#I like to imagine it looking like Doc from Cars but Red and full of scratches that makes Jason cry
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Soup Kitchens and Runaway Ghosts
NEXT>>
Dani let out a breath of relief. Danny’s injuries were all accounted for, and now he’s fast asleep on the makeshift bed that she made out of cardboard and scratchy cloth that is... semi-clean. There were still bandages that Jazz threw in a backpack that she packed for Danny before Dani flew as fast as she could out of their house, clutching onto Danny as hard as she could until she knew that they were safe and away from his parents and the GIW.
An old, abandoned apartment that seemed haunted (but not really) was the best place she could take them.
But with only clothes and bandages for Danny in the backpack, there wasn’t any food. She took a look outside, and deemed it still early for a few soup kitchens to still be open, especially for dinner.
So, she leaned down, patting Danny’s head, whispering how she’ll be back as soon as she could. She’ll just get some food for Danny and her to eat. She took her own pack, filled with ice-cream containers and plastic spoons that she’s collected over the months she went travelling.
Then, turning invisible, she flew out of the abandoned apartment building.
***
- Okay, so, what happens is that Jason runs a soup kitchen. He’s still Red Hood, and the people helping him run the kitchen are his Goons. But his Goons have no idea that Jason is Red Hood. They just think that Jason is someone Red Hood wants to help, and the Goons love helping the dude. Not just because he’s good at cooking, but because they actually feel like they’re doing something good when they help.
- There’s always a new face coming into the soup kitchen, new kids that ran away from toxic home environments, people who lost their jobs and became desperate, families who are trying to get by...
- Then, Jason felt a chill run down his back and the Lazarus Madness in his mind hiding away where Jason couldn’t feel it. He looked around to what could have caused that reaction, and locks his eyes on his black-haired, blue-eyed child carrying ice-cream containers asking one of his Goons, Bill, if he could fill it up.
- Bill doesn’t ask questions. He told all of his Goons that are working in this kitchen to never ask questions when someone asks for more, or to bring some home. Just do it.
- She doesn’t eat in the dining area that Jason set up, instead tucks away the sealed soup and bread, and some eggrolls Jason taught his goons to make, and walked out of the place.
- The Lazarus Madness then returned, though still dulled and almost whining in annoyance in his mind.
- Shaking his head, Jason walked in to replace the empty pot of soup for a new one. Then, he turned to Bill to take care of the place, saying he needed to report to Red Hood something.
- “Is it the kid with the containers earlier?” he asked.
- “Yeah,” Jason just decided to reply. “I just have a... feeling.”
- Bill frowned and told Jason that he got it from here.
- Jason went out back, opened his security cameras to locate where the kid went. But, when he went to the time the kid walked out of the door, it was like she just disappeared into thin air! Jason wondered what was with the girl that caused the Lazarus Madness to crawl into near inexistence to the back of his mind.
- But Jason decided that he’ll look more into it later.
***
- The young girl shows up a the next day. This time, not only does she ask for the containers to be filled, she even asks for her water bottles to be filled with drinking water because the water jugs that were brought out were empty.
- Interestingly, the girl seemed more tense in front of Jason, squirming where she was standing and trying hard not to stare at Jason, looking away when Jason directs his gaze to her.
- Does she also feel how she’s pushing away the Lazarus?
- A question for another time. He had food to give out.
- This time, Jason and Bill were switched. Bill, his faithful student in the art of cooking, is in the kitchen cooking up more soup while all the other Goons were putting together some ham and cheese sandwiches. And Jason with some of the other goons were giving out the food.
- Jason calls for one of the other goons to change the empty water jugs with new ones while he fills her containers with soup, one container with some rice porridge, and another one with the sandwiches his goons put together. He gave enough that could be eaten for two people.
- When Jason sees the state of the little girl’s water bottles (it’s the plastic water bottles, and it’s all crinkled up like paper), Jason tells the little girl to wait and goes to the back kitchen (noticing when he looks back how the girl relaxes as he leaves) to get one of his water bottles that he stole from Bruce that he wasn’t using. It was big, enough to be filled with four glasses of water.
- Jason could always steal another one. Not like Bruce was using them anyways.
- So, after washing the bottle, he steps back out, refills the bottle, and gives it to the little girl. Her eyes widen, letting out an excited gasp, seeming to forget how tense she was in his presence.
- “I can have this?!” her eyes were sparkling towards him, and Jason couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.
- “Yeah! I have plenty more where that came from.”
- The little girl stuffed the containers in her bags, and the water bottle last. Then, she gently brought her pack over her shoulder.
- With a grin towards Jason, she said, “Thanks Mister!”
- With a huff, Jason says, “Just call me Jason.”
- Repeating his name and thanking him again, the little girl was out of the soup kitchen.
- Checking the security feeds again, she disappeared into thin air just like last time. There is seriously no trace of her walking out the moment she exited at the same time as other kids. Either she’s really good at stealth and misdirection, or she’s a meta.
- Jason wouldn’t be surprised if she were one.
***
- For the next 3 days, the little girl keeps coming back with newly washed containers, and even comes over during brunch times.
- But Jason notices how she’s getting more anxious as the days went by. So, on the 6th day she came over, Jason pulls her aside and asks her if there was something wrong.
- The little girl starts crying then and there. She has a kinda-brother, kinda-cousin who’s hurt from his parents hurting him, and he’s had a fever that won’t go down. She doesn’t know what to do, and none of the fever medicine she stole from the drug stores were working, and she tried getting the antibiotic ointment but Danny, her brother-cousin’s name, wasn’t getting better at all.
- Jason calmed the girl down. Bill, his most trusted Goon, said that he’ll man the kitchen. Jason should go help the girl.
- And Jason gathers some things that would most definitely be useful for some emergency first aid. Judging by what the little girl told him, this Danny would need to be brought to Leslie.
- Before they leave, Jason asks the little girl her name.
- “Danielle, but everyone calls me Dani, with an ‘I’.”
- “Does Danny call you that, too?”
- “We think it’s funny.”
- Jason is brought to a nearby abandoned apartment. On some ratty bed and covered by some blanket that was definitely stolen, lays a teenage boy whose breath was stuttering as he breathes. There was a cooling pad over the kid’s head.
- He ran up to the kid, and gasps when he feels the Lazarus Madness completely vanish from his mind.
- He ignores that for now, peeling off the blanket to take a look over Danny, who was sweating through his clothes.
- “Where is he hurt?” Jason asks.
- Dani tells him he’s hurt badly on his back and chest. He removes the shirt. The bandages were wrapped clumsily, but covered all the important parts.
- The important parts being wounds as if he was blasted by a ray gun, and cuts on his torso as if he was being dissected. A vivisection.
- “His parents were scientists,” Dani said from behind him. Jason turned towards her, and this time her eyes were glowing a familiar shade of green. He’s seen it many times in his reflection, but seeing it on another person made goosebumps rise on his arms. “I... I could explain what’s going on, but Danny can’t go back to his parents... Because his parents aren’t the only people who are after him... They’re probably after me, too.”
- “I don’t need you to explain to me,” he said, bringing out his things to perform emergency first aid. “But we need to bring Danny to someone who could heal him better, alright?”
- “No hospitals... he... his blood isn’t... normal...” she said, wringing her wrist with her hand, face scrunched up as if she doesn’t know what’s okay to tell him.
- Jason pursed his lips. He could... call in for one of his favors with someone the Red Hood knows. They’d ask for nothing except to repay him.
- So, Jason tells Dani to wait for him here. Don’t answer the door for anyone, because Jason will be coming in through the window to pick them up. He tells Dani to fix up their things, and to prepare because they were taking Danny to a friend of his who wouldn’t ask any questions no matter what he saw.
- Once he was out, and after feeling the Lazarus filling his mind up again with a vengeance, he calls Bill, telling him that he’s leaving the cleanup of the kitchen to him and the others. And that he’s also going to Red Hood for some help. Bill, who had also grown fond of the little girl who he shared his Stolen Femurs story with, was worried but told him to stay safe, and to keep the kid safe.
- After hanging up, he changes into his Red Hood gear, calls his illegal doctor, and drives his Hoodmobile (lovingly named by Dick - 9 years old at heart - Grayson) to the apartment where Dani and Danny were staying. But he also found some suspicious White Van, and some people in white suits holding... blaster guns? Those are definitely blaster guns. They were probably the ones who hurt Danny, then.
- Red Hood parked his car in a location he would easily be able to get into, and scaled the apartment to the floor Dani hid her and Danny in. He knocked on the window, lifting his helmet up a little to show his domino-mask-less face. He put it back on as he went inside. Just like he told Dani to do, all of their things were fixed. By the panic on Dani’s face, she knows about the suspicious people.
- “I can carry Danny out of here without being seen,” she said. “But me and Danny could easily be tracked by them because of what we are... But I can be quick. I promise!”
- Dani didn’t even wait for his reply, something green shined in her hands, and she easily picked up the kid, easily floated into the air, and easily turned invisible.
- “So that’s how you managed to disappear from my cams,” he said.
- He couldn’t see her, but he could tell that she was grinning. He took their packs and scaled down the walls.
- But just as he landed, a blaster gun was pointed at his face.
- “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked the men in white.
- One of them was holding some kind of gadget that was rapidly beeping when pointed at Jason’s direction.
- “There are three ghosts in our current location,” the one holding the gadget said, staring pointedly towards Jason.
- “Well, that’s just rude,” he said, because he’s more of a zombie than a ghost, and immediately punched the one pointing the blaster in his face. He disarmed him, grabbed the blaster for himself, and disarmed the other men in white whipping out their own blaster guns. With every shot, a blaster was destroyed. And when Jason accidentally hit a pole, that pole had a melted hole, creaked, and fell to the ground.
- The blasters were stronger than Jason thought, and he was wondering how Danny survived such a thing. He took out a smoke bomb and through it to the ground, using the smoke to get to his Hoodmobile. (God, he hates that name.)
- Once he was in the driver’s seat, he dropped the packs beside him and called for Dani. “You guys in here?”
- “y-yeah! We’re in the back!” she said, letting go of the invisibility. Danny’s head laid on her lap, but his breathing seemed to be getting worse.
- “They’re this way!”
- “Shit.”
- Jason starts the car and starts driving.
- The Hoodmobile is breaking every traffic law known to man, but so were the men in white’s van, which also had some built in blasters Jason knew Tim and Batman would secretly drool over. The vans seemed to multiply the more corners he turned.
- These men in white don’t seem to care about property damage, either. Or about civilians being affected or injured by the consequences of their blasts.
- Thankfully it was night, and Jason was calling for Oracle to respond.
- “Hood, who are the people chasing you?”
- “No idea, but they pointed some blaster to my face. Called me a ghost with some gadget they use to track for some,” he said. “No matter where I go, they seem to be able to track me because of what I am.” He was using Dani’s explanation for this. He cursed and turned a hard left to avoid hitting a civilian. “I don’t know what the range for the gadget is, but I need you to disable it so I could get somewhere safe.”
- “On it,” Oracle said. But a few seconds of swerving around the road later, he heard Oracle curse.
- “What is it?”
- “Their tech is all protected by something. No matter how much I hack into them, a newer code just keeps coming in to stop me.”
- “Can you fry their systems?” Jason asked.
- “...I could,” said Oracle. “But we’d never get the information we need form them. Are you okay with that?”
- Jason snorted. “You know how I get my information,” he said, jokingly. “You Bats and your fancy technology got nothing on threatening people with guns.”
- With a huff, Oracle began typing rapidly on her computer. And, in 5 beautiful seconds, the Vans all screeched to a stop as the technology in their vehicle fizzles and pops in tiny explosions.
- Jason threw some smoke bombs outside his window, and broke even more traffic laws driving to the outskirts of Gotham.
****
NEXT>> (Masterlist)
#dc x dp#dp x dc#jason todd#dani fenton#danny fenton#danny phantom#that moment where you reread gilbirda's posts and read Jason Todd's love language being food and acts of service and BOOM! IDEA!#But I just wanted to focus on the soup kitchen#Instead it turned into some sci-fi action-y kind of thing#HAHAHAHAHAHAHA XD#I love the Hoodmobile#I like to imagine it looking like Doc from Cars but Red and full of scratches that makes Jason cry#It has an engine that could go 500 miles an hour that Jason stole from Tim#ANYWAYS#Damn this got long XD#Thanks for reading!!! <3#Edit:I forgot Babs!!!#barbara gordon
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After Starcourt and the whole holding off a meat monster thing, Billy's hands are too messed up to drive. Too shaky. Too prone to random flares of red-hot pain or ice-cold numbness to make it safe for him to be in charge of any kind of heavy machinery which, apparently, includes Susan's shitty hatchback.
So Steve offers him a ride to and from his physical therapy sessions.
Billy suspects that Max was the one who sorted out the arrangement, can't imagine King Steve offering his chauffeur services out of the goodness of his heart, especially not at eight in the fucking morning. But hey, the public transport in Hawkins sucks ass, so he's not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. And while the first ride is awkward- full of stilted conversations that peter out into uncomfortable silences- the second one isn't quite so bad. The third is almost pleasant, and by the fifth they've got a heated game of license plate spotting going. The sixth has them both singing along to Bohemian Rhapsody, Steve's attempts at the falsetto being the first thing to make Billy laugh in months. The seventh has Billy brandishing a tape of A Night at the Opera and insisting on a repeat performance, then regretting it when Steve keeps on replaying I'm in Love With My Car over and over again instead.
And from then on, it's good. Fun. Easy. A hell of a lot better than taking the bus.
Which is why Billy doesn't say anything when he gets cleared to drive. Because it's not like he has his own car any more so, really, it makes sense to keep shtum. That's what he tells himself, anyway, as he tries not to think about the fact that the half hour he gets in the car with Steve is easily the best part of his day. Hell, it's the best part of his entire week.
He doesn't know that Steve overheard Doc Owens giving Billy the all-clear weeks ago. Because Steve doesn't bring it up either. But he does start taking the scenic route home, with some hastily muttered excuse about the shitty traffic signals on Kerley.
And it works. For a bit. Billy gets an extended pocket of happiness. Steve warbles his way through the Queen back catalogue. Billy holds his tongue through I Was Born to Love You. It works.
But eventually there comes a point when Billy's discharged from hospital completely, when, right at the end of his session, the doctors inform him that there's nothing more they can really do for him. When, apparently, his broken body and messed up mind are considered good enough. And that's when he has to bite the damn bullet and swallow the bitter taste in his mouth, the reminder that Billy Hargrove never gets to keep a good thing for long, and tell Steve that he's got his Wednesday mornings back to himself now.
He holds it all in until they're back at Cherry Lane. Forgets about it, just for an hour, and lets himself have one more ride. One more easy conversation. One more bubble of laughing, smiling happiness.
And then he lets it all pop.
"So the good ol' doc says that was my last poke 'n prod visit. Looks like this is as good as it gets. So, yeah, you're a free man, Harrington. No more taxi service. Thanks, uh, thanks for...y'know. The help."
And Steve nods and he smiles. Warm and bright and genuine when he tells Billy that he's welcome. And then he makes some joke that Billy isn't listening to before driving away with little more a dorky little salute wave and his usual, "See you around, Hargrove."
And Billy doubts that. He doubts it very much.
But he does see Steve. Because Steve comes back. The next week, Wednesday morning, just like clockwork, Billy hears the familiar pip of a horn and he shuffles out of bed and pulls back the curtains and there he is, like he always has been. Harrington. Steve. Smiling. Waving. Waiting.
And Billy has to swallow that bitter pill again, but first he has to hold it in his mouth while he pulls on some pants and walks barefoot towards the Beemer and then he has to try not to let the bitterness colour his tone when he leans through the open passenger's side window and says, "Thought I told you, Stevie, I don't need a ride anymore."
And Billy knows it must just be a trick of the light, but he's pretty sure Steve's cheeks flush. Just for a second, he could've sworn that Steve looked sheepish. And he's pretty damn sure he must be dreaming when Steve smiles at him, soft and fond but a little nervous and says,
"I know, but...you still need breakfast, right? Cause, if you want? There's a diner, does this pancake platter thing with, like..."
But Billy's not really listening. Because there's a tape sitting on the passenger seat. Queen, again, but this one's brand new and still wrapped in shiny cellophane. Ready and waiting.
A Kind of Magic
Fitting. Billy thinks.
#harringrove#cherrywrites#does anyone just want some good ol' post s3 softness today?#also i know i know I have been AWOL#i am here and i am still bone deep in love with this fandom#i am just...dealing. started a new therapy thing a few weeks ago and man it has been rough#but it's getting lighter i think#i'll be up to actually interacting a bit more soon#so. yeah
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From "Memories of Michael" by Terry Southern:
Summer of '66 at the top of Duke Street, in the heart of Old Smoke, I...had my first larger-than-life living-colour confrontation with a certain Michael Cooper, Esquire....I moved on a couple doors along Duke Street to the Robert Fraser Gallery and Grill, as we were later wont to call it. I tried the door and found it locked up tighter than Dick's hat-band.
"Looking for Robert, are you?" asked the young dandy, and when I turned I saw something I was to come to love--his extraordinary smile, piercing; and somehow both shy and knowing, almost conspiratorial....
"Yes," I said. "I'm supposed to meet him here at four." It was almost five now.
Michael laughed. "Oh, I expect he's hopped it," he said, affecting a slightly Cockney accent. "Off to Meerakesh, if my guess is any good. Having a right rave-up with Bill Willis and Chris Gibbs about now, I shouldn't wonder, ho-ho!"
I peered through the gallery window; in the shadows I could see the great B-52 sculpture by Colin Self, which he had said was inspired by Doc Strangelove....
"Hold on," [Michael] said. "Is this a bloody Thursday?" I replied that it was indeed Thursday.
"Then Bob's having tea at his mum's."
"And not the right rave-up you had imagined."
"Yes, he has tea with his mum every Thursday, rain or shine." He considered it. "I should very much like to know what they talk about." He laughed. "Robert's poor taste in choosing his friends, most likely. Although she's a very nice woman. Actually quite charming."
"So he won't be coming back here to the gallery."
"No, we'll have to catch him at Mount Street. Have you been to his flat in Mount Street?"
I said that indeed I had....
Many of my memories of Michael involve Robert Fraser. They were ideally suited for the remarkable friendship they enjoyed. Each regarded the other as a grand eccentric, with Robert playing a sort of older brother of a more conservative stamp.
He had a rather protective attitude towards Michael, although it was Michael who was dominant in terms of influence; it was he who always managed to get copies of the latest Otis Redding or Sam Cooke, or to know about a private screening of a Bruce Connor film; and whenever he made a trip to New York, he would invariably return full of enthusiasm for the work of some new artist he had met through Larry Rivers, Andy Warhol or Den Hopper.
He once persuaded Robert to install a 45rpm record-player under the dashboard of his car--a remarkable Italian device that would absorb the bumps and cobbles of Old Smoke without skipping a note. With Michael as DJ and 'Strawberry Bob' at the wheel, driving like a demon, eye glasses glinting in the changing traffic lights, mouth fixed in a smile of stone manic hilarity, we would tool about the city, blasting with our rock'n'roll. A memorable period.
...I once heard [Michael] defending Keith [Richards] in an amusing exchange with Robert. It was during an evening at Mount Street.
"Well young sir," said Robert, waxing indignant, "buzz along the rialto has it that those two esteemed cronies of yours--Squire Richards and Anita Pallenberg--have shown some rather bad form, rather bad form indeed."
Michael brightened. "Oh? How's that, then?"
Robert took great glee (while feigning high seriousness) in recounting how Keith and Anita had run away together, into the North African night, leaving Brian to his own devices.
"'Spanish Tony' brought the news," he said in solemn conclusion and waited for Michael's response. It appeared, however, that Michael had already heard about it, from Christopher Gibbs, and in more detail.
"They left Brian half of the hash and half of the albums," he said in loyal defence.
Robert seemed to weigh the matter anew for a moment, but he remained sceptical. "Including the Little Richard?" he demanded. "I would wager my life they did not leave the Little Richard!"
From Blinds & Shutters (bold mine)
#robert fraser#michael cooper#keith richards#anita pallenberg#brian jones#lol lol lol at 'I would wager my life they did not leave the Little Richard'#I also love that Robert gave off conservative protective big brother energy
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Broken Wings
Hawks drabble
A/N: So I imagine for some reason that regular doctors and surgeons are capable of treating Hawks to a fault. But when it comes to his wings, they’re a bit...lost?
Summary: After coping with treating injuries to his wings by himself, Hawks finds himself with a more serious injury than he can handle. He can’t open his wings, or fly. The pain is mind numbing. He finds himself breaking into an animal clinic for some help.
Warning: Broken bones. Mild language
HawksxReader
7am. The doors don’t open until 8:30, but you still had things to do from yesterday that weren’t even started. Clutching your steel tumblr full of coffee that’ll barely scratch the surface of your exhaustion, you stifled a yawn and crawled out of your car. Barely remembering to lock it. You always parked on the side of the building so as not to take up any spaces in front. The key missed the lock a few times before eventually sliding inside and turning to the side.
The moment you turned on the lights, a couple of dogs in the back already started barking, hungry for breakfast and ready to go home. Your veterinary clinic was modest in size, but it was always busy. It was your father’s practice before he retired and passed it down to you after finishing school. Now it was all yours. It was hard work, but your clients were loyal. Many of them have been around since the place opened almost 30 years ago. You were the vet that people would recommend to their friends who needed help and had struggles affording it. Your clinic was the one that everyone knew cared the most about patients rather than money. And it showed. While your profits were great, it wasn’t what you were concerned the most about.
After setting down your things in your office, you tied back your hair into a high ponytail and took a long drink of your “breakfast.” You looked at the white board on your wall, deciding which surgery from yesterday to start on first. Picking the cat spay, you headed towards the back to get started. Passing surgery and into the kennels, you found your patient and greeted her with a sweet voice and scratches on her cheeks.
“Good morning, Sadie. You ready, sweet girl? C’mon.” The cat whined tiredly as you scooped her into your arms to bring into the surgical room. But when you lifted your head and looked inside you screamed. Unfortunately, this spooked your cat and she bolted out of your arms to hide under the kennels.
“AH SHIT! Sadie! Sadie c’mere girl! Who are you?!” There sitting on your operating counter was a man. A shirtless man with enormous wings that nearly filled the small room. He was covered in decently serious lacerations and wounds that made the surface of his skin look like a blue, black, green, and purple water color canvas. He looked terrible with deep bags under his eyes. However, he looked at you through messy strands of hair that hung in his face with a tired but smug expression.
“Really? You don’t know who I am?” He said, his voice croaking out with a subtle groan of pain. Your eyes shifted from his, those golden pools that shined like the sun, to the massive crimson wings. They, too, looked to be in disarray. Feathers stuck out in random places, others crumpled, many painted in blood. However his left hung in a slightly abnormal manner.
“I’m sorry. You shocked me all of a sudden. You’re Hawks right? What are you doing here? How did you even get in? The doors were all locked.” As you finished your statement, a single red feather lifted in mid air and hovered, showing you its bent up quill. He picked the lock with the feather and locked it behind him.
“Sorry. I just-..mmgghh...I think it’s broken. And the clowns at the city hospital the commission would send me to aren’t capable of fixing it. I found you online, you do exotics, right? Birds and stuff?”
All the while he was explaining his situation, you were assessing his condition. The area that connected the wing to his back appeared incredibly swollen, and slightly out of place. Without thinking, you reached out to palpate the area causing him to immediately flinch and groan out loud.
“Sorry! Sorry. I’m used to my patients being-...well animals. But yes, I’m a small animal and exotics vet. There’s a couple birds I’ve been treating for a long time.” Now this time, as you were talking, Hawks had his eyes trained on you. He was listening to every word you spoke intently. “Some of them were my dad’s patients before he retired. Shows how old they can get.”
Hawks braced the cold steel of the table, crouching forward some. His skin seemed damp with sweat, the pain he was in must have been affecting his body temperature. You needed to act quickly if you were going to save his wing.
“Okay, so. I have to touch it. I need to get a couple xrays to see if we have any breaks and we’ll go from there. I don’t....all I have are sedatives for animals. Would that..?”
“It’s fine, ain’t no pain out there that I can’t handle.” He looked at you with a charming smirk, clearly flexing his pain threshold to impress you. Because he looked you up and down and liked what he saw. Even in those scrubs which were relatively form fitting but patterened in cartoon cats and dogs.
“I’m serious. This is really going to hurt. Are you-“
“I said I can handle it.” Hawks snapped, frustrated with the questions now. He just wanted the pain to stop. And besides, that cute look on your blushing face was too good to miss.
“Alright...well...first you need to help me find my cat that you scared off.”
“You mean this one?” Appearing in front of you held under the arms and the butt by a trio of feathers was your very angry, very sleepy cat. You sighed in relief and retrieved her into your arms. It took some settling to calm her down but you were a natural with all animals. It came so easily. She was comfortable in her kennel when you set her back inside and you felt your brain shift gears.
You first had to get your hands on the wing. Just to get a feel of what you were working with. You’d never seen such beautiful, red feathers before. Even though you saw parrots and other birds daily. These were just...breathtaking. But even the most beautiful wings didn’t stop the pain of broken bones. Hawks groaned behind tight lips when you gently palpated the swollen wing. Inside you felt the distinct break and slight crunchiness that accompanied it. The growling in his throat didn’t frighten you, after all, you dealt with aggressive animals day in and day out.
“Y-you almost finished there, Doc? Agghh...” He finally outwardly complained when you flexed his wing. Your hands were gentle but it was still nearly unbearable. Slowly and carefully, you folded his wing back down into its natural resting position.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I know it hurts. But thank you for holding still. Alright. Let’s do some xrays.”
After some struggling and repositioning, and many awkward brushes of hands and faces, you and Hawks were successful in taking some clear shots of what you determined was a broken wing. You didn’t notice his eyes on you as you explained it to him. The room was dark, illuminated only by the backlight box that made it possible to see the xray photos. But he was studying your face quite intently.
The space between your eyebrows crinkled a little when you would point to a specific spot on the xray in concentration. When you were quiet in thought, your tongue pressed against your cheek or you nibbled your bottom lip. The slope of your nose was accentuated by the pale shine of the light box to make it look like you had a cute button nose. Everything you were saying filled his ears but didn’t register as anything coherent. Eventually, you noticed.
“Hawks? Are you okay? Are you in pain?” Your voice brought him out of the trance he’d slipped into and he blinked rapidly to soothe his eyes. He hadn’t blinked once.
“Oh! Uh-...aheh...I’m fine. And please...call me Keigo.”
“Keigo?”
“Yeah, that’s my real name. Hawks is just my hero name. I can trust you, yeah?” He looked down at you with those eyes that you swore were glowing and swallowed harshly. Suddenly your throat was dry.
“R-right! I knew that. Keigo...so...like I said. The break is pretty clean. Luckily there’s no fragments or splinters that would make a problem.”
“So what can you do to fix me?” He lied, though, about being in pain. Broken bones were painful enough. But a broken bone that carried the heavy weight of his wing was absolutely agonizing. However, years of working as a pro hero conditioned him into hiding his pain from his enemies.
“Well, there isn’t a lot we can do. Other than immobilize the wing so the bone can heal back together.”
That got his attention.
“Immobilize? You mean I can’t-“
“Fly. Yeah. Not forever, but for a while. You’d have to come back every now and then for xrays so I can see how the healing is progressing. Given the size, I’d imagine...6 weeks?”
6 weeks? Of no flying? Hawks hadn’t spent that long out of the sky in so long that he wasn’t sure he remembered what it felt like to walk anywhere. You could see the panic in his eyes, beads of sweat formed on his neck and forehead. So you reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him. He froze, not sure of what to do.
“Sorry! Sorry.” You quickly withdrew your hand. “That’s a habit. I always try to comfort the parents of my patients when they get difficult news.”
“No no, it’s-...you just surprised me.” He reached for your hand and returned it to his shoulder which was still bare. You hadn’t even realized he hadn’t redressed after finishing the radiographs. Your palm rested on his shoulder, his skin was warm to the touch. Your thumb gently stroked the end of his collarbone as you often did to support your clients. Beneath your fingers you felt the impressive muscle he had, in spite of appearing relatively lean, the muscle tone of his torso was quite defined. You imagined it had to be in order for him to fight villains and hold himself aloft while flying.
“I know it’s a difficult thing to hear. Your wings take you everywhere, I’m sure. But this won’t last forever, okay?” Something about your voice was so soothing to his fried nerves. But you’d never know because of how cool and composed he made himself appear.
“You don’t mind?” Hawks felt his anxiety dissolve when he thought about getting to see you next. It was a strange feeling, but he knew he could trust you. Those pretty eyes of yours really spoke volumes.
“Of course not. Now let’s get you taped up and on your way. I’m sure you’re exhausted, no doubt whatever broke your wing has you worn out.”
“Heh you can say that again.” There it was, his suave and too-cool demeanor. But you didn’t mind it. You were sure it was just a front he was used to keeping up. After all, you were just a civilian and he couldn’t afford to let anyone know just how weak he was.
You managed to tape and place Hawks’ wing in a makeshift splint. He refused any medication but you could tell by the way he white knuckled the table that he was in pain. A majority of the time, your patients were under anesthesia when setting broken bones. So you had to be careful this time about how heavy handed you were. By the time you were finished, you had less than 10 minutes to get him out the door before your techs and kennel attendants showed up for work.
“Come see me in a week. We’ll take more xrays and make any adjustments if you need them. Try to keep the splint dry, and rest. I mean it, Hawks.”
“Alright, Doc. I’ll be a good little bird just for you.” The winged hero winked at you as he slipped out the back door. You felt your heart leap into your throat and cheeks burn up as a result. Just as he disappeared, you heard the sounds of your employees coming in and quickly closed the door and composed yourself.
“Morning, Doc!” One of them said as you appeared in the exam area. You smiled and waved, reaching into the pocket of your white coat with your other hand. Something was in there. You looked inside and saw red. A feather. Unbeknownst to you, Hawks had slipped one of his feathers into your pocket. You couldn’t fathom why, but you felt a strange sense of comfort when you ran the tip of your finger along the center spine. It quivered when you did so.
“Ungh...” In an alley a block away, Hawks had to brace a brick wall with one hand. His insides trembled as he sensed you touching his feather. Even he didn’t know why he left one with you. But the thought of parting made him remarkably...sad?
“Get it together, Keigo...” He muttered to himself, shaking his head and continuing back home. It would be a long 6 weeks out of the sky, but at least he’d be able to see you.
A/N: This was longer than I anticipated omg. Does anyone think I should continue?
#winged hero hawks#hawks drabble#keigo takami#bnha keigo#hawks x reader#veterinary#writing#bnha#mha#my hero academia#boku no hero
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The Red Witch
Jasper Hale x Reader part 2
A/N: So here is the 2nd part everyone! I hope you like it!
Summary: Imagine being an immortal witch from the Middle Ages and being the previous love of Jasper before he was turned. You two were separated under certain circumstances and cross each other’s path once again, years later in the present era.
Warning: language. Blood
Part 1 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5
“(Y/N)? Are you ok?” You hear your friend Melanie ask you, her voice laced with concern as she places a comforting hand on your shoulder, bringing you out of your thoughts.
Your head was beginning to throb violently and the scent of everyone’s blood was beginning to reach you. You could sense their pulse, the flow of their blood through their veins, and a part of you, deep down inside, hungered for it. Not in the way vampires felt, but in a way that you wanted to rip their souls out of their bodies and bathe in their blood while you only gained more power. And it sickened you. It sickened you to the very core.
“I think I need some fresh air.” You turn to face her, only to hear her gasp when she stares at your eyes.
“What? What is it?” You ask her.
She pulls you to the back of the shop, making sure no one noticed before speaking to you in a hushed tone. “(Y/N), hun, I don’t want to freak you out but, your eyes are red.”
“They’re what?!” You stare back at her in confusion before pulling out your phone to see for yourself only to let out a gasp as well.
Both your eyes were blackened in this deep blood red that covered not only your irises but your sclera as well, resembling something of a demon from the pits of hell. You shut your eyes in response, not even wanting to look at yourself, the mere sight of your eyes horrified you.
“Shit shit shit. This isn’t supposed to happen. I haven’t had this happen to me in a long time, not since I was little.” You hiss, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Does that mean?”
“Yes. I let my stupid emotions control me. And now look.” You run a hand through your hair as you open your eyes back up, staring at the floor. “I need to go. I need to go before this gets worse and I hurt someone.
“Don’t worry hun. You go and sort it out. I’ll close the shop early. And please, remember to breathe.”
You nod in agreement before taking out a pair of your sunglasses from your purse and throwing them on to cover your eyes. You slip on your black leather jacket, grabbing your belongings and rush out the shop. With a quickened pace, you walk over to your 1967 dark blue Shelby Mustang with white racing stripes and hop in. You strapped on your seatbelt and put your keys in the ignition to start the car, gripping the wheel as you closed your eyes, listening to and feeling the rumble of the engine. It was one of those things that calmed you down, you always loved the sound of muscle cars.
Taking a deep breath you rev up your engine and drive off, the sound of your car echoing through the streets as you race out of town and towards the woods so that you can be away from from everyone. You had your windows down and your radio up, enjoying the feeling of the wind against your face as the scenery around you blurred past.
You pulled up to a small clearing not too far from the road and got out of your car. Looking at the trees around you, you throw your head back and take a deep breath, taking in the smell of the forest. The throbbing in your head was still there but it was starting to fade. You slip off your gloves and sit down near your car. Glancing down at your hands you noticed that they were turning pitch black with tendrils that seemed to wrap it’s way up your arm, like a poison that runs through your veins only to reach your heart to provide an inevitable ending. Your powers felt like a poison coursing through your veins, and the thought of it ever reaching your heart made your blood run cold. You also noticed that your fingernails have grown to a sharp point, like the claws of an animal.
Shit. Shit shit shit. You needed to stop this.
You unlace your black dr martens and kick them off, digging your toes into the grass and feeling the earth beneath you as you closed your eyes, taking deep breaths as you tried to become one with your surroundings. Earth, fire, water, air, spirit.
You hadn’t used your powers in a long time and were out of practice. And yet, you felt like you needed to. You feared that if you didn’t learn to control it, you would eventually succumb to it and then your powers would eventually control you. And that was the last thing you wanted. With a deep breath you open your eyes back up and stare at your hands. Using your sharp nail, you slice into your arm and watch as the blood slips out of your wound before swirling around your fingers. You try to focus on a certain object and watch as the red substance slowly flows together, forming a red dagger in your hand.
So you weren’t completely out of practice. You let out a sigh of some form of relief, watching the blade melt back into blood, slipping back inside your wound before healing itself. Then slowly, your hands and fingernails returned to normal.
Thank goodness.
After a short period of sitting on the grass and listening to the peaceful sound of the wind and the birds, you pull your phone out of your back pocket to look at the time.
Shit.
Your little sister Harper was going to be off of school in a couple of minutes and you didn’t want to be late. You throw your docs back on and get back in your car before starting your engine and racing off out of the forest and towards Forks high school. You had your radio turned up and currently Led Zeppelin was playing as you pulled up to the high school.
You left the radio on and got out, leaning against the hood of your car with your arms crossed over your chest. You stood there, searching for your sister and finally see her appear out the front entrance.
She had her backpack slung across one arm, her 80s style windbreaker blowing against the wind. She was wearing her old white sweatshirt she found at the thrift store that had Scooby Doo on it, tucked into her high waisted jeans that were rolled up to show off her funky new socks that she just bought because they had dinosaurs all over it. The laces of her white converse were hastily tied as she makes her way over to you with her head lowered.
The way she dressed always made you smile, she always looked like she stepped out of an 80s sitcom, and it perfectly resembled her dorky and full of life personality. Standing next to each other, no one would have ever thought you two were related, with your dark choice of clothes and her bright and colorful ones.
“Hey scooter.” You smile at her once she approaches you.
“Hey” she mumbles out quietly, pushing her glasses up as she gets to the passenger side, making you raise your brow.
Huh. What’s wrong with her?
You turn around to get back into your car before a familiar face stops you in your tracks, making your clench your fist as your breath hitches in your throat.
“Oh you have got to be shitting me.” You hiss, looking away once Jasper catches your stare.
Great, so Jasper and the other vampires happen to go to the same high school your sister goes to. Just great.
You catch Harper giving you a wtf look before turning around to follow your eyes to see for herself what you were getting so upset over.
“(Y/n)?”
“It’s nothing Harper, get in the car.” You shake it off as you both get in.
You sensed Harper watching you carefully as you start your car back up and pull back out of the parking lot. You gave Jasper one last glance, feeling him staring into your soul as you drove off.
How could someone you’ve sworn to forget, someone who didn’t even remember you, still have such an effect over you?
“So how was school?” You ask her as you make your way back to your home, which was located away from town. You could still feel her staring at you.
“It was okay. Nothing special.” She shrugs, looking at the road in front of her before turning back to you. “So what’s up with you? How come you’re acting so moody?”
“So what, you’re my therapist now?”
“Well you were totally chill until you saw that weird pale, Lestat looking dude.”
Did she just call him Lestat?? Wheeze!
There was a pause before her eyes widened a little. “Wait, is he? Is he the same guy that’s in your necklace?”
You clench your wheel as your back straightens up, using your free hand to grasp the intricate gold locket you wore around your neck. The one Jasper gave you many many years ago that he had custom made to have a dragonfly on it. The one you put a small picture of him in to remember him by.
“Did you go through my things?” You raise your brow at her.
“.......maybe.”
“Harper.”
“Hey! I was bored okay. It’s not like I did it recently. And you have so much old shit anyways.”
“Hey, language.” You shake your head with a roll of your eyes. “And it’s not just any old shit okay. It’s stuff that means a lot to me.”
“Looks like a bunch of ancient junk to me.”
“Oh so you’re calling me ancient now.”
“Well technically....”
“Harper.”
“Ok! Sorry!” Harper laughs before getting serious again. “But seriously though, who was he? You’ve like never told me about him.”
You let out a sigh, feeling a lump in your throat that felt like it refused to go away. “That’s because it hurts to talk about him. Jasper and I, he used to court me back in 1862. Harper.....we were supposed to get married.”
A/N: Part 3 coming soon! I didn’t want this chapter to be too long so I had to split it. Thanks for all the support you beautiful people! 😁
Tags: @twilight-kpop @cricketlicket @bella-stenbakken @ineffabledears @elisemurphy06 @ashdab2611 @pancake-pages @toomanybandstocare @cammellia
#jasper whitlock imagine#jasper hale imagine#jasper hale x you#jasper hale x reader#jasper hale x y/n#jasper whitlock#jasper hale#twilight imagines#twilight imagine
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cupid carries a gun
masterlist • taglist & faq
dark!Bruce Banner x named!Reader. Rated R.
Dr. Banner is a serial killer known as the Doctor and Bailey has his soulmark. He escapes imprisonment and meets his soulmate. ~2,2k words. Serial killer fluff??
[no y/n, no 'you', no reader description, race/age/body type neutral, only first name]
This is more of a concept I wrote in an hour than an actual fic. I think it would make a good multi-chapter, but really, my hands are full now and I just needed to get this weird dream off my chest. Yes, I had a dream he was a serial killer and I was his soulmate 💀🖐🏻 I need to ease up on true crime shows istg...
St. John's was suffering a nasty collective psychosis. That would be the only logical explanation Bailey is willing to accept for the jittery, jerky way everybody is behaving. Some of it could be attributed to the armed guards roaming the halls and scaring the patients - but in America, a gun slung over the shoulder shouldn't invoke such a reaction from people.
Only select few know what these people are there for, anyways. Most hospital population is clueless, only vaguely perceiving the sense of dread those harbouring the knowledge seem to carry around. People are easily scared - the thought doesn't leave Bailey's head her whole shift.
She, however, knows exactly what is happening. She's good at her job, brilliant even, nerves made of purest steel and bedside manner perfectly compassionate and tender. It doesn't come as a surprise that she is the one that got chosen to handle the problematic, uncooperative patients.
The bar is high, and this time - neigh impossible. A man so dangerous, so volatile, it required the sheriff to dispatch their town's squadron of special forces - not that was anything but a slight setback for the Doctor. The halls of this hospital will be forever marred with their blood, will forever be haunted by the echoes of their screams abruptly cutting off with a wet squelch.
Bailey thought she'd done her part to protect the innocents. Her colleagues, young women just like her (they're not, Bailey's mind whispers), all safely locked away in a storage closet for the cops to find. There are no windows and He won't see or hear them... If they're smart.
There he is, the man everybody is savagely afraid of. He is everything and nothing she had imagined - Doctor Bruce Banner is on the shorter side, stocky and sickly pale in his hospital issue pajamas, the bluish tint to his skin contrasted by dark crimson stains of blood on the rancid green cotton of his clothes.
The axe in his hands is held firmly but clumsily - Bailey's sure it wouldn't have been his weapon of choice should he had been given one. A choice. She swallowed the unease that spread all over her determination like mold, seeing his eyes, wild and crazy, land on the crook of her arm - where his mark laid, bright red and angry, as if it had been carved into her flesh mere days ago.
"Are you, perhaps, in need of a nurse, doctor Banner?" Bailey inquired softly, fingertips shaking, as the man crossed the space between them with short, powerful strides. The woman's stance widened, involuntary shivers running through her bones at the unexpected tenderness coming from him - Dr. Banner's palms gently wrapped around her arm, warm, chapped lips touching the angry, red soulmark near the crook of her elbow.
"It's been so long since I had a nurse," the man's mutter was barely audible. His eyes, the warmest brown she'd ever seen, met Bailey's wide, shining ones, for her to discover no trace of the madness she was told should be there. Bailey smiled.
As the hospital building grew smaller in the rear view mirror, so did Bailey's anxiety, paving way to excitement and muted curiosity. Her mother always had told that fate had a way of intervening when it was needed - and her mom had oftentimes taken up the role onto herself, moving them out of the state when Bailey's soulmark began to appear on dead people's bodies, burned or cut into skin as a signature. Bailey was not old enough to understand what it meant, back then, but she'd always been a clever girl.
With her first mobile device, she figured out why her mother strictly prohibited her from speaking about it, why her mother always kept a stash of large bandaids to cover it should Bailey be required to remove her long-sleeve shirt.
Only Bailey's physician knew. She'd expected terror, disgust - or even pity, but Dr. Strange always kept his mouth and eyes shut. As Bailey grew older, blossomed into a fine young woman, she thought she saw envy leak into his chiseled features - but Dr. Strange was as quiet and cynical as ever.
As long as nobody tried to separate them, it would be fine. A small smile stretched her plush lips, hand squeezing the one holding hers with giddiness creeping into her youthful features. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed an expression of curious tranquility on Dr. Banner's- Bruce's face as his eyes stayed firmly on the road as the radio crackled static in-between songs.
"Penny for your thoughts?" The man she'd grown to crave and fear, his salt and pepper curls bouncing with every pothole the car hit; his warm hand, larger than hers by a stretch, provided comfort she hadn't known she needed.
"Where to, doc?" The woman couldn't hold back the anticipation. She wanted to hold him, to be close - closer than her small, cramped cheap car allowed them to be.
"I have some friends waiting for me," the man announced, as if he hadn't spent the last five years in a maximum security prison. Not that it mattered to Bailey - but knowing there was no way back from this, Bruce's so-called friends became a point of doubt to the young woman. The doctor noticed it, his responding smile both dangerous and comforting, all sharp canines and moist lips. "You know them, baby. Dr. Strange is a colleague of mine and Tony Stark is a great friend."
Bailey's eyebrows rose, mild disbelief caught somewhere in her trachea as she attempted to clear her throat. Her family physician and the businessman rumoured to be the largest crime boss of their side of the pond. Suddenly, Strange's long glances and penetrating stares acquired a new meaning, a sense of indignation seeping into Bailey's newly found joy. "And he never said anything," the longing, the countless nights spent studying every publicly available material on Dr. Banner, the killer surgeon that terrorised the Tri-State area burned acrid in her chest.
"He told everything to me," Bruce's remark stung if only from the fact that he'd known about her all along. "Who, do you think, pushed for your transfer to St. John's?" Bruce's smile glinted a little wicked in the meager light of passing-by streetlights as the evening sun simmered down to a rest below the horizon. "I don't actually have cancer," the second remark was more optimistic, spoken hopefully, with another gentle squeeze to her hand.
Bailey puffed out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The puzzle pieces slowly started to arrange themselves, revealing a bigger picture than the one before. She wanted to be mad - mad at Stephen, for not saying anything; mad at Bruce, for getting himself caught years prior. And the anger at her own mother, for taking away her right to stand by her soulmate, for all the countless fights and nights spent locked up in her room.
Bailey had been treated like a monster as soon as he soulmark showed up - and after so much time spent trying to show she wasn't one, perhaps, it was time to face the truth. Perhaps, it was time to show them how much of a monster she could be, if they were so unhappy before.
Gravel flew under the wheels of Bailey's beaten up Toyota Corolla, sending little pebbles to bang noisily against the bumper and the stone flower beds surrounding the driveway to a large two-story mansion. Two cars stood in from of it with two men leaning each against their own vehicle.
The shorter figure was well-dressed, suit obviously bespoke and expensive, sunglasses reflecting the headlights of her Toyota even from a distance away. The taller figure stood out with familiarity, a lit cigarette freely dangling between the finger of his gesturing hand - Dr. Strange and his long, sculpted legs, Bailey could recognise even from a mile away.
Bruce parked, killing the engine and exiting the car with a free, lopsided grin carelessly thrown in Bailey's direction. Fumbling with the lock of her seatbelt, the woman's eyes latched onto the figure of her soulmate eagerly embracing the shorter man, their reunion evidently long-awaited and happy. Stephen's coarse laugh penetrated the interior of the car as the wacky passenger side seatbelt finally let Bailey free.
Three pairs of eyes bore into her body still wearing the scrubs from the hospital - one laughing, Strange was amused; one curious - none other than Tony Stark and his shameless smirk had made an appearance at their first getaway destination; and Bruce, looking so damn proud and lovesick. The grin tugged at Bailey's lips as the presence of the other men barely registered in her elevetaed emotional state.
"Damn, Brucie-bear, lucky you," Tony Stark wolf-whistled, clapping the doctor on the shoulder and receiving a fond eyeroll in return. Those two really were good friends. "Well, I won't hold you two back from getting to know each other better," Stark wiggled his eyebrows salaciously. "We can talk business tomorrow," with that, Stark waltzed over to Bailey, snatching the keys to her car out of her hands with a quick flick of his wrist. "Can't have a car allegedly containing a runaway prisoner on my property, now can I? Don't worry, babycakes, my people will take care of it. Bruce is family. You better treat him well, or else," the river of words flowed from Tony's mouth, causing the surprised Bailey to simply freeze in place and withstand his rambling, surrounded by the smell of whiskey and Stark's expensive cologne.
Despite his easy tone and the relaxed demeanor, Bailey knew a dangerous man when saw one. Tony Stark was not to be fucked with. "Yeah," she mumbled, scampering for the trunk to take out the duffle bag she carried around everywhere - just in case. Just in case her serial-killing, incarcerated-for-life soulmate would somehow found his way to her.
Tony looked at the spectacle with amusement. "You won't need your ID, sweetheart. All of that is going to be taken care of, don't worry your pretty little head about it."
"Duly noted," Bailey couldn't help the annoyed frown at Tony's frivolousness. Her government ID was the last thing on her mind. She wasn't stupid, she knew her mother would go to the cops as soon as she saw the news. "I have my own business to attend to. Might need a hand," the realization came with the dull thud of the trunk being slammed shut.
Tony's eyebrows rose; Bruce approached her with caution, wrapping an arm around her waist from behind. "Is it urgent?"
"Her mother knows about their connection," Strange piped up, glowing ember of the cigarette flying somewhere over the car. The sound of a lighter followed immediately, another dot of shiny red standing out in the twilight. "Don't worry, Bailey, she's detained and sedated for the time being," he offered with a crooked smirk, nearly no trace of the quiet man who bandaged her boo-boos when she was a child.
"You planned this," Bailey observed, fighting the dread crawling up her spine. The realization - she will never step back, will never be able to escape this life - set in. She was unprepared, having acted on a whim, prepared to live on the run but not within an arm's reach of her previous life yet unable to resume it.
"A long time ago," Strange nodded. "You always were a clever girl, Bailey. It is delightful to finally you where you belong," he smiled at Bruce in earnest.
Bailey wondered what else was going on in the sleepy town of hers. What kind of atrocities were committed daily under her nose, by the very people she knew and trusted. There was so much evil in this world.
But not Bruce. He could never be evil, even as he cut the hearts out of the men that had been treating those around them as objects. Bruce merely made them what they should've been; the greed, the infidelity - what use did those men have for their hearts? The Doctor was merciful and true: he never caused his patients undue pain and always, always left them in a state they were true to themselves. It wasn't his fault so many of his patients were heartless beasts for men.
Those clever hands, the same hands that brought the world at his feet, brought Bailey at his - voluntarily so. Their bodies hot, impatient for each other, with their blood singing a song of lust and longing, both of them hidden from the world by the heavy velvet curtains of Tony's estate - it was hellfire in heaven.
No amount of time too long as Bruce's teeth closed around Bailey's jugular, sinking into the flesh tenderly, all the while her nails penetrated the skin of his back; both drew blood, content to drown in it and wash their sins away with it. Heaven and Hell were merely words for the two, anyway.
Bruce Banner taglist:
@couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @pilloclock @sapphicnoodle69
#dark!bruce banner#bruce banner x reader#dark!bruce banner x reader#tw serial killers#what is this even asdfgk#my followers: FORGIVE ME#please#this is so undercooked 😭😭😭
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Imagine a Yautja finally learning how to cook ooman food but then he meets the ultimate enemy: onion. He proceeds to cut it and all hell breaks loose - burning sensation on the eyes, runny nose and tears (if Yautja are even capable of producing them). And his ooman mate just stands there unsure whether to laugh or offer to take the veggie-demon off his hands and chop them herself.
Seeing Dauknava hissing in anger at a half-cut onion wasn’t the first thing she expected to see when she got home from work. But as she rounded the corner, car keys tinkling in hand, that’s exactly the sight she was met with.
Fetted discomfort rested in every line of his body. Standing at the counter, tall enough that if he raised his eyes he could see the layers of dust caked across the top of the cabinets, he chopped away with a knife that looked comically small in his grip. Thick mandibles worked around the clicking and grunting intonations of his language as he grumbled to himself. Among the throng of it, she thought she caught a word that sounded very similar to “shit”.
Laughter bubbled at the eaves of her chest. For the sake of his — quite sensitive— pride, she coughed it down but only far enough to nail it to her gut where it could settle as silent amusement.
“How’s it going in here?”
When his head swiveled, she got a good look at his eyes. The leaf green there was rimmed with red and screaming discomfort. His anatomy allowed for no moisture to quell the burn the bleeding onion had ignited, and that made the barely contained (half-self directed, no doubt) frustration that bubbled beneath the surface all the more visible.
Doc’s mandibles tightened. “It is fine.”
Doubt quirked in her eyebrow. “You know, I could cut that for you...”
She saw the feathers of his pride flex a bit at that. “A Yautja will not be undone by a Terran vegetable.”
One small fit of chuckles escaped and with it, she earned herself a stern glare. Beneath it, she relented and bit her tongue, raising her hands and wondering if he would ever understand just how funny the formality innate to his species could be and simultaneously doubting that he would ever even admit it if he did. “Alright, alright, I’ll just be over here if you need me.”
Her grin was impossible to wipe from her face as she went and took a seat at the kitchen table, trailed by a very exasperated chuff. The sound of chopping started back up, slow and precise and maybe a bit distracted, and she found her greatest amusement of the week in watching Dauknava’s profile. How his mandibles pulled tight against his face, the furrowed line of his brow ridge above his deep-set eyes, even the almost imperceptible bristle of his tresses that was so subtle she was almost unsure it happened at all. She watched him like that for a while, half surreptitiously, pretending to poke around on her phone while casting sidelong glances now and then.
She was deep in the throes of debating whether or not to sneak a picture of him for future amusement when he completely stopped, mid-chop. Without preamble his motions halted, almost as if someone somewhere had pushed a button and his motor functions had shut off. The smile that had found a permanent home on her face slipped a bit.
“Doc?” He didn’t immediately answer and for the slimmest of moments she began to worry that maybe Onions were somehow poisonous to Yautja.
“Dauknava?” She rarely used his full name and, mercifully, the sound seemed to jostle him from whatever trance he was in. When he looked at her, he looked more terrible than she’d expected.
“Holy shit...”
“This is uncomfortable.”
Saliva was dripping from between his tusks, down his neck, and his eyes were so hazy, with such irritated sclera, that it made him look like he was riding the tail end of a serious four day bender. She found herself struck with some strange amalgam of one part amusement and two parts pity, and hurried to his side.
He made none of his usual pride-anchored protest when she took the knife.
“Go to the bathroom and run your head under the shower, I’ll finish up here.” She said and waved him in the general directon of the hall when he didn’t immediately move.
Doc made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl but acquiesced, nonetheless. Over the two or so minutes it took him to go get washed up and come back, she had the onion chopped and put in the pot on the stove, and was nearly done gathering up the mess to put in the trashcan when a single, very purposeful-sounding creak of the floor alerted her that he’d returned.
For his size, he sure was silent.
“I have decided that I hate onions.” He announced, looking ten times better, not so agitated or pitiful.
Wiping at his crest with a towel (the extra large one she’d gotten especially for him a while back), he came to survey the progress she had made while he was gone. He peeked into the simmering pot with a skeptical eye and a cautious mandible, and straightened when he came too close to the steam.
“Seems to me like onions hate you too.” She shot a impish smile up at him, one arm linking around the small of his back, and after a moment, his good humor melted the scowl on his face.
#yautja x reader#yautja oc#Dauknava#or Doc for short#he’s my newest boy and I love him#alien vs predator#predator
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Red Alert
Thanks to @youneedsomeprompts for this prompt! Color Symbols: Angst: Red: Danger
On a side note, Tumblr PLEASE stop ruining my formatting from google docs to tumblr.
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Sam and Natasha both make a suggestion for Steve to talk to a new therapist that might be more on his level of understanding his situation.
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LINK
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There was a prickle in the back of his head that he couldn’t quite shake. An itch that he couldn’t quite scratch. Nothing he did would stop it, even for a second. It practically lived in the back of his head, active every second of the day. It didn’t care if he was on a mission, running drills, helping citizens, out with friends, or trying to relax at home.
Steve Rogers always felt like he was on guard. That there was constant danger around him. That he couldn’t quite relax fully. That prickle in the back of his head never allowed him to relax either. At the slightest noise, rather it was the ice settling in the freezer, a cough down the hall, or an odd-sounding car passing by his apartment, Steve felt like he had to investigate the noise. He had to check it out and make sure the ice wasn’t a bug listening in on him or the cough wasn’t an intruder trying to attack him.
It interrupted him at all hours of the day, never allowing him to truly sleep. He slept, a few handfuls of hours here and there when his body allowed it. When he was truly exhausted, when the serum was on its last legs and scraping the bottom of the barrel, Steve found he would pass out for hours. Days even, if he was exhausted enough.
He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a true, peaceful night's sleep. Actually, he could. He’d just rather not remember it and feel the hallow guilt and pain erupt in his chest. He’d rather focus on the here and now because that’s all he’s had left.
It’s Sam who approaches him about it when Steve shows up after a group therapy session to join him for lunch. He looks exhausted, he knows he does. There are bags under his eyes, he’s pale, and his focus is waning. He has to force himself to listen to what Sam is talking about, watching his mouth move and taking in the words without truly listening.
“Steve!”
Steve jumps as fingers snap in his face, blinking. “I-I was...I was listening.”
“Uh-huh.” There’s no frustration or anger on Sam’s face, just concern as he settles back against the metal seat. He watches a few people walk by, fingers drumming on the table. “You haven’t been sleeping again, have you? Feelin’ on edge?”
Steve shrugged, which was his way of saying yes without truly saying it. It was hard to ask for help, but he didn’t need help. He just needed to rest.
“Figures. You’ve been watching that office window for the past ten minutes.”
“I...wasn’t,” Steve tried to weakly defend, but it fell on deaf ears. “I was just… There was a blinking light up there. Thought it was…” He shrugged, letting the sentence hang off.
“Morse code or something? I get it. You’re stuck in danger mode. You’re on edge. You’re strugglin’ with so much, Steve. It’s okay.”
There was no arguing with him, he was right and Sam knew he was right too. Steve just couldn’t think of anything to counter it, to help his friend not worry so much about him. “No, you’re right. I just...I can’t sleep. I can’t relax. I find myself waiting for the danger, constantly on edge. Nat says I had a panic attack the other night when Bruce accidentally flashed a light in my eyes. I don’t remember it.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like being you, Steve. You got this...superhuman abilities. Your strength is one thing, but your senses? They’re so advanced and even for back then, all the new sounds and smells and sight. But compared to today where it’s all flashy and you didn’t grow up with it. It’s overwhelming. You’re overwhelmed, you’re…” He paused and looked up at his friend, trying to find the right words before settling on being blunt. “You have PTSD, Steve. We’ve talked about this, remember? Can’t keep workin’ yourself stupor. You deserve a break.”
PTSD - yeah, Steve knew all about it. Once Sam had told him it, in the kindest manner possible, Steve looked up everything he could. Everything matched - the symptoms, the exhaustion. How he was constantly on edge. He’d talked to a few people about it, even a therapist that Pepper had recommended but how could he get to someone’s level who wasn’t him?
Who didn’t understand him? Someone who had lived through one of the worst wars in history, who’d lived and lost hundreds of people he considered friends, crashed a plane into the ocean, and woke up in a new century? He’d lost everything. His sense of a home, his friends, his family.
Nothing could compare to that. No one could get on his level to understand beyond the war. Yet his understanding of war differed from others and while they’d matched on a level about it, it wasn’t fully. It wasn’t to a full degree that Steve could latch onto.
“You know,” Sam was saying, drawing Steve out of his thoughts. “There’s someone in Shield that Nat was talking about that might be able to help you. You might want to ask her about it.”
“Sam, no offense, but I’m not sure there are many who can help a hundred and one-year-old soldier from World War Two.” Sam rolled his eyes at him and Steve shrugged again. “I just need a break. I need to try to relax. Get out of my head. Get this stupid prickling to stop.”
He’d scratched the back of his neck raw a few times because of it, just to have it heal over an hour later.
“The options are there, man, alright? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just...just call if you need anything, alright? You gonna be good?”
There was the concern, the near pity in Sam’s expression as he got up to leave, coat was thrown over his arm. Steve squeezed his hand and forced himself to nod. “Yeah, man, I’ll be fine. Go back to work.”
Three missions later, two training accidents resulting in him breaking a finger, three sleepless days, and five skipped meals later, Steve found himself staring at an office door with the placard reading Dr. P. Carter.
She came highly recommended by Natasha who refused to say more on the matter of who this P. Carter was. He’d tried to google this Peggy but got nowhere with results beyond obituaries.
This was ridiculous. There was no way she could help him. Or anyone could. He’d just needed to go, making take that horse tranquilizer Tony was teasing about and go to bed.
The second he went to turn away, the door opened. Steve almost kept walking until he heard her clear her throat.
“I was wondering if you were going to come in, Mr. Rogers. If that’s...okay I call you Rogers?”
The accent is what caught his attention. Enough to make him curious to turn around. Peggy Carter was...gorgeous. Sharp high cheekbones, honey-coated eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, brunette curls running down her shoulders. She looked amazing in her jeans and a white t-shirt - the last thing he expected a therapist to wear.
“You knew I was out there?” he mumbled.
That was a stupid question, of course, she did. She possibly had cameras and it’s not like he was a quiet person in this big body. Sometimes he felt so huge in this body, wishing he’d been smaller. Just without the ailments.
“I heard some muttering and you were my only appointment today. I figured it was you.” She replied gently enough, leaving him a little more curious about her. She didn’t treat him like others had like he was a sleeping bear about to be poked.
Something about her eyes told him she understood him. Or he was imagining it so much because he was desperate to have someone who could understand.
He had to give his friends credit. They tried. They fully tried to help and he was grateful but if something didn’t work out for him, Steve almost instantly lost hope.
It was always Cap or Captain. Rarely was he called Steve outside of his friends. Everyone saw him as this guy on the mantle and not himself. Not Steve Rogers, a man who's hurting and doing his best to pack it all in for another day.
“Didn’t realize I muttered. I…” He swallowed, tongue darting out as he looked her up and down. She was a few inches shorter than him and posed herself in a manner that was inviting. She wasn’t dangerous, but she could be, he figures. “How do you know Natasha? She...recommended you.”
“Natalia? Oh, she’s a personal friend of mine. We’ve worked on a few cases together.” Peggy’s hand held out to him, an invitation. “I’m Margaret, by the way. But my friends call me Peggy. Would you like to sit down? You look like you’re about to fall over.”
He could run, he could bolt out to his bike and run for the hills, but he didn’t want to. Strange enough Steve found himself taking Peggy’s hand and giving her a firm shake, just as she did him. “My friends call me Steve.”
“Well, Steve, it's a pleasure to meet you. Let’s get you to sit down at the very least. We don’t even have to talk. I just don’t want you riding that death trap like this.”
Steve snorted as he followed her and eased into a comfortable couch in her office. “It’s not a death trap. It’s my pride.”
“Oh, I can certainly see that. Personal custom work to resemble a bike you must’ve used before? Very rarely do you see that, but it’s still a death trap. Excuse me for liking the cushion of walls when I’m speeding down the highway.”
Peggy’s red lips twitched into a smile at his snorting laugh, handing over an unsealed bottle of water. Steve took it without question, taking a few sips.
“No wonder you like Natasha...she says the same despite loving a bike herself.” Steve sighed as he took a few sips, grateful to have something to do with his hands. “Look, Miss Carter...I’m unsure of what Natasha told you or what you want to do with these sessions but they never...end well for me. Sure, the other people are great, but they don’t understand. ”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Steven, but you do make a great point. They don’t understand because they’re not on your level. Your closest group of friends outside of those you serve with are the vets down at the center, right? Men you served with but perhaps were not close to?”
At Steve’s nod, Peggy smiled. “I’ve been there - I mean I see you there. I…”
She looked almost frustrated, eyes darting to the window and closed-door before pulling out an old file from her drawer. It was stained with coffee and yellow with age, a familiar symbol stamped on top. SSR.
Steve’s heart leaped to his throat as he looked down at it, but didn’t dare touch it when she held it out to him. “What is...this?”
“I figured to get you to trust me, we need to be on the same level, correct? I need to be open and honest and while I haven’t lied yet, Natasha and I haven’t been fully honest.” She sighed when he didn’t take the file and opened it up, handing him a page stamped with a date, shortly before he joined the military.
“I don’t understand,” he mumbled, looking over the information. “You were an SSR Agent, but... you’re…” He waved his hand over her. “You have to be ninety-eight!”
“Excuse me, ninety-seven, thank you,” Peggy snorted. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to comment on a woman’s age?” Oh, she shouldn’t find that blush attractive, but she did.
“But to answer your question, Steve, yes, I am...old. I was an SSR Agent. You see, shortly before you joined Project Rebirth, I was the prime candidate. After rescuing Doctor Erskine from Schmidt’s clutches, I received the serum in private. Colonel Phillips, Erskine, and Howard Stark, and I all agreed this shouldn’t be public because we were unaware of the consequences, and well - you know how they saw women in those days.
The serum, we thought, did nothing. I was shipped off to war shortly after, so we had never met. It seems fate kept it that way, even as I joined Phillips and helped the 107th. I’ve met other Howling Commandos - Dugan, Jones, even Barnes. Yet, somehow never you.
Still, the serum, before I ramble off. We thought it did nothing until after the war. I wasn’t aging. I could...heal faster than normal, but it wasn’t to your level. I had been shot with one of Schmidt’s weapons, it should’ve vaporized me on the spot, but instead, it activated the serum.
Then...then you died. Or so we thought. Howard used me as a near experiment to see if you could survive and I agreed because you deserved to be found, dead or alive. You deserved some sort of burial at the very least, but we...as you can tell, it went nowhere.
So time went on, we went on to form Shield. I left shortly before you were found - as fate would have it seem so we did not meet. I left because...I wanted to do things outside of Shield. I wanted to help people. Of course, if they need me, they call me, but I would rather not play Director at this moment. I enjoy doing my own things - I rather ask for forgiveness than permission. When the Battle of New York happened, I was out of town. Once again, fate decided we shouldn’t meet. When Natasha found me, she wanted to introduce us right away. She thought...I could be of assistance. I could be friends with you but I didn’t want this forced. I wanted to meet you, Steve but I wasn’t sure how without fate deciding we aren’t worth it.”
Steve sat there, stunned, pillow in hand. He found himself kneading it, staring down at the files. Every single thing matched up with what she said. The serum, a more watered-down version. Going to war. He could remember Dugan pouting because some lass named Carter ‘stole’ his whiskey - aka won it in a bet. He could remember Barnes insisting he meets this Carter. He could remember a red dress in a bar, a kiss of fire whiskey on his lips. Her soft body…
“We had sex,” Steve spat out, blinking down at the paper. He heard choking and his head snapped up, watching Peggy cough into her arm.
“Excuse me? I think I’d remember if we had sex, Rogers!” Peggy half-shouted, her face turning a shade of red.
“Apparently not. It-it was...it was before I died. The only time I’d truly slept in years. The night before I died. We met at the bar, but both of us were so tipsy. I’d have...something Howard invented that...that got me feeling a bit tipsy. We shouldn’t have done it, I should’ve said no but your kisses were so addicting. It’s not that I didn’t want you. I just...didn’t want you under the influence of alcohol for us both. I wanted to remember it clearly.”
Peggy stared down at the cold coffee, red nails drumming on the table in thought. “I remember now. It was your first time. You were so...so awkward. In the most charming manner. I had to teach you everything, including how to undress me. It was...It was charming, Steve. One of the best nights I’ve ever had. If I had known it was you…”
She gave a weak laugh and shook her head. “You were so loving and careful, especially for your size. I wanted to protect you, strangely enough.”
Steve found himself standing, the papers falling to the floor. He found himself standing in front of her, mind racing. She understood him on a level he’d thought he’d never find. They were the same, they had the same serum. They’d lost and loved. They just weren’t destined to meet until now.
“I know this is supposed to be a therapy session,” he mumbled, still standing awkwardly in front of her. “But can we drop that and...and just go talk? Outside of here?”
“Because you want to nail me on my desk?” Peggy teased, making Steve’s cheeks heat up. That wasn’t a no. She stood and held his hand, being gentle with her touch. “Of course, darling. I think we have lots to catch up on. I’m glad for once fate has decided we deserve to meet and it wasn’t with one of us dying on the battlefield.”
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Episode 2: The Homecoming Job
How does he make seven dollars a day that doesn’t seem remotely accurate
WHAT DO THEY GOTTA DO MAN? WhAT DO THEY HAVE TO DO?
This was so skeevy. DId he get shot up by accident? Did the Castleman guys just start shooting? Like what?
This poor Doctor. She’s so great, but she really should not have said “that’s not the way the world works.” That seems like such a challenge.
This is what I mean about the continuity confusion! Why would Hardison have to call them if Leverage was set up at the end of the last episode????
Sophie’s acting in the commercial audition wasn’t terrible. Weird for an audition, but not terrible.
Eliot’s so unfazed by having a gun pointed at him, I love it.
You don’t even SEE Parker I can’t
I don’t like stuff. I like MONEY
“I’m not gonna tell a couple of known thieves what i did with a multi million dollar payout” you so smart eliot
ARE WE NOT GONNA MENTION THAT HARDISON IS UBER ARTISTICALLY TALENTED
Parker’s so excited by mundane office stuff it’s adorable
DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN ABOUT IT NOT SEEMING LIKE ENOUGH MONEY FOR THIS WHOLE SETUP?
Eliot’s face at the sports. Hardison building stuff for him from day 1 it’s adorable
IT’S A VERY DISTINCTIVE SOUND!!! I LOVE IT!! SO IT BEGINS
I love how it all starts out so simple, just get the money it’s fine, and then they always end up like… toppling the entire corrupt system.
Where did Parker’s shower cap go in later episodes? Like… she’s a thief. The need for a leather shower cap likely would not disappear…
SOPHIE’S DRESS I LOVE IT
...It disgusts me that they can buy congressmen AND IT”S NOT EVEN ILLEGAL!!!
LIKE I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND WHY LOBBYING AND LARGE SUM CAMPAIGN DONATIONS ARE LEGAL
How does Eliot just… know what words have the necessary sounds?? How is he so smart? HOW IS THIS MAN A THING I’M IN LOVE
“Oh, there they are. Really loud too” I love her in this episode
I think Castleman is one of the WORST groups they’ve gone up against. Not in terms of like, bad for TV, but just in terms of them being super evil. The stolen money, the attempted murder, and things always feel even more disgusting when you include army contracters.
OH WAIT I UNDERSTAND WHY HE WAS SHOT I REMEMBER OKAY IT MAKES SENSE IT’S FINE
Did… Did Perry just grope Sophie? Are we going to just ignore that?
So, do docs and nurses really wear crocs that much? I thought good supportive sneakers would be more common
AVENGING ELIOT TO THE RESCUE!!
… where did nate just randomly find a defibrillator.
IT’S A VERY DISTINCTIVE STYLE
“...I actually hurt people… so…”
I FUCKING LOVE ELIOT SPENCER
I’m sorry, I doubt you’re reading these posts for endless heart eyes for eliot, but THAT’S JUST HOW I FEEL
SPEAKING OF HOW DOES HE LOOK SO HOT IN A DISHEVELED WHITE BUTTON DOWN
Sophie already trying to stop Nate’s drinking. Why did they just… forget to address it later? Like when he falls off the wagon in S2, no one cares anymore.
HOW IS SOPHIE SO PRETTY
Nate’s accent is terrible. Why is all their accent work terrible? WHAT DIALECT IS THAT EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE
“Those are the same signs your wife is cheating on you” Or… just the signs that someone is trying to hide something from you? Like in general??
I always feel bad about the congressman’s cancelled wood panels until i remember how he got them and the lives at stake so he can have a nice house. It’s so icky
This whole law thing is so clever but is that really how it works?
I love that Hardison is already in love with Parker. I love it.
...The only difference between Sophie and a politician is Sophie doesn’t have the authority but makes up for it with having a moral code.
“I’m sorry it’s too far away for you to punch I’m sure that really frustrates you” I fucking LOVE HIM
What’s a better ship? The OT3 or Parker/Money?
...And another IYS reference. Should I start a tally? How many episodes they mention Nate’s past with IYS or Nate’s past with Sam? How many times they show that fucking Sam clip? I’m gonna start doing that at the end I think.
“WHat is it like a creepy contest?” CUE PARKER HEART EYES I CAN’T I LOVE THEM
Is the money story real? Like did the money transfer really happen? Because it sounds like it could be real, like i wouldn’t put it past them, but i really hope its not
... So I looked it up and there’s much more money in cash per person. Nate’s full of shit. (Or the writers just got bad info but I like blaming Nate more)
Why does this security guy look like a john cena wannabe i hate it
NATE AND SOPHIE’S DiSTRACTION IS INCREDIBLE. Can you imagine if they were a real couple though, and the guard was that fucking rude to them?
ELIOT’S HAPLESS SECURITY GUARD IS SO FUKING CUTE IM DEAD
What’s a better ship, Parker/Money or Parker/Explosions
WHY IS THE CONGRESSMAN WEARING A WHOLE ASS TUXEDO???
… Knowing what I know about black men and cops… why the fuck would they have Hardison driving the truck? I’m just saying that seems like a real easy and VERY AVOIDABLE way of getting him killed.
ALTHOUGH THIS IS THE FUNNIEST HARDISON SCENE
“This is about my eth-ni-ti-city? It’s because I’m Jewish?” AS A JEW THIS MADE ME DIE LAUGHING. I COMPLETELY LOST IT THE FIRST TIME I HEARD AND IT STILL MAKES ME CRACK UP!!!!
HE’S JUST SO FUCKING FUNNY
“JUSt cause a brother likes matzah ball soup? What’s wrong with that? Sammy Davis?” I CANNOT
ELIOT IN THICK RIMMED NERD GLASSES I LOVE IT
… why did they.. Not check the container number??? I’m so confused?? WHY ARE THEY SO STUPID???
The PR stunt they’re trying to pull right now… sleazy slimy
They switched the order of the accusations… like…
“We’re gonna lead with Crap.” politicians always do
...Technically, the money is stolen? Like… I’m not gonna say they don’t deserve it? But… it’s technically stolen
ELIOT HAS SO MUCH RESPECT FOR PERRY BECAUSE HE WAS ALMOST HIM
I’M CRYING DON’T LOOK AT ME
“One more” ELIOT YOU SOFTIE
“I bought a plant” PARKER YOU SOFTIE
“What does it do?” YOU’LL FIND OUT
The cherry red tesla is so over the top i hate it. I hate sports cars though so like
OKAY SO FINAL EPISODE THOUGHTS: 7/10. Characterization was much better. They seemed like more human people. Points off for Castleman becausE as gross as it is to kill people through negligence for money, it’s so much grosser to ACTIVELY murder them for money WHILE PRETENDING TO BE A LEGITIMATE BUSINESS AND HAVE GOVERNEMNT ASSHOLES IN ON IT LIKE I’M SO FUCKING DISGUSTED. Added points for the HUMAN HEART EYES EMOJI THAT IS ELIOT SPENCER. Points off for Perry kind of assaulting sophie AND FUCKING GETTING AWAY WITH IT. Added points for Parker being adorable. THis was one of the episodes that put me on the fence about her when i wa not in love with her.
IYS count: 2/2
Sam reference count: 2/2 (for the children’s hospital donation in the beginning)
#leverage#leverage rewatch#ot3#leverage ot3#eliot spencer#parker#alec hardison#nathan ford#sophie devereaux#the homecoming job
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Faking It Ch 5
Faking It Masterlist
Aelin groaned upon realizing that the last chocolate chip cookie was gone. She glanced towards the stovetop where another empty tray sat.
"Lys," she yelled, "what happened to all the cookies?"
Her best friend emerged from the bathroom with a wide grin on her face. "I think you ate them all."
Aelin laughed and slumped into the chair nearest from her, suddenly feeling the tightness in her chest back in full force. "I guess so."
Lysandra's smile faded slightly as she took in Aelin's tone. "What's on your mind?" She asked softly, pulling up a chair.
Aelin took a moment to think back on all that had happened. In all honesty, things had not been good. Rowan had pointedly ignored her after their hallway confrontation, to the point where Aelin hadn't even bothered merging their friend groups for lunch like planned. Instead, both of them just chose to pretend the other didn't exist. She texted Rowan last night to confirm that he was still picking her up for Dorian’s party tonight. All she’d gotten in response was that dumb thumbs up emoji he always used. The only other person she knew who used that emoji was Aedion’s literal fucking grandfather.
Aelin swallowed slowly and loosed a breath of air. "He still thinks I cheated on him."
Lysandra bit out a harsh and humorous laugh. “Of course he does. You told him that.”
Aelin flinched, surprised by her friend’s harsh tone. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Lysandra sighed. “I am,” she paused to think about her next words. “I am Aelin. But you told Rowan you cheated on him and then never bothered to tell him the real truth. If you want him to forgive you, than just tell him what really happened.”
Aelin willed herself not to cry. She’d done enough crying over Rowan Whitethorn to last her a lifetime. “I can’t tell him.”
Lys just shook her head in exasperation. “You can Aelin. You’re just too scared of what might happen.”
Lysandra was absolutely right, but Aelin would never admit it. Ever since her parent’s death, she’d spent the following years in a constant state of fear. Over time, she had just gotten better at hiding it.
“Come on,” Lys said, sensing the shift in Aelin’s body-language. “Let’s go get ready for the party.”
They got dressed quickly, Aelin doing Lysandra’s makeup and vice versa. She took a moment to examine herself in the mirror. She looked hot, even if she didn't really feel it. Her black mini skirt was unnecessarily short, to the point where one wrong move would have her ass falling out, and the red tank she’d pared it with left little to the imagination. Her lips were painted light red and silver eyeshadow had been brushed across her eyelids.
She fiddled with her hair before finally settling on just leaving it down. She couldn't find a hair elastic anyways. Aelin plopped down on her bed to watch Lysandra pick a pair of shoes. Aelin was wearing doc Martens - but when wasn't she - and couldn't really care less about Lysandra’s shoe choice.
“How about these?” Her friend asked, showing Aelin a pair that looked identical to the previous four.
“Sure.” Aelin nodded, and picked up her phone to scroll mindlessly through instagram. There was nothing of interest, so Aelin searched up Rowan’s name for the first time since their breakup.
Her phone slipped through her fingers at the same second Aelin took in his most recently post. She scrambled for the phone, picking it back up to stare at the post.
It was her.
She was in sweats and his hoodie, her hair up in a messy bun. She was rolling out the dough to make sugar cookies, using all different shaped cutters. Rowan must have taken the photo without her noticing, which is why she wasn't smiling at him. There was no caption, and the comments were off.
May 5th, 2019.
The date was the only thing under the picture, but it was enough that Aelin had to crane her neck to check in the mirror that the tears in her eyes hadn't smeared her makeup.
Two days after that photo was taken, on May 7th, Rowan had fucked everything up. At least, she liked to pretend that he was the one who screwed up. It made not hating herself a little bit easier.
Her phone buzzed and she looked back down at it. Aelin read the words and sighed, preparing herself for this dreadful evening.
“He’s here.” Aelin said, climbing off the bed.
“Fuck I don't have any shoes yet.” Lys squealed.
Aelin laughed and gestured at the piles of heels and platforms of every colour. Sighing, Lysandra grabbed the one closest to her and threw it on. They walked down the stairs, Lys nearly tripping, and opened the door.
Rowan’s black car was pulled up in front of her house. He was sitting in the passenger seat, glaring at the front lawn like he could still see their breakup taking place. Aelin walked down the porch steps and cleared her throat as she neared the car.
Rowan tore his eyes from the grass lawn to look at her. He didn't show any reaction to her appearance, merely nodded. Lysandra snorted softly behind her, and Aelin elbowed her friend subtly.
Rowan was in the passenger seat, which meant that considering Fenrys didn't have his licence, Lorcan must be driving. Aelin internally groaned at the thought of being in a confined space with the always brooding teenager.
Unable to avoid it, she backed away slightly so that Lysandra could climb in first to put separation between Aelin and Fenrys.
Fen, unfortunately, noticed and offered Aelin a pitiful smile across the seats. It was at that moment, that Aelin realized for the first time, that she missed Fenrys Moonbeam. When she’d been with Rowan, her and Fen had been nearly inseparable. He constantly made her laugh, engaging in whatever trouble making scheme she asked of him.
She’d gone to see him actually. Right after Rowan and her had fought on the lawn, she’d gotten in Aedion’s car. Her body was shaking with the weight of her sobs, to the point where she was barely able to see. For a reason she couldn't even figure out now, she’d driven to Fenrys’ house.
Aelin had gotten out of her cousin’s truck and made it all of three steps before she’d vomited all over Fenrys’ porch. He’d come out of the house then, but the normal playful look on his face was wiped clean. In it’s place, was nothing but hatred and disdain.
He’d picked her up and driven her home. When he thought she was passed out, he’d kissed her on the forehead and mumbled he was sorry.
As Aelin noted the slight tic in Fenrys’ jaw, she finally understood what he'd meant by those two words.
Fenrys’ wasn't sorry about something that he’d done. He was sorry because he knew what she’d done. And why.
Aelin supposed she should've known that Fenrys would've figured it out first. He wasn't clouded by blind love or hatred like Lorcan and Rowan. His view of her allowed him to think clearly. Work through the logic of it.
She’d pull him aside later at the party. For now though, she just smiled back and slammed her head against the back of the seat. Fenrys turned away from her to stare out the window, and Aelin felt like she could finally breathe again.
“So,” Lysandra began hesitantly, “Are we going to talk about this?”
Aelin’s head whirled in Lysandra’s direction, her eyebrows shooting halfway up her forehead.
“No.” Rowan answered bluntly, saving Aelin from speaking.
“Why not?” Fenrys whined before Lorcan turned his head to shoot him a glare.
Aelin watched Rowan’s knuckles go white from his grip on the door handle “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Lorcan made a sound that was some sort of cross between a laugh and a grunt. “Sure there is. You two,” he waved his finger between Aelin and Rowan, “are back together.”
“We’re - “ Rowan began, but Aelin cut him off.
“We’re not actually together. It's just an agreement that works for both of us.”
Fenrys let out a long suffering sigh. “Yes Galathynius, we are all aware.”
Aelin flinched at the venom in his tone when he used her last name. She adjusted herself in the seat and cracked the joints in her fingers. Tonight was not a good night for her anxiety.
“How do you plan on getting Rowan on the football team?” Lorcan asked, always the skeptic.
“Cairn.” Aelin told him, her toes curling and uncurling inside her shoes. Moving parts of her body helped to relieve the pent up tension swirling in her gut.
“Cairn doesn't do favours for anyone.” Fenrys replied, sounding slightly dejected. “If that's your plan, it won't work.”
“I’m not just going to ask him for a favour.” Aelin snapped back, upset at their lack of faith in her. “I’m going to offer him a deal.”
“You and your deals Galathynius.” Lorcan mused under his breath.
Aelin made the smart decision not to reply, and the rest of the drive was completed in silence.
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She looked good tonight. Rowan wasn't stupid enough to deny that glaringly obvious fact. They’d walked into the party side by side, earning a few shocked glances from fellow classmates. Aelin had offered him a smile, one which he didn't return, and went off to get them both drinks.
She’d been gone for all of three minutes, and Rowan was already incredibly uncomfortable. This was Dorian Havillard’s party after all. Rowan and Chaol were high-school’s definition of mortal enemies. So, by association, he and Dorian were enemies as well.
The dark haired and blue eyed heartthrob hadn't ever been explicitly rude to Rowan, but he still got the feeling he wasn't totally welcome. Fenrys had gone after Aelin, mumbling some lie about not trusting her with his drink order. On another day, Rowan might've gone after them to eavesdrop. But not tonight.
Instead, he just slumped against a wall and glared at every human in the room. Music was blaring across the speakers, so loudly that he could feel the vibrations in his lower stomach. People all around were swaying awkwardly or chatting against the wall with plastic red cups in hand.
Rowan looked around for familiar faces, more specifically Vaughn or Gavriel, but found neither. For a brief second, he wished he was better at making friends.
“You look miserable.”
Rowan almost sighed in relief at the sound of Lorcan’s low and rough voice. His friend held out a cup of some sort of alcohol, but Rowan shook his head.
“Aelin’s bringing me a drink.”
Lorcan let out a breath through his nose. “I wouldn't count on it. I saw her and Fenrys heading up to the bedrooms.”
Rowan’s heart stopped dead in his chest for a moment as he processed Lorcan’s words. The loud music became nothing more than a subtle roar in his head.
“Fenrys and Aelin?” He managed to stammer.
Lorcan, realizing his mistake, swore under his breath. “Not like that, holy shit. Just to talk.” Lorcan paused. “Fenrys would never do that.”
Slowly, Rowan’s body began to function normally again and he managed to take a deep breath. His hands were shaking, so he took the solo cup from Lorcan in an attempt to calm them.
“Talk about what?” Rowan finally asked.
Lorcan shrugged. “I don't fucking know.”
“Whatever man. This party is shit.” Rowan took a long sip of the liquid in his cup and nearly spit it out immediately. It was some mixture of coke and beer that tasted like pure vomit.
Lorcan laughed at the expression of disgust on Rowan’s face. “Yeah it’s pretty bad. The brunette making it was hot so I couldn't really say much.”
Rowan involuntarily laughed at his friend’s antics. “You always were a sucker for brunettes.”
Lorcan’s jaw fell open in shock. “I don't have a preference.”
“Sure man. Whatever you want to tell people.” Rowan finally spotted Dorian across the room and his heart rate began to accelerate once again. “Kaltain, Nesryn, Maeve, Nehemia, Sar -”
“Okay okay,” Lorcan conceded, cutting Rowan off. “Don't pretend you don't prefer blondes.”
“I do prefer blondes.” Rowan’s eyes trailed from Dorian to the figure beside him. Chaol. “I would never hide that fact.”
Lorcan held up his cup in a mock cheers. “At least we’ll never fight over women.”
Rowan clinked their plastic cups together, happy for any excuse to celebrate something. Even if that something was that Lorcan Salvaterre had a thing for brown hair.
At long last, Chaol spotted him from across the room. His brows furrowed and he whispered something in Dorian’s ear, who then turned to look at Rowan. As the two friends continued to discuss Rowan right in front of him, Aelin Galathynius chose that moment to reappear.
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They were in Dorian Havillard’s bedroom. A place that Aelin was uncomfortably familiar with. She’d lost count of the hours she’d spent on Dorian’s bed, on the phone with Lysandra, as Chaol and Dorian played video games.
Now, her legs were cross as she sat against his headboard, Fenrys Moonbeam on her left.
“What do you want to talk about Aelin?” Fenrys asked, clearly anxious to return to his party.
Aelin figured there was no point to dancing around the truth. “You know.”
He stiffened, but let out a relaxed sigh all the same. “What do I know.”
“You know the real reason behind what happened last year. I never told you, but you somehow know.”
Fenrys, it appeared, also didn't see the purpose in faking dumb. “It wasn't that difficult to figure it out Ace.”
Her heart squeezed at the casual use of the nickname he’d given her. “Rowan and Lorcan couldn't do it.”
“Lorcan hates you and Rowan’s heart was shattered. Emotions can hold you back if you’re not careful.”
She elbowed him playful, and internally rejoiced when he smiled. “When’d you become so all knowing?”
“Probably around the same time you had a huge growth spurt. You’re a fucking giraffe now Aelin.” Fenrys’ tone was light and joking and a familiar hint of laughter was present.
“Five Seven,” she announced proudly, “and still growing.”
“Maybe Rowan was slipping some anti-growth potion in your drinks.” Fenrys joked.
Aelin chose to laugh, rather than dwell too much on Rowan. “That’s why water at his house always tasted off.”
Fenrys eyes widened and he turned to look at her. “It does doesn't it.” He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.
Aelin laughed, a real laugh, and smiled broadly at Fenrys. For a moment, there was a tension filled pause, and then Fenrys spoke again.
“I get why you did it Aelin, truly I do. But don't you think he deserves to know the truth.” Fenrys’ eyes were full of pity, and Aelin had to turn away.
“It won't make a difference?” Aelin shot back.
Fenrys gave her an incredulous look. “Aelin you were scared. Your parents died and it fucked with your head. Rowan told you that he loved you, and you got scared.”
Aelin’s heart was racing, but she finished the story anyway. “I panicked. Thought that if I let myself love him, he’d hurt me just like my parents did. So instead, I hurt him first.”
Fenrys picks it back up again. “You told him you cheated on him, because you knew that was the only way he’d stay away.”
“Then I went back to Chaol because it was safe. Because I didn't love him enough for him to hurt me.”
Aelin felt like she was floating above her own body. She could do nothing but watch as the biggest secret in her life was exposed to Rowan’s best friend.
“Why didn't you tell him?” She managed to say through her own terror.
Her lips felt raw, and she realized with a start that she had been chewing on them with reckless abandon. A shiver ran down her spine and grit her teeth in an attempt to hide her discomfort.
“It wasn't my secret to tell.” A lock of Fenrys’ golden hair had come undone from his ponytail, and Aelin had to fight the urge to tuck it back. Aelin sometimes found herself jealous of just how pretty Fen was, if that made any sense.
Rowan and Lorcan were the type of heavily built males with hardened features and miles of muscles. Fenrys was prettier, with attributes so perfect that it hurt to look at him. Now though, it hurt to look at him for an entirely different reason. She felt exposed, like the barrier she’d crafted for herself was crumbling down. All her insecurities were on display for Fenrys to see, and Aelin fought the urge to flee the room.
Luckily, Fenrys made the decision for her. “Ill give you a moment. Meet me downstairs?”
The last part was a question, but Aelin couldn't bring herself to show any response besides a subtle nod.
He seemed to deem that answer enough, and left the room to rejoin the party. Aelin suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion take over her body. She lay back on the pillows, not bothering to climb under the duvet. With her baggage weighing her down, Aelin fell promptly asleep.
-----
TOG Tag List
@queen-of-glass
@courtofjurdan
@fictional-horan
@bamchickawowow
@julemmaes
@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato
@cheiflemming
@morganofthewildfire
@http-itsrebecca
@captainswanandclintasha
@booknerdproblems
@sassys-world
@thegoddessofyou
@cityofchelsea16
@loudphantomdragon
@poisonous00
@becarefuloflove
@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx
@rowanwhitethorn600
@heirofthrnightcourt004
@sportfire1089
@inthecityair
@aflickeringsoul
@sjmships
@superspiritfestival
@perseusannabeth
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On Days Like This (part 5)
Carwood Lipton x Reader
Warnings: survivors guilt, comfort, a disgusting amount of fluff, a sick and sad mother of Easy Company doing his very best, some random dialogue, a lack of forward progression but I’m still proud of it for some reason
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You wake up to the smell of cigarette smoke and for a few moments you think you are back in the makeshift hospital you’d been taken to in Foy.
It’s the feeling of Carwood’s heartbeat against your cheek that brings it all back for you- how you’d snuck out from under the aggressive nurse’s nose during her shift change and managed to bully your way onto a supply truck headed to Hagenau, dressed in a combination of pilfered wool sweaters and a set of fatigues you’d collected from the bodies of fallen soldiers.
You’d stolen some boots from the supply truck, and when they’d threatened to tell your superior officer you’d informed them that they were more than welcome to do so, as long as they were prepared for your SO to also be told that the supply truck had been delayed a day because it’s drivers wanted to engage in one last sexual encounter with the nurses who’d welcomed them into their beds.
The two men hadn’t bothered you after that.
The moment after you’d reconnected with Nix and Sink, you’d gone to find Car.
Just from the way he’d broken down upon seeing you again, you knew that he’d lost some sense of himself in the time you’d been apart. It broke your heart. It had taken everything in you not to cry as well.
But Carwood had needed you to be strong, and you had decided long ago that you would do anything for him.
If that meant holding him as he cried himself back to sleep in the first mattress you’d shared since your time in Georgia, then so be it.
When you allowed one eye to peek open, you found that the smell of smoke wasn’t coming from somewhere outside the room- but rather from Carwood himself.
You watched for a moment as he lifted the white stick he’d once called a cancer tube to his lips and pull from it like he’d been doing it for years, a memory of him chastising you for lighting one up beside his cot after he’d been wounded in Carentan flickering in your mind’s eye.
Taking a deep breath, you allow your ribs to expand as you arch your back in a creaking stretch, the movement alerting Carwood of your wakefulness.
“Hm, never thought I’d see the day Clifford Carwood Lipton would willingly smoke a cigarette…”
His light chuckle is warm against your ear, the arm that he’d wrapped around you pulling you close into him and his fingers prodding your ribs playfully until you yelp and attempt to roll away from it.
Car leans over the side of the bed to stamp out the cigarette and set it down, shaking his head slightly as he exhales the remaining smoke in his lungs through pursed lips.
Before he can reply to your teasing, a body-racking cough has him sitting up and trying to catch his breath, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and bracing his elbows on his knees to combat the force of the hacking.
You frown, pushing yourself up to sit behind him and wrap yourself around his back, pressing a kiss between his shoulders once his coughing subsides before resting your cheek there.
“Got the black lung already?”
He sniffs, clearing his throat a few more times before sighing deeply.
“Doc says it’s pneumonia. Not much he can do.”
You hum at that, closing your eyes as you listen to the strong thud of his heart again.
“You should’ve told me you were hurt.”
Opening your eyes, you lift your head from his back, furrowing your brows at his admonishment.
“Huh?”
Lip turns enough that he can face you side-on, his tired eyes looking even more exhausted as he nods his head guilty at your arm.
Looking at your right arm, you take in the large lump of bandages wrapped around your bicep, the gauze beneath the sleeve of your sweater making it look almost comically swollen. The three bullets they’d pulled from your arm still remain in a pouch, buried near the body of your knapsack.
“Car,” you sigh, ready to assure him that you’re perfectly fine and that it’s nothing and that he doesn’t need to worry about you. But, judging by the way he narrows his dark eyes at you, you decide it’s best not to argue the point any further.
“I could’ve hurt you, Y/N! You should’ve said something, shouldn’t of let me grab at you like that—”
“Well, sorry that I was so excited to see the man I love that I didn’t think to give you a full medical report.” you snap, shaking your head and rubbing a hand over your face. “I’ll be sure to remember that from now on….”
Lip clenches his jaw and curses under his breath, raking a hand through his mussed hair before mumbling your name softly and taking your hand from your face to hold it between his.
“I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”
When you continue to stare at a point over his shoulder Car sighs and turns to face you further.
You allow his hands to come up and hold your face, eyes flickering to meet his remorseful ones and biting the inside of your cheek.
“You’re right, I’m sorry...Hey, c’mon.”
The press of his forehead against yours is sweet, despite the fact that you can feel the fever radiating from his skin.
“I just get worried, you know. I missed you so much—”
You shake your head, pulling your forehead back from his so you can press a kiss to his hairline.
“I do. I know. I’m sorry, too.”
With your uninjured arm, you brush your cooler fingers across his cheek, feeling a bit guilty for snapping at him.
You wondered if a day would come when the two of you would stop having to worry about each other. These days, it was hard to imagine a life consisting of anything other than loss and pain and heavy exhaustion.
At the feeling of tears rolling over your fingers, you pull back to look at him with concern.
“Lip?”
“I’m so glad that you weren’t there.”
Your throat feels tight, immediately knowing what he’s referring to.
Your torment at the hands of the German army was nothing compared to the horrors you’d heard occurring in the forest Lip had been in. whatever earth-shaking fear you had experienced second hand couldn’t ever hold a candle to what it must’ve felt like to Easy and Dog Companies.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, ignoring the slight twinge of discomfort in your other arm and bringing your other hand to his face to wipe the tears from his eyes. “I’m just….I’m so fucking sorry, Sweetheart—”
He’s apologizing again, and you know that he’s not simply apologizing to you for crying in your arms.
With devastating sobs, he tells you about all of it- of Buck and Toye and WIld Bill. you pull him to lean against you when he cries for Muck and Penkala, the other eighty-two lives that had been snatched away from this world while he’d ‘cowardly hid in a hole’ the whole time.
You don’t interrupt him, tears of your own welling in your eyes but unwilling to let them fall.
He needs this, he needs this, I can be strong for him
When he does pull away from you, he’s red-faced and his eyes are swollen, weakly repeating how sorry he is. You kiss him as softly as he had kissed you for the first time in Toccoa, inhaling sharply when he pulls your face closer and smashes your lips to his almost painfully.
You stroke at his face when he pulls away, letting him catch his breath in his own time.
When he starts coughing again you reach blindly around his feet until you find his canteen, giving him an appreciative smile when he helps you sit back up again.
He drinks dutifully, closing his eyes and letting his head roll from side to side as he swallows.
As you bring his once abandoned cigarette to your lips and relight it with the lighter you’d also managed to find, Lip looks over at you and sighs a weak laugh.
“You shouldn’t do that, young lady,” he jokes hollowly, taking the cigarette from between your fingers and taking a puff before putting it out again. “It isn’t good for you.”
Smiling at the ridiculousness of it, you blow the little smoke you’d managed to get into his face.
“You’re lucky I like you, otherwise I’d hit you, you handsome hypocrite.”
With a soft groan, you swing your legs around so you’re sitting beside him, your thigh pressed against his as you mirror his pose. Car brings your hand into his and laces your fingers together.
“In the interest of being candid, I should probably tell you that I’ve lost three toes since we’ve last seen each other—”
“What?”
His head whips to the side to look at you in surprise, gaping at the casual shrug you offer in explanation.
“Frostbite is a bitch….”
Carwood opens his mouth to protest your nonchalance, before seeming to think better of it and shooting you a glare.
“Well, as long as we’re being honest, I might as well tell you that I’ve been promoted.”
You feel your face drop in surprise for a moment before you grin like an idiot, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing it excitedly.
“Lieutenant Clifford Carwood Lipton,” you murmur, liking the way the title tastes on your tongue.
“Just wait till my mother hears that I’ve snagged myself a Lieutenant—!”
When Car rolls his eyes you press a quick kiss to his cheek.
The dead may always hang over your heads, and maybe they’re meant to.
But, for right now, the two of you have never felt more alive.
And that was more than enough.
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( ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ here we be, kids. I love you bbs and will fight for your honor any day of the week (just not Mondays at 11am, bc Mama has therapy)
Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite @happyveday @sunsetmando @teenmagazines @liebgotttme
#band of brothers imagines#band of brothers x reader#carwood lipton x reader#carwood lipton imagines
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I found this reinako drabble i wrote 5 years ago while i was looking back through my old google docs, and i liked it so i finished it up! Not too much, just about 1600 words of fluff.
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Rei pressed the doorbell to Minako’s house before fishing her phone out of her pocket and glancing over the glowing display. 7:10. She told Minako she would arrive around 7:25, but knowing the vivacious blonde’s precarious relationship with scheduling, she had opted to show up just a little bit earlier. Her disapproving scowl was usually enough to stir up some sense of urgency into the blonde - and if the stars were aligned, they would - somehow - be ready for when Haruka swung over to pick them up.
She wasn’t holding her breath.
After a few minutes had passed, she found herself depressing the doorbell yet again. Her impatience proved fruitful as she heard the faint strains of a voice through the construct that separated them.
“Just a minute!”
Rei’s arms crossed over her chest by their own accord, a scowl settling on her features. But the rustling on the other end of the door was growing louder, and before she could grow impatient enough to test the doorbell once more, the fine white surface swung open to reveal a grinning Minako.
It only took Minako half of a second to drop the grin in favor of unenthusiastic disbelief as blue eyes raked over Rei’s form.
“Uhm, what are you wearing?”
“...What? Clothes.”
Before she could protest further, lithe fingers had wrapped around her wrist, tugging her into the home.
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The first thing one noticed when they walked into Minako’s room was how reflective it was. There was a mirror on every wall, providing every possible angle a girl could dream of inspecting. And, more specifically, there was a single spot near the middle of the room that allowed one the privilege of looking themselves over without strain.
And it was the exact spot Rei found herself corralled into occupying.
With a scowl and a subtle flush of her cheeks, Rei turned to glower at the blonde. “This is stupid. I look fine.”
Minako was appraising her critically, her hand cupping her chin in an almost academic manner. “Yes, you look like you’re about to give a presentation to the board of directors about the state of finances last quarter. We’re going to a party, Rei - not a corporate merger.” She was so flippant and confident with her dismissal that Rei couldn’t help but peek back to the mirror, half-convinced she had missed something while dressing this afternoon. But the longer she inspected herself, the more convinced she was in her own righteousness.
She wore a rich burgundy turtleneck that clung in a shapely manner to her skin and complimented her naturally pale complexion and raven hair. Her dark skinny jeans were similarly tight, especially when paired with the high heels that did wonders to her already impressively long legs. The silver belt that dangled loosely around her waist offered her an understated flair. She didn’t look prudish or professional - she looked refined. Mature. Elegant. Words that - of course - would mean absolutely nothing to Mina.
“You’re crazy. I look good.”
“Sure Jan.” Minako drawled out, already digging through her rather expansive walk-in closet. Articles of brightly colored clothing flew around as she inspected and vetted each individual item, without a care for the mess that was progressively growing in the previously semi-clean room. “No but really; I get that you’re not into men, but does that mean we all must suffer?”
“Does it look like I care about you suffer- wait, what?” There was abject shock written on Rei’s features as her brain caught up with what Minako had just said, the makings of a blush crowning on the Senshi of Flame’s cheeks.
This was not something Rei was used to - or even comfortable with - thinking about, nevermind discussing. When they were younger, she had been among the leaders of the pack when it came to chasing boys. Her beauty and type-A personality had worked as a shining beacon for the opposite sex, but she found the thrill not in their attention, but in the reflection of her friends who marveled at her master with men. She did not date often - once in a while, and only with those individuals deemed truly impressive and desirable. But every time, the experience was regretfully lacking, until she came to terms with the fact that she simply had no interest in men.
They were an entirely non-sexual, non-appealing entity to her. When they weren’t actively offending her sensibilities, she felt entirely apathetic to their existence, the same way she might feel towards a floor lamp in the corner of the room.
But whereas she had acknowledged and accepted this fact privately, she certainly didn’t make it known to her friends. For this exact reason.
Minako stopped emptying out her closet in favor of poking her head out to look and laugh at Rei. “Hello! Goddess of Love here! You haven’t gone out with anyone in like, three years Reiko-”
“Don’t call me that.”
“- and you don’t even bat an eye when we did that university tour with all those hunky college dudes. That track and field team, with their short short short short-”
“Minako.”
“- short shorts. Hey, it’s okay Rei! Different strokes for different folks, you know? Besides, more for me!” The blonde ducked back into the closet and Rei was left with nothing but the shuffling in the background to occupy her mind. She considered denying what Minako had professed - for she didn’t have to be a psychic to know that no good would come out of Minako knowing this - but what good would that do her in the long run? The blonde dolt rarely let something as trivial as reality get in the way of her fun, so why should she even bother?
The answer came to her as she strode out of the closet, carrying what looked to be a flimsy shirt of a shimmering violet, which she threw triumphantly in Rei’s direction. “Okay, lesbo, try this on!”
Rei didn’t even bother to try and catch it. She had vague suspicions that she had turned as red as her shirt, but she couldn’t tell if it was due to mortification or indignation “WHAT?”
“My sweet summer child, it’s okay! This is a safe place!” She slide up beside Rei, clasping her hands on Rei’s shoulders, an earnest expression on her face that was undercut by shining eyes. “If you’re worried about the coming out process, don’t be - trust me, we all know. I can have Haruka whip you up a handy pamphlet or something, she loves that kind of stuff.”
Rei scowled, wrenching herself from Minako’s grasp and turning so she could focus the full extent of her most formidable glare on her. “What makes you think I’m like her?”
Minako wasn’t at all phased, the smile etched on her features wide and mischievous. She was the very definition of smug, a fact which grated at Rei’s already frayed patience. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, Reiko.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean, who could really blame you. I’m like a ten. I know. Now, c’mon! We don’t have much time!” There was a distinctive whine in Minako’s voice as she ignored the tensed, irritated body language Rei was presenting in favor of moving to tug Rei’s sweater off of her. She had always been an unreasonably brave girl.
Rei reacted the only way she could; with ferocious resistance. “Oh my God, get off of me!” She twisted away, stepping back, only to realize that Mina was particularly determined. As the two struggled over the cotton pull-over the strains of the battle could be heard in the form of growling profanities and high-pitched giggling. They were caught up in their own dance, wildly flailing limbs somehow managing to arc in near-perfect synchronicity.
Until they didn’t.
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The rich leather upholstery of Haruka’s latest sports car was cold against her skin. The top Minako had picked out for her barely covered her stomach, and left little to the imagination otherwise. Self-consciously, she tugged at the front of it, before deciding on crossing her arms over her chest and scowling out of the window.
“Oh, man. I can’t believe you wore that.”
As the red violently erupted on her cheeks, Rei turned her sharp gaze to Minako, fueled by the righteousness of her fury. Minako grinned back, somehow managing to look cheeky and insufferable even with the wicked black eye she was now sporting. As Rei looked over the swollen purpling that surrounded her left eye, she felt her anger drain from her body in favor of something slightly more amenable.
She let out a half-hearted harrumph, turning her eyes to the front of the vehicle. She did not move when she felt the soft, gentle touch to her thigh.
“You look really nice.”
Rei blushed right to her toes. And this time, even Rei couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto her face. After a moment, Rei allowed her arms to unravel, doing her best to ignore the steady beating of her heart as she rested her hand atop of the troublesome girl’s tentatively. Minako laced her fingers between Rei’s.
“But I bet you’d look even nicer with all those clothes taken off.”
“Don’t push it.”
#reinako#minako aino#rei hino#sailor mars#sailor venus#sailor moon#fanfiction#ren writes#im trying to get back into the habit of writing and maybe even posting what i write publically#so hopefull this'll encourage me to keep at it!#otp tho
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can we get a drabble for jurdan + this is gospel by panic! pls 🥺 CONGRATS ON 1K BABES!!!! 🥳💞💞
The Fear Of Falling Apart
Warnings: mention of death, mention of alcoholism. HEA (for the most part)
Song of choice: This is gospel-Panic! At the disco
And thank you love!!! Thanks for always supporting all my crazy ideas. p.s. Sorry if this hurts babes. I promise I have smut in my docs for you.
Jude sat in the aged recliner next to the hospital bed. Unsure of how much time had passed stuck in the cold room. Only the sounds of beeping monitors and the low murmur of tacky infomercials from the tv overhead. Then of course his breaths. Deep and shallow as he slept. The same way his chest rose and fell.
She roved over his slumbered state. Thick, soft inky black hair messily brushed to the side. A hauntingly beautiful contrast to his ivory toned skin. Which looked more on the scale of ghostly pale than a glimmering white. His lips, full yet dry and chapped. Her guess was from all the content he spilled from whatever liquor he consumed. Amber eyes moved to the various tubes connecting him to the monitor. Keeping him steady. Keeping him alive.
Jude loved Cardan. Cardan loved Jude. It wasn't that simple.
Not where alcohol was involved. For Jude, no matter how much he loved her. He seemed to favor drinking a tad beyond it. Her pleas for him to get help fell upon deaf ears. His friends...only cared for his wallet and line skipping. They were no help to her cause. She's fairly certain the staff at Insmoor General Hospital know her by name. For how many times, Cardan had needed his stomach pumped. Like always she drove as fast as her car could go. Jude would wait for the nurse or doctor, letting her know of his condition. This time it was a nurse who approached her. The words the nurse spoke were more like sharp knives that she knew would leave scars. That would haunt her.
"your boyfriend's heart stopped for ten minutes."
Ten minutes. Cardan had died for ten minutes. In one single sentence, her entire world shattered. The fear of him being a broken memory stole the very breath from her lungs.
Even now when she looked at him in peaceful rest. She could picture him laying there. Motionless. No movement under the thin blankets. No beeping from the monitors letting her know he was alive. Few things frightened Jude. Losing Cardan. No matter if it was seconds or minutes. terrified in a way she could barely hold a grasp of.
Usually, when he drank heavily, she saw red. Furious at him for indulging in copious amounts. Until the rage and anger fell away. She'd lay in bed with him. Telling him, how much it worried her. He always promised to get better. He never did. A vicious circle, a dance with death. All it would take is a misstep in the routine to slip and flip. Cardan had gone and done just that. Apart of her wanted to scream at him until her lungs burned and her cheeks turned deep crimson as they did when her frustration with him hit its highest point. Tonight the thought of never hearing his criminally wicked tongue again weighed heavier than anger. For Jude, she felt as if she was on a cliff. Mere inches from falling apart.
Her hand trembled as she reached over, slipping her hand into his. It was barely warm, like death still hung around him. Readying to take him into a permanent slumber. Jude squeezed his hand, nails digging below the skin of his fingers. He didn’t grip back. If she didn’t study his face at that moment, Jude would have never caught the slight flinch from his lids. Good. If she was lucky he would hear her.
“Cardan,” Jude took a calming breath, running a thumb over his knuckles, “I-I don’t know what to do anymore,” the hot sting of tears burned against the lining of eyes, she swallowed thickly. It didn’t prevent the wetness trickling down her cheeks or the way her voice cracked when she continued, “I want to hate you right now,” gnashing her jaw together and then losing it,” I want to slap or threaten you. And then tell you…” another breath. Jude wasn’t sure if she felt a featherlight squeeze or imagined it, “That..that if you loved me Cardan. You would let me go. Because. Because,” her tone rose an octave too high, her lips trembled. Shaking the way her body was as her heart twisted in agony, “I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore. But-”
To her surprise, his hand squeezed back. Jude flicked her gaze to his eyes. The lids pulled back as he slowly blinked awake. The slow trickle of tears turned to an endless stream. Jude made to take her hand away. He held on to her. Like she was a tether to this world. To his world. A grip so tight she could feel the cool clammy sweat between their palms. He groaned trying to reach up and wipe the wetness staining her cheeks. He was still too weak and fell back on to the bed. Jude rubbed her tears away with the opposite hand. A tired grin fell on his lips.
“Jude,” Her name on his lips came out in a rasp, from sleep or what he endured she couldn't say. Cardan’s handsome features twisted like saying her name physically pained him.
Again Cardan tried to ignore the pain in his body as he attempted to rise. Jude moved to the edge of the bed thigh to thigh with him. Being this close to him. She fell off that cliff headfirst. Letting him see the damage he had done to hear that night. If this didn’t work she wasn’t sure there was anything else she could do besides walking away. Jude refused to give up. Not without one final fight. Cardan rested his head against her shoulder, an arm draped lazily around her. There was power in his fist as he clung to her. Fingers grasping at the back of her shirt. Jude copied his movements. The only difference was she felt hands running through her auburn strands in calming strokes. Her body shook against him as she finally, truly gave into the fears of what his habits did to her. Jude knew her sleeve matched his own. Soaked and used as a tissue. Cardan’s grip tightened around her with every shaky breath, every sniffle from either of them.
Jude willed herself to pull away, catching his face in her hands. Their foreheads touching and she could still smell the reek of alcohol on him. Almost like he wore it as cologne. She should ask him how he felt if he needed anything. Her emotions for once bested the thought.
“I want to hate you right now,” she choked out, biting back a sob, “because I hate what you’re doing to yourself. I hate that you’re not taking this seriously. For ten minutes. Ten minutes Cardan you died. You left me in this god damned world, you insufferable bastard. And for what?” her pitch rose with every word.
“I know.”
“I wish I could leave you. I want to,” Jude pursed her lips before continuing, Cardan only stared at where their thighs touched. She hoped it was shame that made him unable to look her in the eyes, “I’m... I couldn’t live with myself if, if, “ she stumbled trying to find the words. Too many thoughts were racing and pulsing in her mind. Jude couldn’t grasp onto one long enough to articulate it fully.
“Jude,” his eyes finally lifted under thick long lashes to meet hers. Dark circles encased around his coal eyes, “I had. No. I have failed you. And you should. I love you enough to let you go,” she was quiet, her expression unreadable as he coughed, “I know I died. Explaining it is difficult, but I know it,” gingerly he cupped her cheek, wiping away a stray tear with the tip of his thumb, “I should have stayed dead. This is a second chance. I am a sickness that needs to be cured.”
“What are you saying?”
He took in a breath and released it, “I need help.”
Jude wasn’t sure what stole the air from her lungs first. Cardan’s admittance or the way he held her. Arms wound around her like she was his lifeline, a saving grace. Like Jude was his gospel.
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Joy Ride -.003
Pairing: StreetRacer!Bakugou x Fem!reader
Genre: TokyoDrift!au, Noquirks!au
Status: Ongoing
TW: violence, blood, firearms, eventual nsfw, 18+, mentions of anxiety and OCD disorders, grand theft auto, gang activity.
Summary:
It started with a simple question, “what do you say Y/n? You coming?”
After the sudden death of her mother, Y/n is sent to live with her estranged aunt halfway across the world in Tokyo, Japan. Weary of what this new adventure might hold for her, she decides to let loose the first night she was there, but how was Y/n supposed to know it would lead to a car chase? A car chase in the the passenger seat of a very angry, very hot, street racer’s super car?
A/n: I have not a clue what’s going on with my text seperator, and these are taking for E V E R TO POST. Don’t mind me, this is just a fic dump at this point. Also I just want to point out that BOLD ITALICS are meant to be words spoken in Japanese. I didn’t realize it wasn’t keeping the font when moving the chapters from my word doc’s to here, so I’ll go back through and edit them so they make more sense. ✌🏻-squidlyskeet.
═══☩══♛══☩═══
“Oi. What the hell is this.” A stern voice gritted out from behind us.
I didn’t understand a word but I knew it probably couldn’t be good. For some reason I felt like this was the infamous Bakugou.
“Oi Bakubro, where were you man. The race is about to start.” The red head, Kiri I think, blasted back in Japanese.
My confusion was spiraling as they continued their conversation. I still hadn’t turned around, and was debating how fast I could turn to leave and walk off without anybody questioning me.
Ochakos attention was taken when Deku signaled her to come over to help with something he was fiddling with, and now I was stuck between two very heated men as they rambled back and forth in Japanese.
In a split decision, I turned my heel and attempted to side step the man behind me. Figuring retreat was my best way out of this.
I made it a few steps before I let myself breathe again but I was halted when I felt a firm grip on my arm and a menacing aura behind me.
“Who the fuck are you?” The voice said, I still hadn’t looked in his direction, and if it were up to me I never would.
“Dude ease up, she doesn’t speak Japanese.” Kiri spoke, before anyone else could get a word in. I look at him in silent thanks, not understanding but would recognize the defensive tone anywhere.
“Tch. Look at me,” The voice, Bakugou, demanded.
I gulped fruitlessly trying to wet my dry mouth, and decided to give in and just look at him. If I dwelled too hard on his blatant hatred, I was afraid a flip would switch and I’d be thrown into a debilitating anxiety attack.
When I finally turned my body around to face him, that same slow motion effect kicked in as I traced his features with my eyes. His full lips were tight and slightly open, showing off his perfectly white teeth clenched underneath. Some of his pale blonde hair fell in his ruby red eyes, which were focused and narrowed on me. He was stunningly handsome, the kind of man you’d do a double take at to make sure he looked as good as the first time you glanced. Only to find out he was better looking.
His body was lean and muscular, the tight fit of his tank top showing off his biceps and forearms. He was bent down, probably trying to intimidate me, and like the other two massive guys he was towering over me too.
In conclusion, Bakugou looked like he was made of all hard angles. From his personality to his body, nothing but ice cold stone.
I didn’t realize I was staring until his gravelly broken English spoke up again.
“The hell are you staring at. Who are you?” His voice came out just as terrifying as before, but he relaxed his grip when I jumped back at his tone.
Heat spread through my cheeks, I was ashamed I was showing such weakness in front of him. I wanted to be confident, especially with a man who looked like him.
I tried to sound confident.
“I’m Y/n L/n, I’m Noel and Mirios niece.” I said, feigning any semblance of a steady voice.
“That’s funny cause last time I checked, Mirio didn’t have a niece.” He deadpanned.
Damnit, I was hoping maybe throwing around titles would get him to get off my case a little. I just wanted to stand with Ochako and wait for the race to start, maybe have her tell me a little bit more about how all this works.
“Well technically, no. I’m actually just Noel's niece but Mirio did tell me to call him uncle, so I’d assume he would be okay with me telling you that. Although this is my first race, so I’m not really sure how or what to..,” I trailed off when one of the guys in a lawn chair whipped around and stared directly at me, obviously overhearing my statement about this being my first race. “Oh no, I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
Bakugou was standing in front of me, brows furrowed in annoyance and confusion. He was looking at me like I had sprouted a second head, and it was making me uncomfortable.
“What?” I directed at him.
“For someone so damn shy, you ramble like an idiot.” He said flatly. At least he was no longer arguing about my identity.
He turned his body slowly, completely losing interest in me and walking back to his car I somehow missed noticing at the front of the lined up cars.
“Oi. Who brought this Nav hoe over here? Someone get her away from the cars.” He yelled over his shoulder.
“Kaachan!” My head whipped to Deku, who stood from the ground, “Don’t talk to her like that, what if she’s actually Mirio’s niece? And you heard what she said. This is her first race.” He yelled back, the deep baritone intimidating, but leaving Bakugou unphased as he kept walking.
“Shut up you damn nerd.”
“Thank you Deku, but I can handle this.” I planted my hands on my hips. There were a lot of things I’d take from people, but degradation wasn’t one of them. My mom taught me that at least.
“You can stomp around having a hissy fit like a child all you’d like Bakugou, but I was invited over here by Ochako and you don’t even know me. So don’t stand there and call me names like you do.” I was huffing in anger when I finished, but quickly calmed down. Immediately embarrassed by my outburst as I noticed every single one of the West side Riders were staring at me, jaws unhinged.
I was a little shaken when I noticed Bakugou had stopped walking midstep, hands clenched tightly at his sides.
Oh my, I think I’m in trouble.
“Hey hey hey, everyone just calm down now. Y/n was it? Hi sweetie,” The yellow haired man from the lawn chair did an awkward walk run to place himself next to me. “I’m Denki Kaminari, hope this isn’t a bad time or anything, hah, but did hear you say…this is your first race?” He threw his arm over my shoulder, with a wicked smirk on his face.
Shit, I thought we were past that and that no one noticed.
“DAMMIT YOU DUNCE FACE.” Bakugou's loud yell brought me back to reality as the third degree was taken from me and placed on Denki.
The other guy in the lawn chair let out a loud laugh, assuming this was the Shinsou Ochako was talking about, I pushed down a smirk when I put together that Denki must catch a lot of crap from Bakugou.
“What? Why does that matter?” I asked the man still leaning on me.
“Shut the hell up Denki, I swear to god.” Bakugou said, and Denki’s wicked smirk turned into a shit eating grin.
Shinsou was full on laughing now, doubled over in fits of laughter at Bakugou’s expense.
“Because little flower, if you are who you say you are, that means you’ll be Bakugou’s Navigator tonight.” Denki’s eyes weren’t on me when he said it, they were on Bakugou. I was happy for it, because while the details didn’t make sense, the statement did. There was no way I wanted to be trapped in the car with an angry porcupine for however long it took to finish a race.
“No she’s not.” Bakuhou’s gravelly voice strained out through his gritted teeth. He was facing us now, sharp features twisted up in anger and looking like he wanted to hit Denki.
I looked at the others, Kiri was openly laughing now, Shinsou has been a mess of laughter since before the spat started, and Ochako and Deku had their faces turned away, mouths covered by hands, and chest heaving in silent giggles.
“Yes she is, you’re the only available squad leader,” Denki stated, before sucking his teeth loudly and checking his nails. His eyes shot back to Bakugou. “That is, unless you want me to get Tenya on the phone and tell him he needs to come fulfill the duty as a squad leader. That’ll do just fine won’t it? Leave this adorable, defenseless flower in the hands of Tenya?”
I didn’t know what Denki said in the second half of his rant, but it seemed serious enough that everyone, even Shinsou, stopped laughing. All eyes were turned to Bakugou.
I thought for a second I saw his cold exterior drop and a look of panic flash across his widened eyes. But it was gone so fast I thought I imagined it.
Everyone stood in tense silence for a second, while I wondered what was going on. It was starting to grate on my nerves how much I was actually left out of simply because I didn’t understand most of their language. It was my own fault, and I’d remember to pester Noel about it until she taught me a few words and phrases.
Bakugou’s shoulders visibly slumped out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look at him, his head still held high but the look of reluctant defeat across painted his features.
“Fine. She can come,” he paused, pointing a finger at me and holding my eyes. “I want you and your gear ready before this race is even finished. When the winner is announced go back to East wall and stay there until I come get you. I’m going to prep until the second round. Don’t bother me.” With his final annoyed statement, Bakugou opened the door of his sleek orange car, shooting me one last look of disdain, got in and left.
Bending down to put my hands on my knees I finally let myself breath normally. Relieved I could have a moment away from Bakugou’s heavy personality.
I felt a hand rub circles on my back before looking up at Ochako.
“I’m sorry, I really should have warned you before I brought you over here. I didn’t think he’d be happy, but I really didn’t think he’d call you names.” She said, apologizing genuinely.
“I honestly can’t believe he caved, I guess all you really gotta do is throw around the boss’s name and he backs off that attitude of his.” Denki piped up from behind Ochako, retreating back to his lawn chair.
“I really wouldn’t push him too far next time Denki. Sure he relents for the boss, but he has limits. You know he doesn’t like having a Navigator.” Kirishima said, injecting himself. His tone sounded scolding and disappointed. I’d be lying if I said it almost made me want to try to cheer him up.
“That’s enough.” Deku commanded.
“Hey, it’s not my fault that bitch left him for-.”
“DENKI. I said that’s enough,” Deku’s firm voice cut over Denki’s antagonizing one. “Kirishima, go check on him and make sure he's okay. Denki shut the hell up from now on.”
Without a word Kirishima pocketed his phone and in one smooth motion got in his car. Within a second he was gone too, all that was left was Ochako and I, Deku and the two bumble heads in the lawn chair.
I felt really bad. That could have gone way better than what it did, and now I have to try and Navigate for Bakugou. Jesus, how am I supposed to tell Noel and Mirio.
“Izu, I’m gonna go help get Y/n ready and then we are going to go watch the start of the race. I have my phone if you need me.” She yelled in Deku’s general direction to which he replied with a flick of his wrist practically dismissing her. I caught the look of surprise on her face, and watched it melt into anger.
Lord have mercy on that man's soul for later.
“Alright Y/n, lets go get your equipment, and I’ll give you a few pointers.” She smiled back at me, warming my soul and easing some of my anxiety.
Maybe this wouldn’t be that bad.
—————————————————
It definitely was that bad.
Round one just ended and Mirio won, I guess people bet on these things, earning Mirio a lot of money. I remembered leaning over the edge of the hip high wall of the parking deck, looking down over the road trying to spot the obnoxious yellow vehicle through the maze of buildings and sidewalks.
My breath caught as the previously mentioned car shot around the corner in a wide arc and straightened out only to move so fast I could hardly see them. The next thing I knew a yellow flare was being shot into the sky and Mirio was being announced the winner.
Which lead me to right now.
Mirio had just backed into his parking spot, and Noel was cheering about how fast he went in the straight shot.
The thought brought me back to Ochakos mini lesson, ‘A straight shot is a part of the track where there are no turns, not even any curves. Drivers can make up the time they lost trying to drift around curves because they can’t go as fast. Now I’m going to show you a little secret...’.
I was trying to memorize it in my head when Noel caught my attention.
“What’s that stuff for honey, we were only racing once tonight. I don’t need another set.” She said, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“Well you see, I uhh- ImetagirlnamedOchakoandshewantedmetomeethersquadsoIdidandthenImetBakugouandIaccidentlyspilledaboutthisbeingmyfirstraceandnowIhavetoNavigatrforhim.” I was breathing heavy when I was done, and Noel planted her hands on her hips.
“I can’t fucking believe this, I’m sorry you what?” She demanded.
“All I’m saying is I see why you wanted me to say this wasn’t my first race. Now I have navigate for the angriest man at this stupid meet. Is there any way out of this?” I said while pleading with my eyes.
“Mirio.” She shot over her shoulder.
Said man, turned to look around and abruptly left the conversation he was having next to his car.
“Yes baby?”
“Tell him what you just told me.”
“Uhg. I accidentally may have let slip that this is my first race to the west side team. Now I have to Navigate for Bakugou.” I was getting tired of repeating myself, I wanted answers.
“Well I suppose it could be worse. It could be Teny-.”
“Mirio!” Noel slapped his arm.
He sighed before starting. “I’m sorry little chick, there isn’t anything I can do. You technically are a part of the East side Riders now as long as Noel and I are together. Even if you don’t race, all family members are a part of it. It’s tradition. New members are initiated by Navigating for a different side's squad leader. It’s meant to be that way so a third person party can tell if the person is worthy of joining.
This may seem like fun and games, and most of these people are irrelevant. But every person here who is on a squad has to either be ready to drive or navigate at a moment's notice. Usually under more stressful circumstances, but we won’t get into that. The reason you have to ride with Bakugou is because he is the only squad leader available without a permanent Navigator. I have Noel, and Monoma has Kendo. The south side is out of the question.” He shrugged as he finished.
That was a lot to process. Does that mean I’ll be a part of a gang or something? Jesus. What did I get myself into. All I wanted to do was have a few drinks and go fast in a car and now look.
My god I’m a train wreck, and my stomach was clenching with every passing second.
The gong sounded, and the announcer's voice sounded off through the speakers again.
“Gear up, round two starts in ten minutes!” It sounded like he was screaming, but I couldn’t really tell with blood rushing in my ears.
Noel has the bridge of her nose pinched between her fingers, her foot tapping on the floor. When she finally huffed and looked at me, I made it a point to look at anything that wasn’t directly back into her piercing cat like eyes.
“Look at me,” I finally relented, and snapped my sight directly back at hers. “If you get hurt in any way, psychically, emotionally, shit even if he hurts your feelings. I’ll kill him.”
As if on cue, the rumble of a motor popped over the bump in the entrance and maneuvered it’s way around the sea of cars. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know it was a burnt orange sports car with a fuming blonde in the drivers seat as the tires came to a screeching halt behind me.
“Get in.” Bakugou’s deep raspy English left no room for argument.
Noel nodded after me before reaching out to wrap me in a hug. I returned it thankfully.
“You’ll do great.” She whispered in my ear before releasing me.
I counted to ten before turning around taking a few steps to Bakugou’s passenger door. I looked through the windshield at the headrest only to find it bare, and sighed in relief. I was putting things together in my head, and as far as I could tell, some stitching on the headrest indicated a person belongs there. Permanently. And if it’s not your name, it’s not you.
Man this is the worst walk of shame I’ve ever taken, and it didn’t help that Bakugou kept his eyes on me the entire time.
I finally pulled open the door, standing back when I remembered the car doors opened up and not out. I slid in, taking in the interior of the car. It was leather, like real leather. It felt warm and nice on the exposed skin of my back between my crop top and jeans. I could feel there was no cushion though, probably just leather stretched over hard plastic meant to keep the bucket seat stable at high speeds. The color scheme was hunter green and orange with neons under his dash, lighting up the floorboards.
I didn’t know much about cars but I knew enough to know that this car probably cost a lot of money. Whether he built it or bought it I had no idea, but either way it was a fortune. The dash displayed a screen bigger than a computer, and when I looked behind me there was no back seat, just six nondescript silver tanks. All neatly stacked in racks with hoses coming out of the tops and disappearing into the floorboard.
“Shut the damn door.” Bakugou snapped at me, pulling me out of my inspection.
I jumped when he spoke but quickly regained composure and reached for the door handle.
“Tch. Not like that.” He reached across me brushing his arm against my collarbone and pressed a button on the side of the dash. I turned my face to the side to try and hide the glowing red that creeped up my neck while the door started closing automatically. When the door finally closed my blush burned hotter as I got a face full of what the inside of his car smelled like.
Heavenly. A perfect mix of sweet and spicy. Sandalwood, and gasoline. And something sweet. Was that..
Burnt sugar?
Whatever it was, the smell mixed together in my nose fogging my brain.
Without moving out of the way for other people in case they needed to get through, he pressed his foot down on the third pedal beneath the dash and shook the shifter in the middle before reaching behind my seat, obviously trying to find something.
I stifled a giggle unsuccessfully when I caught sight of his shift knob. It was short, sunk down further into the center console compared to Mirio’s which sat higher. I was giggling though, because the shift knob was a grenade.
“Something funny?” Another short jab.
“No no, I was just admiring the shifter.”
“What, you don’t like it?”
“No I do, I was just thinking that’s a very Bakugou thing to have.” I replied.
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean? I can’t fucking do this.” He growled out the last part in Japanese, thoroughly confusing me and shutting me up.
Something for the second time tonight landed in my lap, the familiar straps indicating it was a seatbelt. Or, more accurately, a harness.
“You have two minutes to attach that to the seat and put it on, after that we are going and you don’t want to be out of a seat belt for the exit.” The last part sounded more like a threat than anything else and it sparked my limbs into moving.
He didn’t think I could do it, well I’d show him.
But after a minute I realized the slots were different than the ones Mirio had, and instead of five points there were eight points of attachment. I fumbled to try and get them into the slots when I finally figured out how they went in. It wasn’t the most comfortable sitting arrangement known to man, sitting practically backwards and trying to fanangle the small silver pieces into their designated holes but I refused to ask the hotheaded blonde for help.
Thinking about him caused my eyes to unconsciously shoot in his direction, he had a look of annoyance on his face and if you squinted hard enough you could almost see amusement.
A sadist through and through. Gaining amusement out of my struggling.
Finally I had the damn thing in place, and when I went to sit down back in the seat I heard a thump from the inside of the car on Bakugou’s side.
Pulling the harness in place, and finally clicking the last buckle together I looked up to find Mirio leaning against the door and looking into Bakugou’s car.
Bakugou kept his face and eyes straight, almost like he refused to make eye contact.
“Are you all strapped in little chick?” Mirio had his signature smile while he addressed me with his new nickname. I actually like it, cute but at the same time platonic.
“Yup.” I replied with a smile of my own, trying to ease his tension and my own with the false pretense.
“Got all your equipment?” He asked, but this time his face was pointed in Bakugou’s direction. His eyes held a glare, but he kept his voice light as he spoke to me.
“Yup look!” I reached down to the floor showing Mirio all my stuff. I was pretending at first, but this time around it was genuine.
“Good. Have fun little chick. Don’t get hurt okay, your aunt will kill me.” He waved, and Bakugou revved his engine clearly ready to go.
Bakugou was about to take off when just as he was about to put it in first gear to leave Mirio grabbed the steering wheel and leaned down, invading Bakugou’s personal space.
“If anything, and I really mean anything happens to her, I’ll string you to the side of the building and count the seconds till you stop breathing. You hear me?” Mirio’s voice changed when he changed languages, his tone was dark and menacing as he spat the words out.
Bakugou revved the engine again, visibly clenching the grenade shifter harder.
“Loud and clear.” The Japanese words his only reply before he slammed the car in first gear and took off towards the exit.
—————————————————————
-.003 💥MASTERLIST💥 -.004
Tag list: @thatonegeekchick ☺️☺️
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