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ethan-torchio-angelo · 3 years

Text

Oh, love

Summary: It takes a year of trial and error, of love and heartbreak, for the two to finally realize there's no one else they'd rather be with. Or in which she becomes they're photographer for a summer tour and falls in love with the dark haired drummer.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: swearing, angst, sexual content

A/N: I just want to say a huge thank you to @ethanesimp for proofreading and hyping this fic up, thank you so much amore! This is the first piece I've written for any of the members of maneskin, and also the longest thing I've ever written! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

January

It’s a call in the middle of the day that begins it all. She’s been in a shoot all morning, running around snapping photos of a wanna-be teen idol. She’s been here many times, being hired to do promo shots for someone who never makes it farther than this. But this call, she knows it’s different. She’s heard the name, seen some videos, she knows this won’t be like the rest. She’s instructed to clear her schedule for the week and to be in Rome by the end of the day.

The cold air hits her as she leaves the building, suitcase and camera bag in hand. This is the moment she’s been waiting for since joining the company, the chance to become a permanent fixture instead of hopping from gig to gig. She’s told that they requested her specifically, that one of the band members saw her collection from a festival last summer and was dead set on booking her for their summer tour. It’s all new to her, the feeling of being the first choice and not second best. She barely hears anything that’s said on the plane by their manager, too busy trying not to freak out.

It’s only a few hours plane ride, but it feels like a lifetime. Thoughts run wild in her head as the seconds tick by, she can’t remember the last time she’d been this excited, or nervous, for something. She’s greeted by more people from their team as she steps off the plane, and is quickly ushered to the villa they’ve been staying in. She barely has time to process the beautiful new city she’s in before she’s hidden by walls of an even more beautiful place.

They give her time to relax and unpack, but clear instructions to not leave the property without security. Things have been crazy, she’s told, since their winning last year fans have become more clever with their tactics. She laughs at some of the stories, but heeds the warning all the same. She’s seen quite a few things that have shaken her to her core, so she knows to be careful and wary.

Music floats through the halls and into her room, the band practicing on the other side of the villa. The music fills her veins with a feeling she can’t quite place, but it’s a welcome humming that gets her blood pumping. She grabs her camera and follows the melodies, laughing at the jokes thrown around in english whenever someone messes up. She angles herself behind a corner just right where she can take pictures while still being hidden from the band.

Her heart races at the scene in front of her. It’s a family like she’s never seen. They all seem to orbit around each other, pushing and pulling each other into their atmospheres. She watches Victoria dance around the room, bass in hand, strumming the lines to an old song. Thomas lays on the floor with a notebook reading off words, Damiano repeating them as he draws on eyeliner. And Ethan, who sits at his drum set, twirling the drumsticks in his hand as he observes the scene before him.

She captures picture after picture of their dynamic, taking the most of Ethan, who seems to have a magnetic pull to him. She only pulls herself from the moment when she’s spotted. “Sai, qualcuno chiamerebbe questo strano comportamento.”

The words are warm against her ear, and she jumps at the unexpected presence. She turns around, laughing to hide her embarrassment, trying to translate the words in her head. She freezes when she sees it’s Ethan, trying to figure out when he slipped away from the rest of the group.

“Ah, niente italiano. Er, it’s unusual, what you are doing.”

Another nervous laugh leaves her lips, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy. There’s something about the way the group is when no one is watching, it’s hard to ignore, it needed to be captured.”

He smiles at that. It’s soft and warm and she feels as if the world has stopped spinning. A song plays between their hearts as a silence falls over them. There’s a beauty about him that makes it hard to focus on anything but him.

A series of crashes followed by loud curses in Italian breaks the spell that they were under and Ethan pulls himself away from her to go and manage his friends. She uses this moment as an excuse to slip away and tour the rest of the house, ending in the kitchen where dinner is being prepared. She snaps a few photos of the chefs cooking, already envisioning the blog post they’ll go along with.

When everyone has made their way to the dining room a toast is made; to new adventures, to new friends, and to family. Sweet wine and light rain makes the time pass faster and the evening flows into night easily. The group parts only moments after midnight, long days ahead calling them to catch up on sleep now.

The month flows by with days and nights blurring together. It seems the studio is really the only place they call home, spending every waking moment in the room that houses their instruments. She stays with them through the long hours, snapping photos of the weird things they get themselves up to. Her hard drive slowly fills with collections of each band member, ones for the public eye and ones she sends to them to make them laugh.

The end of the month brings a party, something small to celebrate sold out tour dates. A night out to a local bar and far too many drinks. She dances with Victoria, who has become her best friend in the few weeks she’s been with them. Damiano and his girlfriend are not far away, but much more caught up in their own world. Thomas has disappeared somewhere, no doubt warming someone's bed for the night. But through all the commotion, she can’t stop watching Ethan.

He’s sitting at a table nursing the only drink he’s had that night, planning to take on the role of babysitter at the end of the night once everyones had too much to drink. He drums his fingers on the table, following the beat of each song that plays. He seems lost in his own world, content with being by himself. She moves away from Victoria, who easily finds another partner, and makes her way to the table.

“Sembri solo,” the words fall from her lips quietly as she takes a seat beside him.

He smiles at her, “Seems your little lessons are paying off.”

She blushes at that, not realizing he’d picked up on her daily lessons with their English tutor. “Only enough to not seem like a tourist.”

A small chuckle escapes his lips, and she wishes she could bottle the sound.

“But don’t change the subject. Tonight was about having fun, celebrating a big accomplishment. Yet you’re sitting here alone.”

He sighs at her insistence, “Sometimes we don’t need to celebrate everything so publicly.”

Something pulls at her heart. She can’t imagine having such a public life, but she understands how it must feel to never have anything to yourself. Before she knows what she’s doing, she places a hand on his arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze, a light tingle shooting between the two of them.

She pulls her hand away quickly, a small blush forming on both their cheeks. He offers her a small smile to make the moment less awkward, and she returns it.

The night ends not too much later, the rest of the crew having decided that warm beds would be much more comfortable than the crowded bar. She helps Ethan herd their friends home, laughing along with him at their drunken antics. Victoria jokingly calls them mom and dad as they help her to bed, and the blush that was plastered on her face earlier that night makes a second appearance.

It’s almost morning by the time she makes it to her own room. Ethan isn’t far behind her, realizing for the first time tonight that they share the same hallway. “Buona notte,” comes his voice from down the hall.

She turns to face him, catching herself stuck in his stare. She can’t quite place the look in his eyes, but it gives her butterflies all the same.

“Buona notte.”

February

February brings more time in the studio and less time outside the walls of the Villa. While winter in Rome is not like the ones you’d experience in colder places, it still brings a chill to her bones. She steals one of Victoria's sweaters after a night spent lounging under the stars, a small break from a busy schedule.

A fire had been lit and a bottle of sweet wine was making its way around the group. She’d set her camera aside for the evening, planning on enjoying a night without the calls of work. She doesn’t know when it happens, but suddenly she’s swaying to a drunken beat in the arms of Damiano who can’t stop giggling at her two left feet. The man had not believed her when she said she couldn’t dance, but was now biting his tongue as they moved around the courtyard.

As the night seemed to come to a lull, a game of truth or dare was proposed and all were in agreement. She finds herself sitting beside Thomas on the floor as Victoria begins the game, a stupid dare aimed towards Damiano that earns him a new haircut. The night drags on in a flurry of laughter and silly dares. By midnight half the group is wearing someone else’s clothes, and the others have barely any on.

She’s moved to be sitting by Ethan, who has an arm casually draped across her shoulder. It shouldn’t feel so electric, his skin touching hers, but it does and it’s the only thing she can focus on. Her heart feels like it’s almost beating out of her chest and the blush on her face isn’t caused by the alcohol in her system.

Damiano is the first to notice her situation, and starts poking fun at her whenever it was his turn to ask her something. It started off innocent enough, small questions aimed towards her love life, but it soon caught the attention of Thomas who was the first one to issue a dare towards the girl. This was how she’d ended up sitting beside Ethan, cuddled into his side. Ethan was oblivious to the things going on around them, until Victoria dared her to kiss him.

It seems as though time stops, the laughter fades and the silence becomes deafening. She turns towards Ethan, a mixture of panic and excitement painted on her face. He smiles at her, “We don’t have to, amore.”

“A dares a dare.” She shrugs at him.

A round of cheers raises up around them as the two lean in. It’s meant to be only a small peck, something good enough to count in the eyes of those around them. But as she goes to pull away his hand reaches up to tangle in her hair and he pulls her closer. Their lips meet again without any hesitation and it’s like the world lights up around them. Blame it on the alcohol, but if she were to die right now she’d be happy.

They pull away a second later, a small laugh leaving both of them, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm.

“Awe, they’re blushing! How cute!” Comes the voice of Damiano, further pulling a blush from the girl.

She grabs one of the pillows beside her and aims it at his head, laughing when she misses terribly.

The night fades into morning and they all climb to the roof to watch the sunrise. It’s a moment she wants tattooed in her memories forever. She’s got her arms wrapped around Victoria and the three boys huddle around them, alcohol still flows through their veins and they’re all singing different versions of the same song.

March

The beginning of spring in Rome is magical. Flowers start to bloom, mornings are coated in a light dusting of rain, and clothing starts to become less of a necessity. She takes photos of the band trapezing the streets. The Villa studio has become too familiar, moving instead to a studio in the city.

By now, a routine has been put in place. Mornings sipping coffee and eating fresh pastries while she laughs at the varying states of wake the band is in. Afternoons in the studio, recording their new album while she collects photos and videos for their ‘making of’. Evenings spent in restaurants and bars, eating some of the best food she’s ever had, and she swears she’ll never eat anything better.

She’s never fallen in love with a city like this before. Maybe it’s the city, or maybe it’s the people she’s with, but she swears she never wants to leave. It suffocates her in the best way possible, the feeling of being home. She hopes that when the tours over and her contracts up, that she’ll move here, maybe even keep these people she’s grown so close to in the past few months.

She’s thrown out of the daydream by Thomas yelling at her in a mix of italian and english for not paying attention. It’s the middle of the afternoon, they’ve taken a lunch break at a restaurant down the block, and Thomas is expressively telling a story. His hands are in the air and he’s almost knocked his wine glass over too many times to count.

Damiano sits across from her, fiddling with her camera, snapping his own photos that he presents to her proudly. She laughs at every one, but never discourages his actions. Victoria is on her left, Ethan on her right, both vying for her approval as they argue over something. She’s overwhelmed by the different directions her brain is being tugged, but the hand that snakes its way into hers calms her.

She looks down to see Ethan rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand, a soft smile grazing his lips as they make eye contact. She returns it, whispering a small thank you to the boy.

That night, she lays in bed, in the room she’s begun to finally call hers, thinking of the boy with stars in his eyes. She doesn’t know if it’s feeling like she finally belongs somewhere, or the wine that still coats her veins, but there’s something about him that she wishes she could become a part of. She wants to wrap herself in it and never leave. She’s falling for him, hard. Vaffanculo.

April

It is Victoria's birthday and everyone has decided that she must be princess for the day. Ethan and Damiano have been up since dawn making an extravagant breakfast, something that should be put in a five star restaurant. Her and Thomas had disappeared shortly after waking, returning with a stack of presents that was almost as tall as him, and the best bouquet of flowers she could find.

After decorating the patio with anything and everything they could find, it was a mad dash to Victoria's room to wake her up. She protested, claiming that sleep was more important than being awake, but at the mention of presents she was the first one out of the room.

It was a morning of happiness, and a much needed break from their hectic schedule. She recorded the entire day, from the dramatic wake up call to the celebratory sparklers that were set off that night, it was all captured.

After breakfast the princess requested a trip to the beach, and no one would dare refuse her. They found something private, a little hidden oasis an hour's drive from the villa. They spend hours there, switching between swimming and laying in the sun. She finds herself alone on the sand with Ethan at one point, watching the others like proud parents.

She tries not to think about how close his body feels to her, how she can feel the heat his body is radiating seeping into her, the smell of his body wash. He’s invading all of her senses and she’s trying so hard to focus on anything but him. “Let’s go on a walk?”

His voice is warm as the question escapes his lips. She turns to look at him and she’s thankful to be able to blame the sun for the blush on her cheeks. She nods and gets up to follow him, brushing off the sand that’s clinging to her bathing suit and wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

They disappear down the beach, walking side by side, a comfortable silence enveloping them. It’s not till they’re halfway down the beach that either of them speaks. “Are you enjoying your time?”

She doesn’t miss the hint of worry that laces his voice, and she’s quick to reassure him that she is. “Yes, very much. This is probably the best job I’ve had in years.”

He softly chuckles at her words, “Good. Good. We’re trying to make you feel like one of us, don’t want you running away.”

She’s grateful for the confession, glad that they don’t see her as just another person that works for them. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

He bumps her shoulder with his, a small smile forming on his face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They head back to the group soon after, realizing they’ve let the day slip away and need to leave soon if they want to make their dinner reservations.

A small vineyard hidden in the valley, they’ve booked the place so it’s just them, and ordered every bottle of wine on the menu to taste. They laugh away the night, enjoying plates of delicious food and letting their minds wander. A gorgeous cake is brought out at the end, half of which ends up destroyed thanks to an impromptu food fight. More presents are opened and Victoria starts tearing up, blubbering about how much she loves the idiots she’s surrounded with.

They walk through the dark streets of Rome, singing happy birthday loudly in every language they know. It’s unusually cold, but she’s somehow been wrapped in Ethan’s jacket, his arm slung over her shoulder. She’s holding Vic’s hand, Damiano and Thomas taking turns with her camera.

The air surrounding them is electrified, she looks up into the sky and thanks the stars for the life she’s living.

May

The summer tour is fast approaching, and nerves are starting to set in. The already high energy group somehow is bouncing off the walls even more, making for an interesting collection of photos. Nerves are starting to get the better of them, and she often finds one of them wandering around the Villa at odd hours of the night. She’s good at being able to channel her nerves into something else, focusing all of the energy on a new project.

One night though, it gets the better of her. She tosses and turns in her bed for hours before she decides that sleep isn’t coming. Instead of lying in bed willing her brain to shut off, she throws on a pair of shoes and heads for the front door, thinking a walk in the warm spring air will do her some good. What she doesn’t expect to find is Ethan sitting out on the terrace, cigarette in one hand and a book in the other, lost in his own world.

She doesn’t mean to catch his attention, hoping to allow him this little bit of uninterrupted peace, but he spots her anyway. “Buona serata,” He rasps, voice laced with the quietness of the night.

“Buona serata, Ethan.” She returns the greeting.

He motions for her to sit down in the chair beside him, closing the book and placing it on the table. “What’s troubling your mind tonight?”

She’s not used to the way someone can read her so well, but there’s something about Ethan that brings her comfort in the fact that he can. “Nerves, I guess. I’ve never done a gig this big, never spent so much time with one group. I’m used to being moved around a lot, still getting used to being a permanent fixture I guess.”

The words are heavy on her tongue, never having voiced her worries out loud before. He takes a long drag of the cigarette hanging from his lips, “La vita ci dà solo ciò che sa che possiamo gestire.”

“Some would think you were a poet in a past life.”

A small laugh escapes his lips, and he shakes his head. A comfortable silence falls over them and she wishes she could bottle this feeling to keep with her forever. He turns to look at her, and it’s hard to put into words the feeling that washes over him. He’s not sure where it comes from, the urge to kiss her, but it sends him spiralling.

He reaches his hand up to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, “Le stelle brillano più luminose nei tuoi occhi, amore.”

The words and his actions cause her heart to raise and her breath to hitch. They’re close now, the closest they’ve been since that night in February, and all she can think about is that kiss that they shared.

Neither knows who leaned in first, but suddenly their lips are touching and it is everything and nothing like they remembered. While the other kiss had been hesitant and brief, this one was full of purpose. Their noses brush and their breaths tangle together, he bits her lip for a moment and a small moan escapes her. He swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

He grabs at her hips, lifting her from the chair and placing her so she’s straddling his lap. She tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs softly, earning a groan from the man. The sound sends shockwaves through her and she rocks her hips against his almost involuntarily. His lips move from hers to the side of her neck, pulling small whimpers from her as he nips and sucks at the skin. It’s everything she’s ever imagined and more. The feeling of his body pressed to hers, the pleasure he can so easily give to her.

She moves her hands down to fumble with the hem of his shirt and that’s when he pulls away. “While I would normally love to do that here, how about we continue this somewhere more private?”

She nods eagerly and removes herself from his lap. He all but drags her inside the villa and towards his room. She trips over her own feet and they both laugh at her clumsiness, falling into each other as he tries to catch her but trips over his own feet in turn. He leans in to kiss her again as their bodies collide, this one sweeter and softer than the previous one.

The moment passes quickly and soon she’s being dragged through the halls again, only to be met with a half asleep Damiano standing in the doorway of his room. They stop in their tracks, jumping apart, trying to act like nothing was happening. “It’s rude to have a party and not invite everyone, you know.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, glad that he didn’t know what had been happening moments prior. Ethan is quick to explain that they were just having a cup of tea on the terrace and were now heading to bed, and thankfully the lie is believed. Damiano wishes them a goodnight, heading back into his room, and the two are left in silence in the hallway.

“Maybe we should go to bed,” he whispers to her.

Her heart sinks, but she nods her head in agreement and turns to walk back down the hall to her room. She’s not really sure how the night was going to end, but this was definitely not how she wanted it to; walking in silence next to someone her heart aches for, pretending that nothing had happened between them.

He walks her up to her door, still ever the gentleman, and places a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Buona notte, amore.”

The words should not sound as sad as they do, and she tries her hardest to keep the tears welling up in her eyes at bay as she watches him turn and walk away.

June

How do you go back to being just friends after making out with someone? Well, you don’t. At least, not fully. They dance around each other without knowing it, avoiding any contact that could lead to something more or allude to something else, but there are still moments where the world seems to slip away and it’s just the two of them.

The tour kicks off at a festival in Amsterdam. Blue skies and sunny days greet them as they get off the plane. They have a day to explore before their first show, and no one can decide how to spend it. In the end, Victoria drags Thomas off to do some shopping, Damiano plans a trip to a few museums with his girlfriend, and she is left with Ethan.

She’s not truly stuck with him, but she doesn’t feel like wandering a forgein city all by herself. Since the night in the Villa, they haven’t spent longer than a few minutes alone together, both refusing to acknowledge what had happened.

A trip to the beach seems like the best place to be, and within the hour she’s lounging in the sun listening to Ethan read a book. It’s peaceful, the sound of the waves and his voice lulling her into a half sleep. She’s got a drink in her hands, something sweet and fruity, and she’s sharing a cigarette with Ethan. It’s a scene she thinks one would find in a movie.

She rolls herself over so she’s laying on her back, staring up at Ethan who sits beside her. She places her hand on his leg and traces random shapes into his skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her fingertips, and he tries to stay focused on the book in his hands but finds it hard to do so. “You are very distracting, amore.”

She looks up at him innocently and she can’t help but admire him. His hair is tucked away in a bun, but a few pieces have fallen out and are flying in the gentle breeze. He’s only wearing a pair of swim trunks, broad chest on full display. He catches her roaming eyes as they make their way back to his face, a smirk slowly forming on his face. “Or maybe I’m the one distracting you, no?”

She smiles shyly and looks away from him, because yes, he is distracting her, and she’s finding it very hard to not kiss him right now. He chuckles at her, reaching his hand towards her face and turning it back towards him. He leans down towards her, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

All she can do is nod, and a second later his lips are on hers. It’s sweet and slow, she can taste the tobacco on his lips and it’s intoxicating. She moves so she’s sitting up, leaning into him more, the world around them fading out until all that is left is them.

A few days later they find themselves in a hotel room in Munich. There’s music playing and everyone’s laughing. Her camera hasn’t left her hands all night, every moment needing to be captured as they ride the after show high.

She’s in the middle of recording Thomas’ one man act when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist. She knows exactly who it is by the scent that invades her nostrils and sends her brain into overdrive. She lets out a sudden, loud laugh, as his fingers trace themselves up and down her sides, collapsing into his chest as she struggles to breath.

He picks her up and spins her around, letting out an equally loud laugh at her protests. He’s happy, and it’s something that looks better on him than any designer outfit he could ever buy.

He falls onto one of the beds, pulling her down with him. She lands beside him tangled in his arms, he’s looking at her with a goofy grin on his face. The world seems to silence around them as their eyes lock. Her smile softens and she reaches her hand over to brush an eyelash off his cheek, he catches her hand before she can pull it away and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently.

He looks ethereal in this moment, hair strewn all over the place, a wild look in his eyes. She reaches for her camera and brings it up to capture him, never wanting to forget this moment.

The streets of Prague are empty, save for the two of them walking hand in hand down them. It’s early, almost too early to be considered an acceptable time to be awake, but they continue on nonetheless. A wild craving for something sweet had brought upon their adventure, and with the look she was giving him, he couldn’t say no to accompanying her.

They had been sitting on the balcony of her hotel room, watching the sun starting to peak out over the horizon and sharing a cigarette when she had turned to him with a mischievous look in her eyes. “I want something sweet.”

The comment had earned her an offer to order room service, but she shakes her head at the idea, standing up and walking back into the room. “No. Something real, maybe a coffee too.”

He follows her in, watching her pull on a shirt to cover the bralette she had been sitting in. “È presto, amore. Let’s go to bed. We can order something when the sun is awake also.”

She smiles at his words, but makes no move to stop dressing. She grabs her wallet and room key before heading to the door, stopping to turn and look at him, a question in her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll come with you.” He says after a moment, throwing on his jacket and walking over to her.

It’s 7:30 in the morning, the sun is starting to make it’s daily appearance, and they are happy. The small bakery they stumble into is just opening for the day and they’re greeted by the owner, an older lady with the sweetest smile. She speaks in broken English, an obvious language barrier between the group of them, but no one seems to mind.

She orders herself a poppy strudel and a coffee, Ethan ordering a croissant and an espresso, before sitting down at one of the small tables. He sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. He presses a soft kiss into the crown of her head and she sighs in content.

Moments like this are what she lives for. She might only be here because she works for them, but somewhere along the way she’s become part of their little family. She looks over to Ethan who’s lost in conversation with the owner, and she whispers to herself, “Penso di essermi innamorato di te.”

She doesn’t know that he hears her, his smile spreading wider across his face.

July

The turnover from June to July happens mid concert in Stockholm. She swears she can feel it, the sudden shift, a slight change in the air. She’s running around in front of the stage capturing pictures of the band in what she’s come to call their ‘natural habitat’. There’s an indescribable buzz in the air as they perform, the crowd becoming louder and louder with each song.

She keeps catching Ethans eye and there’s something primal in the way he looks at her. During a song switch, while Damiano rambles to the crowd, he motions her on stage. He tells her to get closer to everyone, promising that they won’t bite, and she giggles at him. She does what he says nonetheless, capturing some up close photos of the band and a few great shots of the crowd.

All too soon the show is ending and everyone’s piling into the car, a small party taking place in the backseat. Damiano has music blasting from his phone, Victoria and Thomas are dancing along to the beat, and Ethan is belting out the lyrics. She watches the group of them, laughing so hard her sides hurt, and she’s never felt more at home.

When they get to the hotel he’s quick to pull her towards his room, thankfully void of a roommate for the night. The second they get into the room, his lips are on hers. He pulls her close to his body and her hands tangle themselves in his hair. It’s nothing like any of their previous kisses, it’s heated and fast, every thought trying to be conveyed by the fever of it. She pulls back slightly to catch her breath and he leans in to whisper in her ear, “Join me in the shower?”

It’s not so much a question as a statement, but she nods her head eagerly, quick to follow him into the bathroom. He strips himself of the few clothes he’s wearing (most having been thrown off during the show), before turning to her. He reaches his arms out towards her, pulling her close to him and tugging on her shirt. She barely registers him pulling off her clothes, too focused on his body in front of her.

She’s never seen him so bare, and she’s having a hard time focussing on anything else. It’s not until her body hits the warm water that she snaps back to reality. He looks wild, eyes blown with lust, a wicked smile on his face. She firmly plants her lips on his, moaning into the kiss as he grabs at her. His hands are skilled and know every way to pull those delicious sounds from her lips.

It’s quick and dirty, and it is everything she has ever imagined it would be.

An hour later, she’s tangled up in the sheets of his bed, his entire being engulfing her as they watch the stars outside the window. She wonders if they are watching them too.

Paris is the city of lights, a statement she’s never been more sure of. The streets are lit with every light, shining brighter than the stars. She’s in a permanent state of bliss, after the night she shared with Ethan. Their relationship is hidden from the public, living in stolen moments and nights in hotel rooms, but she’s never been happier to be someone's dirty secret.

The band is electric on stage, something about the city they’re in taking their performance to a whole new level. The show goes on longer than it should have, but none of them even care when their manager comes over to reprimand them. They hang around to greet fans and take photos with anyone and everyone, and it’s not until security has to kick them out that they finally leave.

They find themselves in a bar, not sure what part of the city they’re in, but no one cares when the night feels like this. They drink expensive drinks that they can’t pronounce the name of, dance to songs they don’t know the words to, and feel more alive than they’ve ever felt. It’s like the world turned itself up to 11 just for them.

She dances with Ethan, not caring who sees because the night is theirs and no one cares. She kisses him in the middle of the dance floor and he pulls her into a vacant bathroom. It’s hot and heavy and the smell of alcohol envelopes them, but they couldn’t care less. Is this love? They don’t care. They’re young and dumb, and well, you only live once.

Back at the hotel they spend the night wrapped in bedsheets on the balcony, a bottle of champagne and a pack of cigarettes shared between the two of them. He points to the stars, a stupid grin on his face, “Le stelle brillano solo per noi.”

She snorts, throwing an abandoned pillow at him. He grabs her arm and pulls her into him, tickling her sides until she’s begging him to stop, tears staining her cheeks but a laugh like no other leaving her lips.

As the night bleeds into morning, and both are hazy with sleep, he whispers to her, “Sei il mio universo.”

They walk down the streets of London, his arm slung over her shoulders as she rambles away, both blissfully unaware of the few fans snapping photos down the street. They don’t notice the group of girls following them, cameras and phones in hand, capturing picture after picture of the couple.

By the time they reach the shop, the photos are already out into the world.

As they order, reposts and comments start flowing, and their phones start lighting up with notifications.

Before they can pay, she’s crying.

Rule number one of being in the public eye; never look at the comments, distance yourself from social media as much as possible, it will never end well.

The final stop in Rome was supposed to be a welcome home. A big celebration was to occur after their last concert, but now, it’s nothing more than finding the quickest way back home. She sits in one of the dressing rooms the entire show, waiting for it to end, scrolling through her social media.

She knows she shouldn’t be, that’ll all it’s doing is hurting her, making her feel worse. But she can’t stop. The comments aimed towards her and the drummer are terrible, and she wishes she could just delete herself from existence. They aren’t even dating, at least not officially, but she’s been deemed the girlfriend from hell. She’s unknowingly stolen something that never belonged to anyone to begin with.

Damianos girlfriend is in the room with her, telling her of her own horror stories dealing with fans, and she knows she’s just trying to help, but she really wishes she would just shut up. She loves the girl to death, she’s been a blessing this entire time, but she feels her mind is too far gone to be saved from the madness.

It’s only a few minutes later that the band wanders in, the usual after show high replaced with a sudden heaviness. Ethan comes to stand by her after putting his things away and pulls her into a tight hug. “Amore mio.”

He’s sweaty and could definitely use a shower, but the hug is comforting. She rubs his back soothingly, knowing this is just as hard on him as it is on her. Their management team has told everyone to remain quiet about it, disappearing from the internet until further notice while they figure out how to manage the situation. It’s maddening, the inability to speak out and protect her. He wishes he could snap his fingers and everything would be fixed, but he knows nothing is ever that easy.

They make their way back to the villa in silence, the car filled with a strangeness. She’s sandwiched between Victoria and Ethan, leaning on the bassist's shoulder, watching her play a game on her phone. It’s not how anyone wanted to end the tour, but the world is a strange and cruel place. Everything good always comes burning down.

August

There’s a party at the villa one night. Things have calmed down enough that she doesn’t spiral every time she looks at her phone, but there’s something in the way Ethan acts around her that makes her uneasy. She’s standing out on the patio, trying to avoid the questioning eyes from everyone in the house. She hasn’t spoken to Ethan all day, and the alcohol coursing through her veins makes her even angrier than she knows she should be.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him walk out the door beside her, a small scoff leaving her lips as he tries to speak to her.

“Couldn’t be bothered to talk to me all day, what’s changed that you’ve decided to grace me with your presence?”

He looks at her, stunned. “I don’t get what you mean.”

She scoffs again, placing her glass on the table across from her. “Since London you’ve done nothing but ignore me. I get that this wasn’t easy for you, but it wasn’t exactly a cake walk for me. I needed you, Ethan, and you left me.” Her voice is raw and scratchy, the feeling of wanting to cry tickling the back of her throat.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how Dami does it, how he can deal with the comments and messages. My brain won’t shut off, I can’t stop thinking about how if I had been more careful, I could’ve protected you and none of this would’ve happened. I feel stupid for thinking I could have. I hate seeing you like this, I wish I could take you away from all of this.” His voice slowly lowers, till it’s nothing more than a whisper, words meant only for her.

“I was never what you wanted, was I? This was just all some stupid game to you. I was just someone you could use to get off.” Her voice is laced with pain, a small crack coming out as she speaks.

He shakes his head, laughing slightly, and turns to look away from her. He walks a few steps before turning to face her again, “No. No, you were exactly what I wanted. You were everything to me. We were the same type of crazy.”

“I don’t understand Ethan, then what was the problem? This feels like a confession and a break up all in one.” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, watching as he pulls a cigarette out from his pocket and lights it.

The familiar sight creates something warm in her chest, memories of summer nights like this flash through her mind. Spending the evening sitting on the balcony of different hotel rooms, sharing a cigarette between the two of them while they let the events of the day soak in. She’d give anything to go back to one of those moments. He blows a breath of smoke out and starts to speak again, “I don’t know, amore. I don’t. I want to tell you I love you, to hold you and call you mine. But I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t.” It’s not a question, but a statement.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t turn this into something it’s not. I want to, believe me, I do.” He steps towards her and reaches out his arms, “But we both know we can’t.”

She doesn’t know where the tears come from, but they’re there, pooling in her eyes. It’s only been a few months since they’ve met, there were no promises to be anything more than a summer adventure, but this doesn’t feel right. Her heart should not be breaking at the thought of losing someone she barely even knows.

He stops when he notices her state, reaching out to wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Merda. Merda! This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

She looks up at him through clouded eyes, “Then how was this supposed to go, Ethan? Breaking my heart wasn’t supposed to hurt me this bad? I was supposed to smile and tell you that I'm not madly in love with you and these past few months meant nothing to me?”

His heart breaks slowly at her words. He never meant for the night to go this way, and he wishes he could just pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her, that everything could be okay. But he can’t, so he pulls away from her, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

They’re the only words he can manage to get out without breaking down. He takes a second to watch her, memorize all the features of her face, before turning around and walking away. It’s a sight that rips her heart out, watching his form disappear back into the house. She knows this is it, the goodbye she’d been preparing for these past few weeks, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

Before she can help herself, she’s calling after him. “Being in love isn’t a weakness, you know!” But the words fall upon deaf ears.

Vic finds her standing in the same spot an hour later. She’s got a smoke lit in her hand, the third one from the pack. She hasn’t touched her lips to any of them, but the smell and the feeling of holding it brings her comfort. She was never really one to smoke, but she found it entrancing to watch Ethan do it, and right now, it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. It’s silly, how something so small can mean so much.

Her heart aches in the most unbearable way, but she can’t bring herself to do anything about it. Vic doesn’t speak, just stands beside her. She doesn’t need to ask to know that she is well aware of the events that have just unfolded, she’s just grateful for the company.

September

It’s stupidly hot in London for the time of year, but mother nature loves her unexpected heat waves. She’s home now, having left Rome shortly after the fight with Ethan, assuring their manager that she would be able to edit and upload all of the photos and videos from the comfort of her own flat.

Vic and Thomas had driven her to the airport, had walked her all the way to security and hugged her tightly before letting her go. She’d promised to keep in touch and Victoria had made her pinky swear that if she was ever in Rome again, she’d come visit. The flight was short, and she was glad the time difference was only an hour.

Her sister had picked her up and dropped her off at her flat, and she’d immediately collapsed into bed. That was three days ago, she’d barely moved since. Someone had caught her at the airport and the photos were everywhere, articles upon articles had been released, she’d had non stop messages from everyone, but all she could bring herself to do was turn her phone off.

Her photos make it to the front of magazines, her articles getting featured all over the globe, she’s made a name for herself. She gets emails from prospective clients wanting to book her in at shows, her boss sending her information for more high end gigs, but all she can think about is her drummer boy.

Her phone still sits turned off on her desk, she refuses to turn it on for anything, resorting to using only her email, but she knows everything that’s going on with the band. She’d been asked to join them again in a few months, to become a permanent part of their team. She hasn’t been able to reply.

She gets panicky thinking about seeing him again, about the things people will say if she’s caught in the same country as him. She’s stopped receiving death threats, but there’s still comments that creep in, fans thanking whatever gods made them seperate.

Victoria tries to reach out every few days, worried about the state of person she’s become, but she can’t even manage to type out an I’m okay. The world seems to be too fast and too slow, too bright and too dark, too much and not enough. Her heart aches and it’s a pain so deep she thinks she’ll never be okay again. Love is a cruel, cruel creature.

October

She finally brings herself to go back to work at the beginning of the month. She books herself in for a small band, someone no one really knows but she hopes they will one day. She’s in Amsterdam now, trying hard not to think of the memories the place brings. The band is good, the music heavy and the beat strong. They find a way to tell a story that leaves everyone with a soul searching question by the end of the night. Do you know who you are?

She’s only with them for a few nights, a short gig, but something she needed to get the ball rolling, to remember why she was doing this in the first place. After submitting the photos and writing an article that sends another wave of offers her way, she takes a few days to explore the city. It was wonderful before, when the air was warm and it felt like there was magic enveloping the city. But now, with the change of seasons, it’s even more beautiful than she remembers.

She walks the empty streets one night, huddled in the safety of her hoodie, camera in hand, and captures moments. A couple standing under a street light, a cafe closing for the night, kids running. It’s not until she hears a laugh she’s all too familiar with that her heart stops and her blood turns cold. She turns, ever so carefully, hidden behind the side of a building, and sees him.

He’s beautiful, even more than she remembers, and he looks happy. He’s walking with two girls, the resemblance making her sure it’s his sisters, but in this light she can’t be sure. She’s never met them, but he talked about them often, and she felt a pang in her chest for the homesickness he must have felt.

She tries to run, tries her hardest to get away, but she’s in an alley that leads nowhere and he’ll for sure be able to see her no matter what. The voices of the three get closer and she starts to panic, but there’s nowhere to go and she knows she’ll have to pull on her big girl pants and face him. But her heart won’t stop beating so loudly and she’s afraid she’ll break if he looks at her.

She pretends to be busy with her camera, focusing all of her attention on settings she knows are perfect, but a voice carries it’s way to her ears. “Hey stranger.”

It’s soft and it makes her knees weak and she hates herself for it. She looks up at him and his expecting eyes and her heart breaks all over again. She can’t help it, but suddenly there are tears running down her face and she can’t breathe. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

He places a hand on her shoulder but she pushes it away, “No it’s not.” She says between breaths.

“I shouldn’t be here, I should not be here. I have to go.”

She turns to leave, but one of his sisters stops her, “Let us walk you home, please. My brother may be a dumbass, but we have good genes. Let us make sure you get back safe.”

She doesn’t know why the words calm her, but she nods her head and lets the girls lead her in the direction of her hotel. The twins, Eleanora and Lucrezia, talk to her in fits of italian and english, trying to keep her brain occupied. But her whole body is on high alert, too aware of the man trailing behind them and how much of a fool she must look like. She feels like a mess, like someone drowning in a foot of water, but she can’t help it.

They walk her into the lobby of her hotel, the girls wish her a goodnight before shoving Ethan towards her. She doesn’t want to talk to him, and he must see it in her eyes because he tries to leave. But his sisters won’t let him, they stand tall and he looks like a child being scolded by his parents.

“Can we sit?” He asks, pointing to a couch.

She doesn’t want to, she wants to run up to her room and cry, but she nods. They sit and it is silent. Her stomach is in her throat, her eyes hurt from trying not to cry, but she sits and she waits. She studies his face, the crease in between his eyebrows that only forms when he’s confused or thinking, she wants to reach over and smooth it out. He turns towards her and catches her staring, a small smile forming on his lips.

He takes her in, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time in months, and something in his heart breaks. How did he ever let her go? Why was he so stupid to ruin something so beautiful?

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. “I’m so sorry, amore. I know I can’t say it enough, I know it’s not as easy as that, but I’m sorry and I love you. So much it hurts.”

The words hit her like a truck, they knock the air out of her lungs and the tears she was trying so hard to keep at bay start falling down her cheeks. She stands up so fast she gets light headed, “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

She turns and starts walking towards the elevators. He calls after her, but she’s determined to leave, to get away. He runs after her, catching her right before the doors of the elevator close, and he wishes she didn’t look so broken. The doors slip close and she is gone and he feels like he could break something.

Her room is cold and she wishes she was home in her flat. She throws herself into the shower, the water burning her skin, and she sobs. She sobs so hard her body shakes, she screams and hopes no one can hear her.

He’s still standing by the elevator, crying now, too. His body aches in a way he’s never felt before and he hates that he isn’t holding her right now. He knows he messed up, he beats himself up for it everyday, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be okay, but he has to do something.

November

The ground is covered in snow. It is peaceful and quiet. He’s not used to this, the cold and the snow, but he understands the appeal. He’s standing outside her flat, or at least what he hopes is her flat, Victoria wasn’t exactly sure which one was hers. He’s bought her favourite flowers and he’s prepared to pour his soul out to her.

He paces outside her door for what feels like hours, trying to get himself to knock, but before he can, she opens the door. “Ethan?”

Her voice is soft, his heart sings at the sound of it. He turns to face her and the sight before him takes his breath away. She’s wearing a dress that shows off everything he loved about her, a coat thrown over her arm, she looks like an angel on earth. “Do you have a moment?”

She’s running late for dinner with her sister, but she’s afraid if she says no to him, she’ll never see him again. She hasn’t forgotten that night in Amsterdam, wishes she would have been brave enough to stay and talk, but she can’t change the past. “Yes, yes. Come in.”

She lets him into her flat, taking the flowers he hands her, and brings him over to her couch. “So.”

The script he’d had prepared in his head is suddenly gone from his memories. “I’ve thought this through a thousand times, planned this out a million different ways, but I can’t figure out the right words to say. I’m sorry, amore mio. I can’t say that enough. I never should have left you, shouldn’t have let things happen the way they did. Loving you was easy, and I think that scared me.”

She takes a deep breath, not sure what to say. She feels tears bubbling in the back of her throat and she hates that this is her response to everything revolving around him. He notices the shift in her, can tell she’s about to cry, “Amore mio, please don’t cry. I’ll start and then neither of us will be able to do anything else.”

She laughs quietly at his words, “I don’t think there are any tears left inside of me. I cried them all for you.”

His heart breaks at her confession. He moves closer to her and wraps himself around her. She hates how easy it is for her to melt into his touch, but she enjoys the comfort of it. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me. I’m yours amore.”

“Please, don’t leave me again.” The words are barely more than a whisper, but he hears them.

He pulls her tight to his chest and holds her. She doesn’t care about anything else but this moment and him.

She wakes up the next morning in her bed. The sun is streaming in through the windows and she can smell Ethans body wash laced in the fibres of her bed sheets. She rolls over, expecting to see him beside her, but is met with an empty bed. Her heart sinks, afraid that everything he’d said was too good to be true, that he’d left her, again. But the sounds coming from her kitchen prove her wrong.

She gets up, quickly changing out of the dress she was wearing the night before, and follows the sound of clinking dishes. She’s greeted by the sight of a shirtless Ethan, back turned to her, hunched over her stove. There’s the smell of coffee brewing and something soft playing from the radio. If she doesn’t think too hard, she can almost imagine this being a daily occurrence.

He turns around when he hears the floorboards creak, a smile on his face, “Buongiorno amore mio.”

“Buongiorno.”

He hands her a cup of coffee and plates the pancakes he’s made. She smiles at the domesticality of it all. He sits down beside her on the couch and they eat in silence, leaning against one another. Afterwards, she washes the dishes and he dries them. Neither one of them says anything until the sun is high in the sky and they are laying in bed together. “I love you.”

It is the first time she’s said it in such a permanent way, she recites it like it is a fact written in history books. He looks down at her, she’s curled up on his chest, a hazy look on her face. He reaches down to tuck her hair behind her ear and leans his head towards her, “Ti voglio bene.” He seals the statement with a soft kiss.

It’s light and barley there, she chases after his lips as he pulls away, and he chuckles in a way that sends butterflies into her stomach. She places herself on his lap, weaving her fingers into his hair as his tether to her waist. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He stares at her, memorizing all of the features of her face. He loses himself in thoughts of days spent exactly like this, of a life he hopes isn’t just a dream. He flips them over carefully, laying her down on the bed. He hovers over her, arms on either side of her head, “I’m going to show you how much I love you.”

December

“Move in with me.”

It’s early in the morning and they’re sitting in bed sharing a pot of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, she’s leaned into his side, and he whispers those words.

She hasn’t yet told him about the offer from the band's manager, to become their permanent photographer, but it seems like the perfect moment to. “Yes.”

“Really?”

She laughs at his shock, “I was offered to come and work for the band full time, I haven’t replied yet. But I want to take the job.”

A goofy grin makes its way onto his face, “Do it! Right now. Tell them yes, come and stay with us. Be my girlfriend?”

He’s rambling and he doesn’t care. She smiles at him, her heart bursting with love for the man. “Okay, yes! Absolutely!”

Christmas is celebrated in their apartment in Rome. The band is there, her sister flies out and his family comes too. It is a day filled with love and laughter. They eat a grand lunch that they spent the previous day cooking, his mom brings a homemade panettone. They exchange gifts in the evening, and it is everything she’d dreamed of.

On New Year's Eve they make a trip to the villa. They sing songs and drink expensive wine. Fireworks light up the sky brighter than the stars. They sit out on the porch and tell stories of things that seem so far away. He’s sitting beside her, hands intertwined. He tells her about all of the things he wants to do in the new year and she is mesmerized by the way he talks.

There will be a moment in time when the world stops spinning and everything goes quiet, and she thinks that if that were to happen now, it would be the perfect way to go. Surrounded by the people she now calls family and the person she loves most in the world.

Fireworks go off in the distance, someone shouts out a drunken happy new year! and as time flows from one year to the next, she realizes that this is all that will ever matter.

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The Enforcers: Part 6 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

wc: 1.5k

tw: none

masterlist

The steady burst of snow is burning your hands.

You're frozen to the bones. And all you can hear is the chattering of your teeth as you drag the limp body of your Leviathan down the shambles of a road that once led you to freedom, to success.

Your eyes snap open as you pull yourself out of the nightmare, clutching at your shaking form underneath the sheets. You stretch your arm out behind you to feel for the man you gave yourself to the night before but find nothing but empty space.

Had you imagined the whole thing?

The grey sheets are tucked so neatly around you, and the nightstand is devoid of any of your trinkets that you know you're not in your own room. Something clatters in the kitchen, and you hear Suguru curse, making you get up and toss off the sheets. Before your hand reaches for the doorknob, you notice your lack of clothing and grab the bathrobe hanging from a hook by the door. You tie the massive cotton item around yourself and fling the door open, not bothering to fix your hair before walking into the living room.

Before you can peek into the kitchen, a pair of blue eyes catch your visage and looks twice before a smile spreads across Gojo's face.

"Aw, shit. Yuki said you were wasted, but I didn't think-- I knew you had it in you, Su, but damn..."

Suguru appears a second later, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and catching you in his bathrobe, standing in shock in the living room. "Oh, y/n," he murmurs, and pushes his bangs out of his face. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry about the noise; I was trying to cook breakfast."

"No, it's okay," you whisper, and he gives you a lopsided smile, eyes roving over your figure clad in his bathrobe.

"Looks good on you."

"Yo, can you quit flirting and hurry up? I have to brief you two on your next mission before Toji tries to beat me to the pool hall."

"Right," you sit across from Gojo on the couch, and Suguru turns off the stove to sit next to you. You notice he isn't timid in front of Satoru, placing his arm around the couch behind you. Gojo notices this and says nothing, instead choosing to thump the file in his hands onto the table. You reach for it, then open the black folder, noting the heavy redaction on many of the pages.

"This might be your biggest one yet," Gojo states, leaning forward. "You're going to be recovering some evidence needed in our search for Kenjaku."

Kenjaku. The most elusive man in the entire CSB. Known for blowing covers of CSB Kitsune, organizing massive Leviathan casualties on staged recon missions, and relentlessly terrorizing the Grand Council with threats of bringing the CSB to its knees.

Your palms begin to sweat, and Suguru takes the file from your hands, letting you lace your fingers together to stop them from shaking.

"How do we know this isn't a setup?" Suguru wonders and then looks up from the folder. "And why is y/n coming with us? This is normally Leviathan work."

"Y/n is going in as a scout. But you'll be with her, along with four other high-level ops teams. It'll be presented as a routine inspection of the systems, but you two will orchestrate the recovery. The other four teams will assist with entry and extraction."

"And what kind of evidence is this?"

"Files." Your mind flashes to the files sitting in the trash on your desktop, and you inhale deeply. "Files from a computer linked to a DDOS attack from his base. You'll be going in and retrieving them with a thumb drive." The thumb drive is slapped onto the table, the silver color shining in the light of the living room.

"When do we leave?" you wonder, and Gojo smiles, showing all of his teeth.

"In twelve hours, right as everyone is getting off. The building will need to be empty when you two go in to prevent any suspicions or reports back to Kenjaku."

"Got it."

_____________________________________________________________

Geto drives you to the rendezvous, wearing an all-black outfit and glasses that he keeps fiddling with nervously. His tattoos are covered up, but that doesn't make him look any less intimidating.

Again, he's a "security officer". Well, one without a gun, which is probably why he's fiddling with his fake glasses so much.

You consider your cover - Information Technology Officer - and look down at your outfit again. Your dress pants and frilly white blouse look the part, but you don't feel the part.

"This is too easy," you mention, and Suguru glances over at you.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"So I just go into this room, find the computer, and plug in the thumb drive?"

"You have to locate the one--"

"Row Eleven, computer eighteen."

"You're too good at this," Suguru laughs, and you chuckle, looking out of the window. The massive building looms ahead, and you feel your gut twist painfully. As you pull into the parking garage, you watch for the first set of teams to assist with entry. They'd be disguised as guards that will lead you into the building and up to the room, and then two sets of guards would come to get you and lead you out, taking the thumb drive with them as they depart.

But why so many people? Weren't you and Suguru enough to get in and get out with the evidence?

You step out of the car after Suguru parks, and when you get to the front of the building, you see the first set of guards. They open the doors to the main floor, where people are still milling about and wrapping up for the day. Next, you're walked to the elevators, where one of the guards swipes a keycard, his eyes looking everywhere but at you and Suguru as he presses the up button. His partner stands closely behind you two, but you consider the ultra level of security a comfort.

Suguru, however, is not so thrilled.

"Can you back the fuck up?" he turns and asks the woman behind you, who steps back at the forcefulness of his tone. You look up at him and notice a deep frown line set into his brows as you walk onto the elevator, unaccompanied. Suguru punches the "7" button with his knuckle and stands stiffly as the doors close on the two security guards below.

"Everything's going to be fine," you reassure him, taking his hand and squeezing it. "You'll see." He grunts in response as the elevator grinds to a halt, and the automated voice announces, "Floor Seven". The second set of guards meets you right outside of the elevators, one taking the lead while the other walks behind you as you walk past a row of frosted glass doors. A key card is swiped again, and you go past a wooden door that has no windows before walking down a less inviting hallway.

Row eleven, computer eighteen.

The guard in front opens a door leading to the computer room, and you're met with a fierce blue glow from the dormant screens.

"Ten minutes," Suguru advises you, and you walk past him, nodding.

"Give me seven."

You count the rows from the back of the room and find the eleventh row easily, then down the long path to computer eighteen. When you sit down at the screen, your fingers quickly type in the password: TOUR-DOZE-KURD.

You take the thumb drive out of your pocket and wait for the program files to load, searching through each and every one with lightning speed.

"If I was a suspicious file... where would I be..." You open the TEMP files and instantly find a massive .zip file just out in the open. You open the ZIP extractor and wait for the files to pop up, sticking the thumb drive into the computer and inhaling before the "finished" notification pops up.

However, when the files open, your eye catches on one, in particular, making your heart stop.

Release to Y/n on (unknown date and time).

Two and a half minutes left on the clock.

You drag the extracted files to the thumb drive icon, but you click on the folder addressed to you while they're downloading.

And you discover the same videos, the same audio files, the same documents that were dropped onto your computer. Yet, all you can hear is the rushing sound of blood in your ears as you click out and look at the other files, hundreds of names and release times labeled on files.

Two other names catch your eye, and you balk, fearing the worst if you open them:

Geto Suguru. (released).

Yu Haibara. (do not release).

Once the files finish transferring with only a minute to spare, you snatch the stick out of the computer and leap up, shutting the device down before rushing out of the room.

"Suguru, there's something very wro--" You stop in your tracks as you see two men dressed in grey Kitsune uniforms standing across from Suguru, their guns pointed at the two of you. Suguru's hands are raised, and you shakily inhale, feeling the thumb drive growing hot in your pocket.

"I know, baby," he whispers, eyes focused on the men blocking your exit down the hallway. "Looks like we've been set up."

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @missbonekitty @wack0-genius @thankuary @jsqeeut @r-i-m-f-009 @sunfloweroranges @leanne-tamashi @girlruby23@rein-icu @brownskinnedgirll @chanelmalandro @savantsoulfinder @jibe-gajima @chilledlucifer @amnxsia @kontentious @fuyuko26 @everybodylovescayrayray @flare-on

#jujutsu kaisen geto #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #getou suguru #jjk

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overlyimmersed · 3 years

Text

Nightmares and Daydreams

A Gravity Falls AU.

Hi @verysorrytobother Stanticore anon, revealing my true identity to share this with you! I wasn’t sure how a post this long would go over as an ask, so I decided to do it this way. I hope this is ok.

I’ve been working on this for a while and I hope it goes over well enough. The artwork took me the most time.

As a car crash victim is slowly dying, her mental self panics in the mindscape. She's offered a deal to save her life. Let the game begin.

(Content warnings: Blood. Descriptions of serious injuries.)

"What..." she whispered to herself, staring at the other in disbelief.

"Yep!" he confirms, in a high-pitched, grating, inappropriately upbeat tone, "Dead as a doornail, kid!- Well technically you still have a few more seconds till you brain totally ceases to function. Better make up your mind while you still have one!"

She's still staring dumbly at him. How can he be this nonchalant about it?! A half second ago she was sitting in the front seat of the family truck, a totally routine trip to the store- she never liked trucks but her dad's a carpenter so they need the hauling space. At least it's a pretty shade of blue- and the next she's here, laying face down in a black void with this prick this- this...All Seeing Eye? He's like the Illuminati symbol, but with arms and legs and a top hat. Caution sign yellow and talking to her- or at her. Bill. Freaking. Cipher. Every time he 'speaks' he flashes with light- no mouth so does it really count as speaking? More like his voice is being projected right into her mind- ... And he's telling her that she freakin died! Can't he see how messed up this is?! Can't he sympathize at all!? Then again, it's Bill. She ought to know better.

She ought to know better. She's seen this show a hundred times, she knows nothing good comes from dealing with Cipher. But she doesn't have time to be careful, she doesn't have the luxury of weighing options.

"Tick-tock, Car Wreck!" The obnoxious voice insists again, forcing her out of her stupor, his outstretched hand now alight with blue fire.

Her face scrunches up in a loud cringe, eyes screwed shut and teeth bared, and she swings her hand till it lands solidly in his. Crazed cackling resounds as the deal is struck, but it falls to simple soundtrack as her senses try to sort out what's going on.

She'd expected the blue fire to burn, or at least feel like something, but it didn't. Instead her entire being is flung into a...whirl? Free fall? Something that makes her stomach jump into her throat, and gives her vertigo.

The sensation stops suddenly, only to be replaced by a cacophony of new perceptions. She isn't sure which strikes her first, the sounds or the smell. Shrieks of agony and terror make up the next track of this bizarre playlist, punctuated by the reek of burnt hair. When her eyes fly open to try and make sense of it all, they have no luck. The sight that meets her is a sky of surreal, swirling, bastardized ribbons of every hue, like being inside a filthy bubble. Floating strewn about the space are pockmarked asteroids, and little else.

"So what'd ya think?" The grating voice rejoins the discord, drawing her shell-shocked gaze. "Home-sweet-home, huh? Well don't worry, you won't be here for very long. A deal's a deal, Car Wreck." With that que, and a snap of his fingers, she's falling again. This time untethered and unaccompanied. It takes her a moment to realize the scream ripping though the void is coming from her own throat. Once it hits her, so does something else, and the world goes black.

She wakes some time later, maybe moments maybe days. She has no way of knowing. She pushes herself onto her hands and knees, groggy and disoriented. It takes her a moment to notice the texture under her hands and focus her vision on it. It's grass. She sits up and looks around. "oh..." she says to herself, taking in the scenery. It's lovely, a grassy, sun soaked field. The sky made of churning colors like the last place she'd been, but they're pastel and much prettier. A warm breeze brushes past her face and she takes a deep breath of it, it smells sweet and warm, heavy with the scent of growing things, and for the first time since this started she finds some peace. Peace which is quickly shattered by a familiar, grating voice.

She jumps and whirls around so quick she falls onto her butt. There, floating just inches from where her head had been, is Bill. Laughing at her of course.

"Whoops! Didn't mean to scare you there, Car Wreck!" he claims, moving through the air to look around, then turning back around to look at her. "So how do you like the new digs?"

There's a beat of silence where she just stares at him again, but quickly she shakes off the shock and tries to respond. "Uh...It's nice." She lets her eyes roam around for a second, before returning to Bill, "Where are we?"

"This is the Realm of Daydreams! Your new HQ!" he answers, floating around behind her and making a grand gesture with his arms.

She turns her head to follow him, "Daydreams? HQ?"

"Yep! This is where you'll hang out when you're not puppeting your little pawns." He turns around to look at the scenery more himself. "Kinda dull if you ask me. Maybe you can do something about that!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh you know, some pillars of anguish, an alter of unholy fire, maybe a blood fountain or a couple of-" he gestures with each suggestion, like a landscaper creating a vision, until she cuts him off.

"No I mean," she finally pushes herself to a stand, teetering a little till she finds her balance. "Pawns?"

He turns back to her, "Oh yeah, which ones do you want anyway?" he waits a beat for an answer, but she just stares back at him, clearly not following. "Ugh, our deal?"

He hadn't really told her what the deal was, just mentioned a game and a second chance. "Uhh, I don't think you-"

"Oh right, you flesh bags need everything explained to you." he groans, rolling his eye, "Alright, here's the deal. We're gonna play a little game," he holds out his hand and a little hologram like projection appears showing an aerial view of a town. "and the people of this hick town are gonna be the pieces." ten little blue stick figures appear in the center of town, each with a little symbol above it's head. "If you win, you rejoin the land of the living!" a little magenta stick figure pops into existence next to the others and they all do a little happy dance. "If I win..." suddenly the whole projection goes up in flames, and she jerks her head back instinctively, "You burn with rest of those worthless mortals!" He bursts into a fit of maniacal laughter, which actually gives her some times to recover.

After a second of shocked staring, she blinks a few times then puts on as neutral an expression as she can. "Ok. So what are the rules?"

"Simple!" he answers, cutting off his laughter "We can't directly manipulate each other's pawns, and we can't interfere with the other's powers."

"That's it?"

"Yep. Everything else is fair game"

"Ok...What are my powers?"

"Same as mine! Except you don't have to wait till someone falls asleep to get in their head."

"I see..." her eyes wander to the ground as she contemplates the information, and her hand reaches for the longest of her three necklaces to idly play with the spiked pendant. "So you can talk to them in dreams, and I can talk to them in daydreams."

"Bingo!"

She scrunches her nose a little, thinking of a few ways that could end up being annoying. "Alright, anything else I need to know?"

"Hmm, nope! That just about covers it. All that's left is to pick our pawns, I'll even let you go first!" And with that ten, glowing, blue symbols appear between them. She looks them over carefully, she knows who each symbol corresponds to- supposing the cartoon from her world is accurate. She considers the six-fingered hand, if she takes him out of Bill's control from the start that derails his whole plan as she knows it. But, then she'll have no clue what's up to at all, at least by letting Bill have the pawns she's familiar with she has a chance at guessing his moves. She reaches forward and touches the shooting star, it turns magenta and floats to hover closer to her.

"Interesting." Bill comments, though his tone doesn't sound very interested, as he makes a simple motion with his eye and the six-fingered hand settles beside him. She chooses the fish looking symbol next, and Bill's second choice in the pine tree. They go back and forth till they have five symbols each, Bill having the the six-fingered hand, the pine tree, the llama, the stitched heart, and the pentagram. While she has the shooting star, the fish, the bag of ice, the spectacles, and the question mark.

"Welp, that settles that. Nice picks you made there, lets hope they work out for ya, Car Wreck"

"Could you not call me that?" though it hardly sounds like a request.

"And what else should I call you?" Bill asks, collecting his symbols into one hand and placing the other on his...hip?

"How about my name? It's Maranwe."

"But Car Wreck fits you so much better! Just take a look!" he quips, snapping a full-length mirror into existence. Maranwe turns to look and gasps in horror. Bill breaks out into more cackling, "Well my work here is done! I'll let you get cleaned up, see ya around Car Wreck!" And with that he fades from existence.

Maranwe just stares, even as Bill disappears from 'her' realm, she can only stare at her destroyed refection. Her hair is messy- and she almost laughs that that's what her brain zeros in on first-, It's also dirty, some of the mess is actual dirt but several spots are matted with half-dry blood. Her face is in a similar condition, smeared with dirt and blood but she can see the wounds there. Scrapes and still oozing cuts, bruises forming on one cheek bone and under her eyes. Her nose isn't quite right...broken probably. Her vision skims over her whole body for a second, making note of similar injuries where tears in her clothes reveal them. It's not as bad as she would expect a car crash victim to look- "except for that" Her mind screams suddenly while all her mouth can do is gasp, as her attention lands dizzyingly on her neck. It's...purple, but also red? There's no spilled blood but it still looks ugly, and the worst part is the...bump. It's not hard to figure out that it's a misaligned bone. Without the pain to tell her she never would have noticed, her neck is broken. Very broken. How is she holding her head up right... Probably because this isn't actually a physical body. She wonders if this is what killed her, or if there's something inside, something she can't see, that did the trick.

Whatever it is, she can't be seen like this. And she really really doesn't want to look like this for her own sake. Bill said she could 'clean herself up'? How exactly... She thinks about how Bill's powers tend to work and tries to concentrate on a cleaner, less beat up mental image of herself. She lifts her hand to her cheek and grazes her finger tips across it, a trail of sparkles follow the touch and the skin underneath returns to normal. She relaxes a little, watching the disaster wipe off her face like cheap make-up. She keeps the image in her mind and closes her eyes, cupping her hands in front of herself and imagining the sparkles pooling in them. Then she splashes the sparkles over he face, like a girl in a face wash commercial, and imagines the glittering dust washing over her entire body, cleaning away the mess and injuries. And when she opens her eyes, that's exactly what's happened. Her reflection shows her whole and unwounded, even her clothes are fixed.

The next thing she does is smooth her hair down, mostly an instinct since it's still messy, and the sparkles trail after her hands, tidying the strands as if she'd just brushed them. She watches her reflection's mouth quirk up a little in a small smirk. So she can just change what she looks like by imagining it? That figures, this is a place of daydreams that's kind of how they work. She knows exactly what to do with this, she's known since she was a kid what she's change if she could. She places the backs of her hands next to her ears and flicks up, sparkles spray up with the motion and her normal human ears, turn to wolf ears the fur the same chocolate brown as her hair. Her smirk blooms into a full blown smile, and she tilts her head to get a better look at them, watching them move as she tests them. It's like they're real! Next is the tail of course, it's mostly brown, with some silver down the top and a black tip. Then she looks down, and taps the toe of each of her shoes against the ground in turn, as she does they become the compressed paws of her own design.

"That's insane..." she laughs to herself. She's actually turning herself into something else, her own made up alien species. And she just can! With the big changes out of the way she works out the details; pupil shape, fang length, and straightens out a few asymmetries and insecurities she's always had about her body- after all why not? When she's done, she can't help admiring herself a little, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, her perfect image of herself. Well- almost perfect. She snaps her fingers and in the same dusting of glitter, her shirt changes. What was before a loose grey t-shirt with the word "nope" written across it in cursive, as been replaced by a cropped sweater, banded in 3 colors; white at the top, then light blue, then dark blue. She lifts it to look at the crop top under neither, it's just plain white. She decides she doesn't like it that way, so it changes to a cropped version of the t-shirt she'd had before. With that taken care of she lifts her arm so the over-sized sleeve falls down and she can see her forearm, which is covered by a light blue arm warmer with white lace around the edges. Perfect. At least for now. She can change later if she decides she doesn't like the arm warmers.

She giggles to herself, invigorated by the makeover and the sense of control she has now. She turns from the mirror and skips a few feet across the grass, the symbols she'd chosen follow her, floating loosely like beads suspended in gel. She laughs a little as she watches them, and idly reaches for her necklace again, but this time her hand just meets the soft knit of her sweater. She'd forgotten to add them into this new look, so she just wills them into place; three different necklaces of three different lengths. Her hand finds the middle length first, the pendant is designed to spin so she plays with it while her mind starts to wander. She starts thinking of plans for winning this game, what she might say to each other 'pawns' and who to use where and how, even letter her thoughts wonder about the new life she'll have. Cipher's hologram suggested she'll stay in Gravity Falls, which would be cool but what about-

The sound of screeching tires and twisting metal cuts her thoughts off clean and she whips around to find the source of the noise, but her fear turns to confusion when she sees...nothing. She stands stock still, her mind running over only vague impressions of thoughts relating to what she just heard, until another loud sound whips her back around. This time she actually sees something, like a huge firework in the pastel oil-slick sky, accompanied by Bill's obnoxious voice echoing through the space.

"Let the game begin!"

#I was on anon at first because I have ungodly amounts of social anxiety #gravity falls #gravity falls au #NM&DD #Nightmares and Daydreams #creative writing #?#fanfiction #fanfic #gravity falls fanfiction #Bill Cypher #gravity falls OC #now I'm gonna go die of embarrassment #I don't really consider myself a writer #i'm more of the drawing sort of artist #so I hope at least the pictures are good #someone please let me know if the cryptograms are illegible in that font #I'll post a translation if they're too hard to read

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british-bombs · 3 years

Text

( TO BEAT THE DEVIL ) An introduction.

FORMAT: teleplay / novel

GENRE: horror, coming of age

LOGLINE: An interning demon drives a pair of twins cursed with obedience and honesty to kill their cult leader.

THEMES: Trauma, sexual abuse, domestic violence, victim blaming (particularly self blame), peer pressure, redemption, internalized homophobia, and religion.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Sexual abuse, violence, domestic and otherwise, manipulation, and death

EXTENDED SUMMARY, CHARACTERS, EXCERPT AND NOTES:

Carmine can taste it. They're hiding something. Humans have such a silly smell about them, turns an overwhelming shade of sweet when they've made a demonic deal. All four of these children have. He just can't figure out what, and more importantly: why.

It keeps him on the surface longer than he should be. Long enough that Lilith sees it fit to send him a fucking trainee? And if that wasn't insult enough, the trainees one of the eternal teenage know-it-alls.

He's already got four annoying toddlers to trail, and now there's one tugging his hand in the new generation's approach to soul-catching like Carmine isn't one of the best employees they've had since the turn of the century.

And somehow, to make it all worse, the trainee is good at it. And if Carmine wants to keep his spot at the top of the food chain, he's going to have to get the soul of that dumb bitch who's running the joint.

But, of course, the kid gets him murdered??? And then has the nerve to figure out how what those toddlers managed to stick their syrupy, grubby little hands in. What gives?

But two can play at that game. If he can't get the dead guy's, then he can have the next best thing.

Jesse has lived just under seventeen years, but he's ready to check out. Or he was. But of course, some selfish bastard had to come along and say you can't ever act on those thoughts again! Don't think like that!

And then the hole kept getting deeper.

Six feet deep, to be exact. He's got blood on his hands and no matter how fucking good it felt to cut off the air supply to the God who stole his innocence, it's probably not going to feel very good to watch his mom suffer through a highly publicized trial with headlines like CHILD MURDERS HIGH PROFILE BENEFACTOR!!!

Oh. Well. Billy did say if he really got in that deep, he could always strike up a deal. His soul, everything wrapped up in a nice little bow, sweet as Easter Sunday. But until then? Yeah, he's content to live in a stupid fucking Sherlock Holmes novel.

CHARACTERS:

JESSE NIX: A soon-to-be seventeen-year-old saddled with the curse of obedience. Unlike miss-lucky-Ella-Enchanted, he wasn't told to give away his mommy's locket. No-siree. He was told to give away his virginity. In his opinion, the only appropriate payback is a life. Maybe, one day, if he really snaps, he'll dig up Pastor Dallin's corpse and chop his dick off. Really stick it to the man. If he doesn't go to prison first, anyway. (spotify playlist)

NANCY NIX: Also a soon-to-be-seventeen-year-old, though saddled with the curse of honesty. It's really not so bad. That is, until she stumbles across the sight of her dearest little brother covered in blood for no reason he can push through his metal braces. She refuses to believe he did it on purpose. If only she could convince the cops without sounding like a nutjob. (spotify playlist)

BEVERLY PINES: A seventeen-year-old cursed to feel the pain of those around her. It makes for some fun family dinners with a sadistic mom and a missing dad. Distance nulls pain, but she can't ever seem to make it past state lines before her mom gets wise and breaks one of her ribs. Oh, well. She's got a bone to pick with psychos like her mom. Apparently, Pastor Dallin was one of them. She doesn't think she could stomach the pain of killing someone, so next best thing, right? (spotify playlist)

CLARICE ANDERMANN: Also a seventeen-year-old cursed to be constantly in motion. It's honestly not that bad. She's Yale bound! Perks of having endless energy for everything to cheerleading to debate contests, though she can't imagine her heart's going to keep up like this. It's already hanging on by a thread. That thread is named Beverly Pines and like hell she's letting it go to prison for nothing. (spotify playlist)

BILLY: An annoying fuck trapped in a seventeen-year-old's body. No curses. The opposite, in fact - blessed with a silver tongue and a keen sense of deduction. It takes him all of two hours to put together (almost) everything about Jesse Nix. He just didn't think he could push the repressed little fuck to murder that quick. (All the more power to him, though. Prison always makes people desperate and paranoid, AKA: an easy mark.) (spotify playlist)

MAVIS EVANGELISTA: Former housewife turned grieving widow turned revered prophet. If she got a little help from someone downstairs, then who's to know? They love her all the same. Now, she really, really wants to see how far she can push them all. (spotify playlist)

CARMINE: Just a helpful guy, passing through. Really doesn't need anything, just a little pledge, is all! And then? Then, you can have everything you want, fame, money, power, love. The sky is your limit. The water's fine! (Ignore the piranhas, they'll wait till you're dead to eat your face, just a little bit.) (spotify playlist)

NOTES:

- all of these characters have equal importance within the story.

- personal tag system for story stuff is '#tbtd' and character tags are just first name (ex: '#jesse')

- this is kind of really fucked up. the only reason i wrote it was cause i was thinking damn ella enchanted really is NOT fucked up enough. like i don't think the author of ella enchanted went dark enough. a locket? that's it? a bitch move. i'm taking it to straight murder and sexual abuse

- jesse transgender, no character straight except evil people

- i'm not entirely sure how tag lists work but i think i get the gist of them?? idk if you want rb or ask or something </3

EXCERPT:

There were moments, where she was reminded just how different this voice was, how violent.

She had found Lynette, making off with her makeup that she’d spent her own allowance on. Mavis doted on her and, from what she’d seen of other families, everyone else looked upon their little siblings with contempt, despising the burden they dragged along with their existence.

But Mavis adored Lyn. When she'd been born, her mother had come home with a tiny thing bundled in pink fleece. Mavis had taken to Lyn on sight, thinking Lynette’s headband adorned with a baby blue bow was the universe’s way of telling her happy birthday! as reparations for the ones her mother had missed while she was enduring her week long stay at the hospital.

But that mindset was a disease, one that had finally caught up with her. Had Lynette not become her burden? She was nineteen, busting her back day and night so Lynette wouldn’t have to, that she might avoid the life that Mavis had lived in those blissful six years where it was her and her alone.

Had her mother not tampered down her birthday celebrations since Lynette’s was so very close and they couldn’t afford double anyway? Had Lynette not deprived her of the teenage experiences she heard her classmates speak of, going out and tasting alcohol for the first time while Mavis followed a ten year old Lynette house to house so she could complain of a stomach ache after she’d devoured all the candy on the walk back home?

And now this! Stealing her few precious items, the few things she bothered to save up for, few things she bothered to keep hidden. For what? It wasn’t as though she was ever going to have the courage to ask a peer of her’s out. She was a thief.

One Mavis had made the mistake of taking care of. She should’ve embraced those stirrings of resentment, should’ve left Lynette to her own devices since Lynette didn’t appreciate anything, or even half of what Mavis afforded her. She should’ve left her out in the cold that Christmas. How could anyone have known? It wasn’t as though corpses could talk--

She had let Lyn take off with the whole case, as if to remind herself when she woke up the next morning what she had considered, how vile the thought was.

Lyn had never done anything unforgivable to Mavis. Mavis didn’t suppose she ever could. It was no fault of Lyn’s she didn’t understand what it was like to live with their father. How could she? It was a topic off limits to Lyn by both Mavis and their mother. After all, a child born blind doesn’t know until it’s pointed out to them.

And yet, she found guilt hard to summon. She did, but the speed at which it came, the strength, made her uneasy. What had happened to the girl she was? Lyn had been her world. What had changed?

Then, dully, that other voice, entirely of its own volition, said You did.

#wip intro #writers on tumblr #writeblr intro #wip #wip introduction #current wips #my writing #writing #current wip #writing community #original wip #tbtd #my work

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Californian Dream (Pt. 04 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

<- Previous part (03)

Next part (05) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

Distance

In the morning, you tiptoe to the living room, but everything you find of Billy is a small note left on the kitchen table. He's at work and must be back by 5 or 6 pm. He said you can make something for lunch, and that he'll bring dinner. So, now that you're alone, you can't help but think. The names of those who died to keep playing back, and Gisele's is the one that comes louder. You feel bad for all the times you were mean to her, when you left her talking alone, storming away. But it's useless to feel this way now. It won't bring her back.

You're pacing around the living room, the news channel on, as they repeat the same things over and over. When you put both hands on your head, out of desperation, you feel as Billy's shirt lifts a little, exposing your thighs. And you realize you'll need clothes. And all your personal stuff. “Ame.” You mutter, going to the phone and calling home. As usual, it's Amelia who answers, and she squeals, happy to know you're fine. After telling her everything that happened and where you'll be staying, you start giving the instructions. Well, she's the one to point out what you'll need and how to cover up who you are.

The goal is to remain hidden, but you won't be stuck inside the apartment. So you need to look different, and for that, Amelia advises you to buy new clothes, normal clothes, instead of using the ones you have. And she kindly offers to buy everything you'll need and bring them over later today. She'll also bring all of your personal stuff. And money. Amelia tells you to keep some money with you, in case you need it. You're not sure what for, but you agree.

She gets here after lunch, with three huge pieces of baggage, and she helps you drag them to Billy's bedroom. Then, after you change out of Billy's shirt, she shows off the last part of her plan. Amelia wants to dye your hair and cut off a few inches. You don't think it's necessary, but she's worried about the situation, and for the sake of the woman who raised you, you let her do it. Once she's done, she helps you clean the bathroom before leaving, giving you a tight hug and asking you to keep in touch and be careful.

Then the rest of the day is pretty boring. You do give some trips to the bathroom, just to check the hair. It's nice having your natural color back, but you never thought it would be in these circumstances.

You're watching the news again, seating on the couch, when the door opens. Turning your head, you give Billy a small smile. When his eyes find you, he furrows his eyebrows. It takes a while for you to understand why the confused expression.

“Oh! It was Amelia.” Quickly, you explain, standing on your feet and noticing the pizza he brought. “I called her and she helped me get some stuff done and well...” You gesture at your hair. “I've been bleaching it since Elementary school so I bet nobody will recognize me now. Amelia is probably the only one who remembers my natural color but... This is it.” You're speaking too much, and maybe a little too fast, but you're not sure why. “What do you think?”

He squints his eyes, moving to put the pizza on the table. “I think you're already planning on going out.” Well, obviously. He can't possibly expect you to stay locked up in here.

“I was talking about the hair, but ok.” Shrugging your shoulders, you gesture at the pizza. “Can I eat it?”

“Yeah. I'll take a shower.”

“I'll wait for you then.”

“Alright.” Billy stands there for a few seconds, awkwardly, before walking to the bedroom. “The hair is good, by the way.”

“Thanks.” You mutter, smiling a little.

“(Y/N)!” He calls out suddenly, startling you. “Why is there a bag full of money on my bed?”

“Oh!” Rushing to his bedroom, you find a very confused Billy. You left the dark blue bag on the edge of the bed, and you completely forgot about it. “Amelia said I should have money with me, just in case I need it.” Running a hand through your hair, you sigh. “But, uhm, if you need or want to buy something, you can, I mean... It's fifty-seven thousand dollars.” Reaching out inside that bag, you take one of the many piles. “Every pile has one thousand... So if I fall and break a bone you can use it to pay the hospital.

“Break a bone? Should I worry about that?”

“Just trying to light up the mood.” Giggling, you glance at him. “I won't jump from the window or anything. And those are my things.” You gesture, at the pieces of luggage. “Amelia got me new clothes. Normal clothes, not the expensive ones my mother makes me buy.”

“Amelia has everything figured out.”

“She does... I'll let you do your stuff.” Nodding to yourself, you walk away. You can't help but feel a little weird with all this, and the sensation of being nothing but a bother to Billy is starting to kick in.

You patiently wait for him, watching the news again. And the content of the tape was finally made known. And it's not good. Everyone was expecting a normal rescue. They'd say how much they want, get paid, and let the kids go. But apparently, that's not how it'll be.

“(Y/N).” The mention of your name startles you, your heart skipping a beat, and that's when you notice how focused you were. “Everything alright?”

“No.” You breathe out as Billy turns the TV off. “They have thirteen kids, right? It means they want thirteen parts. They'll let the media know how much, and when they get paid, they'll release one. Whoever they want. It doesn't mean that the Whaylands will get James out if they pay up.”

“These guys know what they're doing.” Billy looks down, thoughtful. “This will create chaos between the families.”

“Yeah... I'm even glad I'm stuck here because I wouldn't want to be anywhere near that mess.” Standing from the couch, you move to the kitchen table. “Can I?”

“Sure.”

Drumming your fingers on the table, you sit down, thinking about everyone they got. Alice, James, Daniel. Melissa, Candace. Michael, Antony, and Ryan. There are more... But you can't remember. Where are they now? Are they hungry? Are they being treated nicely? You doubt it. By the violence those men showed, they're not being nice. It could've been you, who knows where now, maybe starving, terrified... They're not your friends. They're just people you know, but still, you want them all back, alive and well. You want to hug them, to talk to them again, even if it means being part of their superficial conversations. You just want to have the chance to.

“Hey,” Billy calls, and you snap out of your thoughts, noticing you were biting your lip too harshly. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” Muttering, you take a slice of pizza, taking a bite.

“What did you have for lunch?” The question comes in a careful tone. Low and steady. He knows what you're thinking about.

But you can't answer it. It only hits you now that you haven't eaten anything all day, and the pain in your stomach is only surrendering because you're eating now. So you clear your throat, giving Billy a look. “Uhm... I haven't.”

“What?” He puts his slice down, a serious face on. “Couldn't you find anything you like?”

“That's not it I... I was watching the news all day and the police did next to nothing.” Gesturing at the TV, you sigh. “And I just can't understand how those big ass vans just disappeared into the night. It's just... One of the three people who were in the hospital died. Five of those working in the kitchens died in the explosion. They found the bodies today, and I just... I just wasn't hungry...” Maybe you should just say the last part. Billy doesn't need to know how desperate you feel.

“(Y/N), you gotta eat. What would your father say if he knew–”

“Billy, I need you to stop thinking about my father.” Cutting him off, you push some of your hair back, out of your face. He has to stop doing that. You don't want to be a job, you don't want him to see you as someone he has to look after. “What? Do you think I'll give him daily reports on my routine?” Making a pause, you take another bite, now a little annoyed. When you swallow it down, you stare at Billy again. “Day one. I woke up in Billy's bed, wearing one of his shirts. He left a cute note. I spent the whole day watching the news, freaking out a little, crying a little. Them Billy came back and brought me pizza.” You make sure to sound as annoyed as you feel. “Day two...”

“Maybe you should do that.” He says, those blue eyes locked on yours. Why is he staring at you like that, so intensely? Is he doing that thing again, trying to understand you? Because he always succeeds.

“Maybe you're crazy.” Shaking your head, you focus on the pizza again, silently finishing your slice. It might be so weird for him. Billy doesn't bring girls here, and here you are, invading his private life, stealing his bed. “The bed is yours today.”

“Alright.”

“Yeah...” As you take a second slice, you remember the gala. From the moment he picked you up until right before the explosion. It was easy talking to Billy, you didn't have to think before speaking. It was... Good. Effortless. You couldn't stop smiling, and you did wish you could hang out with him more. You felt free from all the rules and regulations, finally able to be someone genuine. Not the fake version you present to people.

But now... It's weird, uncomfortable. You did expect it to change as the days go by, but it didn't.

You started to count, obviously. Day three, day four... And it only got worse, if that's even possible. He always brings something to dinner, and you eat silently on the kitchen table, only to sit on the couch for a while, as far from the other as possible, and watch TV in silence. It's like two strangers sharing a roof, and you slowly give up the idea of this being something good. It isn't. Billy doesn't want you here, that's pretty clear. And it got even more obvious after the weekend. You told him he could go out if he wanted to, but he didn't. And it was just the same. Few words were spoken, a cold distance kept. He's like someone else entirely, not the same Billy from the beach.

And on the eighth day, you had enough. So you wait for Billy to go to bed, since it's his turn, and wait an hour before tiptoeing to the phone. Amelia is the only one you can talk to, whose advice you trust. So you call the private line she keeps in her bedroom, nervously biting your lip as you wait for her to pick up.

“Hello. Who's this?”

“Ame. It's me.” You whisper, giving the hall a look before turning around, leaning against the wall. “I'm sorry to call so late but I needed to talk.”

“Of course, honey. You know you can call me whenever you need.” When you were at the house, you used to bug her even late at night when you needed help, or just to rant about something. She was always there. “What's going on?”

“Uhm... Ame, this... This isn't working. Living with Billy is... Complicated.”

“Why?” You hear something in the back, maybe a glass being put down. “I remember you were getting along just fine since the day he saved you from drowning.” She giggles. “I saw you going around with him, laughing and chatting.”

Sighing, you shake your head a little. It was different back then. You don't know how, but you know it was. “Yeah, but he just... It just...” Damn it. Of all people you know, if you had to pick someone to do this, as crazy and insane as it is, you'd pick Billy. In any other house, those mansions, you'd have to act on your best behavior, participate in those formal rites for every meal, be always polite and kind. Here, you thought it would be better. You thought you'd have fun, as you used to on those days, with funny comments and quick remarks. Now... You don't know. “Billy doesn't want me here.” You burst out, keeping your voice low.

“Why do you think that?”

“He's just... Distant. Cold.” Why does it bother you so much? The Billy you met before was the one treating you as his boss. One of the owners of one of the houses he works on. What did you think? That he'd keep the act? “I'm an inconvenience. He's just doing that because my father will pay him in the end and no, I have no idea why it bothers me so much, but I just... I thought it'd at least be nice, but it isn't so...”

“(Y/N), Billy is a guy. I'm sure he's just making sure you don't feel uncomfortable.” She speaks slow, and you start bouncing your leg nervously.

“Amelia, I don't want him to fall in love with me, ok? I just thought we'd become friends or something like that.” The words come out fast, and you're a little pissed. “Billy doesn't want me here.” You repeat.

“Why does it bother you so much?”

“Because I had a nice time with him.” You burst out, throwing your free hand in the air. “He's so different from the idiots I'm surrounded by. I don't have to fake it, I can just say the stupid things that come to my head and I never had anyone I could be myself with. And God, I was so stupid to think this would be fun, or...” Taking a deep breath, your voice fades as you collect your thoughts. Moving from the wall, you start pacing around. “I'll just look for some apartment to rent, Ame. I don't want to be–” The sentence is cut short when you see a figure standing by the end of the table. Your eyes go wide, a hand on your heart as you recognize Billy, arms crossed, his eyes on you. “Ame, I'll have to go. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Alright, honey. Try talking to Billy before making any decisions.”

“Ok. Good night.” You mumble before hanging up. Swallowing hard, you step back, leaning against the countertop. “Did you... Hear anything?” That's a stupid question, of course he did. He wouldn't be looking so pissed if he didn't. But it doesn't matter. This gotta be over soon, so you both will feel better.

“From the very beginning.” He says, tilting his head at the phone. “Heard you talking to someone and decided to check.”

“Ok.” Nodding to yourself, you look down at your feet. “I was thinking and I believe it will better if I look for some place I can rent around here. But don't worry, I won't tell my father so you'll still be paid.” As you speak, you make your way back to the couch, but Billy grabs your arm, forcing you to stop.

“So you think I don't want you here,” Billy mutters, his face lit up by the bluish light coming from the TV. He's gorgeous, so gorgeous that it's hard to say something to his face.

“That's crystal clear, Billy.” Giving your arm a pull, he let it go. “You said it yourself, you don't bring girls to your place and you were forced into having me here and I totally get that you don't like it.” Turning your back at him, you sit on the couch, eyes on the TV, but not paying any attention.

“You got it wrong.”

“I don't think so.”

“I just...” He makes a pause, so long it makes you look up at him. “I'm trying to give you some space.”

“Well, you gave me so much space it actually feels like I'm living alone.” Angrily, you move to lie down, fixing the blanket on your legs. “It'll better if I just move out.”

“Listen, I know you don't like this place.” Billy turns the TV off, and if it wasn't for the dim light coming from the street, you'd be in complete darkness. “It's tiny, your bedroom is bigger than this apartment.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Remember when the railing of your balcony was broken by a storm? I fixed it.”

You remember it. There was a huge summer storm, and a branch was ripped from a nearby tree, knocking down half of your railing. When you came back home on the next day, it was fixed. But you'd never guess it was Billy. “Thanks.”

“You don't have to thank me for doing my job.”

“Goddamn it, Billy.” Kicking the blankets away, you stand up. “Stop treating me like some rich chick! Stop putting words in my mouth and stop saying I can't thank you for doing something!” You're yelling, despite the late hour. The neighbors won't like it. “You never asked me what I think about your place so you can't possibly know if I like it or not. And yes, thank you for fixing my railing, thank you for keeping my pool clean, for cleaning the leaves, for... Hell, for sheltering me! But it's getting tiring. I thought you'd treat me like a normal girl like you did on the beach, but I get it now that it was just an act so I'll just leave.” That said, you're already in motion, not sure why. But you're unlocking the door and storming out, furious, easily finding the stairs and rushing down.

“(Y/N)!” Ignoring Billy, you don't stop, wiping some tears that escaped when you push the building doors open, the fresh night air making your breath in deeply.

You're overwhelmed. There's nothing new about the kidnappings. The criminals asked two million dollars for the first kid, but that was it. The police can't seem to get any closer to finding them, and the same goes to the many private investigators on the case. And the only good thing that came out of this shit, being with the only person on Earth with who you felt like you could be yourself, backfired. You feel stupid, deceived. Walking down the sidewalk, you roll your eyes when you hear the building doors banging, quickening your pace.

“(Y/N).”

“You wanted to give me space. Then give me some freaking space.” Your voice is cracking, which only makes you feel more like an idiot.

“Alright. I'm sorry, ok?” He raises his voice, and soon enough he's grabbing your arm. But you push him away until he let it go. “I shouldn't assume you would turn out to be like the other girls. You're not like any of the rich kids I met.”

“You don't have to do it now. You made everything very clear.”

“Would you listen?” Billy furrows his eyebrows, stepping back, a hand on his head. “I have this habit of expecting the worse, it always kept me from being caught with the guard down. But I'll admit I was wrong about you.” Avoiding his gaze, you pace around, not sure if you want to believe it. “I had a nice time with you too. That was the worst party I've ever been to, but it was good to know there's someone from their world who isn't completely rotten on the inside.”

You don't know why but the insult makes you giggle. But it's only because he's right. The fact that they're being held hostage doesn't change how some of those people are mean and rude. Their situation doesn't change who they are. And, being born into what Billy called ‘their world’, made you see the worst side of everyone. Money corrupts weak minds, you've seen it. The more they have, the more they want.

“Fine then...” Finally turning to face him, you sigh. “What now?”

Billy reaches out his hand, and you look at it, not moving yet. “First, let's get inside. You're in pajamas in the middle of the sidewalk.”

That makes you laugh, looking down and taking in the leggings and the baggy shirt you're wearing which leaves one of your shoulders exposed. “My mother would literally squeal if she saw me now.”

“She doesn't have to know.” That makes you smile even more, and you feel like you just got a glimpse of the Billy you were with at the beach. So you take his hand, breathing in, and letting him guide you back inside.

@multific @dontxfearxthereaper @nope-thanks @nikkixostan @shinydixon @clockworkballerina @infinitelycharmed23

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x y/n #billy imagine #billy hargrove imagine #imagine billy hargrove #billy hargrove #billy stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #imagine stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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iwritethat · 4 years

Text

Dick Grayson: Fine Cuisine

Summary: Fluff

• Dick is unprepared for a family meal but your offer your fine expertise and have the whole family asking questions about you.

Warnings: Mature language

A/N: Hello lovlies! I’ve missed you all so much, I hope this helps a bit and there’s so much more I could add onto this so please enjoy and lemme know how you all are~

>>>>—————————>

It started with a family dinner.

As many curious situations do in retrospect, but with a family of vigilantes whose relationship ties have frayed, intermingled and been resewn makes for more interesting get-togethers compared to most.

One thing they could all agree on though? Dick Grayson cannot cook.

"I can't believe that, they just assume it's going to end in a takeout?" Came your amused voice as you placed a coffee on your kitchen island that Dick was currently seated - or rather slumped at.

"It's because the last two times I've hosted something like this, takeout has saved my ass." The ravenette embarrassingly clarifies, voice trailing off toward the end and did his best to avoid looking at you.

Dick Grayson was technically a neighbour, albeit living a few floors below your more lavish (and expensive) apartment suite. After moving into the complex on the same day, you quickly excavated the common ground to build a solid foundation for friendship - as such, meet-ups like these became a regular thing, switching apartments each time.

"Then, I'll help you out." You proudly confirmed, gesturing to your grand kitchen which was the sole reason you’d brought the place - one of the many things Dick envied about your luxurious living area compared to the standardised version of his own, though on an Officers salary he couldn’t afford something like this.

"Ah (Y/n) no, I can't let you do that!” Came his instant reply, hands waving defensively as he adamantaly brainstormed another excuse. “Plus you'll be working that night."

"True, but that doesn't mean I can't set you up beforehand. We'll start tomorrow, I'll teach you a recipe."

———

As previously planned, Dick turned up at your door rather nervously even though he’d been around you many times - not once had he demonstrated a serious negative flaw to his character in order to impress you, but cooking was one of them and you were about to witness chaos that’d likely dispel any romantic inclination he hoped you held for him.

“Ready?”

“No.”

With a playful laugh, you rolled your eyes and pulled the male into your kitchen noting how he was likely tired from his shift at Blüdhavens Police Department earlier that afternoon so a good meal should do wonders. Maybe it’d give him a better nights sleep too? The acrobat never seemed to obtain many of those for some unknown reason, apparently it’s ‘too noisy’ in the city.

“Oh and you can host in my apartment, it’s bigger and I’ll have all the equipment you need. You already have a spare key anyway.”

“You’re really amazing, I don’t deserve you - y’know that?” There were deeper feelings involved in that seemily offhanded thank you, ones relating to his role as Nightwing and his past mistakes which all remained a hated secret from you.

It started well, Dick following along with ease and you concluded that he picked things up fast with how observant he was which sped up the process. The main course he’d nailed with your guidance and so, you decided to move onto dessert.

“Now we add cocoa powder to th-“ You’d froze, mouth open out of surprise with the substances dusting your lips, cheek and part of your left collar bone - the offender in question mirroring your expression, albeit holding back his laughter due to his colossal misjudgement.

“I - I didn’t think it’d go everywhere when I ripped the packet open...”

“You don’t ever rip the packet, you tear it gently!” Came your dangerously mischievous correction, licking the sweet substance from your lips before flicking the currently non-chocolate brownie covered spoon at him with flecks landing on the side of his face.

“Oh, it’s on!”

This ensued an all out war, the two of you ducking and dodging oncoming attacks as you danced around the kitchen island with varying results of accuracy until Dick decided to slide over the marble surface and capture you in his arms.

His embrace faltered slightly as your back hit the island during your feeble attempt to get away, finding yourself trapped between him and the cool surface too enthralled in the carefree antics to notice the proximity. A beat of silence passed once the atmosphere had settled, Dick releasing a breathy chuckle with his grip around your waist loosening slightly as you looked up with a victorious smirk - he took the opportunity to lean forward slightly as if testing the waters and careful to note any kind of reaction you replied with.

However, there was a lack of trust as all is fair in love and war, hence your devious reasoning to close the gap some more and with the softness of his warm breath dancing on your lips you swiftly leaned past his whilst dragging your tongue across his cheek. Dick pulled back instantly, a mix of disgust and offence in his eyes as you spoke.

“Needs more sugar.”

“I’m sweet enough as it is thank you, you’d know that if you’d have just kissed me instead of betraying me like that!” Dick wittily snapped back, admiring the melodious laughter that escaped you at his response.

“I’m sure you do, speaking of - these brownies should last until the dinner so you won’t have to make them again on the day alright? I’ll get everything ready so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“I guess you’d taste pretty sweet too.” Though referencing your kind nature, you couldn’t help but lightly punch him in the shoulder.

———

Regardless of Dicks wistful prayers, the deadline had finally arrived and his family would be sporadically arriving in a matter of hours - so help him.

"All the ingredients are on the counter - do not use anything else - and I've detailed the instructions on the whiteboard in case you forget anything." You pointed to each item as you spoke, donning a jacket before barely making it past the kitchen doorframe due to your neighbours dramatically desperate pleas.

"Can't you just stay? And do it with me?"

"I have to go to work." You laughed at his antics, the man looking like a lost puppy amidst your vast collection of kitchen utensils.

"Work will survive without you, c'mon you wouldn't lose out on much - I'll even pay for the trouble."

That, truly caused you to hesitate with a look of sheer bemusement, a mischievous glint dancing in your irises that mocked his claim almost as much as your sardonic tone.

"If you truly knew my job and paycheck then you'd take that back.” With that, you were quick to flip to a more cheerful voice as you waved goodbye to a pouting Grayson. “Anyway, you'll be fine and tell me how it went once I get back~"

"Wait (Y/n) h-"

The slam of the front door echoed your departure leaving a Dick feeling more lost than ever, the kitchen seemingly quadrupling in size now.

Bruce arrived first along with Damian, Cass, Duke and Alfred. Then there was Tim who’d apparently travelled from Titans tower and finally Jason who’d sauntered in fashionably late as predicted but only by 5 minutes. Each baffled by the sudden change of location which only intensified when the host brought out plates of home cooked dinner.

"..."

"This... this isn't take out..."

"No, it's actual food.” Dick confirmed almost offended and words laced with a hint of underlying sarcasm. “That I made myself."

"Okay, so uh - is it edible then?" Jason quipped back, smirking at his elder brother in a smug manner that only he could achieve.

"Would you just eat it? I went through a lot of stress and effort for this."

Dick encouraging everyone as he sat down, the action only bemusing the members of his family more as they complied to his wishes with varying degrees of hesitance from each of them. Damian trusted Dick the most, but he patiently waited for his father to finish his mouthful before even touching his own dish.

"Wow, this is incredible, the flavour and everything - Dick what happened to you?!" Duke enthusiastically mocked and continued to devour the meal with a sense of radiance which contrasted to Cassandras pure silence as she savoured every tasteful mouthful.

"Grayson, there is no way you are solely responsible for this cuisine." Damian suspiciously raised a brow at the older hero, tentatively laying his cutlery elegantly on the now clear plate.

"Thank you, and maybe I had some assistance from my neighbour."

“Thank you for dinner Dick, it was surprisingly delicious and please give our thanks to your mysterious friend too.” Bruce knowingly added, proud of his protégés accomplishments - though minor in comparison to Alfreds glowing exterior.

“I told you there was hope Master Bruce.”

"Bro, they left a whole list of instructions so you wouldn't mess up and hey, call if you need anything. Sounds like a plan -" Jason, who had waited until everyone was finished explored your kitchen in hopes of finding some evidence as to who their saviour was.

"Jason no! They're working!"

"It‘s an emergency, you’ve been replaced by a clone with adequate cooking skills!” Tim wittily added once leaning against the kitchen doorframe to observe the scene with Damian inspecting the whiteboard before questioning it’s purpose.

“Why leave this if they couldn't answer then?"

"That's the point, she will answer and I don't want to disturb her right now. They've done enough for me already." Dick painfully sighed, strategically slapping Jason’s phone into the air and catching it with his other hand in one swift motion much to the irritation of the latter.

"Hold up - she?" Duke cut in now, holding his hands out for emphasis and subtlety fishing for elaboration.

"Are you dating...?” Jason hummed, taking a moment to analyse Dicks reaction prior to cementing his assumption. “No, but you want to, right?"

“We are not -“

“You want to date someone?” Cass innocently inquired now walking in with a pile of plates, Bruce and Alfred following in afterwards with clean up of their own.

“I mean I -“

“I’ve seen enough of your crushes to know you have one, you’re already flustered by thinking about them romantically.” Bruce effortlessly deducted, Alfred nodding in agreement whilst commencing the washing up.

“You can’t just call me out like that Bats, after everything with been through too.” Dick feigned betrayal, a hand on his heart whilst Bruce shook his head.

“Oh yeah, how long did he wait for Starfire and Barbara though?” Tim jokingly nudged Jason who chuckled at the small dig, though charismatic and charming - when real feelings were involved, Dick Grayson wasn’t one to straightforwardly act on them.

“Real mature guys.”

“I think you should tell her.” Was the sincere voice of reason, Cassandras kind smile enough to silence the devilish remarks of his brothers who now shrugged in defeat.

“We could help...”

———

Miraculously, you'd attained reservations at the most eloquent restaurant in Gotham, located in the more luxurious district of the wealthy. As a result, it served only the finest gourmet cuisine and had waiting lists longer than any other, so much so that even Bruce Wayne had yet to successfully book a place at the establishment.

You had given him the news when he’d recounted the events of his family dinner (skipping over certain discussions) and how they were grateful for your generosity.

Now, you'd asked Dick for how many he'd like seated at the table so you could finalise the arrangements - he knew you worked there, meaning staff privileges were likely applied in this situation but he was still left speechless.

Gawking at the skyrocketing prices, Dick now understood how much missing one day of work would seriously cost you - he definitely couldn't have afforded your time that night after all.

"So, you say you're paying for this?"

With a painstaking hum of agreement, the eldest nodded with a hint of concern detected on his features, fortunately Bruce had come prepared with his own credit card (just in case). Although his family could be provoking and frivolous toward one another, they were also respectful in situations like these and wouldn't run the bill up too high like certain members would if Bruce had been footing the bill. Dick had a charismatic bond with all of them in that sense.

Meanwhile, you handled everything in your kitchen of organised chaos as the orders came pouring in, including that of Dicks table who you had yet to formerly greet.

"This is cereal..." The head waiter meant it more of a question than a statement, looking to you with upmost uncertainty due to the simplicity of the dish compared to those on your signature menu.

Did they even stock Lucky Charms with the ingredients? The answer was no, you’d intentionally bought them purely for this very day and scenario.

"I know, I know - please serve it to my neighbour on Table 12, he'll get it." You humourously assured the man who seemed to have more to say but didn’t wish to argue with higher authority.

"Ah, Chef..." Your sous chef called moments later, overlooking the scene with mild skeptism before realising the nature of your scheme.

"Hm?"

"You do realise he is currently seated with Mr Bruce Wayne, don't you?" Upon processing that unprecedented information you immediately bolted - hot on the trail of the waiter with a weak promise in your wake.

"What?! I thought he'd bring his friends along not his- oh god, I just sent them cereal- shit, I'll be right back!"

With strategy and precision, you carefully intercepted the tray only seconds before it’d be placed in front of the empty seat of Dick Grayson - the man in question probably taking a bathroom break.

"Aha, pardon me, this was an incorrect order on my part, please forgive the interruption." You bowed with an apology, disappearing in hopes the remainder of the party hadn’t the time to fully decipher the mistake.

Of course, unbeknownst to you, this was a table full of detectives who constantly observed even the most trivial of details.

"Was that... cereal?"

The night followed on as planned, yourself wrapped up in cooking and supervising throughout the night with the only interruption coming from the waiting staff informing you that Table 12 would like to meet the Chef. Such a gesture was commonplace for you, customers regarded as strangers being much less intimidating than your neighbours family - you couldn’t comprehend why, it’s not like you were dating him or anything but their auras just radiated strength.

"Good evening, I'm glad to hear you -" Arriving at the table, you weren’t given the chance to finish before Dick had stood to greet you with a warm smile gently brushing your upper arm once deciding against hugging you out of habit.

"Hey, (Y/n). You didn’t come over this morning, everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine Dick I just had to readjust a menu." You waved his worries off with a grateful nod, hands on your hips in accomplishment as you expected to resume natural conversation with him.

"Okay okay, compliments to you, the food was immaculate - but how do you know our brother?" A youthful male bearing a white streak through his hair cut in, genuine sincerity in his tone when offering his praise before incredulously gesturing to Dick.

"He's my neighbour."

"I - he's a what now?" Duke shook his head in disbelief, looking between you both rather unconvinced.

"Are you kidding me Grayson?!" Tim was next, the most exasperated out of the whole table as he pinched the bridge of his nose whilst Dick quizzically scanned each of his company for insight.

"What...?"

"You got cooking lessons from one of the top Chefs in the whole damn country, you're friends with her, and you didn't even know who she was?!" The slimly built youth exclaimed, apparently knowledgeable in regards to the culinary world and had read of your famous reputation.

“(Y/n) (L/n) owns this restaurant Dick. Also, thank for the other week, the recipe was lovely.” Bruce politely added, nodding to you with a smile.

“You didn’t say that, you only said you worked here.” Dick turned to you now, in a feeble attempt to justify his lack of acknowledgment to your renowned status.

“Well, I do. In my defence you never asked, I mean my apartment and kitchen are rather fancy - that didn’t come on minimum wage.” You replied a matter-of-factly with an air of confidence to your voice.

"Are we forgetting that this is also the chef who was going to serve Richard cereal?" At the remark from Duke, a heated flush adorned your skin due to the embarrassment of being caught - the whole table breaking into collective chuckles.

"You were? - Wow that's such a dick move!" Dick was openly laughing at your failed attempt at humour, lightly nudging your side as you pushed him away in playful defence.

"Shut up! I didn't realise you were with your family, or else I wouldn't have done it."

Jason immediately waved that claim off, cheekily smirking at you as he spoke. “Oh no, I'm so glad you did, honestly it's the main reason I like you right now."

“That and you spared us the horror of Graysons cooking.” Damian conviently inputted, conniving grin sent to his favourite brother.

“You’re welcome, ah I apologise but I should get back to work so please excuse me. It was a pleasure meeting you all.” Taking a calculating glance over the expanse of exquisite tables and order exchanges you thought it best to return to your duties with a gracious smile and started toward the kitchen.

“Can I drop by tonight, I won’t be able to afford any thank you gifts after this but I’ll bring you a coffee?” Dick cheerily inquired, causing you to spin on your heel with a shy laugh and confirmation of his proposal.

“Don’t worry, this is my treat. You guys don’t have to pay for anything so enjoy the rest of your evening.” With that you were once again swept up into the busy atmosphere beyond the kitchen doors.

The table remained quiet for a few moments, Dick sitting down and looking to them almost as if searching for their impressions of you only to be met with bemused, impressed and mischievous gazes.

Not for you, oh no - these were shamelessly directed at a now enamoured Dick Grayson.

“Please marry her.”

#dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dc #dc imagine #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine

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redactedweasel · 3 years

Text

Choo-Choo, all Aboard the Pain Train

CW: Near-death Experience and just so many paragraphs of panic.

It all happens so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Keet has no chance at all to fight back.

Not that he doesn't try - even as electricity arcs through his body and locks every bone and muscle, he tries to fight. To attack, kill, defend - but it's an easy matter for the humans to grab onto him, the whole lot of them, and start dragging him down the hall. Because yes he tries, but his body and limbs refuse to listen - dangle or, at most, flop uselessly about him. It doesn't last long - but everytime he thinks feeling is returning, he's shocked again.

He can't fight - so Keet screeches instead. Yells, curses, screams - makes as much noise as he can because this is most of the crew but it's not all of the crew. Black, Purple - if they hear him, they can help. Will help. He knows it.

Except - where are they? They aren't there, they don't come - and soon enough Keet feels himself tossed, hears the hissing sound of doors sealing shut. Recognizes, briefly, that he is in the airlock.

Panic sweeps through him in a blinding, drowning wave so vivid that it erases every thought in his head. There is only /fight/ - and as feeling bleeds into his limbs once more that is what Keet does. He thrashes, flails, attacks the doors back towards the ship and the floor of the airlock and everything and anything he can touch. He destroys, rips, tears - comes completely undone as he gives up all attempts to retain his human form.

Some part of him braces, too - knows that any second the doors at his back will open and he will be flushed into the frozen expanse of space where he will die. He will freeze or suffocate or float float float until his body gives in or crumples like broken metal.

There is a rush of air, and Keet screams something from deep in his gut and his very being and it takes him a long, long moment to realize it was the wrong doors. They opened the wrong doors.

Freedom. Safety.

Keet throws himself from the airlock, barrels past a grasping shape in the doorway he doesn't have the awareness to recognize. Vaguely hears his name, but ignores it in favor of fleeing. Running, diving, crawling until finally, finally, he finds himself tucked into a particularly favored bend in the vents. He wraps himself close, bundles tentacles and limbs and body into a tight hug, and stays there.

Shivers. Trembles. Can't even think past the terror that still blinds him and overcomes him and fills every single atom of his being. He can do nothing but barely hold himself together as internally he screams and screams and screams. Forgets to breathe, then remembers again with great gulps of air that hurt.

He is caught there just like that for a long, long time. Even still, the terror never really fades - only changes. The screaming becomes numbness - an awful, bone-deep feeling so like the electricity that it only makes him feel worse. Every now and then the terror swells again, too, leaving him too hot and too cold all at once.

Eventually, he registers just enough to know that he wants these awful feelings to stop - but isn't near cognizant enough to make them do so. Some time later, there is a brief second where the near-hysterical thought passes that at least he isn't crying again.

Except, he almost wishes he would.

Most of the time, though, he is lost in an alternating sea of numbness and terror. When he can almost settle into feeling nothing, he remembers the airlock again and the terror washes him anew. It has to end, he thinks, but it doesn't - and he has no measure of time but it feels too long. So long.

"Keet."

Keet's eyes snap back into focus so quickly and violently that it hurts. He hisses at Black - who is lying in the vent only a few feet away - and pulls further away from them. They don't move, only watch him, expression unreadable but…

Unhappy, Keet thinks. There is a defensive curl in his chest, and he pulls his limbs in tighter in response.

"It's only me," Black says, and despite the look in their eyes their voice is oddly soft. Gentle, even, which is a strange way to think of them. "You've been down here for hours," they continue, "Fay is worried about you." They pause for a heartbeat, and then admit with something almost sheepish. "/We/ are worried. Come with me, let's -"

"No," Keet growls before they finish, the guttural rumble coming from deep in his core. He can't go with them, because that means leaving the vents. Going where the humans could jump him again. The very thought sends a fresh shot of hot-cold terror down his spine.

Keet doesn't even realize his thoughts have scattered all over again until he registers that Black is snapping their fingers at him. When he focuses on them again, he realizes they've said his name a few times over now.

"We won't let any of them near you," Black says, once they know he's paying attention again, "we won't let them hurt you. We won't leave your side."

It's a nice thought, Keet thinks, but he doesn't believe them. Not really. If the humans were determined enough, what could they do to stop them?

"I'll kill them if they try," Black continues, and the flat in their tone gives Keet pause. "And that's only if Fay doesn't do it first. Keet. Trust us. You can trust us."

Keet wants to. /Badly/ wants to. But he still can't make himself move towards them, can't quite convince himself that it's safe to leave. He curls a little tighter - although doesn't move any further away - and his gaze bounces from Black to away and back again.

After a long moment or two, Black moves closer - Keet tenses, but he makes himself stay still, no matter how badly he wants to flee. He makes himself focus on them, watches their hands as they crawl, desperately keeps his thoughts from running away again. Every movement Black makes is slow, and careful, and when they reach towards him Keet can't help but press his eyes tightly closed.

Then they grab onto him with a familiar, sharp grip. More hands join the first and then they are tugging him and pressing him tightly into their chest while they wrap him in a cage of hands and claws. Keet is still for a long beat - and then he latches onto them as a desperate whine bubbles up along his throat.

Black doesn't speak - but they do shush him, even as they begin to move. There is a soft, continuous rumble deep in the chest Keet presses his face against, and he recognizes the almost-purr as soothing, even if it still isn't quite enough to break through the barrier of fear that sits heavy in Keet's core. It is, however, enough to quiet him for the moment.

Keet barely registers when they leave the vent system entirely - knows mostly in the way Black adjusts their hold of him. Beyond that, he doesn't know exactly where they are or where they're going.

But he feels Purple. Finds himself once more wrenched back into something approaching focus when they're all at once there. Black doesn't really let go of him, only folds Purple into their embrace as well, shifts so that Purple can get their own arms tightly around Keet.

Keet can't quite burrow against them both, so with his face still pressed to Black's chest, he reaches out with extra appendages and draws Purple in closer still.

Keet shivers, then. Shakes. Still doesn't cry but whimpers and pulls in quick, heavy breaths. Purple speaks, Black might as well - but Keet doesn't know what they're saying. Only hears their voices, their attempts at comfort - and things are not okay, but the longer they hold him and the more he releases, the closer things get to better.

He doesn't mean to fall asleep, would have thought it impossible if he'd thought about it at all. But soon enough the darkness that keeps scattering his thoughts presses in closer and closer still, until finally a blissful nothing overcomes him entirely, and he all but passes out.

(See link below for Crow's Alt POV, Panic Room!)

#pyro writes #Keet #Crim #Purple/Fable #Angst #Hurt/comfort

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morallygreyprompts · 5 years

Note

Ok so I'm a total sucker for villains getting whumped- can I get Villain getting captured by the 'good guys' and the last thing hero says to them essentially boils down to 'I hate you'. Except that said 'good guys' turn out to be terrible people, Hero and their friends find out they're hurting Villain and storm over there to rescue them but Villain's so messed up that they only recognize Hero?

Ask 94

SAME. I should do it more often, to be honest ^^’ This is a mega oof request and I cannot wait to get this written XD And I wrote A LOT. Like 2K (Mostly in lesson, might I add) so enjoy. It is quite the whump.

The heroes wrestled Villain down onto their knees and tied their hands behind their back whilst Hero loomed over them. “So you’ve won,” Villain grumbled, trying without success to snatch their hand back. “Now what? Prison, house arrest, cage in your cellar?”Hero shrugged. “I don’t know. The Government wants you, said they had a new secure facility for you and any other… villains, like you.”

“Sounds boring. But a villain? That’s what you think of me?” Villain smirked. Hero leaned in close to their face, Villain could only see some odd mix of anger and relief. “I think so much worse of you.”Villain turned their head to see a van pulling in, some grim and stony looking agents inside.

“Looks like my taxi is here,” Villain muttered.

Villain was lifted to their feet and dragged off in the direction of the van by the other heroes.“Hey, [Hero],” Villain called. “All this- this was fun. I hope we can do it again some time.”“Hold it,” Hero said. Their friends stopped, waiting for Hero to catch up. Villain tried to smile away the concern that rose in their chest. Hero was inches away from their face, but Villain wouldn’t break eye contact, wouldn’t wipe that smirk from their lips.

“Let’s make something very clear,” Hero resumed. “I hate you with every speck of my being. I never want to see you again and I don’t care what happens to you. You’re going to rot in there and it’s the least you deserve.”Villain’s face fell slightly. “You don’t mean that. We’ve hardly got ourselves a clear cut relationship here, but-”“Relationship? There is nothing between us, not even an acquaintanceship. You’re a thorn in my side I’m glad to get rid of. I mean every word- get them out of my sight.”

Villain fought against the heroes, shouting “You don’t mean that! I know you don’t! If you hated me you’d have killed me! Hey, where are these guys taking me? [Hero]!” Hero paid them no attention. They’d turned their back on Villain and waited until they were bundled into the van, restrained adequately and whisked away.

Hero stood in the still air, taking deep breaths, trying to block out Villain’s voice that still rang in their head. One of the other heroes came over and put a hand on their shoulder. “You good?”

Hero turned to face them and nodded. “Yeah, just- It. It’s finally done. They’re gone somewhere they won’t hurt anyone but… they weren’t that dangerous compared to some- so why is the Government taking them there of all people?”

Other Hero shrugged. “They’ll be looked after and the city is safe. I know you’re very good at it, but, don’t think too far into this.”

Hero nodded and watched the van fully disappear out of sight.

_____

“They don’t mean that,” Villain mumbled, their thin arms swaying in the shackles above their head. “They don’t mean that. They’ll be sorry, they’ll help. They’ll help, they care. They have to care…” They were so busy mumbling to themselves, trying to find a way to fix the hurt Hero had caused them that they hardly noticed the two guards coming into their cramped cell, constantly illuminated with white light which glowed on the white tiles they were sat on.

It was only when their hands were freed from the shackles that Villain said, “What’ll it be today? Hmmm? The chair? The table? The bath?”

Villain groaned as one of the guards grabbed them by the wrist and exposed a vein for the other to catch with a needle. “Hm, something new then?” they guessed before their eyes slipped shut.

New and underwhelming considering some of what they’d been through. They were hanging from the ceiling by their wrists, but the group of half a dozen guards around them was torture enough. It was quite clear what they had in mind, it had happened once before, but not with this many people. The leader didn’t hesitate in starting, they punched them until their knuckles bled. Villain could hardly stop their vision swimming by the time the next one came at them.

They felt bones break, skin tear and blood pour from their nose, lips, eyebrow and after that Villain was too out of it to know what was going on, but they didn’t stop. Not until all six of them were satisfied and Villain was left hanging, unable to keep their feet at all. Unconsciousness kept claiming them for a little while, like waves on a shore. The entire time they could only think of one person, Hero. That was the only person they could remember anymore.

“Bring them in, it’s time they got in on this,” one of the guards said. Villain was amazed to see one of their Henchmen walk in, one of the younger ones. Villain had considered them family. They didn’t let their surprise show, but that face filled them with hope.“Come on then. Show us what you’re made of,” one guard said.“If you hit them any more chances are they’ll die,” Henchman pointed out, acting unphased. Or were they unphased? Did they care? Hero didn’t, why should anyone else?

“Then aim for the gut, now come on!”

Villain didn’t look at them as they punched them in the gut, in the ribs, and the rare strike to the face. Villain was past the point of making noises, past the point of trying to raise their legs to protect themselves. All they could do was lie there limp and accept the pain at the hands of someone they once thought was a friend. It wasn’t like they had a choice, but the concept hurt them more than any blow, but not as much as Hero abandoning them.

A particularly nasty strike to the stomach winded them, and Henchman stopped, panting.“Burnt… out. A.already?” Villain tried to taunt. They couldn’t see their reaction for their blurring vision, but Villain was sure they saw surprise.“It’s a start,“ one of the guards grunted. "Drag them back to their cell. We’re done here.”

Villain fell into Henchman’s arms as they were released. They held them with as much care as they dared to show in front of the others.

Once they were back in their cell, Henchman waited at the door until they were alone. They took out their phone and Villain couldn’t stop them from taking pictures of them.

“Trophies?” Villain wheezed, curling up on themselves. Their ribs throbbed and their breathing was dangerously shallow. Their body shuddered with exertion. Henchman didn’t answer, but the pitiful look on their face was enough for them to guess that wasn’t what they were for.“Rest up. They’ll probably be back for more soon.”

And watched the door shut, just like they’d watched Hero turn their back on them. They were alone again, and that hurt more than anything.

“They care,” Villain started murmuring to themselves again. Their white lie, the false promise that kept them clinging onto hope. It was something they constantly chanted to themselves now. “[Hero] will come… They care… they, they have to care.”

________

Hero slammed Henchman into the wall of the store they’d ben trying to rob. “You picked the wrong store,” Hero grumbled. Henchman didn’t retaliate. “I need your help. That’s why I’m here, doing this.”“Yeah, right.” Hero grabbed them by the collar and marched them out of the store and into an alleyway.

Henchman used their arm like a windmill to free themselves and they stepped back. “Before you start anything. Look. Just look, I need to show you this. After that, you can do what you want.”

Henchman carefully took their phone out and shoved it toward their face. Hero took a moment to focus on what the image was.“[Villain]… What?”

“That ‘Government facility’? It’s a lie. It’s just a group of people who want to make [Villain] suffer for everything they’ve done. Everything they haven’t done, rather. You guys really don’t understand how [Villian] is. You’ve just pinned every crime on them that you can think of and they haven’t done half of it!”

“Is that so?” Hero raised an eyebrow.“[Villain] doesn’t kill,” Henchman snapped. “And they are getting tortured out there. You have to help them, please! You’re their only chance.”

Hero frowned. “Show me that picture again, I need to look again.”

Henchman did so, this time showing them more than one, showing Villain curling up, hugging themselves, the blood dripping onto the floor. Deep scars and sores showed on their wrists and arms. Their face was completely masked in bruises, and they were so thin. So weak…

“It’s been months since they went there… How did you get this?” Hero asked.“I infiltrated the place. I needed to know [Villain] was okay… They’re all I’ve got.” Hero could hear the upset in their voice, the dampness forming in their eyes.“Is this a recent photo?” Hero continued.

“I took this picture yesterday and it really doesn’t show how badly off they are. The first time I saw them I. I had to beat them. They need you, [Hero]. They murmur your name all the time, they’re clinging onto the hope that you care, that you’ll save them. That place, it’s driving them mad. I’ll do anything you say if it means you’ll get them out of there. Hell, I’ll beg on my knees! You’re their only chance.”

Hero’s face looked blank. So many emotions hit them at once that none of them seemed to register in their mind. Anger, confusion, guilt, upset. They couldn’t process it. “You’re coming with me. I’m getting the team and I’m getting them out of there.”

Henchman’s face lit up with hope. “Really?!” They bowed their head low in genuine gratitude. “Thank you, thank you so much! You’ve no idea how much this means to me- and to them.”

“Just get me in there, and if you’re lying then I’ll have you in a worse state than that picture.“

__________

Villain rocked back and forth in their corner, mumbling about Hero. Their ribs screamed at them but it was a pain they were accustomed to. They wanted to sleep, but that would only come to them when they were truly exhausted. They kept their swollen eyes closed to keep the painful light out. It was the only comfort they had now.

Their will was breaking. Villain had never wanted to go home so much in their life. They were never given time to heal and the injuries were stacking up so badly. They’d already suffered water torture this morning, getting dunked in the bath for what felt like hours. It probably was; whoever had them here enjoyed their suffering. No one was going to help them. No one cared. This was all they had to live for now until they were finally permitted to die.

“They don’t care…” Villain realised tears sneaked through their flimsy defences. The cold realisation that they were alone burned their chest, or was that just their over-exerted ribs and lungs? Villain didn’t know and didn’t care anymore. Seeing Henchman had been the final straw, the final betrayal. They were alone, with only the suffering to keep them company.

When the door opened that night, Villain braced for another attack. But when Hero showed up at the door, Villain couldn’t accept what they were seeing.

“[Hero] again… and who are these…” Villain dismissed their sloppy thought process. “Hallucinations… More lies… more trickery. [Hero] doesn’t care. No one cares…”Hero came closer to them, followed by their team, and Henchman in their uniform.

“No more… please… no more,” Villain whispered.

“Shh,” Hero said gently. “Sit up. You’re stressing your ribs, sit up for me and it’ll be better.”Villain didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge what was said. “You’re… not. Not real…”

“I am, [Villain]. I’m here, I’ve come to save you. [Henchman], they raised the alarm. We came as soon as we heard.”“[Hero] hates me… won’t come.”

Hero crouched down beside them and put a warm hand on their shoulder. “I am so sorry, [Villain]. You were right, I never meant those things, but I was upset. I want to fix this- I should never have let it happen in the first place but I want to help however I can now.”

Villain still didn’t answer.“Sit up, please,” Hero said gently. “It’ll help.”Villain strained their weak limbs to force themselves back against the wall, sitting up, face shiny with sweat, hair long and filthy, tatty and unkempt.

Villain reached forward and hugged Hero, not caring for the pain in their ribs. If they hugged it, it would disappear. It would go away and leave them to rot. But it didn’t. Hero stayed there, hugged them back, stroking the back of their head.

“I’m going to fix this,” Hero promised. They paused when they heard Villain sob, the way they pressed their head into the crook of Hero’s neck. Hero felt hot tears of their own.

“[Other Hero], get me that wheelchair. We need to get them back to the base, desperately.”Other Hero left and returned triumphant a few moments later. Hero struggled to help them in, but Villain would not let go of them. “Who are they?” they asked.

Hero looked at their team in confusion. “You… don’t remember? They’re my team. They want to help you too. It’s okay.” Hero managed to slip away from Villain so they could push the wheelchair, but Hero had to hang a hand over Villain’s shoulder for them to hold.

“They care,” Villain continued to murmur again with a weak smile. “I knew they cared…” They went limp in their chair.

#hero and villain #writing prompts #ask #snippet #long post #hero #villain #whump #like mega whump #not injury but captivity mostly #captivity #oof

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cheshiresense · 6 years

Note

for your SP au if u have time, how about a scene with injured/close to death!ichigo and kisuke losing it big time? idk i just feel like in this universe where even tho they're surrounded by people they know, theres also a sense of them only having each other, and after everything theyve been thru, one of them facing the possibility of losing the other could be rly trauamtizing.

Uhhhh… okay. Wow, alright, let’s see…

This takes place sometime far into the future. Well, not that far but like at least a couple years after the convo with Kaien and Shinji I guess?

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Later, Kisuke would be able to tell you exactly what happened. His mind automatically breaks down an attack blow by blow, every strength and weakness catalogued just in case he would need to counter it in another fight, because that’s just how his brain works, and for once he wishes it wasn’t.

He’ll have nightmares about it for years to come.

One moment, they’re scattered across the skies of Soul Society, either fending off the hoards of Hollows Aizen has released into the heart of Seireitei or confronting Aizen himself, and the next, Kisuke loses track of the traitor for a split second, too many illusions overlapping each other and too many useless bodies in the air who haven’t the first idea how to shake off Aizen’s Shikai but insisted on fighting anyway because Yamamoto ordered all Shinigami Ninth Seat and up into battle.

He feels more than sees what happens next, at the very edge of his peripheral vision. He and Ichigo have split up, both of them still in the same piece of battlefield but no longer covering each other’s backs because they’re too busy trying to simultaneously make sure Aizen doesn’t gut one of their colleagues or friends and launch an attack that’ll actually stick at Aizen himself at the same time. Of everyone here, Ichigo and Kisuke are the only ones who’ve gone toe to toe with Aizen, which was a difficult enough task without throwing in the dozen or so handicaps around them.

One moment, Aizen is smirking, monologuing, boasting about everything Kisuke’s long since learned to tune out. The next, the Fifth Seat from the Ninth Division rushes him like an idiot, and as if on cue, half the other Shinigami also surge forward as if they think Aizen has left any openings for them to get a hit in. It distracts everyone there, and Kisuke mentally curses when more than one person obscures his line of sight. He shifts, steps to the side, trying to keep all his senses honed on Aizen, but a breath and a blink later, the man has disappeared, and Kisuke is turning before he’s even consciously aware of doing it, his gaze cutting through the throng of Shinigami around him, searching frantically for-

Aizen doesn’t attack Ichigo. Of course he doesn’t. But Fujiwara Asuka is there, and to her credit, whatever illusion Aizen weaves around her doesn’t make her hesitate from bringing her Zanpakutou up to block a strike Kisuke can’t see, nor does it stop her from following through, just as Ichigo taught her. She remains on the defensive, wary of attacking and hurting a comrade, but she doesn’t stay in one place, deflecting whatever sword she sees and then throwing herself to one side, obviously trying to get clear.

It’s just not enough, because she throws herself to the left, and Aizen materializes there to meet her, Kyoka Suigetsu thrusting forward and-

Kisuke knows what will happen before it even happens. Somehow, the sound of a Kidou spell eating through flesh echoes loudly even with people shouting all around him and the shrieks of Hollows in the distance.

These are the things Kisuke notices in a single snapshot of time: Fujiwara’s wide, distraught eyes; the smug, satisfied smile on Aizen’s face like he expected nothing less; and the shock-tinted pain splashed across Ichigo’s features as he shoves Fujiwara to the side with one hand and deflects Kyouka Suigetsu with Zangetsu, only for Aizen to bring his other hand around, the light of a Raikouhou already glowing in his palm before he releases it straight into Ichigo’s abdomen, a sizzling ball of yellow lightning that slams through one side and out the other and leaves the stink of burning flesh behind.

Ichigo staggers, chokes, wobbles in the air like someone’s cute first attempt at Shunpo, and for a long frozen second, Kisuke tries to draw breath and can’t seem to find the lungs for it.

Then Fujiwara screams Ichigo’s name, and it’s as if everything fast-forwards again, flooding the area with noise and colour all at once.

Kisuke covers the distance between them in one desperate flash-step. The incomplete Espada that gets in his way is bisected right through the middle, Benihime singing through the air like a cacophony of screaming symbols, and the nameless Arrancar doesn’t even slow Kisuke down. He barrels into Ichigo, catching his lover just as he begins to fall. He barely notices Kyouraku covering his retreat, appearing a half-beat behind him, dual swords swinging at Aizen to force him back, his eyes a hard slate grey as he stares down the traitorous would-be overlord.

Instead, Kisuke’s already trying to calculate the damage before they’ve even reached the ground - front torn open, shattered ribs, not as much blood as there is charred flesh, but Kisuke can see his insides anyway and it’s a mess of hemmorhaging viscera.

He lands on a rooftop, out of the way of any immediate enemy fire, and sets Ichigo down as gently as he can. Even then, Ichigo convulses and then coughs, spilling slick crimson over his bottom lip, and the spasms that wrack him shifts his broken ribs in ways that can’t be good for his continued survival.

“Ichigo, it’s going to be alright, just try to hold still-”

Ichigo makes a rough sound that’s half-laugh, half-splutter of pain, and then he coughs again, unending and terrible, and Kisuke can see the way blood is bubbling up and around the hand Ichigo’s instinctively braced against his front.

Fuck. Fuck.

Kisuke is usually calmer than this. He prides himself on remaining calm at all times, no matter how dire the situation. But right now, as he pins Ichigo down with one hand to Ichigo’s shoulder to prevent him from doing more harm to himself while his other flickers green in an attempt to start healing the worst of the damage, he can’t seem to stop the way either of them are shaking. There’s a funny roaring noise in his ears, and every time he blinks, all he can see is Ichigo lying too still, Ichigo’s face twisted up in agony, Ichigo dead and gone and leaving him behind, and he can’t-

A hand appears in his line of sight, and he’s not even holding his Zanpakutou anymore, having dropped it beside him the moment he landed, but Benihime’s still unsealed, and her signature reiatsu snaps out like the fangs of a beast and nearly takes the limb off, hand and arm and all. Whoever it belongs to swears and snatches it back just in the nick of time. Kisuke doesn’t even look up, too busy staunching blood flow and holding the ribcage together and making sure nothing slices into a lung and-

Fuck. Fuck. There’s just so much damage, and at the end of the day, Kisuke’s no master healer-

“Urahara-taichou, you will get a hold of yourself.” A female voice calls, not quite raised but sharp enough to cut through the haze of terror clouding his mind. Coupled with the hand that suddenly finds his, slippery with more blood but with enough coordination to squeeze down hard and anchor him back to the present, Kisuke suck in a breath, then another, then another, until he’s almost dizzy with it.

He looks at Ichigo first, and while his face is white and creased with pain, he meets Kisuke’s gaze steadily enough, and it’s enough for Kisuke to at least shove aside the panic and think.

He looks up next, right into the looming figure of Unohana, waiting for him to shuffle aside so she can tend to Ichigo. She’s already casting a critical eye over Ichigo’s injuries, and Kisuke should, he should move over right now because on a regular day, if Kisuke could have his pick of healers, Unohana would be at the top of the list. There is literally no one better for the job, and he should be thanking the Soul King that she was even nearby enough for someone to fetch her here so quickly.

But even just the thought of passing Ichigo’s wellbeing to anyone makes him want to lash out.

Benihime, Kisuke thinks for one wild moment. Benihime could probably fix him. Even if it means a patchwork of scars inside and out by the end-

She’s never had to restructure so many broken pieces of bone before though, never had to work with half the internal organs fried and nerve endings destroyed by such a close-range, point-blank electric explosion. What if she can’t-

Benihime stirs at the back of his mind, all affronted pride and snarling wrath with a seething sort of fear underneath. And yet-

He looks at Ichigo. Ichigo, eyes at half-mast and dazed now, Ichigo who is depending on him to make the best choice for him. And-

And that’s enough. Barely, but enough.

He rounds on Unohana again, and if he looks a little manic and more than a little mad, no one calls him out on it.

“If he dies under your care,” He bites out in a voice even he almost doesn’t recognize, soft and flat and no less vicious for either. “The Fourth Division will require a new captain by the end of the day.”

There are scandalized gasps from more than one person, and Yoruichi hisses a warning, “Kisuke!”

Only Unohana remains entirely unperturbed, looking back calmly even as she inclines her head in a nod. “I understand.”

Kisuke watches her for a moment longer, weighing her answer, then he turns back to Ichigo. The stasis spell he resorted to earlier begins fading as he lets it go, and he takes those few precious seconds to reach up to cup Ichigo’s face in his hands instead, bending low until the brim of his hat brushes Ichigo’s forehead. “Ichigo, you listen to me.”

Eyelashes flutter like it’s a struggle for Ichigo to keep them open, but he opens them anyway, and even though it takes a few blinks, his eyes are clear and focused when they look at Kisuke, and Kisuke holds that gaze.

“You will live. Do you know why?” His fingers curl into Ichigo’s hair, probably gripping harder than he should, digging bruises Ichigo can’t afford into his skin, but he needs this, needs his promise, needs his word. “Because if you die, you know perfectly well I will follow you and I will find you, no matter how many reincarnation cycles I’ll have to tear apart, even if that means razing the Soul King and his whole palace to the ground. So you will live because I will set the universe on fire if I lose you, and you have too much of a saviour complex to let that happen.”

There’s a hush all around him, the kind that comes from a stunned, maybe even appalled, sort of disbelief.

Kisuke ignores them. None of them matter right now.

(And if they don’t believe him, don’t believe he’s capable of it or don’t believe he really would do it, then the joke’s on them.)

All his attention remains on Ichigo, who blinks at him once, twice, and then even manages a hoarse chuckle as a bloodstained hand comes up to tangle in Kisuke’s own hair, as possessive as Kisuke at his worst and not at all ashamed to show it.

(Yoruichi knows what people say about Kisuke, both within and outside of the Onmitsukidou, with admiration or with contempt. But Kisuke’s problem has never been an inability to love. His problem has always been that he loves very, very few, and of those he does love, he loves with a world-burning passion that halts for no one and nothing and consumes everything in its path if allowed to run its course.

It makes her wonder, sometimes, whether Shiba Ichigo is very brave or just very oblivious.

Or maybe he’s like Kisuke, loving with a ferocity that’s equally devastating and unstoppable, and isn’t that a terrifying thought?)

Ichigo swallows, and his reiatsu surges with the solid resolve shining in his eyes, not even slightly dimmed, even now. Or perhaps especially now.

“You’re such a drama queen, Kisuke,” Ichigo rasps out, but his grin is all teeth, stained with blood but bold and bright and brilliant. “Go kick his ass. I’ll be right behind you.”

Kisuke gives himself another second, curled over Ichigo like he could protect him this way, clutching at him like he’s Kisuke’s last lifeline.

(He is. He has been for so long now.)

Then he exhales and lets go. He presses a kiss to Ichigo’s temple and then eases back and clambers to his feet, retrieving Benihime on his way up. “I’ll buy you time. Catch up when you can.”

Ichigo nods, and Kisuke steps away, finally letting Unohana take his place. He starts walking, and the Shinigami in his way automatically part for him. There’s Kaien, whom Kisuke vaguely recalls as the one who tried to get his attention and almost paid for it with his hand.

Kisuke might apologize later.

Then there’s Yoruichi with Suì-Fēng at her side, Rose and Love look like they’ve just arrived, and Matsumoto stands a few feet away, her arm around Fujiwara’s shoulders. Hachigen is farthest away, hands pressed together and a yellow barrier erected around them. A handful of battered-looking seated officers Kisuke never bothered remembering the names of complete the ensemble, and up above, Kyouraku and Lisa are keeping Aizen at sword-point.

Or at least Aizen is allowing them to keep him at sword-point. It’s about time Kisuke changes that.

He strides forward. Three feet and he’s shrugged out of his captain’s haori. Five feet and he’s dropped it behind him. Seven feet and his hat follows. He’s in full Shinigami garb today, all black uniform and flat sandals meant for fast and easy movement.

“Open it,” He orders in placid tones as he approaches the barrier, and Hachigen wastes no time releasing one wall of the barrier.

The moment Kisuke steps out and looks up, Aizen glances down and smiles like he’s been waiting for this.

“Urahara Kisuke,” He calls out with his trademark mockery lilting each syllable. “You should keep a closer eye on your-”

Kisuke disappears from the ground and reappears behind Aizen, Benihime angled for the man’s heart. Aizen dodges, but he also has to stop talking, and he doesn’t see the glint of silver in Kisuke’s other hand before the dagger sinks to the hilt in the soft flesh just above Aizen’s hip.

“Hadou #11,” Kisuke intones as Aizen’s smile thins. “Tsuzuri Raiden.”

An electric current sparks and crackles down the hilt just as Aizen wrenches himself off the blade and Shunpos away to safety.

He’s still smiling when Kisuke looks over. The injury is already healing with the power of the Hogyoku even as blood drips from the dagger in Kisuke’s hand, and yet something uneasy lurks in the tightness around his eyes, like he wasn’t expecting Kisuke to attack him so ruthlessly.

Kisuke hasn’t the faintest idea why. Everybody knows which military organization groomed him after all.

Ah well. He’ll learn.

Kisuke tosses the blade aside, then twists his fingers together, activating the seal he planted underneath the Tsuzuri Raiden just as he recites, “Bakudou #61, Rikujoukourou,” and six beams of light bursts from the newly healed wound in Aizen’s side, enveloping him in a brief burst of yellow before settling evenly around his midsection and paralyzing him to the spot.

Aizen looks momentarily surprised before his usual confidence slides back into place. “Do you think such a simple Bakudou can capture me?”

Kisuke huffs out a breath that’s barely a shadow of his usual laugh. “Capture you? I don’t want to capture you, Aizen-san.”

He brings Benihime up with a deliberate sort of careless grace, and this time, for the first time in this time, when he looks at Aizen Sousuke, the Shinigami is no longer smiling. Maybe he finally sees the rage in Kisuke’s eyes, pulsing with every breath he takes and every beat of his heart.

“I just need you to stay still for a bit,” Kisuke explains lightly, and behind him, her reiatsu jolting with an abrupt sort of urgency, he can hear Yoruichi yell for Kyouraku and Lisa to get back, right now.

“Bankai,” Kisuke commands, and distantly he hears the triumphant laughter of his Benihime’s bloodlust. She laughs, and he smiles. “Kannonbiraki Benihime Aratame.”

#bleach #uraichi #urahara kisuke #kurosaki ichigo #myscrap #uraichi in sp verse #msg #anonymous

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ragecndybars · 6 years

Note

Fluff Week: Tex calling Church her boyfriend when he hasn't been sure if they're back together.

Thank you so much for the prompt! This was a blast to write honestly.

No warnings for this one.

Relationship Status

Church hadn’t been confident in his relationship status since before Jimmy died, when he could say with reasonable surety that he was single. Everything after that, from Jimmy’s untimely and improbable demise to the present, was an uncertain gray period which he could only describe as “???”.

After all, when your ex-fiancée slaughters an entire outpost of people and leaves only you alive, you start to ask questions. Questions like “Why did my ex-fiancée slaughter an entire outpost of people?” and “Why did she leave me alive?” He was pretty sure that, traditionally, exes hated each other ― and, hell, he was equally sure the rage he felt at the mere mention of his ex was mutual ― so, if anything, shouldn’t she have killed him first or in the most painful manner or something?

He hadn’t deluded himself into thinking that they were back together ― if Tex wanted to call the wedding back on, then she would’ve at least acknowledged him while she was murdering all his friends. But, from then on, there was a tiny, tingling doubt in the back of his mind; a whisper of “Is she ever gonna come back again?” and “If she does, would we be a couple again?”

Because, as pathetic as it was, and as much as he would deny it to his dying breath, there was one thing that Church could always be certain of: no matter what she’d done, no matter what he was doing, and no matter how long she’d been gone, he would always be willing to take Tex back.

(Not that he really needed to be. Church didn’t so much “take Tex back” as he did “nod meekly whenever she told him that they were together again”. And Tex didn’t so much “tell him they were together again” as she did “occasionally make out with him and then vanish for another couple months”.)

Church hadn’t been sure if he could call himself “single” or “taken” in years, but there were still moments when he knew he could lean more towards one or the other. Like when Tex hung around for longer than usual, nonchalantly slinging an arm around his shoulders and punching him in the shoulder without breaking any bones and just generally indicating, in her very violent and not particularly romantic way, that they were “a thing” again, at least for now. Or, conversely, when she beat the shit out of him and his team, dropped some snarky insults, and then left the way she’d came without sparing him a second glance, which was a pretty solid indicator to the contrary.

And then sometimes she would just show up, do nothing, and stick around for a while, leaving Church to speculate.

God, he fucking hated it when she did that. Navigating an on-again off-again relationship with a bloodthirsty Freelancer was difficult enough; the least she could do was make it clear whether or not there was a relationship, rather than leaving that part up to interpretation. Especially since Tex was pretty much impossible to interpret on the best of days. With her, the difference between a punch in the face and a slightly softer punch in the face could mean the difference between abject hatred and tender affection.

The end result was that Church spent way, way too much time agonizing over every action she took. When she roughly shouldered past him in the hallway, was she in a hurry to leave for another five months, or was that her version of a “good morning” nudge? When she split their coffee reserves down the middle, proclaiming half of it hers and half of it Blue Team’s, did that mean she was going to take her share and run off in the middle of the night, or did it mean she was planning on staying here long enough to drink it all? She had only called him a cockbite twice in the past week; did that mean she was drifting away, or was she not getting annoyed with him as often?

Tex had been staying at Blue Base for the past five (five!) months, and she hadn’t killed or even grievously injured anyone yet. Not even Tucker. Not even Caboose.

That had to mean something, right?

Right?!

Surely, Tex knew what she was doing. After all, she wasn’t dumb, and everyone else in Blood Gulch seemed to have picked up on it ― including Caboose, who never picked up anything except automatic weapons and people, and Donut, whose existence Church had completely forgotten about until now.

“Dude, you’re making this too complicated,” Tucker had said. “Just see if she’ll let you bone her or not. It’s not as hard as you think, bow chicka bow ― OW! Don’t kill the messenger, you dick!”

If not for the fact that they were both ghosts inhabiting robot vessels at the moment, and therefore completely incapable of actually fucking, Church might’ve actually taken Tucker’s advice, which just goes to show how desperate he was actually getting. Alas, though, they were restricted to first and second base; Sarge was pretty good at building androids, but not that good (which, frankly, Church was grateful for; no man should be trusted with that kind of power, least of all Sarge).

“Are you sad because Tex won’t let you be her very best friend and hold her hand and do nighttime Twister and drink milk?” was Caboose’s brilliant guess. Completely ignoring Church’s sputtered denials, he proceeded to suggest, “Maybe, if you hold her hand, she will hold your hand, and then maybe she won’t be as mean and scary anymore, and, uh, maybe she won’t be upset about the fire that Tucker started.”

True desperation, Church discovered, was actually considering Caboose’s advice for more than two seconds. Hand-holding wasn’t exactly on the list of Things That Tex Do, though ― and, even if it was, trying to initiate it would be a fast way to get his arm ripped off, especially if he was wrong and Tex hadn’t made them “a thing” again. Then the fire alarm started blaring and Church realized that he’d missed the most important part of Caboose’s suggestion, so he put the entire thing out of his mind and grabbed the fire extinguisher.

Either his definitely-not-pining was obvious enough to be spotted from the other side of the canyon, or Tucker was a fucking snitch, because even various members of Red Team swung by to offer advice or snicker at him. Simmons demanded that he either keep his girlfriend away from Red Base or else kick his ex out (as if he had any sway over Tex, girlfriend or otherwise). Grif spent a full hour mocking him loudly from across the base while he raided their kitchen (as if he and Simmons weren’t even worse). Donut broke into his room at three in the morning and absolutely refused to get the fuck out, chattering ceaselessly about emotional vulnerability and the importance of communication until Tex finally came in and physically ejected him from the premises via the window.

Even so, Tex herself showed absolutely no sign that she knew or cared about his plight. She made no attempt to clear up the confusion. If anything, she got progressively less explicit about her intentions.

And it was driving Church fucking crazy.

She was doing this on purpose, wasn’t she? It took real dedication to make your feelings so profoundly unclear; it couldn’t be an accident. She was just fucking with him. She knew that he had no fucking clue if they were an item right now, so she was milking it for all the aggravation it was worth.

So it didn’t matter, Church decided the morning after Donut’s disastrous attempt at advice. At some point, it had turned into some kind of weird game, so there was no reason to keep looking for an answer. He already had his answer ― Tex was just jerking him around for the hell of it, which meant he was just as “???” as ever.

So, naturally, that was when Tex finally showed her hand.

Immediately after Church made his realization and finally settled down to sleep, his alarm blared. His accompanying groan was so loud and so drawn out that Tucker eventually shouted a weary “Oh my God, shut up, Church,” from the next room over.

On a normal day, he would’ve just flipped the alarm off and gone the fuck to sleep, military code be damned, but, unfortunately, he was pretty damn sure Tex wouldn’t let that happen. Judging by her eventual intervention, she’d been kept up all night by Donut’s stupid blabbering, too, so there was no way she’d let him doze off; not if she had to get up.

She hadn’t realized yet that she was allowed to flip off the alarm and go back to sleep, too.

So, with another groan and a muttered string of curses toward the Red Army, Church hauled himself out of bed and staggered out into the kitchen, not bothering to put on his armor or undersuit. That could wait. Or maybe he just wouldn’t wear it today. It’s not like he ever actually needed it ― not since Tex confiscated Caboose’s guns.

He was blindly jabbing a finger at the coffee machine, too exhausted to bother actually looking at the buttons, when Tex ambled in, also armorless ― an uncommon sight, but not unprecedented. Church spared her a brief glance and an incomprehensible mumble, then immediately went back to poking the coffee machine until something happened.

“It’s out of water, dumbass,” Tex said from behind him, sounding only marginally more awake than he was, and Church let out a groan to rival his first, dropping his head onto the shitty plastic machine and wishing he were dead. He didn’t have the mental, physical, or emotional energy to get more water, but, without coffee, he was doomed. God, the Red Team wasn’t so bad, but sometimes he just wanted to fucking murder all of them, starting with Donut and his shitty four A.M. advice.

“It’s too fucking early for this,” he managed to grumble, just barely opening his mouth enough to spit the words out.

Tex rolled her eyes audibly. “It’s 0600. Don’t be a crybaby.” Suddenly, he was shoved out of the way, and she shoved her own mug under the coffee machine, snatching his and filling it up with faucet water.

“Hey! I was there first, bitch!” he snapped, foolishly reaching for his mug.

Tex effortlessly body checked him into the side of the counter, holding the mug out of his reach. “You weren’t actually using it; you were just complaining,” she responded easily, almost playfully. “Were you even gonna fill it back up, or were you just gonna sit there and whine all day?”

Church glared at her, but didn’t argue the point. “Thought so,” she said smugly, pouring the water in and snapping the lid shut. “Just wait your turn, dumbass. You’ll live.”

With an irritated huff, Church begrudgingly leaned against the counter behind him and waited, watching Tex make her own coffee with weary indifference. As they waited, Tex drummed her fingers absently; other than that, the quiet hum of the coffee machine was the only sound.

“Hey,” Tex said after a long moment, not looking away from her mug, “what the fuck was Donut doing in your room at 0400, anyway?”

Church glanced over at her, brows furrowing. “What, didn’t you hear?” he asked, voice still bitter and tired. “He wasn’t exactly keeping his voice down.”

At that, Tex shot him a dry look. “Do I look like I pay any attention to anything that pink idiot says?”

…Fair enough. “Well, whatever. It wasn’t exactly the most riveting conversation, anyway,” Church muttered, reaching up to rub his eyes. “Asshole was just trying to―” He was interrupted by a yawn― “trying to give me some stupid fucking advice or something. Like he’s qualified to be a life coach.”

For a moment, Tex didn’t reply, and Church almost believed that she would just take his answer at face value. Then her gaze flickered back to the coffee machine and she said, as casual as can be, “So you two weren’t boning?”

Church choked on air, despite the fact that he didn’t actually have lungs or a windpipe. “Wh ― what?!” he sputtered, his voice immediately rising to a glass-shattering pitch. “No! What the fuck, Tex?!”

She still didn’t turn to face him, but he could see the self-satisfied smirk cross her face, even from the side. “I’m just saying, it’s kinda suspicious. A Red hanging around in your room in the dead of night, completely armorless, making lots of noise… you got something you wanna tell me, Church? You sleeping with the enemy?”

Church absolutely refused to acknowledge any of the other indignant sounds that came out of his mouth, mostly because they were all so high that a fifteen-year-old-girl would wince. “Fuck you! Why would I ― fucking ― Donut? Fucking Donut?” Finally composing himself (somewhat), he shook his head harshly and crossed his arms against his chest, pulling his voice back down to a reasonable pitch. “Why the fuck do you care what I do, anyway?”

Shooting him a sidelong glance, Tex slowly raised one eyebrow.

“Uh, because I would prefer it if my boyfriend wasn’t sleeping with another man,” she said flatly. She looked back at the coffee machine. “Anyway, you can stop bitching; I know you aren’t boning Donut. I just wanted to see how high your voice can get while you’re still half-asleep.” She grabbed her full mug and took a sip, unbothered by the temperature. “No higher than usual. Too bad. I hoped you would break somebody’s visor.”

Church didn’t respond. He was too busy gaping at Tex like a fucking fish who just got shot in the chest and hasn’t realized it’s dead yet.

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Did ― did you just say boyfriend?!”

Tex paused, her mug half-raised to her lips. After a moment, she lowered the mug, turned on her heel, and scrutinized him, her eyes squinted and her brow furrowed. He was too shocked to squirm under her gaze, so he just stared right back at her, his mouth still hanging open.

Slowly, she set down her mug on the counter.

Then she absolutely exploded into a fit of hysterical laughter the likes of which Church had never seen before.

That, at least, snapped him out of his stupor. “Hey ― what ― don’t laugh at me!” he screeched, more frantic than he was angry. “It’s not ― it’s not like ― shut up! It’s a valid question!”

Tex, for her part, only laughed all the harder. “You dumbass!” she cackled, wrapping her arms around her torso and doubling over as if she actually needed air. “Oh my God, is that why you’ve been so bitchy lately?! Because you thought we were still broke up?! That’s priceless! Oh, Jesus, you’re such a baby!”

“I am not!” Church shrieked, and, in the distance, something shattered.

“Aw, fuck, my visor!” Tucker yelped distantly.

Tex roared with laughter once again, slamming her fist against the counter and her forehead right down next to it. “Te-ex!” Church whined ― even he couldn’t deny it; he was whining, no ifs about it ― but she paid him no mind. “Tex, shut up! You’re embarrassing me!”

Finally, her laughter simmered down to something that was almost a giggle, although for his own safety Church would never call it that out loud. “God, you’re a dumbass,” she snickered (yeah, “snickered” was probably safe). “I thought I made it obvious.”

Church made a sort of choking/screaming noise that would’ve embarrassed him if he hadn’t already completely abandoned his dignity long back down the road. “Wh ― you ― obvi ― YOU DID NOT MAKE IT OBVIOUS!”

Tex raised an eyebrow, still grinning so widely that it had to hurt her cheeks. “Preeeet-ty surrrre I diii-iid,” she teased, almost sing-song.

Hissing through his nose like a cat with a sinus infection, Church crossed his arms tightly over his chest and pouted. “Did not,” he muttered, staring sullenly at the ground.

Tex snorted, but didn’t justify that with a response. There was a brief, unsure pause as Church stared down at his feet, numbly reviewing the conversation in his head. That seemed like pretty conclusive evidence that they were back “together”, but…

“Here.”

Blinking, Church glanced up. Tex was offering him his mug ― which, he just now realized, she had filled with coffee. His eyes flickered up to her face for a second, but she was just grinning toothily. “Uh, thanks,” he said uncertainly, accepting the mug―

Tex swooped forward, grabbed the back of his head with both hands, and pulled him in for a kiss. Coffee sloshed over the edge of Church’s mug.

The kiss only lasted for a second, but Tex’s hands lingered.

“Boyfriend,” she teased lightly.

Church’s face went warm immediately. Mortified, he threw up a hand to hide it, spilling more coffee in the process, but it was too late ― she’d already seen. “Tex―” he squeaked in protest as she laughed at him again.

“Jesus, if you do that every time, people are gonna think you’ve got a heart of gold underneath all the jaded, cynical asshole.” Snatching her own mug from the counter, Tex grabbed his wrist and pulled him along behind her, ignoring his yelp of protest as his coffee mug lurched and spilled a third time. “Also, you’re the one who broke it, so you’ve gotta call Command to get Tucker a new helmet.”

“What?! Bullshit,” Church groaned, then paused, considering for a second. “Wait, does this mean I get to call you my girlfriend?”

“No,” Tex said without hesitation.

“What the fuck, why not?!”

“Because I have a reputation to uphold, dumbass.”

“Wh ― so do I!”

“Church, I love you, but no the fuck you don’t.”

“Yes I fucking do ― wait. What was that?”

“…‘I tolerate you’.”

“That is not what you said―”

“Is too.”

“IS NOT―!”

#Chex #Leonard Church #Agent Texas #RvB Fluff Week #Red vs Blue #Rage Writes #this was such a good prompt #i just hope i did it justice

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x688plsloveme · 7 years

Conversation

Companions plus faction leaders see get Sole get gravely injured and while trying to help them, they try to walk it off and continue the fight

Cait: One moment, both Cait and Sole were having the time of their lives, decimating supermutants. The next, Sole was screaming while a mutant dog tore up their arm. Cait bashed the dog's head in without a moment's hesitation. She was about to go back into the fight when she saw Sole trying to get up and grab their weapon. "Oh, no you don't! Sit back down Sole!" Sole said that they were perfectly capable of fighting, but Cait wasn't having it. She forced Sole to stay seated, then threatened them to stay or else. Sole begrudgingly allowed Cait to fix them up. After she was done, she pointed a finger at Sole and told them that if they worried her like that again, she'd kill them herself.

Codsworth: Codsworth honestly thought that Sole was invincible before he saw them get torn up by a feral ghoul. He told Sole that they should heal themselves while he takes care of the remaining ghouls, but Sole wasn't hearing it. They told him that they were fine and limped back into the fray. Codsworth couldn't really argue with Sole, so he made sure to take care of the toughest enemies. Ensuring that Sole would have it easier.

Curie: Curie lets out a rather loud gasp when she sees the blood blossoming on Sole's thigh while they were fighting gunners. Curie tries to treat it right away, even with Sole telling her to stop over and over again. Sole just keeps on firing their gun while Curie patches their leg up as best she can with them standing. When the last of their enemies were down, Curie properly fixes Sole's leg, not noticing their piercing stare until she glanced up. "What's the matter madam/monsieur..?" She looks quite shocked. "You got in my way during the fight!" Curie winces and tiltes her head down. "I-I'm sorry, but you seemed to b-be in pain..." She looked up. "I just wanted to help, really!" Sole put their hand on their kind hearted companion's shoulder. "I know Curie, but next time help me when everything wanting to kill us is dead."

Danse: Sole got knocked out for a few seconds when a synth hit them with a shock baton. Danse quickly destroyed it, before turning to Sole with his brow furrowed in worry. "You okay soldier?" Sole blinked out the remaining spots in their vision. "Yeah, I'm fine." They tried to stand, but ended up falling right back down. They tried twice more before Danse commanded them to stay. Sole tried to protest, but to no avail. They couldn't disobey a direct command from someone with a higher rank than them. By the time Danse returned, Sole was able to walk, but Danse still had them lean on him. After a few minutes of silence, Sole looked up at Danse and quietly asked him, "Please don't tell Elder Maxson about my screw up today." Danse kept looking forward, but there was a small smile on his face. "Of course soldier. I know you'd do the same for me."

Deacon: Sole and Deacon were doing fairly well against a group of raiders up until Sole slipped and got shot multiple times in the stomach. Deacon turned around when he heard Sole's scream. His eyes went wide, panicking for a second before pulling himself together. He shot the raiders around them before running up to inspect Sole's injuries. They tried telling him that they're fine, but coughed up blood while doing so. "Uh-huh. I've heard some pretty bad lies in my time, but I think that one just took the cake. Sorry, but you're staying where you are." All Sole could do was groan and lean their head back while Deacon finished up. He already had stimpacks ready when he came back to Sole's spot. They ended up camping there for the night, giving Sole plenty if time to think about how lucky they are to have Deacon as a companion.

Dogmeat: Sole gets grazed by a feral's bony hands while in downtown Boston. Dogmeat thinks that Sole is seriously hurt, so he goes absolutely berserk on the rest of the ferals. 'Must protect human!' Sole ends up not being able to shoot anything because Dogmeat's in the way. He gets rewarded with a brahmin steak later on for being such a good boy.

Hancock: Hancock damn near went feral when Sole got seriously hurt by a raider. He only increased the violence when he saw that Sole was trying to help him, scared that they'd get in an even worse condition. He was not going to lose the one good thing he had left on this world. When he saw Sole's dumbfounded look after he was done, he burst out laughing. "Chalk that up to 'reasons why I'm awesome." That snapped Sole out of it. "Yeah, yeah. Just fix me up already." He did it without hesitation and helped Sole to their feet. While they were walking away, Hancock ruffled Sole's hair affectionately, and told them not to worry him so much. Sole just smirked and said that they couldn't promise anything.

MacCready: While fighting a bunch of gunners, Sole was flung across the street by a man in power armour. "Holy fu-frick!" MacCready's eyes went wide when he saw his friend sprawled across the pavement. Thankfully, Mac shot the guy between the eyes before he could deliver the final blow. MacCready was relieved when he saw Sole get up, but that was quickly replaced by fear when they suddenly clenched their abdomen. "Boss! Are you okay?" Sole grimaced more than they smiled, but they assured him that they were alright. In reality, Sole just didn't want to worry him. A few broken bones is nothing. MacCready was a bit skeptical, but trusted Sole to know what they were doing. The poor guy never learned that Sole was actually very hurt.

Nick: Nick thought he was going to overheat with how hard he was working to keep Sole safe. Sole had just gotten a nasty gash from a mirelurk a few minutes prior, and Nick didn't want them to over exert themselves with more fighting. When the last mutated crab was down, Nick went to heal Sole straight away. They tried pushing him away, insisting that they were fine. Nick stared them down and said, "Sole." That one word was enough to make Sole give in. They couldn't compete with Nick's stern voice. He had a smug smile the entire time he was fixing them up.

Piper: "OH MY GOD! BLUE!" Needless to say, Piper was downright terrified. The last thing she wanted was for her best friend to die. She didn't even wipe out the rest of the enemies, she just picked up Sole and ran. She ran until she came across Diamond City. Piper took Sole to the clinic, demanding immediate medical attention. All the stress made Piper pass out on her friend's cot after the doc fixed them up. She was just glad that Sole would be alright.

Preston: There was only one stingwing left when it stung Sole. Preston made short work of it, but the poison was spreading quickly, making Preston tear up because he didn't know how to save his friend. He soon sobered, however, when he saw Sole start to walk away. "Where do you think you're going? We need to get you help!" Sole didn't even glance back, probably because they were wincing. "Eh. I'll be okay." Preston wasn't going to let them have their way. He ran up to them, and without warning, hefted Sole over his shoulder. He ran all the way to the nearest settlement, even with Sole demanding he put them down.

Strong: He let Sole get back up and continue to fight after they got hurt by some mutants. He would've thought them weak if they hadn't. Strong did go on ahead to take the brunt of the fire, so that Sole wouldn't die of course. Then who would help him find the milk of human kindness?

X6-88: X6 made a disapproving sound when he saw that Sole had been incapacitated by a stray bullet or four.vHe obliterated the remaining enemies before lifting Sole up bridal style. They asked him what in the world he was doing. One of his eyebrows lifting up in question was the only bit of emotion he showed. "I'm obviously taking you back to the institute to get treated." Sole started pushing against his chest, saying that they're not some damsel in distress. X6 sighed. "With all due respect sir/ma'am. Wouldn't it be better to get bullets dug out of you by sterile equipment?" Sole stopped and thought for a moment. "Holy crap, you're right. Well then, what are we waiting for?" X6 muttered a barely audible "We're waiting for you to accept the obvious answer," before calling in a teleport request.

Desdemona: She couldn't believe it. One of her best heavies knocked out on the ground. They fainted because they saw a molerat. Now Des has to make sure that none of the 'savage beats' could attack Sole. A few minutes after Desdemona was done, Sole woke up. Des wasted no time in chewing out Sole, putting emphasis on them needing to get over their molerat phobia.

Maxson: Maxson would be lying if he said that he wasn't scared shitless. What with Sole bleeding on the ground, and him being the only one who could fight against the rest of the gen-1 synths that infested a building near the airport. He long ago told Sole to not get up no matter what. Somehow, he destroyed all of the synths, and let the tension leave his body. Until it came back when he heard Sole's ragged breathing. He spun around and told them to hop on his back. He didn't know a thing about medicine, but people around the airport do. When he arrived, he was dead tired, but he managed a smile when the doctor that took Sole told him that that'd be alright.

Father: He was absolutely mesmerized by Sole's fighting ability. So much so, that he didn't hear Sole's warning. They had to tackle him out of the way, which made them take they blow he was about to receive. He was stunned for a moment, but when he saw that Sole was standing back up with blood running down their face he scrambled back to his feet. "Mother/Father! Let me-" Sole cut him off. "No Shuan. It's my duty as your parent to protect you. Let me." It tore him up to do so, but he obeyed. He never looked up more to his parent than at that very moment.

______________________

@conquerorofthewarriorprincess

Hope you like it! It took me a while because Tumblr deleted my original somehow.

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eraniriel · 6 years

Note

i know it wasnt an ask meme but would you select one of the cliche's and write Eran/Kyn'ra? Asking for a friend. Also, one of these two because they're the best; One of them is hurt and the other falls asleep in their hospital room OR The other losing their mind when their partner is hurt/killed and charging into battle recklessly ♥

(I apologize for piloting Kyn'ra but she’s so damned cool how can I NOT)

Darkshore was a thicket of bodies, with broken weaponry jutting out of the ground like quills. The Kaldorei fought against the incursion, but it was a small force, unprepared for the ambush of a Horde attack. Eraniriel was among them, exhausted from months of facing off against the nightmare of an apocalypse looming like a scythe over the neck of the world.

She ripped her blade from the guts of a forsaken battle priest, tearing it from hip to throat with a spray of jet black ichor.

Two sharp cracks off the coast of Darkshore were almost forgettable, lost in the concert of chaos waging war across the beach. Moonlight stretched across a line crossbow wielding forsaken, and ship-mounted wyvern maw harpoon guns, its white light leaping to the deadly spikes of one harpoon bolt and a second, much smaller crossbow bolt, as they crossed the scarlet shallows and blood drenched sand. Even amid the melee Kyn'ra saw, and in horror watched them strike their intended target with fatal accuracy. The gleaming nail of the crossbow bolt plunged into Eraniriel’s eye socket, the brutal impact of it forcing her head to snap back to expose her throat beneath the gorget. The serrated spearhead of the harpoon bolt hit the warrior with concussive force, plunging deep to the steel fletching in the bowl of Eraniriel’s throat. The scream of “SNOWFALL!” came too late, mercurial eyes watching her former commander dragged off her feet, back slamming into the sand whilst her head was forced to the side from the long bolt’s head sticking out of the back of her neck where gouts of blood poured freely to the sands.

Rage hit Kyn'ra with cataclysmic force; it rode up her spine like fire down a fuse, filling her veins with adrenaline engorged blood, igniting her moonlight eyes until they burned like the heart of a star, and a night-dark shadow filled her to the brim. Her shadow looked enormous as it ran across the beach, living darkness spilling out of the slats of her violet Darnassian armor. She was running, and flames of jet tourmaline slithered, coiling, down the crescent of her war axe. She charged across the beachhead, as untouchable and unstoppable as the coming of the night. Arrows left their bowstrings, screaming through the dark to take the charging Sentinel down. But each dart missed her, deflected by her vambrace, or axe, or armor, or by the livid Night that coalesced around her. Heavy sabatons thundered up the steps leading to the broad and beautiful dock, upon the edge of which an enormous soot and silver hippogryph stood beating her wings and ripping a forsaken bat apart.

“Halla'na,” she roared, thundering for the feathered beast with all the fury of a landslide. The wood of the dock creaked, groaned, splintered beneath the weight of her rage, the whole of the structure shaking as if afraid of the warrior it bore. Kyn'ra seized a handful of soot-tipped feathers and pulled herself astride the hippogryph, pointing her axe for the forsaken Dreadnaught with its line of gleaming harpoon guns still shooting bolts towards the shore.

Like a stabbing dagger forced between her ribs, she felt the breathless agony of watching Eran fall, of seeing that unpunctured eye go from white fire to lifeless grey. A wrenching sob tore through her, the hideous sound punctuated by a scream from behind her. She didn’t turn to look, pushing Halla'na faster, harder, for the ship, and once over it’s deck she dropped from the hippgryph and landed with meteoric force beside a tall, badly decomposed forsaken make with a blood red coat and jet black tricorn plumed with a peacock plume. She cleaved the captain in two with one backhand swing of her war axe, reaching forward to seize a cog on the ship’s wheel and crank it hard to the left, away from Darkshore and towards another Dreadnaught anchored not far off. She spared but a blink of time to bind the wheel with rope, knotting it mere seconds before the upper deck was swarmed with screaming corpses livid and eager to avenge their captain.

They didn’t stand a chance. She raised her waraxe, and along the crescent edge she dealt death like it was free, like every cleaving blow didn’t rip at the wound in her heart, making her agony weep, then flow, then gush like a mortal wound. She swing in a wide arc, taking the heads of guards that had thought their halberds were good enough to defend against one Kaldorei. Axe bit through flesh and bone, chewed through wood and steel like they were brittle grass under a swinging scythe. Kyn'ra kept killing, swinging her war axe with every ounce of strength, and she felt the tireless rage take hold of her completely. She succumbed, and where once Kyn'ra stood, the Night Warrior rose dark and merciless as midnight. There would be never be enough blood to fill the quota of her grief, to ease the pain and the wrath and the grief that now consumed her. Endless was her agony, and endless would be her retribution.

She was halfway down the stairs leading to the main deck before she realized she was screaming. Deep, agonized, painful screams that went on and on and on, ripping from a throat that was as raw and dry as kerosene.

The crossbowman aimed his weapon at her, and she took his legs out from under him, then went back for a second swing to bisect him in the middle. He was dead by the time her heel found his windpipe, by the time she pressed down with all her strength with a sloppy wet crunch that sundered windpipe and neckbone alike. Gore and blood ran like oil across the deck, spilling through the slats in the rail to drip like thick tears down the hull. She could hear screaming down below deck when the keeling boat finally turned its nose for the second dreadnaught, and she could hear the harpoon guns firing from that secondary ship, peppering the deck with bolts three fingers thick. Gripping one, she ripped it from the deck and charged for the listing side of the ship, slamming its steel shaft against the back of one forsaken’s head before she drew her arm back like a javelin thrower and launched that silver spike towards the tricorn wearing figure on the opposite ship.

Whether it hit or not, she’d never know, as a heartbeat later the two ships collided with a sound that she swore shook the upper boughs of Teldrassil. The deck beneath her sabatons bucked and shuddered, sending everything to the floor. Slain bodies of a countless score slid boneless through the black blood, and Kyn'ra hit a knee before a rolling barrel smashed into her side. It threw her back against the rail, and ripped her focus of murdering the entire opposite ship to the splintered mast now falling with a guttural creak and snapping sails, right for her. Fine. Let it be like this, awash in the blood of the enemy, two ships sinking to the bottom of the sea by her own doing - dozens of lives spared Eraniriel’s fate. Eraniriel…Eraniriel…She squeezed her eyes shut, wrathful and anguished tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

Then that scream came again; a scream she knew. Turning her head to the side, she saw a hippogryph not of soot and silver, but of snow and cream; Sheri'adune wheeled overhead, banking around the fallen mast to dive into the mess of the opposite ship, shrieking a cry so piercing Kyn'ra felt it in her soul. She rolled up just as the mast came down with a jarring, splitting crash, its bannering sails catching and cracking into the opposite ship’s rigging. She could hear the other mast creaking, she could hear wood splintering, and as she grabbed her waraxe and mounted the fallen beam, charging across the bridge it made between the boats, the light of her vengeance was moon bright and terrible, and bathed with the tempest of Her fury.

#ty for the ask #im sorry if I got Kyn'ra wrong #Anonymous #Eran writing

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outtacommission · 7 years

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What about a captured klance where they're both in separate holding cells, and Lance is injured from either torture or being forced to battle, or the battle before. And Keith watches him pass out in his cell without being able to help at all

Anonymous: I like the "look at me, look at me and stay awake" hurt rp that u reblogged for klance (I can't remember if ur a Voltron blog or not but if u are 👀 and if ur not its coo)

so this one is set in my fantasy dragon rider au, which i’ve written the first couple chapters of and don’t know how much more i’ll end up writing, but i thought this would be an interesting setup for these prompts.

Keith didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last moved. He sat in the corner of the dim, grimy cell with his legs drawn up and his arms resting on his knees, gaze trained on a cluster of small stones embedded in the dirt. Night had fallen; he could deduce that much. The shadows had grown long across the hall, and now all he could see of them were cast by torchlight. Every time he heard footsteps, he had to resist the urge to lunge for the bars and press his face against them to see who was coming.

His hands were bloodied, split at the knuckles and scraped on the palms. His torso was littered with blossoming bruises from the toes of boots that had connected with it, and they ached, but he didn’t pay them any mind. He’d been beaten for resisting, but he hadn’t spouted off the way Lance had. That was why he was in this cell, and Lance was off Fyra-knew-where, no doubt getting the hell beat out of him.

He told himself he wasn’t worried, but that was a lie. These Galra were brutes. He’d already seen and felt what they could do. At least they didn’t know who he and Lance were—not yet, anyway. And hopefully they would be broken out of here before they had a chance to wear them down enough to find out.

Keith dug stones out of the ground and practiced tossing them at a divot. The dull click of rock hitting rock was strangely grounding. He tried to think of other things—of his companions, of Regnis, of their quest—anything other than Lance. It wouldn’t be long before they were rescued. He was sure of it.

He paused in his stone-throwing momentarily and listened for movement anywhere near his cell. Nothing. Only silence, except for the crackle of torch-flame and the wind whistling by the windows. He opened his palm and called upon the living energy resting in his bones, then watched with satisfaction as a sliver of flame snapped to life in his hand. It was small, nothing obvious, but it helped to calm his mind a bit. He turned his hand and the flame wove and danced between his fingers like a living thing. It had been a while since he’d last used his magic, and it was beginning to make his skin itch. He felt a little closer to Regnis when he used it. He missed her.

When he clenched his fist, the flame was snuffed out. He didn’t dare use it for too long, lest he be seen by his captors. That would ruin everything. He was growing more and more restless, though, the longer that Lance was gone. And worried. His fellow paladin had already been injured when they dragged him off, and he didn’t even want to imagine what they had been doing to him all this time. He might have to use his flame more than he wanted to in order to get them out of here, if it came down to it.

A loud clanging echoed down the hall. Keith’s ears perked up instantly. There were several sets of heavy footsteps and the sound of something being dragged coming in his direction. His heart began to beat faster—this had to be the guards bringing Lance back. He forced himself to stay where he was, hardly daring to look up through the tangle of his bangs when they came into view.

His heart leapt into his throat.

The Galra dumped a flaccid form onto the floor of the cell opposite his, where it crumpled in a heap and didn’t move. The guards didn’t say a word as they slammed the door shut and locked it, and thankfully didn’t spare Keith a glance as they stalked back down the hall.

Keith stayed still and listened intently until their footsteps faded away and the heavy creaking of the dungeon door rang down the corridor. When silence permeated it once more, he scrambled up from his position and flung himself to the bars. “Lance! Hey, are you okay?”

At first he was terrified that Lance wouldn’t respond at all, but relief flooded through him when the dirty, bloodied form began to stir and shift weakly on the ground. The paladin squirmed for a bit before finally pushing himself up on trembling arms.

Keith’s breath caught in his throat. There was so much blood. It covered Lance’s shirtfront. He’d been stripped of his cloak and leather jerkin, leaving him in nothing but the thin tunic he’d had since the day Keith met him, but it was ruined now. He’d obviously been whipped, but the fabric was so heavily saturated with blood that Keith couldn’t tell what was skin and what was shirt. It was a miracle that Lance was conscious, let alone able to move.

“Holy Thel,” he breathed as Lance braced himself against the bars of the cell.

The blue paladin gave a tense smile, and his teeth were stained red. “They… They did a number on me this time.”

Keith gripped his own bars in a white knuckled grip, magic flaring hotly under his skin in response. Every instinct was telling him to get to Lance immediately to tend to him, but his flames wouldn’t be enough to get him out of the cell on their own. “What are your injuries? Give me a list.”

“Dunno, honestly,” Lance murmured, resting his head against a bar. He closed his eyes as a grimace against what must be a bad wave of pain swept over him. “Everything hurts at the moment. Kinda hard to give specifics.”

Keith’s jaw clenched. “Well, try. I need to make sure you’re not going to die soon.”

“I won’t. They made sure of that.” He coughed a few times, features twisting in agony. “I think…several of my ribs are cracked. They made sure to whip me until I couldn’t stand. I think they broke my hand—” he held up his left hand and even from across the hall Keith could tell several fingers were indeed broken “—and my head got knocked pretty good a few times. Other than that…everything’s just sore.”

Keith closed his eyes, trying hard to reign in his anger, his frustration at not being able to do anything. “Alright… Alright. We can deal with this. You just have to make sure you stay awake until we’re out of here, okay?”

“Dunno if that’s gonna happen,” Lance muttered wearily, letting his eyes remain shut. “Everything’s really…really spinning right now.” Even as he said it, his grip on the bar slipped and his head dipped a bit more.

“Don’t!” Keith snapped. “You have to stay awake, Lance. Uh… Try using your magic. Can you make a light?”

Lance shook his head. “Can’t. S’not there right now. You know I’m not…not good with it like you are.”

“Not yet.” Keith tried hard to keep his voice light. “You just need more practice.”

“Mm.” He slid further down toward the ground. “My head hurts. M’real tired, Keith.”

“Stay awake,” he demanded with an intensity that started even him. His face was pressed against the bars now as he unconsciously tried to get as close to his fellow paladin as physically possible.

Stars, this was bad. Lance might not be in danger of dying—he’d wager some twisted druid magic took care of that—but he was still losing blood, and had an obvious head injury. Keith had seen consequences of both those things before.

With a quiet groan, Lance finally slumped onto the grimy dungeon floor. Without thinking, Keith sent a wave of hot energy billowing from his palms and into the cell. He saw the magic rustle Lance’s hair and clothes, but the boy didn’t stir again. He slammed his fists against the bars with enough force to make a clang. This was infuriating, and he was absolutely helpless to do anything about it. He’d have to carry Lance back to the rest injured and bleeding and unconscious. The blue dragon was going to throw a fit.

His hands gripped the bars again, and he lowered his head in a prayer. Regnis, please, get us out of here.

#injury #injury fic #klance #my fic #wow i'm actually posting a fic who would've guessed?????#Anonymous #ask

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selenelavellan · 7 years

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I know the Swapped Bodies snippet was meant to be a one-off, but once everything's back to normal (for a given value of 'normal'), how would Selene react to her new understanding of Dirthamen's experience? Fierce over-protective mode? Would Dirthamen be very surprised by inhabiting a body that isn't constantly shifting forms? Once they're properly situated, do they make many huggings?

Sorry for the wait anon.

Body Swap AU Part 2

part 1

Dirthamen and Deceit and the Evanuris belong to @feynites

The journey back to Dirthamens holdingsin Arlathan is strenuous. Each step feels like she’s trudgingthrough water against the tide, ready for her feet (or whateversemblance of a foot she may currently be sporting) to give waybeneath her.

She ready to collapse by the time theymake it through the gates. Keeping the form is much more of a mentaland magical strain than she is used to dealing with, and still she isonly barely managing to keep it all together.

She and Deceit vanish behind the heavydrapery of Dirthamens private chamber together for a moment ofprivacy.

Selene melts into the couch cushions.

Literally.

Deceit quickly shifts into Dirthamensusual form, and begins quietly hissing at Selene.

“How did this happen?”

“I’m not sure,” Selene sighs, twopuddles crashing like waves up and then down in a semblance of a shrug. “I wasworking in the labyrinth, and then I felt a sting in the back of myneck, and then I was in that meeting.” She frowns as she recalls theevents of the meeting. “Are they always that rude to him?”

“It is usually worse,” Deceitadmits “But Mythal at least seemed to recognize something was notquite right and kept Elgar'nan more placated than she would normallybother to.”

“I suppose that’s…good, then? Fornow. Perhaps he’ll get a break.”

“He will not. It is more likely shewill be keeping a closer eye on things, and look for an opening toseize more power from him. You will have to be more cautious.”

Selenes frown deepens “I don’t likethe sound of that. I was hoping for more ‘don’t worry Selene, we’llget this all sorted out and get things back to normal’ and less'You’ve made everything exponentially worse and there’s no real planon how to move forward so just be careful and try not to get any ofus killed’.”

“I’ve always appreciated your abilityto read between the lines,” Deceit jokes with a smile that doesn’tquite reach his eyes.

A piece of her form curls up from theground and tugs teasingly on the bottom of his robe in response.

“The good news is, we have experiencein Dirthamen not always being Dirthamen,” Deceit placates “Thebad news is, that means you will need to be me while I am being him.”

“I don’t think I can manage Sairal,”Selene admits while trying to pull herself back into a vaguely elvenform rather than a series of thick puddles “I can barely manage tokeep this together at all.”

“Another, simpler form might be moresuitable then. Have you tried a raven?”

Selene rolls her shoulders as best shecan, head practically falling over from the elongated neck when shemoves to crack it. Quickly, she straightens, and lets out a breath.

Ok.

A raven.She can do a raven. She’smanaged the white raven before, in her own body.

Same deal here.

Probably.

Let’s see…Wings, of course. And allblack, for Dirthamen, a bit larger than normal. Sleek, for Deceit,with the elongated talons…

She feels her body shifting, hears thebones snapping and stretching and feels wings pulling from hershoulder blades. One, two…three…four…five…and finally six.

Six isn’t right,she’s fairly certain. Most birds do not have six wings.

Eyes peel open tocheck, and it is disorienting at first. Too many perspectives, toomany clashing peripherals while her mind struggles to adjust to thesix eyes rolling in her newly stretched skull.

Deceit is so tiny,now.

Are ravens thisbig, she wonders? She’s pretty sure they’re not supposed to be.

“That isdefinitely not a raven,” Deceit informs her, panic beginningto subtly roll off of him. “The fact that you got to Dragonbefore a raven is a very interesting piece of information that wewill be filing away, but turning into that here could be seenas an act of war so you have to change, right now.”

Selenes ears droopin their slots beside her horns as her eyelids begin to slide closed.

Change?

Again?

“But I’m sotired…” she tries to say, but manages only a yawn and a lowrumble while her head settles down on her front paw (or is it a claw?She wonders), and she feels momentarily proud of herself for at leastmanaging to get the talons right before her eyes fall closed, heavybeneath the weight of her exhaustion.

Footsteps can beheard approaching the room, and Deceit spins on his heel, casting alarge glamour over her form in disguise as one of the attendantsenters.

Selene would beimpressed, if she weren’t so tired.

Deceit speaksbefore the attendant can.

“We will bereturning to our own territories immediately,” he informs them.“Please gather whatever is necessary for the trip.”

The attendantpauses, but quickly drops into a bow with a nod, and exits as quicklyas they had entered.

Deceit turns backto Selene, wearing Dirthamens most disapproving face.

She lets out a softwhine in response.

–

After a lengthyseries of contemplation, Dirthamen decides the least damaging thinghe can do, is return to his own quarters, to await Selenes return.

Which would be avery wise plan.

If only he hadconsidered that Selene is significantly more social than he is.

He is barely up thestairs when he hears someone call for her. It takes a moment, but heturns and gives an awkward wave to the woman calling for her. She iscarrying a clipboard, with several series of equations on them.

He is not sure whatthey are pertaining to.

That is mildlytroubling.

She is asking for aquick check of her mathematical writing for some sort of presentationshe will be giving.

Dirthamen is notentirely positive if her numbers are right or not, but given that heis technically the one she will ultimately be presenting to, he saysthey are fine so that she will be on her way.

He will check themlater.

He turns to headback up the stairs when he finds both arms have been seized. Loopedthrough by two other elves who should not be permitted totouch her without permission and-

Ah.

Melanadahl and Des.

He should haveexpected as much.

Their matchinggrins have his stomach feeling unsettled, and for a moment he misseshaving a form that could easily turn gaseous to escape their grasps.

“Seleeeeene~”Des singsongs “I finished that little piece you asked me to makeyou. When will you be over to try it on?”

“Piece of what?”Dirthamen asks before he can stop himself. He was unaware she wascommissioning Des and his body of…work.

Des’s eyebrowquirks in suspicion, but Melanadahl speaks up before he can begin aline of questioning.

Dirthamen does notthink he has ever been grateful to have Melanadahl speak up before.

“She can’t try iton until after we’ve checked over the newest piece of machineryJune’s people had sent over. Can you believe they’re still enchantingoak, rather than glass? And yet they’re the ones people lookto for innovations. It’s embarrassing, really. Are we allowed toembarrass them? Send them back a better version of their own design?Do you think you could swing an approval on that?”

“June seemsunlikely to take well to that,” Dirthamen-as-Selene frowns.

“So it’s June’sapproval you’re worried about now?” Melanadahl laughs “A week agoyou called their ambassador a barbarian after he tried to get youinto his bed.”

“He did what?”Dirthamen proclaims, pausing mid step. Not that Selene is notpermitted to sleep with whomever she chooses of course. They have notmade any vows of a monogamous partnership. Yet. But she hadn’tmentioned anything to him about it. Are there other, similarencounters still occurring she isn’t informing him of? She has beenspending each night in his bed, so she isn’t taking any of the otherproposals seriously, he supposes. Still, the thought of her doing sowith someone else is…not pleasing.

“Are you feelingalright?” Des questions, hand pressing against Dirthamen-as-Selenesforehead. “You were with the healers earlier, right? Do you need tolie down?”

“I amfeeling…adequate. Perhaps my memory has a few gaps, however. Pleasepardon any discrepancies.”

“Sure…” Deshums.

“Well, youprobably shouldn’t be in the workshop then,” Melanadahl pouts.After a beat, his lips curl into a large grin, and Dirthamen suspectshe is not actually broken up about the situation at all as hecontinues with “Des’s it is, then.”

–

Selene manages toget herself into a raven-esque form before the attendants return fortheir trip back into the territories. There are still six eyes andsix wings, but nothing about it is screaming 'Dragon’ anymore, soDeceit has calmed down significantly.

Selene is stillstruggling to contain everything. She’s not quite sure how Dirthamenmanages to do this all the time, but she knows there are lots moremassages in his future. Her back is killing her already.

The journey out ofArlathan seems calm enough that Selene manages to doze, still perchedon Deceit-as-Dirthamens shoulder as the contingent travels into thecrossroads.

Of course, that iswhen things get complicated.

Deceit hears thearrow with enough time to throw up a barrier, shattering it intosplinters. Three assassins shift, positions now compromised as thecontingent throws their own spells and weapons towards theassailants.

The battle does notlast long. It is all too obvious that these were people who reliedtoo heavily on the element of surprise and their stealth.

Selene would feelbad, if she were not still struggling to hold a form that couldmostly-pass for a raven.

“We are almostthere,” Deceit whispers to her. She takes it as a reassurance thatshe can doze again, and so she does, trying to ignore the smell ofblood coming from the corpses.

–

Dirthamentwirls Selenes body, wearing the very, very, short dress she hadapparently commissioned from Des. It is opaque only over her hips andbreasts, hiding very particular spots from view beneath a white silkthat is otherwise thin enough to be translucent. There is a slit upthe side to show off the length of her legs, and the back dips downin a steep curve that ends at the top curve of her buttocks.

He quite likes iton her.

He thinks he wouldlike it more if he could not also hear Melanadahls low whistle inapproval of it.

“You should wearthat to work,” he teases.

“It does notmatch the safety parameters of clothing that may be worn in theworkshop,” Dirthamen argues “This is clearly made only forbedroom activities.”

“That iswhat you asked for,” Des chimes in. “Are you sure you don’t wantme to bring the torso in a bit more?”

“No, this isfine,” Dirthamen assures. “I-He prefers when it is still a bitloose. There is more room for movement, and her-my comfort is veryimportant.”

“Uh-huh,” Desnods, tossing him back the clothing she had been wearing before.

Dirthamen movesback into the changing room, and quietly hopes that she will not betoo upset with him for ruining the surprise.

–

Deceit takes thefastest route back into Dirthamens chambers once they have crossedback into his territories. Her 'raven’ is beginning to grow extralimbs, and the mask reappearing is only causing more panic to rolloff of her as she looks around at the things that were not meant tobe seen by others. Her control over the form is slipping, and it is arelief to let her loose into their room.

Selene is alsoquite happy to be near a bed, he notes, as the form becomes moreelvhen and she sprawls out on the expansive mattress.

Dirthamen appearsnot long after, looking worn out himself.

His brow creases ashe watches Selenes form shift through an array of colors beforestriding towards him.

“Are youalright?” he asks as she curls around him.

“I’m fine,” sheassures him, feeling a bit better already, though still very, verytired. “How are you doing?”

Dirthamen hesitates“I ran into Des and Melanadahl, and found out about June’sambassador.”

“Oh.”

“You did not tellme they had invited you into their bed.”

“Invited is avery polite way of putting it,” she mutters “But I handled it. Ifigured you had enough to deal with, I didn’t want to bother you withit.”

Dirthamen supposeshe can’t really fault her for that. It is good to know she handled iton her own, and was not maliciously keeping secrets from him. Hischest feels strangely lighter with the knowledge. “In thefuture, if there are troubles or more improper encounters like that,I would appreciate being told. It is no bother, I assure you.”

“Alright,”Selene nods. She pauses for several beats before speaking up again,more quietly “I’m sorry about your family.”

Dirthamen panicsbriefly, before Deceit sends him flashes, memories of the encounter.

Ah.

Nothing tooterrible then, at least.

“They are myfamily,” he evades. “You should be more concerned that you wereattacked on the route back.”

“Technically youwere attacked.”

“No,” Dirthameninsists. “The group responsible for the assault at the crossroadslikely knew that I was not inhabiting the body at that time. Theyswitched us, first, so they knew it was you.”

“Why would theywant to hurt me?”

“Perhaps becauseit is known you are close to me. Although that is only knowledgewithin my higher circles which would suggest a leak and thatis…concerning, and requires more strenuous investigation. Orperhaps they simply hoped that it would be easier to destroy my bodyif I were not in it. Then when whatever they put into your body woreoff, I would not have anything to return to.”

“They probablyweren’t wrong,” Selene mumbles, dragging Dirthamen closer to thebed.

“No. It is goodDeceit was with you.”

She sighs as shelays down in the bed, neck and torso elongating as she pulls him downon top of her, arm-like limbs curling around him.

It is aninteresting shift to see this from an outside perspective, he thinks.

“I don’t want youto get hurt,” Selene sighs into the top of his head.

“I will strivenot to,” he promises.

Her breaths beginto even out beneath him, and it does not take long for him torecognize the particular strain of exhaustion surrounding her. Hecurls against her, his own exhaustion at the amount of intimatesocializing he had undertaken with her friends in an attempt to keeptheir cover washing over him.

When he next wakes,he is back to the usual view of the world through the slits of hismask.

He has never beenso grateful to be back in his own body.

#Answered #Body Swap AU #Dirthalene #Selene lavellan #Deceit #Guess who can't even sleep anymore #Anyways here's a fill for...3am.

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