maybe you wouldnt want to have to put… up with…

…

oHHHH SHIT IS THAT WHAT IT WOULDVE BEEN. IF I HADNT BEEN SO ANGRY ABOUT BEING ASKED TO CHANGE. IT WOULDVE BEEN MASKING. IF I’D KNOWN WHAT THAT WAS. THIS WHOLE TIME.

its just… its just been a series of months of me shaking my head and realizing my entire life has been that meme like “Am I having difficulties connecting socially??? No, it is everyone else who is wrong.”

🤣 girl help

#if its not obvious ofc this is about my personal experience with autism #not trying to say anything about whether its better to mask or not to mask i think thats up to each individual personal and their situation #whatever is most comfortable to them #…not me putting disclaimers in the tags of a personal post just in case anyone takes it the wrong way so i need to clarify #because suddenly i dont trust whether or not my tone comes across as intended anymore and am afraid of sounding arrogant #i bet THAT doesnt have anything to do with the AuDHD at ALL for SURE 🙄

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pinkafropuff · 6 months

Text

[Home for the Holidays] -Emilia

She was singing again. Thanks to how high up she’d gotten, she was sure it wouldn’t be heard by others- she had a knack for producing “static” so that her words would only be heard by her own ears- so long as they did not get too close, or look too deeply. Her spell would make sure of that; with her very specific requirements, it was almost assured that she would be free to express (or not express) whatever she wanted.

“You can only be heard by someone as lonely as I, from a place I am not and am not well known. You will sound only as the sweetest of whispers of the dearly departed, of easily forgotten words and tones.”

It was cold out; it was always cold in Ishgard, but today, up high and with all that wind, she found herself longing for the snow in a way that she did not think possible before. The month, as it were, was the Eorzean equivalent of “December”, and she found herself reminiscing as she cleaned the blade of her lance, carefully polishing even the most minute of details on the shaft.

It “sounded” like a normal carol. As she thought much about it and cared very little for its tune, the simplest would suffice:

“Oh ay, ay ay, I’m dreamin’

Of a white

Christmaaas~

With every-

Christmas Card I write

May your days,

Be merry and briiiiiiiiight-

…and may all your Christmases

Whi-i-i-ite-”

She could see her breath when she breathed out a bit too heavily. She was wearing a hat, but…still. There was something chillier about the warmth of ones’ breath against the air in December, and it always smelled like-

….like…

She paused. Mouth slowly opening and closing, she felt a strong tug at her chest. For a long time she ignored it; its warmth began to scald her throat as she held it down, prickling at her abdomen as she swallowed to destroy it in stomach acid, though it was all to no avail. Its taste was like the sweetest juice. She could indulge it this once. Just once.

“...I’ll…be home…for Christmas…” A whisper. “You can count on…me…”

“Please have snow

And mistletoe

And-”

She chewed the words to make them unrecognizable. “...r..sents under the tree.” One boot to the top of the cathedral, she pushed back just slightly; a modicum of snow slipped off of its sloped top, dropping down onto the empty streets below.

“...Christmas eve will find me

Where the love light gleams

I'll be home

…for Christmas

If only in my dreams…”

The only warmth was on her tear-stained cheek.

“If only in my-”

(She closed her eyes.)

Rustling among boxes of things long forgotten. Static cling against long, red sleeves. Since it’s winter, it’s the perfect time to rummage among old things and pretend they’re new.

He’s making a mess. He hates mess, so it’s clearly not his favorite part, but he’s so deeply invested in what the mess could be, that [-----] can’t find him in the garage as readily as she’d usually be able. It’s not that big, of course; though it can fit the one car, it hasn’t in years, given the junk of various persons taking up its space. By now, it’s almost like it was never meant for an automobile at all.

“I found the tree!”

“Daddy, everybody knew where the tree was, we’re havin’ cocoa right now.” It’s a good thing she’s wearing her long hair today. It’s nippy around her neck and shoulders, even with the hat she’s thrown on to keep her warm.

(She reached up and touched her now-short hair. That was one thing she missed, but maybe not much else. For her it smelled of the fakeness she needed to convince them of her personhood. For her it was estrangement. A barb in her skin.)

“They can’t eat or drink nothin’ til I pray-” His voice broke off. “Babygirl, if you’re gonna help me, then help me! Don’t just stand there.”

[----] let out a little sigh. “I’m not that strong. You should ask….I dunno, Robert or somebody.” Not that she didn’t want to try. Though she’d throw her back out too, with the way things were going.

“He at work right now.”

“Then we should wait until he gets home. He’ll be over for the movie at least, and Auntie’ll probably goad him into staying.” Not that there was any guarantee he’d help out. “At least Trina’ll be around to help out by then. Don’t want you to throw your back out.”

“If I do, I got a doctor right here.”

(Her elbows were getting cold. Stupid dragoon armor. A good coat was better than this. How did Estinien survive like this, anyway? The elves seemed French but reminded her more closely of Russians. Tough and tall. Rough, but trying not to be. Or maybe that was French after all. She wouldn’t bother.)

“Doctor Ross is not on call, it’s Christmas! And, because I’m working with the government, I get paid time off!”

(How that would bite her in the ass later.)

“Well, you should get your ‘paid time off’ behind over here to grab the other end of this tree. I know you been liftin’ patients and all that. Ain’t no nurses ‘round here to pick up your slack!”

In the end she’d relented, if only to take the tree box inside. By the time they were done, her mother had already started a fight with her father about his habits- though at least they’d already gotten through the prayer. It was enough to wake the neighbors- which, in this case, were her aunts and uncles not originally keen on showing up early to their collective grandparents’ (and parents’) tree-trimming, house decorating celebration. It was loud but warm, its simmering cooled only as low as time would let it before they all dispersed to their various homes, most of which were apartments in that same building.

A microcosm in an otherwise crowded space. If she peered into a snowglobe, that’s exactly what she’d see; a big, loud family in varying skin tones, talking and laughing with drinks in hand, whether they be coffee, tea, cocoa, or wine.

“Nah, no cocoa. Pass me the rum,” she’d said after one too-long shift at the hospital, and her nana had passed it over without much fuss.

“A workin’ woman deserves that much.”

(“Have fun, but not too much fun.” She’d say.)

The freezing cold is incentive enough to pull her legs in close, arms tightly wrapped around herself as her thoughts rest in a far off memory.

“Happy Starlight everyone!” Through the hustle and bustle of the season, Emilia finds herself sitting alone at a table in the back of Revenant’s Toll, her arms and legs crossed, boots resting atop the table. Apparently it’s celebrated as a holiday for children- why, Emilia is not keen on finding out- but she relents that it must be a cultural thing, and otherwise not something she is overly interested in. Alphinaud and Alisaie- despite being children themselves- are passing out gifts to every Scion, which she admits is good of them; with all that money in their family, it would be good to at least be generous.

A poor facsimile of a thing. But they seemed happy nonetheless. She was a lot of things, but a party pooper was not one of them. No, it would be better to leave, or to brood. Whichever would lead them to not seeing her cry like a stupid baby at the end of the night.

“Ah, there you are.” It was not an unwelcome voice; she’d gotten used to Alphinaud by now (though not as much his twin, who was still merrymaking with other guests and clearly goading them into sharing their drinks, despite being able to buy her own), and figured he’d come around sooner or later, probably to wish her a nice day or something or other. While it wasn’t a bad thing per se, she was getting tired of putting on her act with him, especially when he’d taken rather recently to grinning in response, as if he knew her dearest secrets. As if he knew her. “I’ve a gift for you, if you want it.”

She gave him a very strong side eye. Arms crossed over her chest, she leaned back further in her chair, enough to (while knowing the wall was behind her) stretch her hands above her and brace them behind her neck in a dangerously careless position that she was sure would tip anyone else’s chair over entirely. “If it’s free, I’ll take it,” she lied.

“I knew you’d say that,” it was almost a mumble, but he offered her a package nonetheless. “Happy Starlight. I know you aren’t keen on asking for things you want, and you may even have been a bit mean spirited when you said it, but-” He paused, seeming to want her to open up the package. She did not. “..well. I hope you like it, at least. And there is a receipt of sale, should you wish to return it.”

“Generous of you,” she answered lazily, and though he shrugged at her, he still smiled and crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her former position.

“Well,” he admitted, “I did hear that, with all this prestige, if I cannot afford to be at least this generous it would make me quite the laughingstock.”

Without wanting to, her lip twitched. It felt like a smile. “Well, blow me over. I guess I’ll accept it then.” And she meant it. Genuinely.

When he left, there was only a beat or so before his sister came; in her hands was a rather big, vase shaped thing with a big bottom and smaller top (not unlike her own physical frame), that made a heavy, gentle slosh sound- which made her wonder what was in the damn thing.

“Here,” she said to Emilia, though all she got in response was the doctor’s flickering gaze from her to the gift and back, somewhat in disbelief.

“What is that.” She didn’t ask it like a question, and couldn’t bring herself to sit up at first- but her curiosity got the better of her and she slipped her boots off the table to lean close.

“Maybe you should open it up…?” It sounded like a hint, but the impatient edge made Emilia grin a little.

“And if I don’t?” A challenge. Alisaie was easy to challenge, given she never backed down from one, and easy to goad when times got rough. It was her favorite thing about the younger twin- other than her taste for red in her clothing, which Emilia agreed with on principle.

“Well, then…!” She warned, eyes flashing a bit…but then she closed her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line. “Look, you can open it or not if you want, but you’ll miss out on something amazing to enjoy when we go caroling later on tonight.”

“Oh, so it’s a drink,” she murmured, using a delicately gloved finger to pull on the wrapping paper. “What, you made me some koo-” She thought better of it. “...some lemonade from your stand?” Easily the best way to guarantee her intent.

“Just open it!”

She did. When fully unwrapped, the bottle glistened with the most beautiful brown, the spirits within shivering just slightly with every touch. With two hands she gingerly handled the container, careful not to release its slim neck from her grip. Rum. Finely aged and beautifully packaged. It must have cost a fortune. “...where did you get this?”

“You said you liked to drink,” Alisaie admitted, “and though I know it’s a bad habit, I just thought…well, it’s not wrong if it makes you a bit happy now and again, is it?”

Emilia’s lips parted. Her lipstick started crackle against drying skin.

“Now, you have to promise me that you won’t drink too much tonight instead of hanging out with us, or else I’ll…!” She threw her hands up. “I’ll smash the bottle! I’ll drain every last drop and you’ll see none of it.” Arms crossed over her chest and mouth pulling into a tight sort of pout, she turned her gaze to the side. “Whatever. It’s not my fault Alphinaud picked a coat for his gift. I know mine isn’t as good.”

Something tickled at her eye. It didn’t matter. “What?”

“He already gave you his, didn’t he? He tried to make me feel better about it, but I wanted to get you the coat, since it was all you asked for,” she was so absorbed in her conflicts with her brother that she didn’t realize she’d spoiled the surprise. The gift in question was clearly still at Emilia’s side.

Suddenly driven by a need to know, she grasped the package and ripped it open. Fuck. He really had gotten her a coat. A really nice coat. A really nice red coat, clearly made to be used as armor in environments where cold was king, where her breath caught on mountain peaks and she was too stubborn to do more than sit out there all night long, to be safe with herself and her tears away from prying eyes.

These stupid kids.

“They’d go good together if they weren’t so-” She broke off suddenly, noticing for the first time that Emilia’s face had begun to flush around her cheeks and eyes. “...are you alright? You look a little-”

She bolted out of the door with her arm over her face and didn’t stop until she was higher than anyone could see her.

****

Of course they were kind. They're young. Adults, maybe, by this world's standards, but Emilia knows better than most the difference between eighteen and twenty-four. Between an overgrown child wallowing in debt and a fledgling doctor who'd pulled an entire 12 on her feet. Somehow, the twins were both at once.

The wind whipped at her cheeks again. At least in this cold, it wasn't only her eyes that would sting red, or her nose. She could explain it away this way, crouched down in the snow-covered dirt like a gargoyle standing watch for the holy cathedral.

“Run out of children to frighten?”

Her lip twitched at first with some sort of disdain, though for once, she hadn't meant to. When her head turned to see him, he was more or less the same as she remembered; tall, brooding and unbearably pointy. A more or less match for her ire. An easy target.

“‘fraid not. Got kicked outta my hotel.” The cracking of chapped lips curled to one side. She’d have to find a place with better stuff for them later, since that cheap shit was not cutting it. “Why? Ain't you got better things to do than harass ladies, Mr. Dragoon?”

To this, he was silent. The Azure Dragoon only crossed his arms, a heat stewing beneath his helmet. “Unfortunately for you, this is work for me.”

“...damn. Even you gotta work on Christmas,” she murmured, which made his head turn a bit, though she realized she shouldn't have said it. “...it's a holiday, ain't it? What you out here for?”

“You, apparently.”

The words snapped her teeth against each other. It was good that it was cold. Better to be mistaken for the chatter of shivering than something else. When she regained her bearings, she drawled, “...what for?”

“There’s a storm picking up near here,” he admitted with some carelessness, “and some of the children thought to venture out further than they ought.”

Hmph. “You callin’ me a kid?”

“I didn't call you anything,” he answered roughly, “though you speak it well enough on your own.” A single armored hand extended, its sharp fingers not unlike a dragon itself. “Well? What are you waiting for. Run along.”

She kissed her teeth. She had half a mind to argue with him- tease him, goad him, annoy him enough to give her a good fight- but he was right. It was getting colder, and the flurries of snow were starting to get stuck in her eyes (which she rolled enough for him to see, even amidst the furious white).

Emilia stood, boots crunching in the thick snow as she shifted her weight to one foot and then the other before shoving her hands into her pockets, shoulders slightly hunching in dismay. “Of course, officer,” she said, her voice clear as a songbirds’. “I was gettin’ bored of this spot anyway.”

Then she smiled. A too-sweet smile that made him scowl. Ironically, it amused her enough to give him a real one for free. When she teleported off, Estinien was still standing there, a statue clad in black in an otherwise endless white. When a few moments passed and he was sure it was clear, he headed back into town, the whisper of the wind kissing the back of his neck, its forgotten song stinging near cracks in his armor.

“If only in my-”

The coat was still sitting on the table when she returned, along with the bottle. Alisaie didn’t smash it yet, huh? A stray thought. She snagged the bottle and opened it up to give it a sniff.

***

The Scions were all gone. Maybe they'd gone caroling without her. Good, was her first thought, though it soured after a moment or so. That wasn't fair or kind. Not that she was given to doing more than one at a time.

Eggnog.

Boots thump, thump, thumping across the floor. The cabinets to the bar burst open as she searched for some necessary ingredients- though most were below her, in what seemed to be a kind of fridge.

It was good to ride out compulsions like these when they came. Maybe something good would come out it- like the sudden urge to clean a long-dirty room or do one’s taxes just before the deadline.

Big bowl. Punch jar? Bowl. Regular bowl. “Who gives a fuck?” She said out loud, thrown up beside her head, a careless gesture to pair with her swears. Eggs, milk- shit, they had so many kinds of milk- sugar, heavy whipping cream, (? was that too different than milk?) vanilla (probably), cinnamon (maybe?), salt (oh hell yeah, salt. ‘To balance the flavor’ or something). By the time she was done mixing what seemed like it should be eggnog for at least fifty people, the doors opened faster than she imagined they would. In an effort to cheapen her actions quickly, she grasped the finishing touch: the bottle of fancy rum.

She took a deep breath. She could drink this on her own. She could treat it as a friend for hours, maybe weeks if she stretched it out, if she was good with it, it get her through this godforsaken season, through the empty and spiraling cold while everyone else sang carols and stayed warm to the touch-

-chewing her lip. A little sigh. Time was running out, and she didn’t want to be seen doing it, so. It’s Christmas, ain’t it? She unscrewed the cap and dumped it all in- at least, more than half of it, to compensate for both the sweetness of the eggnog she had yet to taste, and the amount of servings. Clumsily- and quickly, of course- she grabbed the bottle and set it off to the side, hands on top of the bar. When the doors opened, the Scions- both inner circle and outer- filled in, with Alphinaud and Minfilia at the front.

“Oh! There you are! We were out looking everywhere for you! Alisaie said you had quite a fright-” The blue twin broke off when she glared down at him, silencing any efforts to overdramatize her flight. He cleared his throat instead. “Anyway, what is this?”

Minfilia in particular peered over the bowl. “Mm…it smells quite nice. Is it alright to drink?”

“Is it safe to drink, you mean,” began Alphinaud, though Alisaie elbowed him in the side. The rebuke seemed to come from either side, Emilia, Alisaie, and Minfilia all, so he just shrugged and opted to stop himself before he got skewered by them all.

“Well, Emilia clearly made it for us,” she wanted to protest Minfilia’s assumption, but found she could not, “so why don’t we give it a try?”

She shrugged in response. Though she hadn’t thought far enough to get cups, she found them fast enough to make herself one. “...it’s spiked. Don’t drink too much.” Then she poured some of her own. Apprehensive because of the smell (eggs tended to do that to her, on occasion), she took a sip, only to be startled by the pungent taste that was very unlike alcohol. Maybe she shouldn’t have put in that many different kinds of milk?

“...this is…interesting.” Minfilia nodded, though her expression was clearly concealing a rather different emotion. “It tastes very…unique. Yes. Unique.”

The twins got their own cups (though Emilia thought to keep an eye on them, given their ages; legal or not, they were comparatively young) and Alisaie wrinkled her nose delicately at first, before retching back into her cup. “Ew! What is this?” It burst out from her with a bubble of laughter. “It tastes like…like spoiled milk? With rum in it.”

“Let me try,” Thancred pushed forward, and before they knew it, everyone was grabbing a cup of the eggnog, though Emilia herself leaned back and cupped her hand under the elbow holding her own glass, sipping slowly as she closed her eyes.

“This is awful,” her brother agreed, though he was laughing too. “What is this made out of? It’s not…spoiled, but it tastes like-” His eyes searched the ceiling before they closed, fist to his chin as he lowered his head in thought. “Like flavors fighting for dominance?”

“We shouldn’t judge it too harshly,” said one voice, obviously noticing her off to the side. “I mean it’s- I mean the rum is good!”

A ripple of laughter washed over the small crowd. Not wanting to upset her (though there was no way she could be) they kept the banter light after that.

The nearly empty bottle caught her eye. She turned away and pointed her gaze at Alisaie. “You still goin’ out?”

The red twin stood up straight. “Wh-I mean you-”

Her brother slid in beside her. “Of course we are. It’ll be cold, though, so you could bring some of this if you were willing to join us…?”

Of course she would. She was young, after all. “Nothin’ better to do.” She swirled her swill around in her cup. A waste of expensive rum. She smiled to herself, enjoying what felt like a smart little secret. ‘Sides, I should take that coat out and see if I need to take it back.”

This seemed encouraging to him, somehow. “Mayhaps with a little more drink, you’ll even sing some carols…?”

“Shut up, kid.” Was her answer, though more than one Scion noted that it was not a “no”.

#merry christmas!#this is a long one I'm afraid #but i enjoyed writing it #emilia #emilia chen #ffxiv #fic

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boiled-dennis · 2 years

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i really liked the tags you added to my trash twins analysis! esp because you are right that not a lot of ppl in this community actually have or know much about npd, it is always super interesting to see your input on how dennis and his behavior point towards him havin npd/aspd. its refreshing seeing someone give insight on that that isnt just 'haha hes secretly a serial killer with no feelings so hes a psychopath!!!1!!' lmaooo

ahh thanks i thought your post itself was great, i really enjoy reading what people have to say about the way dee and dennis were raised , there's a lot of interesting stuff to pick up on and interpret. also so much more that could be said about dennis and personality disorders (as well as the rest of the gang), but with my current level of energy it's easiest to build off other people's observations tbh. for some reason i just started typing a shit ton of words here and i don't know why it happened, but-

it's kinda neat to me how that one common reaction that viewers have to dennis is in response to the persona we see he wants people to perceive him as (in his own desperate protective way), but we Also get to see the vulnerable, scared side of him and the way he puts on this act—and often, fans either ignore this side, or they have their sanist view of it and think it's even more evidence of him being a "psychopath". i know a lot of people do watch it only in a surface-level way, which i'm not going to criticise, but there's way more nuance to these characters than i guess a lot of people care to see. so if they are going to discuss it, i wish they'd be more thoughtful..

dennis is clearly a destructive, harmful person, but his actions don't mean he's "evil" or that he can't be a whole person with his own problems and feelings. that's one part of the show and his character that i really appreciate; i know there's been discussions in the past about this, but it's interesting how the show isnt a continuation of the all-too repeated idea that abusive people are one-dimensionally bad, purely evil, and not even people but more like. wickedness incarnate? like an entity that exists only to hurt & hate people. and there's the opinion that abusive characters shouldn't be portrayed as normal humans because that itself would somehow teach people to excuse their actions or think "but they still have some good in them", but that's more like. people's own responsibility to understand not to do. of course the gang can be cruel in cartoonish, heightened ways, but i feel with the understood rules of their world, it's not the exact same as real life actions (also the fact that they are indeed fictional characters). it's just important to have an understanding that being abusive is an active choice, and not something predestined because of personality disorders or whatever other qualities one might have!

to revisit the thing about dennis in reality vs how fans often view him- we see hints or direct portrayals of his true emotional state all throughout the show, but people insist on saying he's "emotionless"/has no feelings, even aside from his constant emotional outbursts. it's consistent with how real-life people with several cluster B personality disorders are invalidated (often seen as having contradictory symptoms/observable behaviour, and therefore faking emotions in order to be manipulative), and it's oddly kinda comforting because for me it just confirms my specific view of dennis. i just can't get over how many people who really like dennis and the show are fundamentally misunderstanding his character and insist on viewing him in a way that not only he himself is deeply hurt by (i know he isn't real btw), but also directly contradicts what we've always been shown about his real feelings, just because it fits the mould of the crazy psychopath that they want him to be. idk, sometimes it feels like people deliberately ignore some characters' complexities because they don't want their worldview to change so that they start viewing real people as equally complex and more than a stereotype.

#i saw the ask earlier and was gonna reply but people were playing a muppet record and i got distracteD #and then this took forever to type and think about #. have a Bit of an aversion to commenting on/reblogging stuff with my own thoughts but i want to be more involved in community stuff #i'm at the point where i typed the amount of words where nothing makes sense to me anymore and i question if my sentences are okay #npd dennis #aspd dennis #iasip meta #asks

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ducknotinarow · 7 months

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07 RaphYvonne 🍷💖

| send 🍷💖 so my muse drunkenly flirts with yours

It's not often it's over at their place where the pair of drunken idiots had their little drinking night but. Casey and Don were due for a night of drinking and venting away as well. So the four of them were at Raph's and Casey's place. The girl were off going to some 'under ground' concert thing. Raphael was aware of the Underground of New York course his normally was more involving things like the purple dragons fighting rings. So going for music? He was iffy Casey too but it seemed safe, not something any dragons were part of too. So it did free up their own nights. It was some of what came with growing up it seemed so much changed, some things the same. But hey at least the four of them were able to at least still enjoy their own company. All happily sat in the living room, varies drinks around the place and boxes of take out food slowly all emptying out as they just chatted away.

Raphael's own food left barely touched as he was resting on the floor, well sort of he handed it off for Casey to go and have if he wanted it. Slightly sat between Casey's legs, as each one was nicely framing his sides. Slightly looking up so he could make sure Casey had it before resting his head against on of their knees. Their conversation was pretty tame at the moment just talking about the kids really. Hey when you become parents your kid's do have a big part of your life so it's not that out there to make them a point of discussion. Mostly ragging on the dumb stuff their girls have gotten up to and such. Some worry about them going to this 'underground place.'

"It's fine" Raph finally spoke up adding in his own two cents to the conversation. "Sides' gettin' in trouble jus' what ya do. You know what 'm talkin' 'bout." No one was really address there when she slurred a little in his argument he felt he made a good point though, being young meant causing trouble. "Gettin' in ta trouble ain't a big deal if ya know how to get outta it. An' sure those two learned from the best." When he hears Casey agree he tips his head back confused. "Case you sure cause trouble but I was talkin' to Vonnie." he slightly snorts a bit at the reaction he's given before moving to get up. Slightly climbing on to Casey since he couldn't figure out how his arms and legs worked before he fell down between Von and Casey. Letting his arm rest to the back of the couch behind Yvonne.

"Right bade?" He tosses in mostly to add to the annoyance here. Sure by now Casey knew Raph only ever called her that in a very platonic sense but Raph was also saying it to be a little shit in the moment. Pointing out one finger of the hand still curled tightly around his can beer at the moment as he smirks at Casey. "Ya jus' 'ike to be trouble which youes are." he then moves his arm so he can point at Yvonne. "But lets not forget real trouble is her." He happily claims "Casey ya a gaint ass mama's boy to 'his Dad. Don an' I? We still jump if Splinter uses his Dad voice on us. But Von? Nah she legit rebel 'ginst hers" Raphael goes on to praise out over apparently. "An' 'hat's why we ain't an' shouldn' be worrin' so much 'bout the girls. Guppi's from Von and Sum listens to her they be fine see." Raph continues to explain his point.

Stopping to think a moment "Well maybe, I mean ya don' see Von drunk much but she's the real brains behind our antics when we go to far and turn it into a binge." Raph brings up "Hmm I dunno now maybe Ari is the bad influence afta all, and got it all from you babe." Attention set back to Yvoone now.

"Don' act 'ike ya don' know what i'm sayin' not when we got them two havin' to chase us down. If it jus' me? They get me pretty easy, you become the master mind of all our crimes." He smiles even if Don and Casey hated it every time it happened since it meant they had to go wrangle the two of them Raphael? Clearly always had a blast even if he didn't always fully recall the events. Letting his arm move to rest over Von's shoulders. As he moves more towards her side.

"What Vonnies more fun to drink with she knows it too. Why were drinking buddies. Not like she can cut loose with Donnie over 'ere." Turning to Von now as he points to the wine bottle they had for her choice since she wasn't much on beer either like Mikey. "Don' worry 'bout him he's jus' jealous cause I pick you to be my drink buddy over 'I'm all the time. 'Hink he hung up cause I called ya pretty once." He move as if to wishers but his voice dosent drop at all. "I mean you are pretty but I think Casey very pretty too but I'd neva live it down if he knew I thought it ya know babe? 'Ike don' get me wrong you have nice eyes and your hair is pretty too." He contuines to talk unaware of his own volume

"But Casey eyes? Man gorgeous. It's like I could swim in them ocean blues and never wanna leave. I mean purple nice to like I dunno that one rock or whatever. But I really like how Casey's light up when street lights hit them just right. And his hair? Now that's pretty hair, when he bothers to care for it. Kind of fun to brush it when he let's me it's all nice an' 'ike sliky soft ya know?" He thinks for a moment

"His nose it cute too," he casually tosses in "why I don' get why he so hung up over it. Jus' cause I 'ike ya best as my drinkin' buddy. It's fine though he's adorable when he pouts." Raphael contuines on with before nicely patting Vons shoulder. "No offense I mean Don 'ike ya looks afta all. Good 'hing was half 'hinking he might wind up building a wife one day. But not my type." Pointing over towards Caseu now.

" 'hat's my type though!" He proudly claims "all mine 'ight there! ain't he jus' prettiest?" So much for attempting to not think that. "Definitely the gay awakenin' or whatever for me." Raphael contuines to dig his own grave with every drunken thought that crosses his mind. "Course we get drunk all I wanna do is kiss that damn good looking face, why we can' be drinkin' buddies he don' get that. Why ya my drinkin' pal we jus' fuck around. He and me? We just fuck" He slightly laughs now "gotta break out the water hose." Finally moving to sit up as he let's himself falls over to rest against Casey now. Completely unaware of his own tangent, "Don' get jelly Case 'hats my job."

#muse| hamato raphael #madamkezzie #aflockoffeathers #[ ones trash is anothers tresures -aflockoffeathers]#[tmnt verse]#[07 verse]#ic reply #drunk flirting meme #meme answers #tw: alcohol mentioned #(( Sorry casey his drinking buddy is Von uwu stay mad XD))#((also i dont think it counts as florting towards von if hes talking about casey xD))#((more me just exposing raph to the worse set of people i could have xD))

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moonrisecalamityretreat · 1 year

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i believe what you said || hanji || trial 1.idk || re: reimi, luca || attn: ikko, mascots

I thought if I c-crushed a couple pills--

--it would make things easier.

She thought if she crushed pills...

...it'd make it easier.

She thought if she crushed pills and put it in his drink, it'd make it easier. It make his death easier. Make it calmer. Make it painless.

He'd fall asleep,

and it wouldn't

t e r r i f y i n g .

Hanji's grip on the puzzle loosens, their hands shaking against their will. How pathetic. This is completely unrelated case, and yet...

"Hah..."

They try to subtly wrap their arms around themselves as though they were cold.

"...Pills...

...don't do that."

Deep breaths. One, two, three.

Speak clearly.

(Their throat burns.)

"Pills... heavy duty painkillers, in specific... uh, they don't make ya fall asleep. But y'can violently overdose on 'em, that's fer sure. I ain't no doctor so the actual doc will haf'ta fact check this 'un, but sum'n happens to yer breathin' when ya overdose on 'em, right. Never heard o' them makin' ya violently cough up blood though."

And just like that, they're back to normal. See? Easy as pie! Chewing on the inside of their lip again, they shove their hands in their pockets for now.

"The pill cabinet was rummaged an nothin' was seemingly taken. But. Hisakawa's notes did say that shit gets refilled periodically. I originally assumed that it hasn't been touched 'cos the poisons haven't been replaced yet, but... I guess the rabbits just ain't restockin' shit at the same time or sumn'.

...My current guess now is that maybe th' vial an' clean tea cup belonged to Hisakawa. Notes clearly show that he's been in th' infirmary. Maybe after realizin' some vials were gone, he took one fer 'imself. Was gonna lace th' drink but... dude changed his mind. Even though he had a wife t'go back home 'ta, dude was probably too kind in th' end.

Not like it matters 'nymore, anyway."

The glove was clearly torn, and so the culprit's identity was as bright as day. Still, the circumstances were sad, even to Hanji, despite showing no feelings on their face. Well, there was no feeling, until their brows start to furrow.

"Luca... Yer startin' t'git real goddamn annoyin' wit' that."

Luca Knight... No, that wasn't quite correct. A rook or bishop, perhaps...? Did he have the worth of a rook? Bishop, maybe.

"Y'need t'git that potato sack off yer head and realize where you are. Now that someone's dead, folk're gunna keep dyin' like a domino effect. You need to accept that people are going to die around ya if ya wanna work towards doin' sum'mink about it. Sugarcoatin' shit ain't gunna do shit, or do ya jus' prefer 'ta have shit coated in pointless sugar all th' time?

People. Are. Going t'die. If we don't approach th' topic head on, then the fuck are ya expectin' us t'do. Sit on our asses hopin' a ~miracle~ will come if we do nothing? Think you'll git a trophy fer avoidin' upsettin' topics in an upsettin' environment? A game is stagnant if y'don't make any fuckin' moves. Conversations like this need to be had if we're gonna be here, and if we wanna get out.

Yet yer actin' like yer on a high horse fer havin' basic empathy. Is it so wrong for us to want to live too?"

Although it was a game they liked to think about a lot, Hanji knew not everything was black and white like a chessboard. Did this guy think everyone was so cruel for valuing their own lives? Sure, it was insensitive, and spoken in rather haphazard way, but... Since when did sensitivity ever belong in an environment like this?

Hanji sighs... They look at Reimi again, and they instinctively look away again. A painless death in one's slumber, huh...

"...Angeline. Do ya guys restock on all infirmary stuff all in one go, or only restock what ya can at th' moment and plan t'restock on others once ya can?"

#chapter 1 #hanji

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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

Text

I Miss You

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Request: idk if you’re taking request but i have a Billy x reader imagine where the reader is being super clingy and Billy tells one of his friends.The reader eavesdrop on that conversation and decides to distant herself from Billy.

A/N: I wasn't really sure what resolution you wanted for this one so this was what I came up with. I could have gone really angsty about it but I don't know, I liked this one.

Warnings: cursing, angst, fluff.

----------

"Yeah, man… I don't know. It's just a bit much… I mean, she's always here or on the phone with me… I dunno… she's just… clingy, I guess."

You knew you shouldn't really be eavesdropping but you hadn't intended on it. Both you and Billy had been tangled naked in his bed after some good sex when his phone started to ring. He'd slipped into the living area to answer it. You'd only gotten up because your bladder was shouting at you but as you'd slipped on his shirt and gone to the bedroom door, you'd caught the end of the conversation.

It honestly felt like a smack in the face. You were pissed and hurt that instead of talking to you about it like an adult, he instead opted to bitch about you to a friend, no doubt Frank. You weren't in a relationship, it was just casual sex and it had been for a good few months now. You weren't expecting anything else from him. And sure, sometimes you'd find yourself at his place a few nights in a row after work and sure you'd send him texts during the day or call. But never once had he acted like it was an issue. In fact he always sounded happy to pick up the phone and sometimes he was the one insisting you stay the night.

It wasn't like you wanted a relationship with him. You went into this knowing what it was. You didn't love him. You liked him, both looks and personality, but you didn't love him. It could be easy to fall in love with a man like him but you hadn't let yourself. But things had just been natural with the pair of you. Easy. A casual intimacy neither of you expected but didn't seem to mind. Except he clearly did mind it.

You weren't even that upset that he felt that way. He was entitled to his opinions and feelings and you wouldn't take that away from him. The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable or feel smothered. What bothered you was how he never once made it known and was going behind your back saying things like that. It made you feel small. It made you feel stupid like some young girl with an unrequited crush.

You rushed to get dressed and decided you'd leave, bladder forgotten. If he wanted distance then that's what he'd get. You weren't going to stick around to be made a fool of like this. He obviously wasn't happy with how you were so you'd remove yourself from the situation.

Just as you were slinging on your jacket, Billy came into the room only in his boxers and quirked a brow at you.

"Goin' somewhere?" He asked, sounding vaguely amused. His laid back attitude made your eye twitch after hearing what he'd said on the phone.

"Yeah, I'm gonna head home. I've got work early tomorrow," you said casually, closing your jacket.

"Oh…" he murmured, brows wrinkled. Yeah, didn't expect that did you, Russo?

You gave him a bland smile, squeezing his arm before walking out. You didn't really want him to know you'd heard him and have to deal with that awkward talk but you didn't much feel like kissing his cheek goodbye like you normally did. He'd normally walk you to the door and you'd kiss his cheek, then he'd capture your lips as you traded lazy kisses at the door before you left. Well not this time. Instead you left the apartment and left a stunned Billy Russo standing in his bedroom blinking at the door.

You threw yourself into work. It was something to help distract you from contacting Billy. You wouldn't say you were clingy but you had gotten used to talking to him daily and you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right. You'd give him the distance he wanted.

You hadn't text or called him and when three days went by, he'd surprised you with a text at work.

'Just wanted to check in and see if you're okay. Haven't heard from you in a bit.'

Your right eye twitched again at his message. This was what he wanted so why bother reaching out? You shot him a short message back along the lines of 'I'm fine. Busy at work.' And that was that. He didn't reply and you didn't really care that much.

The fourth day since you hadn't spoken to him and he called your cell around noon when he knew you'd be on lunch. Your hand flexed with the urge to answer but you resisted. You stayed firm even after it rang a second time. But then it flashed up with a voicemail and you couldn't help being intrigued so you listened to it.

"Hey… uh… I guess you're still busy with work. I just… wanted to make sure you're okay. Hope you're not workin' yourself too hard. Just… call me back or somethin', yeah?"

You rolled your eyes and clenched your jaw. This was what he wanted yet he was contacting you. You hated that you itched to call him back but you still refused. Maybe you were stubborn or maybe you still felt slighted by his words to his friend, either way you didn't call him back. Even if you did miss him just a bit.

The fifth day came around and you were exhausted. You'd hadn't lied when you told him you'd been busy with work but you'd made more work for yourself to keep busy. Not only were you doing your own but you'd been helping others out too just to stay busy and keep your head Billy-free. You'd stayed late the night before and then came in early and you hadn't given yourself a chance to grab a coffee.

You sat behind your desk as you read an email from a colleague as your office door knocked around noon.

"It's open," you called out as you scribbled a note in your notepad for later. You glanced up when the door opened and were stunned to see Billy standing there with a paper bag and two coffees in a cup holder.

"Hey," he smiled at you. You blinked at him for a second as he shut the door behind him. He'd never once shown up at work before.

"Hey," you replied feeling tense. He hovered for a moment, still clutching what you presumed to be food with the drinks as his dark eyes scanned your tired face.

"I just uh… I know you've been workin' hard these past few days. Wanted to bring you some lunch, make sure you're takin' care of yourself," he murmured with a frown.

"Careful, Russo. Anyone would think you care," you scoffed with an eye roll. You hadn't really meant to say it outloud but didn't care too much that you did either. He looked taken aback for a moment before he nodded, setting the bag and cups down as he sat in the chair on the other side of your desk.

"So I did do somethin' to piss you off, then… thought I mighta done. Haven't heard from you in days. It's not like you," he said with a bitter smile.

"Yeah, because I'm clingy, right?" You asked coldly, raising a brow.

He looked genuinely shocked before he groaned, closing his eyes and wiping a hand over his face.

"You heard that… you… you weren't supposed to hear that," he muttered regretfully.

"That doesn't make it much better, Billy," you squinted. He blew out a sigh and leaned his forearms on your desk as his dark gaze looked right at you.

"I'm sorry, I-" he started, but you held your hands up to stop him and he shut his mouth abruptly.

"Look… I'm not upset you felt that way. I'm upset you didn't tell me. I didn't think I was being clingy. You never acted like it was an issue for me to be around so much or to text or call so how can I know it bothers you? I'm upset I had to find out by hearing you bitch about me behind my back to a friend like a goddamn child," you bit out, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. He winced a little, drumming his long fingers on the desk before rolling his shoulders.

"It doesn't… bother me," his vague words earned him a squint from you and he sighed, sitting back up a little more.

"I freaked out… I freaked out 'cause I didn't freak out," he murmured looking confused. Your face resembled the words 'the fuck does that mean' and he rested his forearms back on the desk. He looked frustrated like he couldn't put his thoughts into words.

"This isn't how I usually do things. I'm a one and done kinda guy… unless I'm gettin' somethin' outta it like information or some shit. I don't … I don't usually go back to a girl. But you just… I had you once and I knew it wasn't enough. I wanted more. And… and I liked havin' you stay over so much and I liked your weird little texts in the day or havin' you call me to see how my day went. I didn't mind it. It didn't bother me. It wasn't too much. So me bein' me… I got in my own head and freaked out about it. I tried to convince myself it was you, that you were bein' clingy and needy, but you weren't. And… if these past five days have taught me anything it's that… I like you bein' such a big part of my life and… fuck, I missed you," he rambled, almost black eyes looking at you imploringly.

You glanced down to the desk as you soaked in his words. You really hadn't expected any of them and you found your anger at him disappearing. When you just stared at the desk lost in your own thoughts and didn't reply, his fingers tapped on the desk again as he inhaled a shaky breath.

"Did you miss me?" His soft and unsure voice had your eyes snapping to him. He looked so insecure you wondered for a moment who the hell he was because Billy Russo was a lot of things, but insecure was never one of them. And you knew him well enough by now to know what a big deal it was that he spoke to you about his feelings. Feelings he had that you never expected.

"Of course I missed you, asshole," you said softly. His whole face lit up, deep brown eyes shining with warmth as his lips curled into a genuine smile.

"Yeah?" He asked wryly. You rolled your eyes, playfully this time, as you leaned forward on your desk. He wasted no time in snatching one of your hands in his.

"Yeah," you said with a smile. He bit his lower lip, a somewhat bashful smile on his own face as he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a sweet kiss to it. You almost melted.

"I don't… I don't know what this is but… I know it's different and I don't wanna push you away," he murmured softly as his thumb rubbed your palm.

"No more bitching about me to your friends then," you smirked. He chuckled, ducking his head before landing his soft gaze on you once more.

"I mean it though, Billy. You need to talk to me next time. I don't wanna do anything to make you uncomfortable and if you don't wanna push me away… you need to learn to communicate," you said softly. He nodded, squeezing your hand.

"I know. I'll do better, I promise," he grinned.

The whole thing had taken a turn you hadn't expected but you were glad for it. It wasn't like you declared your undying love for one another or even decided this was an actual relationship. But it was a step. One you hadn't expected either of you to make.

"So… you gonna let me have lunch with you? I know you're busy but… I really have missed you," how could you turn him down when he was looking at you with such soft and warm eyes?

You smiled, grabbing the bag and making a little happy noise to see burgers from the diner you two frequented. He practically beamed, whether from you agreeing to let him have lunch with you or how happy you were by the food choice, you weren't sure. But you loved it when he smiled like that, how his eyes crinkled a little in the corner. He was breathtaking honestly and you found yourself glad he'd hunted you down at work and told you how he felt instead of pushing you away or lying to himself. If that wasn't character progression you didn't know what was

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine

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thelastspeecher · 2 years

Text

All right, I’ve teased the idea of Stan and Ford having their reunion in the Firefighter AU, so it’s probably time for me to actually write it. Here it is. Enjoy.

(Btw, yes, this is the thing I wrote where my notes said “Stan claims he can handle it. Stan can’t handle it.”)

———————————————————————————————————–

Stan whistled merrily as he strode down the hall.

“Pines.” Stan stopped in his tracks. He turned to face the speaker. Angie stood in the doorway of her office, her facial expression carefully neutral. “I need you to talk to me.”

“Uh, about what?” Stan asked warily. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not yet.” Angie turned and went back into her office. Stan followed. He took a seat in the chair across from Angie’s desk. Angie sat at her desk and steepled her fingers. “Some of yer coworkers have brought somethin’ to my attention.”

“What?”

“Apparently, durin’ the last call, when the owner of the house came to thank y’all, you put yer helmet back on and refused to say anything.” Angie’s bright blue eyes bore into Stan. “Now, that’s awful out of character fer ya. You like the praise that folks give us. I’ve seen m’self how much ya preen when someone thanks ya fer savin’ their home.”

“So?”

“So…” Angie sighed. “Care to share why ya were actin’ unusual that day?”

“I was having an off day, that’s all.”

“That’s not what yer crew said. They said you were normal until the owner of the house showed up.”

“Why is this even relevant?” Stan asked. Angie’s eyes narrowed.

“This is a dangerous field. If someone’s havin’ an off day, it could cost ‘em their life. Sure, everyone has those days, and those days can happen fer no reason. But if there is a reason, I need to know about it. As the chief, I’m responsible fer everyone’s safety. And I refuse to let yer blood be on my hands, Stanley.” Stan’s blood ran cold.

Shit. She used my first name. She means business. Still, Stan was quiet. Angie kneaded her forehead wearily.

“Look. Until ya tell me what really happened, I can’t let ya go out in the field. You’ll be a desk jockey until I know fer a fact that yer fully capable.”

“Over putting on my helmet and getting quiet?” Stan demanded. Angie’s eyes flashed with anger. Belatedly, Stan remembered how poorly Angie tended to respond to someone questioning her decisions.

“Yes,” she ground out. “You hate wearin’ yer helmet and bein’ quiet. The fact yer spendin’ so much time dodgin’ my questions proves there is somethin’ goin’ on. Tell me what it is.”

“…Fine,” Stan mumbled. He took a deep breath. “The owner of the house, the guy who your brother works for?” Angie nodded. “Turns out he’s my twin brother.” Angie’s eyes widened.

“The one from whom yer estranged?” she asked softly.

“I mean, I’ve only got the one.”

“So, yes.”

“Yes. The guy who keeps starting fires is the twin brother who hates my guts,” Stan said. Angie tsked sympathetically. “Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Hmm. Well…” Angie looked down at some papers on her desk. She messed with them, clearly trying to buy some time while she thought. “I’ll do my best so’s ya don’t have to go to any other calls there.”

“Really?”

“I need my crew to be in tiptop shape,” Angie said firmly. “You can’t be in tiptop shape knowin’ yer helpin’ someone ya have bad blood with.” She pursed her lips. “That bein’ said, I can’t guarantee ya won’t have to go to a call there. Sometimes folks call in sick, sometimes a fire gets worse than expected.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be a problem,” Stan said. Angie raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “Seriously. A big part of the way I reacted was just ‘cause I didn’t expect him to be there, y’know? But now that I know he’s there, I won’t be surprised if I see him again.” Angie didn’t seem reassured whatsoever.

“I don’t know…”

“Trust me.” Stan grinned, feigning confidence. “I can handle it.”

-----

The fire was finally out. Stan removed his helmet with a sigh of relief.

What the hell are you setting on fire, Ford? It was almost like it was alive, it was fighting against us so hard this time.

“Excuse me!” a voice said. A southern voice. Now that he knew it wasn’t his brother, Stan turned around to face the speaker. “Stan, is that correct?” asked the man that had approached Stan. “Sorry to bother ya, I just wanted to fin’ly meet the young man my sister’s been speakin’ so highly of.” Stan grinned.

“You’re Angie’s brother, aren’t you?”

“Yessir!” chirped Angie’s brother. The familial resemblance was obvious. Their faces were similar, down to the cheekbones and long nose, but the similarities extended past that, with Angie’s brother being slender like her.

Though “gangly” might be a better word. Yeesh, this guy’s a beanpole. Angie’s brother was taller than Stan, to his frustration. Guess shortness doesn’t run in her family like that nose does. Angie’s brother blew a strand of sandy hair out of his face and held out a hand for Stan to shake. His eyes, the same blue as Angie’s, sparkled behind a pair of reading glasses.

“Fiddleford, right?” Stan asked, shaking the offered hand. Fiddleford nodded, beaming.

“Yep! I take it Angie’s shared some information ‘bout me?”

“Oh yeah. Back in California, we swapped a lot of stories about our families. You came up pretty frequently. Do you still build killer robots?” Stan asked. Fiddleford chuckled.

“Every now and then. Ya seem like a good type, Stan.”

“Angie says that, too.”

“She’s right. Say, how would ya feel ‘bout comin’ over fer dinner sometime?” Fiddleford asked. Stan froze.

“Here? The place that keeps getting set on fire?” he asked.

“I’ll make sure there ain’t any fires fer ya to put out,” Fiddleford said smoothly. He frowned, his eyes searching Stan’s face. “Hmm. Now that I get a closer look at ya, you look like…”

“Fiddleford!” a voice called. One that Stan recognized. Stan’s heart suddenly leapt into his throat. “Oh, are you thanking the firefighters for their hard work?”

“I sure am.” Fiddleford put his hands on his hips, glaring at whoever was behind Stan. “Why’d ya leave somethin’ burnin’ while ya went fer a hike?”

“You were home, I thought-”

“I didn’t know ya had somethin’ goin’. Honestly, I ain’t quite sure what started the whole blaze anyways.” Fiddleford crossed his arms. “Care to thank the good people what keep cleanin’ up yer messes?”

“That’s not-” Stan started, fumbling for his helmet. He was too late. Ford joined Fiddleford. His eyes locked onto Stan’s. Ford’s face went slack.

“Stanley?” Ford whispered. Stan swallowed.

“Stanford.”

“The two of ya know each other?” Fiddleford asked. Ford’s shock quickly devolved into disgust.

“Yes,” he said, scowling. “This is my twin brother.”

“You have a twin brother?”

“He’s your research partner and you didn’t tell him about me?” Stan asked, startled out of his paralysis. Ford’s scowl deepened.

“I prefer not to bring up those I do not communicate with,” he snarled. “Particularly if they have betrayed me.” Stan threw his hands in the air.

“This again.”

“Yes, this!” Ford shook his head. He turned to Fiddleford. “Stanley is the reason I didn’t go to West Coast Tech. He sabotaged my chance to go to a top-notch university.”

“…Oh,” Fiddleford said softly. Stan glared.

“That’s not the whole story.”

“It’s all that matters,” Ford said dismissively. He looked Stan up and down in disbelief. “How did you, of all people, become a fireman?”

“You can thank the State of California for that,” Stan spat. Ford frowned, confused. “They like to use felons to fight their wildfires.” Ford’s eyes widened.

“You’re a criminal?” he said. Loudly. Stan knew that the other firefighters, who were gathered by the truck getting ready to go, were now all paying attention to the conversation.

“Not anymore. I did my time, paid my debts to society, yadda yadda yadda,” Stan said, waving a hand airily. “Now, I’m the guy who rescues you from your own damn house every two days!”

“Honestly, you should thank me for giving you job security.”

“You piece of-” Stan started.

“What did you get busted for?” Ford interrupted. “Drugs? Maybe manslaughter? You’ve always been rather careless.” The rage that had been bubbling under the surface finally burst forth. Stan lunged for Ford.

“Whoa, Pines!” Stan was suddenly grabbed and pulled back. He turned his head. His heart sunk. “What are you doing?” demanded Ghost Eyes, one of the firefighters that had come to the call. The other person holding him back, a young woman with bright red hair whose name he couldn’t remember, was also a firefighter, and looking at him with immense disappointment.

“Trying to attack a civilian,” Ford answered.

“After deliberately antagonizing him!” Fiddleford snapped.

“Still, if he wants to be a public servant-”

“Oh, hush!” Fiddleford grabbed Ford’s hand and began to drag him back to the house. “Yer comin’ with me, mister.”

“Fiddleford,” Ford complained. Fiddleford tore open the door, shoved Ford inside, and then went in as well. Stan’s coworkers let go of him.

“What was that about?” Ghost Eyes asked. Stan looked away. “You know I’m gonna have to tell the boss about this.”

“Yeah.” Stan scowled at the house he’d just rescued from burning down. “I know.”

#Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Fiddleford McGucket #Stanford Pines #Firefighter AU #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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siriusmydeer · 3 years

Note

For the Thank You Next can you do Imagine with James Potter?

thank you, next.

james potter x slytherin!fem!reader

summary: you go through the stages of love till you find your person.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mutual pinning, over use of sarcasm it’s so bad, SWEARING, kissing, mentions of kissing, mentions of an arm falling off, mentions of injury

—0:00

‘Thought I'd end up with Sean

But he wasn't a match

Wrote some songs about Ricky

Now I listen and laugh

Even almost got married

And for Pete, I'm so thankful

Wish I could say "thank you" to Malcolm

'Cause he was an angel’

one day, when you’re young, your mother tells you, ‘there’s lots of fish in the sea, but you have to wait for the right catch’ or maybe that was just your deranged mother. normally, you thought all of that was bullshit. a slytherin princess should never be mistreated, someone whomst you honour and adore with all in your beating heart; turns out slytherin boys didn’t get the fucking memo.

the only person who did understand was the one and only, regulus arcturus black. but you unfortunately lacked sexual attraction to him so therefore you couldn’t date him, so that was a feigning issue. evan rosier was fit, top of his classes and a quite nice mop of blonde on his head, he was a quidditch player and a pureblood slytherin; so etiquette is to be clearly expected. too other schoolmates, especially the fawning girls of almost every house, he was probably the full package, one of the alpha males that roamed the hallways at hogwarts; oh were those girls the biggest knob heads to exist.

turns out he was just the biggest fucking dick to ever walk the planes of the earth, he ran around with idiots like lucius malfoy— another mistake of the century, and little severus snape; thank merlin, and salazar slytherin themselves you never resorted to him.

‘One taught me love

One taught me patience

And one taught me pain

Now, I'm so amazing

Say I've loved and I've lost

But that's not what I see

So, look what I got

Look at what you taught me

And for that, I say’

normally your first couple of boyfriends should teach you something out of the relationship, maybe what you needed to strengthen for the next time you were in an intimate relationship, like trust, communication, maybe even sexual intimacy.

all these absolute dunces taught you was to pick your boyfriends better, and to stay away from every slytherin male that had ever entered hogwarts. evan— oh, he only taught you that everyone and everything was a priority over you, always the ‘talk to you later.’ and the casual, ‘blowjob?’ comments; absolutely fucking arse. lucius, couldn’t forget his moto in your mind even if you jammed it in your strongly-witted brain that money was power and money over any atom to every exist.

regulus understood, strict pureblood parents but he still understood how to treat a partner. i guess it was nice not picking up every habit of walburger and onion— sorry, walburga and orion, noble heirs of the house of black. yeah, did i mention they were second cousins?

‘Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)’

“you could always hang out with my brothers mates, i see them not casually oogling you.” oh regulus, sometimes you did lack the slytherin wit and ambition. he was sprawled on the malachite coloured couch, a pearly white quill fumbled between his slender digits as he started aimlessly into oblivion at the dying out fire in the midst of the frigid common room.

“yeah, let me go hang out with my best friends brothers friends, slytherin haters! such a good idea, reg. maybe they should’ve put you in ravenclaw from that amazing idea!” if you were sarcastic before, there aren’t a non-vulgar amount of words in the universe to describe the tremendous mockery in your tone; as you intensely stared into the crevices of the ceiling while laying on the opposite viridescent sofa.

“merlin, tone down the sarcasm a bit? i was just offering, it’s not like your a pureblood, or a prat.” regulus offered, looking at your form, your elbow now covering your eyes and making recurring heavy sighs every few minutes. “being a half-blood is enough for hatred, regulus, m’dear.” you sighed again, in defeat. hopeless romantic and hated by many, fantastic, am i right?

‘Spend more time with my friends

I ain't worried 'bout nothin'

Plus, I met someone else

We're havin' better discussions

I know they say I move on too fast

But this one gon' last

'Cause her name is Ari

And I'm so good with that (so good with that)’

don’t think, breath and just do what your heart tells you to. fuck that— panic, cry, scream, whatever, be scared. you were gaping at the red mass and overdue of shades, it wasn’t ugly but definitely not the prettiest colour to exist; mixed with mustard yellow. gryffindor students absolutely covered in both. well students, no, james potter, yes.

he happen to be your victim, well friend of sirius; regulus did say after all they oogled you, whatever that meant. you both played quidditch, pretty decent grades, both had good humour, your more so, i mean c’mon you couldn’t find that wit just anywhere, and well you could be best friends. well friends, acquaintances, maybe one, possibly. if only you had the confidence of a leo male, all you needed was to strut over to the damn quidditch field and say something, literally anything.

so that’s exactly what you did, your shoes crunching against the no-longer damp grass, dry after morning dew showers. your bag hanging off of your left arm, your head preoccupied with ways on how to greet someone because slytherin etiquette right now was not the way to go; it would only cause assumptions and stereotypes. i mean who the actual fuck says, ‘how do you do?’ anymore.

‘She taught me love (love)

She taught me patience (patience)

She handles pain (pain)

That amazing (yeah, she's amazing)

I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)

But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)

'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)

Ain't no need for searching

And for that, I say’

enemies, nope. acquaintances, don’t think so. friends, getting there. close friends, i would say. if someone ever said they saw james fleamont potter hanging around a slytherin they would’ve assumed that someone was knocked upside the head with the biggest beaters bar you could find, but the green and red weren’t that bad of a mix after all.

henceforth, here you were giggling like school girls with james fucking potter right by the black lake. “james, respectfully, stop carrying that stupid snitch everywhere. doesn’t it weigh down your pockets?” you queried the boy who was fumbling with the golden snitch for the past three minutes, flipping his hair so he could knock the brunette tendrils from his eyes while he gaped at you.

you were glowing— the sun at its highest peek, he could’ve been on his knees thanking albus dumbledore in his office for free period; knowing james we would’ve offered to comb his beard and maybe even a shampoo and condition it while he was at it.

your eyes glittered as you chortled at him for dropping that stupid ball for the third time, your hair dancing in the wind like it was a routine, a perfect routine, your teeth glinting at the suns ethereal rays that hit you just right. imagine if james’ foolish cocky mask instead would’ve rejected your offer of friendship that one humid day on the quidditch pitch— he would’ve been the biggest git to ever stride the planet.

‘Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (said thank you, next)

Thank you, next (next)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next

Thank you, next’

friends, that’s what it was suppose to be. pals, mates, schoolmates, whatever the fuck you called it. it wasn’t suppose to be frenemies, to friends to lovers! you weren’t suppose to notice the navy blue flecks of colour in his cerulean eyes, the way his lips curled in a smile after he caught that silly snitch that blazed the thick sure after a hefty match, the way he brushed the tresses of hair behind your ears when the wind was assaulting your face and you were basically swallowing your hair.

now sitting with him in the library you were mentally stabbing your stygian heart, why men. why do they do things, why do men sometimes have the decency to show sympathy, and partiality with their friends. he hugged you, he kissed your forehead when you felt dejected, james potter went through the slytherin common room to bring you chocolates on your period. which fucking gryffindor would do that, huh? definitely not frank longbottom or fabian prewett.

his hand scathed yours as he pointed at how to make a draught of peace potion, his hand was warm and smooth but only from what you touched— you could see slight callouses forming on the pads of pads palm from broom handling, and the small cracks in his knuckles from the lacking use of lotion. you felt the rapid rate of your heart merely increasing at the minute from the slight touch, a rush of rose clouded your cheeks. this was so embarrassing.

‘One day I'll walk down the aisle

Holding hands with my mama

I'll be thanking my dad

'Cause she grew from the drama

Only wanna do it once, real bad

Gon' make that last

God forbid something happens

Least this song is a smash (song is a smash)’

you were mid flight, smashing a bludger in the direction of the vermillion colours. even when you were immensely sweaty, intensely panting, abundantly tired, and your arm looked like it wanted to fall off he wanted to kiss the energy back into you. james loved winning against slytherin, it might’ve been his favourite thing at hogwarts; but he would murder a pack of death eaters if it meant he got to see your smile when your emerald-clad seeker clutched that small golden ball.

both teams landed, a handshake due for the game to be over after almost two continuous hours of playing and that stubborn ball blazing the air. he meant to walk over there, a hug overdue in his prideful way of saying congratulations but he did not think that he would’ve strided over to your panting figure and clasped your soft cushion lips with his own parched ones from the continuous heaving in his breath.

your lips tasted of peach, hints of mango. your lips dried of chapstick but still smooth— feeling the grooves in your lips, they were puffy and swollen probably from the tremendous amount of times you had bitten your lips in anxiety. your lips disconnected for a moment, suddenly realizing that you had an audience of your fellow slytherins, your enemy gryffindors and not one but two shocked crowds of hufflepuffs and ravenclaws suddenly watching the private scene unfold.

james cleared his throat, looking at your grinning face that was encased between his palms, your face was significantly flushed, your chest moving every millisecond at the loss of breath in your lungs. “good, uh, good game james.”

‘I've got so much love (love)

Got so much patience (patience)

I've learned from the pain (pain)

I turned out amazing (turned out amazing)

I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)

But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)

'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)

Ain't no need for searching

And for that, I'll say’

cocky, quidditch captain, school prankster, pureblood gryffindor, and head boy. that to the peering eyes of hogwarts was james potter, but he was so much more than that. he was like an onion, gross comparison but for the sake of it you’ll use it, he had layers but everyday it’s like you cried a little less and you peeled just a bit more.

he was benevolent, he guided first years to common rooms and sometimes he studied with fourth year hufflepuffs. he was sensible, sometimes, he helped out madame pomfrey in the healers wing when remus had been injured from a full moon along with any remaining students in the ward from previous incidents, not to mention, you did uncover remus’ ‘furry secret’ and swore to secrecy. and most of all, james was cherishing, he actually did give a fuck when you had a bad day, he stroked your back and hummed you stupid baby lullabies.

i mean could you imagine lucius malfoy and evan rosier humming a girl lullabies when they were upset? celebratory kisses after quidditch, bringing you snacks while you were overwhelmed in school work and actually made an effort in the relationship? they would’ve bought you a pair of red bottoms and called it a day.

‘Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (said thank you, next)

Thank you, next (next)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next

Yeah’

there was infact one thing that your past relationships taught you;

never date a man to ever be put in the slytherin house ever again.

taglist: @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @maddoxsmythologicalmind @amourtentiaa @msmb @five-cups-of-coffee @emmaev @serenitywilderness @spencerfuckingreidswhore @artemis1orion @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @dear-luna @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @sirius-animagus

#james potter one shot #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #harry james potter #james potter x oc #james potter x you #james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #james potter series #james potter supremacy #james potter smut #james potter angst #james potter fanart

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svnflowervol666 · 4 years

Text

An interview during self-isolation with Zane Lowe (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: I’ve gotten a ton of asks to the tune of this scenario - about what a quarantine video with Harry and his family would look like. I put as many of them together as I could for you all! Hope you enjoy and it’s not too confusing, as this isn’t my typical writing style, but I tried my best to make it worth your while! Take care and TPWK.

“Harry, can ye’ hear me alright?” Harry heard Zane Lowe’s voice fill his right ear as he readjusted his headphones.

“Yeah, I can hear ya,” he responded, running his fingers through his hair once everything was situated and his laptop was balanced perfectly on his knee.

“I’ve just been video calling and chatting it up with everyone on how they’re navigating the pandemic, so I’m very thankful you’ve agreed to join in.”

“‘S no problem. Thank you f’ having me.”

“Oh!” Zane interjected his own strain of thought, “I see you’ve brought a special guest for us today,” he said when Harry’s screen finally focused and he was able to see everything on Harry’s end.

Harry chuckled, the dimples on either corner of his mouth growing wider at the mention of the sleeping body on his chest that’s got a fuzzy blanket tucked into their sides and draped over Harry’s upper half.

“I have,” Harry agreed, “Though he’s not gonna be worth much. Being a two-year-old is exhausting apparently.”

He gave the toddler a few gentle pats on the back and continued to look at Zane through the webcam.

“This is your son, right?” Zane asked.

“Who? Him?” Harry asked, nodding his head in the direction of his child, “Nah. Found him on the street.”

Both men laughed, but Harry tried to lower his volume as to not wake up his son.

“Well, he looks an awful bit like you t’ be a stray, don’t ye’ think?”

“I suppose the curls are quite convincing, aren’t they?” Harry sighed, playfully rolling his eyes.

“What’s brought your bubs along with you for this interview?”

“Erm,” Harry thought, wondering if he should be talking this much about his personal life but ultimately deciding it wasn’t too invasive, “Y/N’s been pretty tired lately, so I’m just trying to keep him out of her hair so she can rest. He’s going through a phase where he’s very clingy right now so he’d probably be crying f’ me at some point if I left him in his room.”

“Oh, that’s right!” it suddenly dawned on Zane, “You two are expecting again, aren’t you?

“We are,” Harry smiled softly yet proudly into the screen, “‘s kinda scary for us right now, but we’re hoping everything is cleared up before it’s time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was just about to say right now’s probably not the greatest time to be havin’ a baby.”

“Well, the baby’s not due for a few more months so I think everything’ll be alright, but it’s still just kinda nerve-wracking ye’ know?”

“Absolutely,” Zane added, “This has all got t’ be tough on your guys; having to self-isolate with a toddler plus having one on the way.”

“Ehh, it’s not so bad,” Harry countered, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles as he spoke. “We’ve been spending a lot of time t’gether, which is pretty great. I just got done with all of the album promo, so I’d already been gone for a while. Plus, I was about to leave for tour for like a month so we were kinda sad about having to say goodbye before, but now I don’t have to. We talk to our families a lot and keep in touch with everyone pretty regularly so we don’t feel like we’re going too crazy.”

“Good! That’s good.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“I was going to ask you about tour actually. You’ve pushed the European leg of your Love on Tour to next year, is that correct?”

“Correct.”

“That must be hard for you, I’m sure. I bet you were so ready to get back on the road and to have it all pulled out from under ye’ was probably not the greatest feeling.”

“I mean, it’s obviously disappointing, but like, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not the most important thing in the world. But I think everyone kinda understands that there’s not anything you can do about it and ye’ have to do what you can to keep everyone safe, ya know?”

“For sure,” Zane nodded, readjusting the hat on his head.

“Plus, it gives you time to practice doesn’t it?”

Harry’s belly shook as he laughed softly.

“Definitely gives us plenty of time to be prepar-”

Harry stopped in his tracks and looked down at his son who was still napping away, lifting his hand up from where it had been rested on his tiny bum.

“Everything alright?” Zane asked Harry after he was still quiet for a few seconds and his eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Uhh, yeah,” Harry stuttered as a noticeable heat climbed to his cheeks, “Think m’ son’s just farted on me in his sleep.”

This made Zane laugh even harder than he had before, clutching his chest while Harry remained embarrassed that his son had just passed gas on him during his first interview.

The commotion seemed to stir Harry’s son from his sleep. His pudgy legs began to stretch against Harry’s chest and his balled-up fists reached up to rub at his closed eyes. Harry seemed to sense some trepidation, like his son was going to start fussing at any given moment, so he quickly began bouncing his small body against his knee to soothe him and shushed him quietly in his ear. Zane didn’t draw much attention to it, but he couldn’t help but swoon over how easily Harry’s son settled back down.

Harry whispered, “’s alright, bubby. You’re alright,” before kissing the top of his curls gently, no doubt making the viewers lose their minds at home with how gentle he was being towards his boy.

“So your boy farts himself awake, huh?” Zane joked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. He’s an absolute mess,” Harry added.

“Does he take after you or Y/N?”

Clearly, neither of them were interested in talking about music or tour anymore. Harry’s son had stolen the show, and he wasn’t even conscious.

“A little bit of both I’d say. He’s extremely kind and caring like Y/N, but loves to mess around like me. Can’t really say he got any of Y/N’s looks, though.”

“Absolutely not,” Zane chuckled into his mic, “That one’s all you.”

Harry laughed again, rubbing the tip of his nose with the palm of his hand out of habit.

“Is he excited to be a big brother?”

“Ehh, I think he kinda gets the idea, but not really,” Harry tilted his hand back and forth to symbolize the fact that his toddler could just barely come to grips with there being another baby in his mum’s belly.

“He knows there’s ‘something in mummy’s tummy,’“ Harry noted using air quotes, “And he like, gives Y/N’s stomach kisses all of the time because we tell him to and he sees me do it, but I don’t really think he’s come to grips with it.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Zane responded, “He’s only two.”

“Right, right,” Harry agreed, “But he’s, like, super cuddly and loves his stuffed animals and stuff, so I don’t think he’s gonna have a hard time at all really.”

Just when Zane was going to try to get back on topic with his prepared list of questions he had written up for Harry that didn’t involve his son, there was a commotion on Harry’s end that occurred somewhere beyond the view of the camera.

It was the sound of a door shutting a feet padding against hardwood steps.

“Harry!” a voice called out.

“Have you seen my laptop charger? I’m trying to FaceTime Gem- Oh,” the voice stopped.

“Sorry, baby,” Harry spoke above the laptop screen to whoever had just walked into the room, “Couldn’t find mine and I had t’ talk t’ Zane.”

“Which Zane?”

“Is that Y/N I hear?” Zane asked Harry.

Harry laughed at his wife’s words, quickly specifying that it was Zane Lowe and not his former bandmate.

“Yes, it is Y/N. She’s awoken from her beauty sleep it appears.”

The camera wasn’t able to pick up the way Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry.

“Gimme one of those,” Y/N demanded, holding her hand out for the other earbud that Harry wasn’t wearing so she could join in on his conversation with Zane.

Harry swung the free earbud around his chest with his free hand as to not disturb their son, smiling smugly at his wife while she settled onto the sofa next to him and cuddled into his side.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Zane greeted her.

“Hello, handsome,” Y/N responded, “How come you never call to talk to me anymore? Why do you only care about this nobhead?”

She playfully shoved Harry’s shoulder, but not hard enough to actually knock him sideways.

“He does have the number one album in the country right now. Kinda makes sense to check in on him now, dunnit?”

“And I’m his baby mama, so where’s my praise for carrying his little spawns?”

“You truly are a saint for tha’ one. I won’t lie.”

Harry feigned offense but failed to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips.

“I’m sitting right here!” he scoffed.

“We know, love,” Y/N cooed him as she looked over at him and brushed his curls that had fallen onto his forehead back into his mess of hair.

“How are you doing, though, Y/N? We talked a bit about you while you were away. Harry said you’re strugglin’ a bit?”

“Umm, I mean, it’s just normal pregnancy stuff,” she dismissed his qualms as she absentmindedly stroked her protruding belly that was just barely in the frame, “I’m at the point where everything hurts all of the time and everything Harry does annoys the piss out of me, but other than that I’m pretty much normal.”

“Goodness. He didn’t tell me that part,” Zane chuckled, “Please elaborate.”

“Okay, well first of all-,” Y/N started.

“Why are you acting like you were just waiting f’ someone to ask you that question?” Harry forced through laughter.

“Because I’ve got a lot to say!” she exclaimed.

“You don’t pick up your dirty clothes, you leave your tea mugs all around the house, and you and your son eat all of my bread!”

“I do not eat all of the bread!” Harry started to playfully argue with his wife.

“I caught you sneaking into the pantry at midnight eating bread right out of the bag, Harold.”

“Well, what were you doin’ awake in the kitchen at midnight anyway, hmm?”

“I’m pregnant. I’m allowed to be hungry every twenty minutes. You’ve got no excuse.”

Harry sighed in defeat, meanwhile, Zane sat back and enjoyed listening to the two of them bickering like children.

“Sounds like the quarantine might getting t’ the both of you, huh?”

“Oh, no,” Y/N dismissed Zane, “We’re always like this.”

Just then, Harry felt the weight distribution on his chest shift, and saw a pair of emerald green eyes identical to his open and look back and forth between him and Y/N. His pudgy cheeks were flushed a warm, crimson color and the t-shirt he had taken a nap in was tugged over to the side from how well he had slept.

“Well, hello there, bubby. Nice of you t’ join us,” Harry spoke calmly to his son that was in the middle of waking up, gently brushing his fingers along the side of his face.

“Dear god. He looks just like you, Harry,” Zane said in disbelief.

This made Harry blush and hide his face in his son’s plush blanket, and Y/N looked lovingly down at her two boys.

“I know he does,” Harry confirmed, “Poor thing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry’s comment. As if that was meant to be an insult.

“Hung-y,” the three of them heard the toddler mumble.

“What’s that, lovie?” Y/N perked up.

“I hung-y” he repeated, his arms outstretched for his mother to which she happily accepted.

The boy crawled right over Harry towards Y/N, his foot sinking deep into Harry’s gut and making him grunt in reaction.

“You’re hungry?” Y/N asked, “You want some lunch, bubs?”

He nodded into Y/N’s shoulder where he had tucked himself away, clearly still in the mood to be loved on and cuddled.

“Well, let’s go make you something to eat then. What do you want? A banana?”

“Bread!” cheered the two-year-old, which earned a laugh from everyone in the room and an eye-roll from Y/N.

“Of course, you want bread. Wouldn’t expect anything less from your father’s child.”

“Why are you bullying me?” Harry fired back.

“Because you’re eating all of my damn bread!” Y/N yelled before scooping their son up from the couch and teetering out of frame into the kitchen.

“Alright,” started Zane, “Seems like it’s time for me to leave you three alone. Thanks for stopping in t’ chat.”

Harry chortled, readjusting his headphone one last time to sign off.

“Thanks again f’ havin’ me. Sorry my family crashed your interview.”

“It’s no bother at all, mate. ‘S actually quite refreshing seeing ye’ like this. I’m sure everyone watching would agree. Reminds us all that you’re human and not some robot with perfect hair and the voice of an angel.”

Harry hid his face in his hands, blushing for what felt like the thousandth time during this video call.

“I hope you lot continue to stay safe and healthy through all of this.”

“Thank you so much. You as well,” Harry added.

“Of course. Tell Y/N I’ll ring her up soon.”

“Will do,” Harry nodded, “If she doesn’t kill me f’ asking her t’ make me some toast first.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x pregnant!reader #dad!harry #dad!harry x reader #dad!harry x pregnant!reader

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ofmythsandmadness · 3 years

Text

to be called beautiful | d.h.

❛ do you ever miss, having someone around to love you?❜

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

SUMMARY: vigilantes!au. you push the boundaries of your relationship, and ask for a wish you know won't be given back. (or — it's late, and after another night of patrol, loneliness sets in deep.) WARNINGS: slightly nsfw??? mentions to sex, no descriptions. it's not a sexual story, just a part of an inner monologue. WORD COUNT: 2.6k+ NOTES: reposting this in hopes it shows up this time (pls pls pls i'm gonna cry). i've been writing a whole other series that is a totally different writing style, but i've been trying to work out my emotions in small, focused pieces like this one when i can't focus. i might develop this into a small ficlit series of it's own, bc i think it's kinda fun — but we'll see how this goes.

THE BEAST THAT IS YOUR LONELINESS has been your burden for too long to say.

It's hold on you is a familiar ache, one you've felt for years, like a chronic tight tugging on your heart that refuses to give in no matter what you try. But you still refuse to name it for fear of coming to terms with the implications of it all. That you're really alone in this life and you're terrified of what that means and the fact that you can't have what your childhood stories promised would be yours.

Like the fool you are, you cling to the idea that it's just passing notions. You'll get over it one day. The flitting daydreams of a fairytale romance better fit for a vanilla Hallmark flick suck, but one day they won't hurt so bad. You'll numb and find a way to fill the void. And you try, you really do, pushing it down for the quick release of meaningless acts and walks of shames and cold bedsheets.

Sex is a toxic friend. You choose it's pull when your heart aches most and the loneliness begs for your breath to the point where every gasp of air is a privilege, not the bare minimum. It's not what you crave. There's no romance, no love. It's a trade and one that always leaves you feeling robbed of something you're not sure you ever even had.

You rarely remember their names. You know they probably won't remember yours. And why would they? The shudders, the whimpers, the cold moans that amount to nothing but crumbs of a supposedly passionate act only pass an hour, then they're gone. Or you're gone, if you're lonely enough to risk it. A bit of fun, a breath of pink and white and the feeling of someone pulling you closer, begging for your skin against theirs.

And then, it's all grey again. And you're alone at your apartment, washing your body free of the marks some stranger dared to press into your wilting skin, wondering what it would feel like for a lover to kiss you that same way. Running your fingers over every inch that has been caressed by so many faceless guests, trying to hold yourself in the way your foolish heart pounds for. But it's never enough. Your hands don't cup your flesh, don't mould and kiss and promise the carefully knitted lies any lover had dealt you in the past. And you're as cold as ever when they fall back to your sides. Nothing enflames your skin like you wishes it could — like those you wish would.

It's a discontent you live with. Just as you're sure millions of others do. That's what life is; you push yourself through the day, through your mundane day job and your taxing nighttime hobbies (because you sure as hell can't claim what you do as real work if your only pay is in blood and tears). You cling to the good times that happened too long ago to remember clearly, and make the moments that you're alone with your thoughts as small as possible.

But there's no time to consider all that now.

You scrunch your face up as tight as you can, squeezing your eyes shut to the point where you see stars, exploding like confetti in some absurd black void that hides behind your lids. For a moment you hold the pose, watching the stars erupt, until the position hurts too much and you have to release.

Surroundings blur and then clear as your eyes readjust from their disassociation. You stare blearily at the random coffee shop you and your 'associate' chose for the night. It's just as generic as the last five visited, a thousand shades of brown and red and weary smiles the bored baristas wear just for a cheap check that'll barely cover their asses. It's worn and empty; no one's hear except the two of you and the workers who probably hate you for being here so late.

Normally, you would feel like an asshole staying so late. But you can't bring yourself to move, or even suggest to. It's all too heavy. And even if it's in brooding silence, you don't want to leave your partner. Not yet, you beg the universe, just a few more minutes.

And, speaking of—

"What's got you so blue today?"

You blink. Look over to him, only to see him already watching you.

There's really no point lying. He always unravels you too quickly, too easily — it's the detective in him, unravelling anyone and scooping their truths from shivering flesh. Some sort of childhood trauma response he developed into another super power.

You used to hate it. Now...if you concentrate hard enough, his sharp gaze feels like one of a lover's.

"Don't know what you mean," you tell him, foolish and flustered. "I'm just fine."

"Bullshit. You've sighed a dozen times in the last five minutes."

"Tch. No I haven't."

"Did too!"

His teeth glint, white and clashing against the full pink of his lips. You wish you could denounce all the times you wondered what it would feel like to have them graze against your keening skin — but not even all the gods could cleanse of you of those thoughts. Those desperate, pleading, melancholic memories stain; he can't see them, but you do when you look close enough. And you can't escape it, much as you try.

"Seriously, though. What's up with you?"

Your gaze falls down to your hands, eager to escape his allure, though it's not a great distraction. It only makes you more bitter, really, taking in all the flaws that litter your weaponised limbs. They're calloused from a million fights. Your knuckles are scarred, aching from wounds you reopen every other night. A thousand scars from a thousand scrapes, cuts, slashes and grazes linger on once perfect skin. You don't know how many there are, anymore, only that you wish you could wipe them off. Start over, have a clean slate. Erase all your mistakes and be beautiful again.

"I'm just tired," you lie. It's tense and pitiful; you know you've screwed it up the second the words leave your lips. "S'all."

"Ri-i-ight, and I'm the goddamn queen of England."

The absurdity of his retort makes your lips twitch. It's not enough for a smile, your self-inflicted misery makes sure of that, but it's a seed of something. "Wow. Didn't know I was in the presence of royalty."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it."

"My apologies, your highness."

"Shut up, you little shit," he grumbles, but it's as soft as you get from him. It's practically a cry of love — or your foolish mind paints it as such. You take his teasing insults as promises of adorations and his arguments are poems of lust and infatuation that tug on your heartstrings in ways you know they shouldn't.

You're partners, for crying out loud. Professional coworkers (if you call the bloody mess you two create work). You don't get to miss him, or crave him, or love him like you do.

"Something happen to you?"

You watch his own hands fold and unfold on the table. The long, delicate fingers stand out on a man like him; someone who paints himself in only sharp angles and cutting lines. But you think they match him well. They promise life. Bleed hope, even in the raised scars that lace his skin like your own. You've watched those fingers grip a blade, launch it into flesh, pull and push and dig and rip and take and committed acts of atrocity most people would run from. You know he probably thinks of his hands the same way you do. But you think they're beautiful.

"Nah. It's...it's nothing. Really."

You can't see his face, but you imagine his narrowed eyes and furrowed brows asking for an answer you're just not willing to give. "C'mon, just tell me. Can't be that bad."

Your body laughs. You hear it from some place far away. It's cold and hoarse; you wonder how long it's been since you've heard a genuine laugh from yourself. You wonder if he notices (and wishes he did, foolishly, frivolously...).

It's probably stupid, but you go for it.

"You ever miss having someone?"

Something creaks; his chair, groaning as he shifts his weight. One of his fingers taps against his empty coffee cup; idle music for a restless soul.

"Like, in what way?"

"I..." Your nails dig into your palms. This was a mistake, but one you have to follow through with. He won't accept silence after something like that. "In the cheesy, domestic sorta way? That whole, havin' someone to come home to, someone who you can talk to, someone who..." the words stick like molasses in the back of your throat. Try as you do, they refuse to give themselves to him, so you have to substitute. "Just, someone who likes you, past your body or, or whatever."

"Oh."

"Sorry." It's your turn to shift in your seat, awkwardly searching for something to occupy yourself with as this uncomfortable energy you've created carries on. But your cup's empty, and you don't have the cash to ask for another overpriced latte. "Forget about it. Let's talk about somethin' else, yeah?"

He doesn't answer that. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all for a moment, long enough to make you wonder if you've just crossed the line of no return. You can't bring yourself to look at him, hell your cowardice is painful enough to make you wonder if you should just make a run for it, say au revoir! to the bond you've built with this knife-obsessed robin hood and crush your heart forever.

It's tempting, and you consider it, but then he fills the silence.

"I miss Eudora sometimes."

Finally, your gaze tilts up. Your eyes meet his lips. He's not smiling anymore.

You guys don't talk about exes together. It's a forbidden topic, same as family or childhoods or the number of people that have cut you open and bled you dry for fun. It's too personal, and in this line of work, personal doesn't fly. But you know Eudora Patch, because this line of work requires a couple run ins with people like her, and because your partner in crime has never learned how to stop his emotions from bleeding into his expression.

"Not because I still love her, but y'know..." his fingers wave aimlessly. "It was nice, when it worked. I liked having someone to sleep with. In a non-sexual manner." His lip curls a little. "Guess the sex part was nice too, though."

You nod. "Yeah, I get that. It's...it was nice, having someone who knew you. Who wanted to make you feel good, not just for themselves but 'cause that sort of things matters."

"Mm."

"Y'ever consider pursuing that sort of thing?"

He shakes his head. His adamancy is a truck smashing into your heart — though you know you should have expected no less, it still hurts. "I can't. It never works, with people like us. Y'know?"

"Yeah. Makes sense." You want to say more. You probably should say more — but you doubt he wants to hear your woes about intimacy, and the pathetic ways you crave affection you probably don't deserve. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

His brows knot. "Why're you asking? Someone do somethin'?"

"What? No."

"Cause, like, if someone's hurt you, I'll—"

"I'm fine," you promise, and without thinking, you reach across the table to pat his hand. To reassure him like one would a lover. But just before your fingers meet his, the bitter reminder that he's not yours sets in and you draw back. Your hand falls a couple inches from his own. "And I can take care of myself, if I wasn't. Don't worry."

He chuckles mirthlessly. "Y'sure about that? You're still the dumbass that tripped over her own feet twice walking down an empty sidewalk, and—"

"—oh, you are such an asshole, why can't you just—"

"—so if you need someone to cut a bitch, I'm available."

You soften slightly. Try to smile, even if it's a false promise and probably hangs like a broken door on mismatched hinges. "I appreciate that. But I'm okay. Think I'm just tired, and a little lonely."

"What, I'm not good enough for you anymore?"

Bitterness seeps onto your tongue; it speaks before you can shut your lips around it. "You're fine as a partner against crime. But you're not anything otherwise, are you?" It feels like a taunt. You hadn't meant it to be — though, maybe you had.

If he takes your jeer poorly, though, it doesn't show on his face. He's still smiling and watching you, eyes simmering with a joke you wish you were in on.

"It doesn't matter though. Having someone's too complicated, 'specially for fools like us. Sometimes it's just..." you don't have a good answer. Not one he'd want to hear, anyways. "I just miss it sometimes. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to, or eat breakfast with in the mornings."

He nods slowly. "Yeah. Was nice, having another body around."

"Yeah. Ha. I," you stutter out a chuckle. Tug at your lip, nibbling at the cracked skin that comes with your long nights. "No one prepares you for how lonely adulthood is. Like, I'm half tempted to make friends with the takeout guys, just so I have a friend at all."

"We're friends."

"You know what I mean," you mumble, swallowing the bitter 'are we?' that almost makes its way off your tongue. "It was just nice when I had the time, to have a person around. Someone to like, hold hands with, or-or call me beautiful, sometimes. I-I can't remember the last time called me that, any..."

Fuck.

You hadn't meant for that last confession.

He wasn't supposed to hear that. It's too personal, too personal, too fucking personal for someone you don't even know.

Everything trembles; you're shaking like an avalanche, ready to sweep it all away under some snow drift. Never to be seen again. But you can't do that, there's no taking back the way your voice cracked as it reaches it's last word, and how your hand slips into a fist, ready to charge even though there's no punching your way out of this fumble.

You crack. Stumble out of your seat. Before he can talk you're moving, throwing a couple bills (too many for your poor wallet, you'll pay for that later) down and mumbling something about heading home. Your head's spinning and you just want to sit down again, pretend like this never happened and ask about some meaningless moment in a meaningless day that you wish could be yours and his, not just—

"—text me when you're goin' out again," you say, high and nervous. "I'll be around."

You turn.

"You don't have to leave."

"I got work tomorrow. Early."

"Thought you had the day off?"

Fuck, la deuxième acte. "Taking a shift for someone."

"Oh." He doesn't believe you. He would be a fool to. But he agrees anyways. "Okay."

"See ya, Kraken."

He doesn't answer you back. It's probably better that way.

BONUS

Many hours later, you're in bed, finally dozing off. You've rinsed off the filth of the night and resigned yourself to a barely adequate rest alone, too tired to consider what usually makes your mind race. It's been a long day; let future you contemplate all the ways you've screwed up.

Just as you're about to fall asleep, however, there's a small ping! that immediately wakes you up A notification sound reserved for only one person.

You groan but still roll over. Your heart may be a humiliated, burning mess, but it still beats for him, much as you've tried to stifle it.

kraken // 2:36 am. you available at 11p tomorrow?

kraken // 2:37 am. got word somethin going down at east docks, wanna check it out before it gets bad.

Relief is a sweet blessing. You exhale and smile into the darkness. He's still a professional, even if you seem unable to understand what that means.

you // 2:40 am. for sure. meet me at my place whenever and we can prep.

You leave it at that. Whatever he has to say after that, cannot be too important to waste your precious hours of sleep. So you roll over and shut your eyes and let yourself forget about the empty space that fills your place.

It's a decision you regret the next morning, when you wake up and realise what you missed.

kraken // 3:31 am. you ever get lonely for someone, feel free to let me know.

kraken // 3:32 am. might not make a great boyfriend, but i'll eat breakfast with you. so long as you're cooking.

A/N - I had a whole idea for two tired vigilantes (like what Diego does in season one, but partnered up) who both are really lonely and tired of life and all it's shit, and rely on each other more than they'll ever admit, and...I'll probably never write it, but this was a fun bit of that. two lonely emotionally deprived assholes who can't accept that maybe they can be loved and the person who wants to is right in front of them. :)

#my writing #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #tua x reader #tua imagine #diego hargreeves imagine #hargreeves imagine #hargreeves x reader #gender neutral reader

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years

Text

But What If, Instead

Decided to give a go to posting my horribly named but hopefully very fun Beetlejuice fic to tumblr as well. This is an au where BJ is adopted by the Deetz family at a young age.

He’s twelve when he’s left on his own in the upperworld.

He doesn’t know he’s twelve, because he’s never celebrated a birthday, but that timeline seems to fit, later, when he thinks back on it. So he’s twelve. His mother has promised him a special treat that day, and though he’s skeptical to trust her, he follows her quietly through the door she’s drawn, the bone white stick of chalk a blaring contrast to the dark hallways of the netherworld reception office. She’d knocked, and the drawing was more than a drawing, suddenly, with white light and noise spilling through into his little corner of hell as it opened, and when he steps through, Betelgeuse sees blue skies and green grass for the first time in his unlife. He’d turned back to look at Juno, confused, curious, his big orange snake eyes watching her, waiting for the catch, for her to yank him back and punish him for being naive, and trusting her, but all the demoness had done was billow smoke from her slit throat, and nod encouragingly to him. He takes another step, and another and another, and suddenly he’s running and laughing and jumping and the air up here is different, but good, and he takes breaths he doesn't need because it feels nice, and he turns to her again to try and entice her to play with him- And the door is gone. He stands there, staring at the nothingness where she and it had been, and realization hits him hard, because he’s twelve, and he’s been left on his own.

He doesn't cry, both because he can’t, and because he knows it won’t change anything. It doesn’t take him long to find them. Pre ghosts. Breathers. Humans. The place is lousy with them, and the smell of them irritates his sensitive nose. He’s a dumb kid, sure, but he’s got some survival instincts, so he hides from them as they go about their lives, strolling around this place, completely oblivious to the little demon now crashing their dimension. Breathers look so weird, all flushed with blood and bright eyed and hearts beating, no signs of death or rot or decay on them. It’s a lot to ask a kid to get used to. The ghosts back home, the ones workin in Ma’s office, tell him stories about the world up here, sometimes, usually in exchange for him going away, and leaving them the hell alone. (Their words) If there was one thing he learned from them, it was that humans, living or dead, didn’t like things that were strange or unusual. He wanders the wilds of wherever he is for an hour before he finds a body of water, and stooping to peer into it, takes a look at himself.

His skin is pale, but not pink. The undercolor is purple, maybe, which he would have thought would be close enough, but compared to the living, breathing people walking around this place, he knows is too different. There’s not much he can do about that. His hair is a bushy mess, sticking up all over the place, but at least the color is currently green. It’s the eyes, teeth, and ears that really stand out. Yellow snake-like slits stare back at him, long pointed ears flick in the direction of distant sounds, and when he tries to smile down at his reflection, those too many too sharp teeth are all he can see. He’s not the best at magic, yet, mostly using it to play pranks around the office (and hey, maybe that’s why Ma left him here in the first place?) but he does what he can. He throws a glamour over himself, and it’s far from perfect, but the three big problems are taken care of. He looks more human than he did a minute ago, at least, and that’s something.

He’s less afraid to take the main paths, after that, and with that worry out of the way, he finds himself enjoying the afternoon again. So, ma left him here. So what? She’s done him a favor, probably the first she’s ever done anybody, because now he doesn't have to be around her just as much as she doesn’t have to be around him. It’s a win-win, Betelgeuse thinks stubbornly, trotting along the winding pathways lined with benches and garbage cans and other silly human things. He’s starting to get a bit tired of all the green when he reaches, quite unexpectedly, the end of it. There’s a big arched sign, and he can’t understand the language written over head, even though he’s squinting and tilting his head. Someone at some point had sat him down and tried to teach him letters, and he’d gotten far enough to read through the first page of the Handbook, but then that person had been reassigned, and was gone, and no one had cared to keep teaching him.

He’s holding his hands up at his sides, rubbing his red tipped claws against the palms of his hands, top teeth biting over his bottom lip, head tilted to one side in an extreme, when he hears a snort and then a soft giggle.

There’s a woman standing in front of him. Her hair is a sunny yellow color, but her clothing is dark and dramatic, and there are roosting bats dangling from her ears. She’s laughing at him. They stare at each other for a long moment, her hand raised in front of her mouth, her eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and he finally breaks the silence by pointing at the sign, and speaking. “Wazzat say?” She blinks in surprise at his grating little voice, and then glances back at the sign. “Krap Lartnec,” she tells him. “Which is flipped around and backwards for “Central Park.” He’s been staring at the sign the wrong way. Of course. He feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Oh. Got it. Park. Right, yeah.” She lets out another laugh, and it’s so different from the sounds his mother makes when she’s guffawing at him, shaming him, that it almost doesn’t register as a laugh at first. There’s no cruelty to it, just amusement, and maybe curiosity. “Are you here alone?” she asks him, and he shrugs easily. “I guess.” She moves closer to him, cautiously, like he’s going to bite her, or bolt, but he doesn’t really feel the need to be worried over one breather. He knows he could rip out her throat if he needs to. The glamour only hides his demonic features, not takes them away. He’s still plenty capable of taking care of himself. “Where are your parents?” She's crouched down next to him now, one knee on the pavement, big brown eyes all sweet and worried, and he shrugs again. “Don’t have a dad. Mom’s downstairs.” She squints at that, and he gestures down with a pointed red claw tip. “Ya know. Downstairs.” The way he emphasizes it is meaningful, and when her eyes show understanding, he assumes she gets it. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m havin’ a good time.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she expects, but she just nods thoughtfully. “Are you staying someplace?” He can’t, for the undeath of him, figure out why she’s asking, and why she cares. He shrugs again, because things feel better in threes, and says vaguely, “I guess I’m stayin’ here.” That also doesn’t seem to be a good answer. “You can’t stay in the park overnight. There’s creeps around here.” He bites back the urge to explain that he’s the creepiest thing here, because suddenly she’s taking his hand, and she feels cool to the touch. “Good god, kiddo, you’re burning up!” she puts her other hand on his forehead, all the play gone from her voice, clearly concerned. “You might have a fever. Listen…” she worries her bottom lip with her teeth, smudging the dark color there, before she makes a decision. “Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll give you something to eat, make sure you’re alright, and we’ll figure out what to do from there, okay?” He isn’t sick, and he’s pretty sure he can’t get sick. It’s the hellfire in his veins that makes him hot, because he’s not like her, not even close, but the idea of following her seems like a fine one to him, so he just nods. “Kay. You got bugs where you live?” She snorts again, and stands, brushing off her dark, rose patterned tights. “Sure, what New York apartment doesn’t have a few roaches lurking around. You like bugs?” “Yeah, I like em. They’re crunchy an’ they skitter around an’ stuff.” “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Bugs kick ass.” It’s his turn to snort, and then laugh, because she’d sounded so serious that it strikes him as funny. His hand is still in her’s, and she gives it a squeeze. “What’s your name, little buddy?” “Betelguese.” He expects a pause, or a comment, because no newly dead has ever heard his name without wrinkling their nose and looking vaguely sick, but her smile just grows wider. “Far out. I’m Emily.” And hand in hand, they leave the park.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Beetlejuice decides quickly Emily might be the nicest breather who ever breathed. It’s a decision he makes only moments after they’ve left the park. Normally he’d be talking, and talking a lot, and his ma might throw something at him, a curse or a bottle, to try and shut him up. So he’s giving silence a try, here, even though it feels like it hangs like a weight around his neck. But Emily is the one instead filling the silence with sound, and he’s never had such unfiltered attention from an adult before. She’s talking about the park, then his hair, then his name, and everything she says is just… sunshine. She likes his hair. She likes his name. She even likes the loose fitting and filthy black and white striped shirt he’s got on, she says it’s deadlyvoo, whatever the hell that means, but it must be good, because Emily said it.

They’re walking down the street, his little hand still in her’s, when a smell hits his sensitive nose. It’s unlike anything he’s ever smelled before and if he wasn't tethered to her, he would have floated after it. As it is, he does feel his feet lift off the ground briefly, and he has to remind his body to obey gravity, before someone notices. Luckily, Emily only sees part of his reaction, namely the way he’s sniffing the air like a dog and drooling. “Hotdogs!” she grins, and she leads him over towards the smell before he can even ask what that word means.

There’s a little cart set up, and a short, fat woman is fussing over a fire. He quickly finds the source of the smell, those little weird shapes of meat she’s turning over, and he goes to reach for one, only stopped by Emily’s other hand over his. “Not so fast, little bug. To unlock lunch, you need the power of capitalism.” She nods gravely. He nods back, clueless, but after a moment he has the source of the smell in his hands, and he wastes no time in scarfing it down. It’s good. He wants more, instantly, and tugs at her sleeve. Emily has hardly put her wallet away before it’s back out again, and she’s bought two more hotdogs. He eats them just as quickly, but before he can ask for more he realizes she’s led him away from the woman and her meats and her fire. Clever breather.

The walk to her home isn’t so bad, and it gives him time to take in his surroundings. The park had been jarring enough- what little plants grow in the netherworld are perpetually gray and withered, sad little scraggly weeds that struggle and choke each other out for the privilege of what miniscule sunshine permeates through the perpetual overcast. But there’s enough sunlight and water and everything to go around here, and it all grows green and vibrant. The city feels the same way, sort of. Like there’s plenty of space to stretch out and grow, and so they did. In the netherworld, everything is short and cramped, but bigger on the inside, with long, winding hallways meant to confuse and trap the dead. The buildings here are so tall looking up at them makes him dizzy, but he hardly has time to admire them before Emily is guiding him this way and that, and finally, to another door. She presses a button and they’re let inside, and he experiences another first as they ride the elevator up a few floors.

They ride the first few floors up in relative silence, until - “Get ready to jump!” Emily says suddenly, crouching, and he follows her lead, and jumps when she does. There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before gravity catches up with them, and their feet hit the elevator floor again, in time for the doors to open. “Good job, Beetlejuice!” she praises, pushing that long sun colored hair out of her face, and he beams up at her. “Feels like flyin, kinda!” “Right?” she enthuses loudly, and he’s about to ask her how a breather knows what flying feels like, but a door down the hall opens, and the biggest man Betelguese has ever seen steps out. “Thought I heard you rattling the elevator,” he’s chiding Emily, who only gives her snort and smile in return. “Lydia isn’t even with you, do you really play that game when you’re-” his eyes fall on Betelgeuse. “Alone?”

“Charles, I made a new friend!” Emily tells him simply, leading the little demon into their apartment. The interior is dim, but he can see fine. He knows his amber eyes are glowing a little in the gloom, and he closes them, just for a moment, as Emily leads him down the hall and into a sunny, well lit kitchen. The big man, Charles, is tailing behind, looking mystified. “Where on earth did you find him?” a hint of nerves creeps into the breather’s voice. “You didn’t… steal him.. Right?” “Charles!” Emily laughs, like it’s an absurd question. Betelgeuse can’t tell if it is or not. Emily doesn’t seem like a child snatching witch, but he doesn’t know enough about such things to be sure. “I didn’t steal him,” she clarifies, busying herself with getting the boy a cup of ice water, and stopping by for a moment to touch the back of her hand to his forehead again. “I found him wandering around Central Park. He said he doesn’t have any folks, and he was all alone, and he feels feverish. I’m being responsible! I’m a responsible adult!” “A responsible adult who still plays the elevator game, despite being told by maintenance you might throw the whole elevator out of whack?” Charles askes, but he doesn’t look angry, more amused.

“I was teaching Beetlejuice how to play.” The pause he was expecting with Emily finds its home with Charles. Charles glances at the boy. Betelguese stares back with big amber eyes, sipping quietly at his ice water. Charles looks to Emily, who seems to be waiting expectantly. The silence stretches for another beat before Charles asks, baffled, “Is that… his name?”

Emily throws her hands up like he’s asked if the sky is really blue. “Of course it’s his name! Or at least, that’s the name he gave me. I’m respecting it. Respectful and responsible, that’s me.” She turns and winks at Betelgeuse. He returns the strange breather gesture because he likes Emily more than he’s ever liked anyone before.

The water cup is empty, and he simply lets it go, no longer interested in holding it. It bounces and rolls across the floor, and Charles wrinkles his brow at the boy. “Wh-” Before he can say much more, Betelgeuse is sniffing at the air, and he crouches on all fours, nose to the ground, like a dog in a cartoon. He’s caught the scent of some kind of upperworld bug, and despite all the hotted dogs, he’s still hungry. He’s on the prowl around the kitchen, weaving under the little dining table and three chairs, and then back down the hall, into the living room. Charles and Emily poke their heads out of the kitchen to watch him.

“I think you brought a feral child into the house, Em.”

She makes a psshaw sound and rolls her eyes, smacking gently at his lapels. “He’s a kid. Kids are weird. I was doing weird kid stuff when I was his age, too.” “And you never stopped,” comes the dry response. “Charles, I know you worry, but he’s a little kid, lost in New York. I mean, my god, it’s like a movie! I couldn’t just leave him, and I wasn’t just going to give him to some cop, he’s probably an undocumented runaway or something-” and the rest of her rambling is drown out by Charles gasping and grabbing her, and her own muffled gasps of shock, because Betelgeuse has caught the bug. And also, he’s on the ceiling. He may have been trying to blend in, but the second he caught the scent of that delicious crunchy upperworld bug meat, everything else was out of mind. He’d spotted it on the ceiling, and had followed it up there, ignoring gravity to get what he wanted, and right as he pounced on it, nearly catlike, Charles and Emily had gasped. Their breather noises distract him long enough for the bug to skitter away, and he loses his concentration, and drops to the living room floor with a sickening crunch. Emily shrieks, and Charles panics, sprinting for the boy, certain he’ll find a dead child with a broken neck. Instead Betelguise sits up, his glamour disturbed from the fall, and the breathers get an eyeful of what he really looks like. There’s a beat. They’re all staring at each other for a long moment. “I… I might have brought a feral child into the house,” Emily admits sheepishly. You can read the entire thing, right now, over here

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice fic #emily deetz #charles deetz #lydia deetz #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice found family

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heyheydidjaknow · 3 years

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Hiya! I have a request for an x reader songfic. Snap out of it by the Arctic monkeys gives me so many 2012 Donnie vibes. Maybe one where the reader is in love with Donnie but he likes April and the reader wants Donnie to, you know, "snap out of it" and notice that maybe April isn't the best person towards him. It can end in unrequited love or with a happy ending, that's for you to decide but I just really want to see this concept. Thanks! :>

(feel free to ignore this request if you want 👁️👁️)

Oh, I’m not about to turn away a chance to be pushed out into foreign territory. I admittedly hadn’t known what a songfic was until wikipedia and @kunimikat saved my ass, so this was fun-- and a bit scary-- to write. I hope you like it, even if it might not have been exactly what you were expecting.

April was your friend. She had been for a while, now, since she had moved to NYC. The two of you had come even closer after her kidnapping and initiation into the “Hamato Clusterfuck” as you had affectionately called it at first—you had wisely made a conscious effort to only get involved with them as far as you could throw them, sticking solidly to offering emotional support and half-decent food. At the beginning, you had, on multiple occasions, even begged her to stay out of it, trying to reason with her that getting herself killed by a psychotic armored man with an axe to grind for the crime of hanging out with four teenage shut-ins was an incredibly bad idea. When your logical arguments fell on deaf ears—her owing them apparently being her ball and chain—you had designated yourself as her supervisor to make sure she did not do something overly impulsive. She was reckless, overly trusting, immature, but you loved her like a sister. You balanced each other out.

One of the benefits of knowing someone for so long is that you learn things about them that they do not know about themselves. In April’s case, it had been that she was terrible at making up her mind

What's been happenin' in your world?

You had borne witness to the love triangle transpiring between Donatello Hamato, Casey Jones and her for the better part of a year now. You were relieved that the two boys had backed off each other’s throats somewhat over the period, but it was as infuriating as it was fascinating to watch them fight over her like a chew toy. Of course, April had her preference between the two, favoring the hockey player mainly for his general normalcy, which was a decision you could approve of, but she had hesitated until recently to make that obvious to the other point because, in her words, “The last thing I want is to deal with is all of that awkwardness.” You could hardly blame her for her hesitation, but you thought it almost cruel not to make her feelings apparent to her lovestruck puppy.

What have you been up to?

Donnie was the most tolerable of the five, the most normal in your opinion. He was an infatuated, insecure teenage boy with more an affinity towards machines and, best of all, seemed concerned for your friend, all things that you could get on board with. In your opinion, overbearingness is preferable to negligence in this case, and you were just happy that someone physically capable had her back. As such, when you were stuck at the lair for hours waiting for her lessons with Splinter to be over—you were her ride—you found yourself spending the most time around him, and as time went on, you started going out of your way to do so.

Seeing as April and Casey were your only other friends, it was natural you would get romantically attached. They—a couple by high school standards—approved of your crush, and all you told your guardian(s) was that they were smart, fit, and financially responsible, so they asked few questions.

You knew, logically, this was not a competition and that April had little interest in him.

But something about the way he gazed at her made you burn green with envy.

I heard that you fell in love, or near enough.

His eyes were just so… wistfully longing. He watched as the redhead and her boyfriend played against Michelangelo and Raphael in a game of charades. His expression was just so soft, lips pursing and popping silently as he grieved from his seat in his lab.

It had been a downhill spiral on your end from there, and as your own attachment grew for him, his own depression worsened. Your eyes drifted from your friend as you tried to make him see that, no, the world was not ending because his first crush did not like him back. You would make subtle comments about how happy his brothers were, how happy she and Casey were together, how smart he was and how many people would die for a kind, loving, smart guy to come around and sweep them off their feet. This, again, fell on deaf ears; he would always comment on how, if he were such a catch, April would not have chosen Casey, like It is his fault for her having more of a taste in cocky, fun-loving guys than intelligent ones. Half of it was probably your lack of experience in subtlety, but no matter what you would try to say, whenever romance came up in conversation, his words turned sharp and bitter.

On that day, you just cracked.

I gotta tell you the truth.

You walked over to the lab door, closing it in a single fluid motion. ‘I’m better at being blunt, anyways.’

He blinked; his trance was interrupted by the small slam.

“She’s not into you.”

“Huh?”

You crossed the room and placed your hand on the desk, expression stern and stone cold. “April,” you repeat. “She’s not interested.”

He did not meet your gaze. “You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually.” You leaned down to look him in the eye. “You aren’t her type. You’re supposed to be smart.” You placed the other on the back of his chair, arms cagging him in, almost. “ She has a boyfriend,” you continued, softer. “You know that, right?”

“I do.” He tapped the side of his thumb against the table absently, throat tight. “But what else do you suppose I do? Submit to the fact that I’ll be alone forever?” He looked up at you. “I know this may be hard for you to believe,” he continued, easily slipping out from under your arms, “but I don’t exactly have a ton of options. She’s the only person who’s ever looked at me like that; how am I supposed to move on from the only person who’s ever even given me a chance?”

I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby.

You rolled your eyes, turning to watch him as he crossed to the other side of the room. “That is some blatant bullshit,” you glared curtly.

“Is it, though?” His back was to you as he crouched down in front of his centrifuge, fiddling with it. “As someone who’s never—”

“So help me, if you go off about me not understanding being rejected and feeling like they’d die alone, I’ll rip your tongue out.” You stood back up properly.

“What would you know about it?” He followed suit, eyes locking on yours. “You have other people to choose from.”

“And you don’t?” You crossed your arms, smiling incredulously. “How do we differ, exactly?”

“Besides the obvious?”

You scoffed. “You’ve seen your brothers. Never stopped them.”

“And I’m happy for them, that they’re so charismatic as to be able to find partners so easily.” You could taste the bitterness in his words. “But I’m not them, in case you didn’t notice. That girl out there?” He pointed to the door. “She’s the first and only person in the universe who’s ever given me a second glance.”

“So you’re just fucking blind, now?” You heard your voice rise without your input.

“What’re you talking about?” His voice grew with yours.

“You’re lovesick,” you spat. “Snap out of it.”

Snap out of it.

You ran your fingers through your hair. “Or maybe you’re just dense.” You felt a laugh rise in your throat. “I mean,” you gestured, “clearly picking up on verbal subtext isn’t your forte.”

You gave him five seconds. “What,” you continued, rubbing your face with your hands, “Are you—” You stopped. “You are, aren’t you?”

Nothing.

You took a slow breath, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “Let me put it in simple, plain English for you.”

I get the feelin' I left it too late, but baby—

“As her friend? You’re a fucking creep.” You crossed your arms across your chest. “Following her the way you did—wait your turn—” A finger interrupted his defense. “Following her the way you did? Objectively creepy. Staring at her all the time? Also fucking creepy.” You felt your nails dig into your skin. “Any person would call it as it is.”

He opened his mouth again to argue. You did not interrupt him this time, but he did not argue, the silence falling like a weighted blanket over the two of you.

“As your friend,” you continued, voice lowered, “as someone who cares about you, I know April, and she can’t give you what you want. It’s not her; she needs to be free, and I love her, but you’re looking for something that’s just not there.” Your voice was certain. “You’re looking for someone to spend your life with. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Snap out of it.

He was still for a moment, looking off into the ether. He nodded, face melancholy.

You walked over, resting a hand on his shoulder tentatively. “I’m not saying it’s stupid of you to not be over her. Again, I love her to bits, so I see the appeal.” You broke eye contact, trying to articulate exactly what you meant. “But I’m worried,” you explained slowly, “you’re only hung up on her because you’re scared of being alone. That’s not fair to her or yourself.”

“Do you know that?”

“No,” you admitted easily, “but you and I are the same way, and trust me, I’ve been around the heartbreak block.” You smiled, trying to relieve the tension.

That earned a chuckle. A small one, but a chuckle none the less.

You reached up, cupping his cheek in your hand. “There are seven billion people on this planet. Any one of them—myself included—would be lucky to have a life with you.”

If that watch don’t continue to swing—

A pause.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

You nodded, your thumb running along the line of his eye socket. “I do.”

—or the fat lady fancies havin' a sing—

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his cheek gently.

—I'll be here, waitin' ever so patiently—

“Y/N!” You pulled back as you heard April calling your name. “We need a moderator!”

You started back towards the door, waving gently. “I wish you good tidings, Donatello.” You smiled quietly, serenity itself standing in the doorway. “May whoever is fortunate enough to call you their own bring you happiness. You deserve it.” You slipped out of his lab, running over to break them up.

Donatello rested his fingers on where your mouth had lit his skin. He felt a bittersweet smile fade onto his face.

—for you to snap out of it.

And that was when it began.

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