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justarandomreaderxoxo · 19 days ago

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Shadows of the Heart: Chapter 1

Word count: 3123

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: Violence, Drugs (Mentioned), Alcohol

A/n: Sorry for the couple hours of delay in uploading guys, i was obsessing over refining this before posting. You also may notice many grammer error. So, forgive me please as i am not a native english speaker. Also if missed any warnings please let me know as well as if you wanna be tagged in future updates. Enjoy!!!

When you get a tip that your rivals are trying to smuggle drugs in YOUR CITY, where you do not only not deal the drugs but also strongly, very strongly discourage anyone who tries to, you got to do something about it. Lucky for you, the tip included location of their consignment which was unfortunately a moving van.

So now you are on the mission to hunt down the perps using the consignment. You sit in your car, parked just far enough from the cafe to go unnoticed. The neon glow from its signage casts streaks of colour across your windshield as you narrow your gaze at the nondescript white van idling across the street. You know that van’s make and plate by heart now—one of the many moves by the Black Hand, a rival gang brazen enough to test the borders you’ve drawn. They’ve been inching into your territory for weeks, pushing product onto your streets. But tonight, you plan to send them a message.

The van hasn’t budged in twenty minutes. You lean back in your seat, fingers gloved and relaxed around the steering wheel, eyes locked between the van and the cafe entrance. Your informant tipped you off about a possible drop-off around midnight, but so far, there’s no movement. You exhale, feeling your pulse settle as you slip into the familiar rhythm of focus, watching, waiting.

Then, movement. A figure approaches the van from a side alley, pulls up his hoodie, and darts a glance around. Your senses sharpen as he taps on the driver’s window, mutters a few words to the man inside, and waits. You tense, taking in every detail, assessing your options. Now would be the time to make your move, to intercept him before he can go any further. But you’re not about to jump the gun; you need them with product in hand—ironclad proof.

The man steps away, scanning the street and even glancing toward the cafe as if considering his next move. Your brow furrows. The Black Hand’s drops are predictable, but this cafe is unfamiliar territory. It’s either a random choice or a cover—a test to see if you’ll take the bait.

You reach for your phone, ready to signal your backup waiting nearby, when a faint chime catches your attention. The cafe door swings open. You look over, expecting just another late-night customer, but a woman steps outside, glancing toward the van with a curious expression.

You frown, assessing the potential risk. An innocent bystander complicating things is the last thing you need. Calm but decisive, you slip out of your car, moving toward the cafe with purpose, your eyes darting between the woman and the van, where the dealer still hovers.

Your mere presence is enough to make him falter. He catches sight of you, nerves etched in his face, before retreating to the safety of the van. Satisfaction flickers through you as they pull away from the curb. No words were needed; your reputation alone was enough to interrupt.

Now putting on your backup to follow the van, you decide to take a breather in the café from where the woman came from. It looked cozy enough to breathe for a few minutes.

The bell above the door chimes softly as you step into the warm, inviting atmosphere of the cafe. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods fills the air, momentarily pulling your thoughts away from the weight of the mission that brought you here. You glance around, taking in the cozy decor and the gentle hum of conversations from patrons savouring their afternoon.

Then your gaze lands on the counter, and the rest of the room blurs into the background. There she stands—a beautiful woman, commanding yet effortlessly charming as she chats with a customer. Your heart flutters, and you catch your breath, feeling an unexpected thrill. Something about her presence draws you in, an invisible thread that makes your pulse quicken.

You gather yourself, steadying your thoughts as you approach the counter. Your eyes settle on the name tag pinned to her apron: “Wanda.”

“I’ll have a cappuccino, please,” you say, managing to keep your voice calm.

Wanda looks up, her eyes meeting yours with a warmth that feels unexpectedly personal. “Coming right up! Do you come here often?” she asks, her tone friendly and inviting.

“Not until today. I was… just passing through,” you reply, hoping your smile is as relaxed as hers. Leaning slightly against the counter, you feel compelled to ask, “What’s your secret? How do you make this place feel so… welcoming?”

She chuckles softly, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. “It’s all about the people. Everyone who walks through that door has their own story, and I just try to create a space where they feel at home.”

You’re captivated, not just by Wanda’s beauty but by her passion. “Well, you certainly succeed. It feels like a little oasis in the middle of all the chaos,” you say, your gaze lingering on her smile.

As she prepares your drink, you sense that this encounter is more than a simple coffee order. Maybe it’s the mission that’s led you here, or maybe it’s something entirely different. There’s a connection forming, one that feels powerful, as though it could lead to something life changing.

“Here you go,” she says, placing the cappuccino in front of you. “On the house for my new favourite customer.”

Your heart skips again, and you grin.

“Are you sure you want to be giving away free coffee? I might just become a regular.”

“Then I’d be glad to have you here,” she replies, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Just promise you’ll share your story next time.”

You chuckle, feeling warmth spread through you. “Deal. I will be back, Wanda.”

As you turn to leave, you cannot resist glancing back one last time, meeting her gaze. And in that moment, you know—this is the start of something significant, something that could change everything.

After successfully taking care of The Black Hand, which took a few days, in which you can’t stop thinking about the shy cute barista you met. So, you decided to just fuck it and go meet her now. That’s why you are here now at a not really a café hour standing outside her café.

The streetlights cast a soft glow over the quiet street as you hurry toward Wanda's cafe. You can see the lights are dimmed inside, and your heart sinks at the thought of missing her again. Since your last meeting, you’ve found yourself thinking about the beautiful barista more often than you care to admit.

As you reach the door, you notice it’s slightly ajar. Taking a breath, you push it open, the familiar chime of the bell echoing in the near-empty space. The cafe is almost dark, with only a few flickering candles on the tables and the warm glow from the kitchen lights illuminating the back.

Wanda is wiping down the counter, her focus on her work, unaware of your presence. A few moments pass before she notices you standing there. “Oh, hey there,” she says, looking up with a gentle smile that shifts quickly to a look of surprise.

“Sorry I’m late!” you say, stepping closer, your heart racing. “I didn’t realize you were closing up.”

For a heartbeat, Wanda is silent, her expression unreadable.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of your words. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this,” you add sincerely. “I just had to come back. Do you remember me? I was here a few days ago.”

Wanda’s eyes brighten at the mention of your last visit. “Of course, I remember you. It’s not every day I give away free coffee.” A faint blush warms her cheeks, and her gaze dips toward the counter.

A rush of warmth floods through you at her words. “Really? I was worried you might forget about me.”

“Not a chance,” Wanda replies, her tone playful. “I was actually hoping you would return.”

Your heart skips at her admission. “Then I guess I’m lucky,” you say, stepping closer, sensing the spark in the air. “So, what were you hoping I’d come back for?”

Wanda’s expression softens as she meets your gaze. “To share stories, maybe. I’d love to know more about you.”

You nod, feeling both curious and amused. “Well, there’s plenty to tell. I’m involved in… let’s say, interesting work.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Interesting work? Do tell.”

“I run a couple of businesses, it’s complicated.” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I can tell you it doesn’t involve making coffee.”

“Pity,” she teases, stepping out from behind the counter and gesturing to a nearby table. “Why don’t we sit? I’d love to hear all about it over some of my best pastries. I can’t let you leave empty-handed.”

As you settle into the cozy warmth of the cafe, you feel a surprising sense of calm. This is more than just a chance encounter; it’s an opportunity to connect with someone who stirs something in you that you hadn’t expected.

You exchange stories, laughter filling the quiet space as time slips by, both of you savouring the easy joy of each other’s company. As the last customers trickle out and the cafe grows even dimmer, you realize you’ve found more than just a break from your chaotic life—you’ve found a connection that feels electric.

After leaving Wanda’s you thought to get a drink before going to sleep, knowing the excitement of time spent with Wanda won’t let sleep come that easy. And come on who could blame you, it's Wanda we are talking about. With all the shit you see every day, Wanda was a nice, warm ray of sunshine in your world of shadows. You didn’t even notice when time passed when you were talking with Wanda. It felt so natural like you two were some long-lost friends who just picked up where they left things.

So, to get the said drink you go to your dad’s bar knowing it’s well past the last call. Shield was a really exclusive bar. You needed to know the right people to get in. It was also a neutral ground for all the families, not that many were left after your father combined the most prominent ones and formed The Avengers. A crime syndicate whom everyone feared.

At the centre of the said syndicate was You, the young firecracker. People who knew the name Y/N Fury knew to fear it too, everyone knew you were ruthless. But what most didn’t know is that you were also truly kind and compassionate. You weren’t just there because Nick Fury adopted you, you made that clear that you deserve to be there with your charm and your brilliance in business. But enough about you, everyone knows you’re awesome.👑

The city outside is quiet, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights as you step into Shield. The bar is dimly lit, its usual buzz replaced by a peaceful stillness; it’s open only for Avengers tonight, even after hours. It’s exactly what you hoped for -a quiet moment to savour the evening after your delightful second encounter with Wanda.

You make your way to the bar, still carrying a spark of excitement. A permanent smile lingers on your lips, a trace of the warmth Wanda stirred within you. The night air seems to hum with the thrill you feel, and you can barely contain it.

“Just a quiet nightcap,” you murmur to yourself, slipping behind the bar where you know you're allowed. With practiced ease, you pour yourself a glass of whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the low light.

Leaning back, you take a slow sip, letting the rich warmth spread as you sink into your thoughts of Wanda. You savour a blissful contentment, letting the usual worries of your life slip away, if only for a while.

From the shadows in a corner booth, two familiar figures—Yelena and Natasha—watch you, their eyes glimmering with shared amusement. They exchange a glance, clearly entertained by the blissful look on your face.

“Look at her,” Yelena whispers, nudging Natasha with a grin. “She’s like a giddy schoolgirl.”

Natasha chuckles, her eyes bright with sisterly mischief. “Oh, she’s definitely smitten.”

Lost in your thoughts, you take another sip, oblivious to the two pairs of eyes studying you from across the room. A contented sigh escapes you, and your smile doesn’t falter.

“Should we go tease her?” Yelena suggests, barely containing her laughter.

“Absolutely,” Natasha replies with a grin. “It’d be criminal to let this pass.”

They slide off their booth and make their way over, their footsteps quiet as they approach. Yelena clears her throat dramatically, and you blink out of your reverie, startled as you spot them in front of you.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our little Fury,” Yelena teases, leaning against the bar with a grin.

You laugh, surprised and delighted to see them. “You two scared me! I didn’t think anyone else would be here. And I am at least older than you Yel-bear.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a smirk. “And here you are, grinning like you’ve just hit the jackpot. What’s got you so happy? A new mission? Or maybe… something else?”

You chuckle, feeling warmth spread to your cheeks. “Maybe a bit of both. I just had… a really good evening.”

Yelena leans in, a playful gleam in her eye. “With someone special, maybe?”

You pause, your smile turning coy. “Maybe,” you admit, still savouring the memory. “There’s someone.”

Natasha and Yelena exchange a look, their teasing softened by genuine warmth. Natasha’s smirk softens, and she says, “Looks like someone’s in deep.”

“Oh, shut up!” You swat at them playfully, your laughter filling the empty bar.

Yelena chuckles, slipping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “We’re only looking out for you. If someone makes you this giddy, they must be worth it.”

A wave of gratitude fills you, and you lean against Yelena’s shoulder, feeling the comfort of her embrace. “Thanks, you two. It means a lot.” You glance up at them, feeling the bond you share—the connection forged through battles and triumphs—wrap around you like a safety net.

Natasha’s gaze softens as she looks at you, a mix of pride and protectiveness in her eyes. “We’ve always got your back. Anyone who makes you feel like this has got to be special.”

Yelena nudges you playfully. “Just remember, if she hurts you, we’ll take care of it. You’ve got the best bodyguards a sister could ask for.”

You giggle, letting the joy of the moment sweep over you. “I know you would. I couldn’t ask for better sisters.”

The three of you settle in together, the quiet of the bar now filled with laughter, the warmth of camaraderie mingling perfectly with the whiskey in your glass. Surrounded by the two of the three people who know you best, you feel at home in a way you rarely do. Tonight, the world is small, warm, and perfect. And as the hours drift by, the bonds of sisterhood grow even stronger, leaving you smiling at the thought of the mysterious woman who sparked a new joy in your life.

Pietro was on his way to check up on Wanda that same night you both met. But as he got near to her café, he could see her talking and laughing with you over her pastries. He also notices how her eyes lingered on you a second too longer sometimes. Ultimately, he decides to leave, he is not a menace. He will just tease her later about it.

The morning sun hadn’t quite risen over the city, and Wanda was already busy in the cafe kitchen, kneading dough for the day’s first batch of pastries. The rhythmic motions of her hands and the comforting warmth of the oven filled the room as she lost herself in her morning routine. The door swung open, and in walked Pietro, looking far too awake for the hour, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Dobroye utro, sestra,” he greeted, his voice filled with teasing warmth. “Already hard at work, or are you just distracting yourself?”

Wanda looked up, wiping flour off her hands onto her apron. “Good morning, brat moj. Shouldn’t you be sleeping off last night’s adventures?” She raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden appearance.

“Ah, but how could I sleep,” he sighed dramatically, leaning against the counter, “when I saw my mila sestra sharing her cafe with someone after closing hours?” Pietro’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Now who might that be?”

Wanda felt her cheeks grow warm. She turned back to her work, forcing a casual shrug. “Oh, dosta, Pietro. She’s just a customer. She was friendly, that’s all.”

“Samo prijateljica, hmm?” Pietro raised an eyebrow, pressing on. “Well, most ‘just customers’ don’t get private late-night talks.” He smirked, crossing his arms as he watched her. “You looked… well, a little smitten.”

“Stop it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes but unable to hide a small, sheepish smile. “Not every friendly face means something, you know?”

Pietro moved closer, playfully poking her shoulder. “Ne lazi, Wanda. I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that since… ever.” His teasing softened slightly. His tone more serious. “Come on, moya sestra, you can tell me. She seemed important.”

“She’s…” Wanda paused, caught between wanting to share and keeping it all to herself. “She’s just different, that’s all. She listens.”

“Listens?” Pietro raised a brow. “It’s been two days, and already she’s got you all… like this. Look at you, smiling like lovesick puppy!”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, swatting him away with a light smack on the arm. “Stop! She’s a friend, dobro? Someone who’s interesting, that’s all.”

Pietro leaned in, whispering with a grin, “You don’t give free coffee to just any ‘interesting’ person, moya sestra.”

She shook her head, feigning exasperation but smiling despite herself. “Fine. Maybe she’s a little more interesting than others,” she admitted. “But only a little.”

“Oh, I know” he said with a grin, crossing his heart. “I won’t say a word.” He winked and headed for the door, calling back, “Remember, you can’t hide anything from me, moya mila!”

Wanda laughed softly, shaking her head as he left. She couldn’t deny it, Pietro had a point. And as she went back to her work, the thought of seeing you again brought a warmth to her smile that even her brother’s teasing couldn’t chase away.

#wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #yelena belova #marvel fanfiction #mafia au #female reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #lesbian #lgbtq #pietro maximoff

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lady-lostmind · 8 months ago

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Lovesick

a @strangerthingsreversebigbang fic

WC: 3123 | Warning: N/A | Rating: T

Pairings: Steve Harrinton / Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Sick Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Domestic Bliss

Summary:

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open.

“Stevie?”

See the art by @ahhrenata here!

Read the fic by @lady-lostmind here!

Beta: @oh-stars

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things reverse big bang #strbb #steddie fluff

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simp-ly-writes · 9 months ago

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Chapter Three: In Dreams

Can be read as a standalone: Personal Hell Series (pt.4)

Pairing: (Hazbin Hotel) Lucifer Morningstar x demon overlord!Reader

Summary: With the chance to sleep again, you find new definitions to peace that leave you picking up the pieces left from finally answered questions. But were they better left unanswered after all?

Warnings: 3123 words, mentions of violence and mental health, possible gore and death.

A/N: I have written this all so quickly, wow it has been awhile since I have felt this passionate about writing someone- thank you all seriously for the support!!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

Lucifer took a stroll around the gardens that had become overgrown. He didn’t have the heart to weed the poisonous vines that strangled the various flowers underneath, he watches as each thorne moved every so slightly to stab the stem, the petals soon fall in on themselves, the others trying to stand become covered as the same fate plays out before all those left standing.

The King did not know how much time had passed, multiple servants had come running into the greenhouse, waiting for his attention only to be teleported out of the room a moment later with a mere twitch of his finger. It was in times like these that the royal wished he could dream- losing himself in fantasy, in hope, and in memory.

Clapping his hands together and casting them outwards, gold strings appeared like rays of sunlight through the panes as a herd of ducks wattled their way round his feet. Tilting his head to the side, you appeared materializing through the door and drifting over to him. You did not speak a word. Only standing as he sat there on the bench describing his day, the tea chosen during the afternoon and the evening decisions he made for after the upcoming extermination.

He chuckled to himself, head shaking before falling to his chest. “You know darling, when I gave that little piece of me, I ended up giving all of me… how pathetic am I…” his laughter only grows as the staff members in wait all bow their heads, doing their best not to listen as their hearts ache. They could only pray that those sightings were real and pray to heaven and back that Lucifer would listen.

“I won a sex-award for this performance, its show and tell… is this not?” Angel Dust comments towards Charlie who hides away from the moans and grunts exiting the speakers. You stand there still behind the box, pretending to trip over the extension cord while mouthing a sorry. Vaggie gives you a thumbs up in thanks before hugging the distressed Charlie in her arms.

“That was not a good irrigation,” Husk comments, walking over to the crowd while cleaning a cup between his hands. “Well what would you know about a good performance, whiskers?” Angel Dust retorts with a huff, legs kicking over the sofas armrest.

“Everyone bitches to the bartender, there is not a single thing that I do not know about any of you at this point. You consistently bitch and moan outside of porn as much as you do in it about your boss,” Husk replies, now pouring himself a drink in the fresh glass.

“Well then prove it,” the Spider comments back childishly as Husk lets out a large huff of air- pointing first at Sir. Pretentious, “That one is an insecure buffoon who watches everyone sleep and the Princess has a bleeding heart of daddy issues that this one,” he waves the neck of the bottle towards you, “refuses to speak to and don’t think yourself to be out of this either Vaggie because you pretend to hate everyone when you really hate yourself. And then there is Nifty…. Nothing more to be said on that.”

Angel Dust blows up with laughter as you are still reeling in this information. You don’t notice as he leaves for work as Charlie desperately tries to pull him back in for the remainder of the exercises, taking this as your cue- you retreat back to your room.

You had requested for some art supplies the next time the Hotel was to receive its shipment of goods. You clapped your hands, overjoyed at the colours you had chosen, so neatly arranged in their glass bottles. Fresh Paint brushes with green wooden handles gleaned happily in your face with the wood finish. So enamoured by the supplies, you got straight to work painting the view out your window.

Pentagram city glowed all throughout the day, its red sky almost caving in the city below with how much blood could be found on the streets. The buildings of all shapes, colours, and sizes sprouted from the earth- trying to escape the destruction but as your brush drifted to paint heaven in the sky, the light blue on your brush hovered as you second-guessed including it in your work.

Cleaning your brush in an empty jar, you set the cityscape to dry on your balcony as your mind soon turned itself off, you were losing yourself to the art, the barriers that you had created for yourself, burying yourself in work and meetings- now all coming undone in a fiery burst of passion- your hand moving feverishly across the canvas.

Becoming lost, paint stroke after paint stroke, a voice drifts just behind your ears, as if they were a person in passing, ““You know darling, when I gave that little piece of me, I ended up giving all of me… how pathetic am I…” Looking back at your canvas, you painted your first memory of being in the Garden, eyes blown wide as you walk around ahead of the King and Queen- excitement had taken over any formalities you had prior to entering the space. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, hiding the painting away only to hear a meow just below your feet.

Leaning the canvas against the food of your bed, you pick up KeeKee, giving the hair between her ears a light pat before coo-ing, “Everything alright?” The cat looks up at you with big eyes, nose pointed towards your door as you follow the silent command. Just as you are about to let the creature go, her claws dig into your shoulders with a wince- making her choice clear. You were making your way downstairs together.

When you descend the stars, pausing just before the last couple of steps, you observe a destroyed bar, crying Charlie and pissed Vaggie. You hold your tongue, hand drifting its way through KeeKee’s fur for reassurance. Alastor appears behind you, just a few steps above as he leans on the railing, silently observing the scene paying out before him.

“I am not so sure Angel Dust will be okay… I-I really messed up today. He got…It was not good. I pushed too hard earlier and things only got worse. So in light of that! I am going to write tomorrow's lecture on boundaries with a side of one-hundred apology letters,” Charlie states, her tone changing from one of sadness to another of light presenting you with a form of whiplash that has your head spinning- trying to keep up.

Husk storms out the building soon afterwards, on a personal mission to hunt down Angel Dust and bring them both back to the Hotel safely. “Never a dull day it is here,” Alastor comments, “I second that,” is all you reply with before KeeKee is jumping out of your hands and disappearing into the shadows. Vaggie turns to you both, “looks like we will be cleaning up then in the meanwhile…” and clean up you do.

While taking over Husks position behind the bar, you cork open a bottle of wine, pouring out glasses for everyone that stumbles through the door. Vaggie holds her hand out, murmuring a thanks before necking the glass down while Alastor inspects his jacket, finger swirling around the rim of the glass. You point the bottle towards Charlie, silently asking if she wants a drink as she shakes her head and you pour the rest out for Angel Dust and Husk who appear in brighter spirits.

“I AM SO, SO, SOO SORRY!” Charlie runs up, squeezing the lemons out of Angel Dust who pats the top of her head awkwardly at first before returning the hug, “It’s alright dollface, I get it. Thank you for caring about me…”

With that being said, Charlie practically chokes the Spider that has him extending his other limbs ushering her in the direction of Vaggies arms who carries her away and up to bed for the day. Husk knocks his head to the side, a silent request for your to get the fuck out from behind his bar.

Sleep had finally found you that night, your eyelids rest to the blackness that surrounds your mind. You feel your covers around you, warming your body as you shift slightly throughout the night. Yet a wetness peaks at your foot, covering your blanket as rain falls once more. It shatters your blanket like pebbles thrown against glass. As you hug yourself from the attack. Your bed rocks back and forth as you look over the edge. High waves you float on, almost going overboard as you desperately grip the headboard.

Walk… an echoing voice appears in your head, Walk… to me…. Dipping your toes in the frigid waters, you curse out before trying to take a stand. You witness the water level gradually lower with every step you take, you walk freely in the ankle deep waters as they ripple underneath. Carry Forth… The voice motivates you to carry forth as the landscape overhead shifts to a sunrise- you cannot tell where the water ends and the sky begins in this reflection- you become breathless at the sight. It was ethereal.

A figure soon appears on the horizon and you can take no further step as a light pressure holds your body still. It is as if every inch of your skin is being casted in a hug by light itself. Your breath shutters from the sensation and before you appear a figure incomprehensible to size, they take over the sky before you, white robes drifting like clouds in the sky as a singular finger is offered to shake your hand.

Their touch is featherlight, knowing of their power. You crane your neck upwards- trying to catch a glimpse of their face yet the light burns your irises as you cast your head down. A chuckle creates waves around you, your body moving without control, pleading for them to cease. A piece of cloth drifts its way over to you, sitting still against the rising waters as you sit on its surface cross-legged.

You try to speak to the creature before you but you find your voice sealed away- as if it would disturb the peace created here. You watch as fish begin to spawn in the waters, they drift in packs back to the direction of your bed, a snake chases forth as is herding them away. We speak our minds in the literal, the voice softly comments in your head, I hear without the need to speak, to pray, or to sacrifice. You wish to know why you have been brought forth- yet an answer spoken now will led to an endless stream.

You tilt your head, still casting your head downwards to watch as the creatures all play amongst one another in the ocean below. You can no longer see the bottom, your stomach clutches with unease yet that familiar pressure against you skin has you unable to think of anything else. I am creation as I am fate, your path interrupted has corrupted the ocean, the skies, and the creatures. I have presented you with breath as I do so again. You were not created for this life you live nor for my siblings who sign for your eyes. But I will not have the destruction of all that has to be broken in your absence.

You speak in riddles, you think to the apparent deity as the waves uproar once more, their laughter blessing their ears as the sunsets and their grandeur falls till they are only just taller than yourself. They sit on the watertop, their face no longer hidden as you gasp at their appearance. They only smile in reaction before summoning a tea set for you both to indulge with.

Blonde hair, rosy cheeks and grey skin greet your eyes, This is the King's brother... You watch as they laugh out, the wave movements now rain filling your cups as he brings them both up for a cheer. Funny to hear a brother of mine to be addressed with such frivolous titles- even more so when coming from someone dear but perhaps unknowing?

I still question to this day the truth in it all, you admit while taking your first sip, eyes closing to the perfect temperature of the tea. An art form, questioning is- could be considered a science. It is relentless in the wrong hands and plagues the people.

We live life in question, is that not what it means to be… human? You question out, not thinking of an answer to be possible and even if there was one, it would quite possibly be past your comprehension. The dietary hums out before you, your cup never emptying as they set their own down against the floating table. Subjective that is, truth- yes but never entirely is anything- even the definite. Alas, I am only an acquaintance to death who would define the truth to humanity. Us immortals never grasp the concept of living- no matter the effort placed. Yet it is in these thoughts that I have learned you are for.

You rest your cup on the table as they hold out their white-gloved hand and your world swirls face falling into the waters below as you look through someone else's eyes. A guard stands silently in your… office. You gasp as does the guard you inhibit. Your eyes snap upwards to see a growling Lucifer, “I have requested for silence during my studies- need I remind you to not look into my eye?”

Your breath hitches, eyes going wide as you take in the King's dishevelled appearance, your desk scattered with papers, your walls covered in illustrated memories yet other than that- not a singular thing has been misplaced. You shake your head, bowing it before the royal as he walks back behind your desk without a second glance, staring at the various maps you spent decades drawing to pin-point precision.

The coldness of the water has you gasping and flailing your own libs as you are taken back to the cloths and seas, back before the sitting the deity who hums out a soothing tone once more. I cannot have the mis-balancing of death. That is why I personally ensure your return as in return I present you with the final bow. You WILL meet my brother when he arrives in due time and I cannot speak more without the worrying of fates.

But- you start to protest without taking another thought, your emotions in a whirlwind yet nothing disrupts the peaceful atmosphere of your dream and the deity before you. With a wave of their hand you are flown back into your bed, underneath the covers that absorb every drop of sea that has touched your skin and you wake up with a silent scream. Hells red skies before you and the relentless city bustling just underneath.

Your earlier painting of the cityscape and the Garden were not where you left them last. They are now found hanging in front of your bed, staring into you, into your subconscious as you debate between dreams in reality as you wake your way into the elevator and down the stairs where breakfast waits freshly prepared.

You look around the breakfast nook in the kitchen, confused when a lack of a certain Princess and accompanying girlfriend are not present at the table. Setting your plate down beside Husks, you take your tea cup with you and into the sitting room where various red strings create a jungle of vines between colourful doodles and sleepless notes.

A stressed Vaggie addresses a sleep-deprived Charlie who rushes around, clutching her hair in frustration, “WHY WONT THIS HOTEL JUST WORK!” you wince at the tone she yells in this early in the morning just as Vaggie had called it quits observing and picks the girl up, pulling her down onto a nearby couch, turned away from the insanity.

But in that moment Charlie partially turns as do you, awaiting for a need to subdue the royal. Angel Dust pats you on the shoulder, easing you to come down again as Husk shoves a new mug into your hands. You did not realise you had dropped your cup earlier.

“Maybe it's time-” Vaggie beings before being cut off by a crazed Charlie running back up to the boards and moving some strings around, “NO.” “To ask your dad. I know you don’t want to but it’s the only chance we have,” Vaggie finishes her sentence with as Charlie drops to the floor, clutching her head between her knees.

Your hands sweat, as you look around to anywhere but Vaggie and Charlie. The dream deity had predicted your future, and you could only feel a wave of nausea wash over you as Charlie opened her phone before she quickly slammed it to the ground, “Wait just a sec! That is it! If we call my dad, he can get me a meeting in Heaven!”

You choke, now leaning against a wall for support. Images of last night, of your office, of the King. Your head pounds as the small voices surround your head, Charlie needs to do this- even when you cannot protect her…

Charlie picks her phone back up, scrolling through her contacts, her finger hovering over the name as Husks asks, “Daddy issues?” Charlie goes dead silent before looking over at you with apologetic eyes and speaking up, “No… we were just… never close thats all. After you and mom left, he never wanted to see me, he buried himself in work. He calls sometimes when he needs me to do something now.”

“Well I would like to meet the big dick in charge,” Angel Dust comments while looking over at you for a reaction. Your face is neutral, giving nothing away but your fidgeting tells elsewise. “The ultimate bad boy~” Nifty praises as you cringe very loudly as does Charlie. “I bet he’s scary~” Nifty continues while fluffing up her hair and stabbing a bug. You let out a whistle, “yup, scary, that's for sure.” Charlie's head snaps over to your own, tilting sideways and eyes narrowing. You refuse to elaborate, memories of his threats to a mere guard simply making eye-contact with him. Every fiber in your body calls for escape but you pressure yourself to stay in support of Charlie who takes a seat in the chair that you stand beside. She clicks call and the phone rings thrice before a friendly tone sends your heart soaring to new heights as you pick at your jacket to better hide your reaction.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

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aquietwritingcorner · 3 months ago

Text

When the Storm Comes

(For @tmnt-write-fight for @sonderquill )

Title: When the Storm ComesPrompt: TMNT 2003 - Leo's first thunderstorm after the finale of Season 1 doesn't go so well. One of his brothers (your choice) is there to help. Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 3123 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G Characters: Leonardo, Donatello Warning: NA Summary: There’s not been any storms since they arrived at the farmhouse after fleeing from the city with an injured Leonardo. But with only a few days before they go back, life decides to throw Leonardo one more test to see if he’s ready. Fortunately, Donatello isn’t about to let him face this test alone, and even if he isn’t sure how to help Leo through this storm, he’s going to do his best. Notes: It’s interesting. In The Shredder Strikes Back it’s storming, and there’s no indication of it being particularly cold. However, in Tales of Leo it starts snowing and everyone is clearly cold and bundled up. In the following episode, Monster Hunter, there’s a thick blanket of snow. But when we get to Return to New York, there’s no snow anywhere. I know it’s stated that it’s been about three months since the turtles have been in their lair, but that seems like an incredible short amount of time for the snow in the northeast, not gonna lie ^^; ff.net || AO3

When the Storm Comes

Don wasn’t sure when, exactly, he realized that the weather was changing. He’d been so lost in going through what was in the barn and wrapping up any projects he had in there that he’d tuned out everything else. He grimaced to himself. Splinter would have his shell if he’d been that unobservant in training. Leo probably would have gently admonished him, too. Or, well, he might be a little more insistent on it than he used to be, if the recent training sessions meant anything. But Don couldn’t really blame him, not after what he’d been through.

A peal of thunder cut off Don’s thoughts, and he unconsciously counted the seconds until the next rumble, even as he packed up his tools for the night. They weren’t returning to New York City for a couple of days, so he still had time to finish things up. He did consider staying in the barn but another rumble of thunder sounded, closer than before, and that cemented Don’s decision. It was time to get back to the farmhouse before the rain started.

Quickly putting the last of the tools away, Don wiped his hands on a rag and grabbed his bo. Slinging it on his back, he headed towards the barn doors. Even thought it was already nighttime, the sky looked even darker than he had expected, with thick, dark clouds that he could barely make out completely covering the moon and stars. The wind had picked up, blowing in steady, strong gusts that were already flinging whatever leaves had managed to hold on through the snow, into the air. Don could smell the rain in the air, the sharp, clean smell stronger than he’d like. Moving as quickly as he could, Don maneuvered the barn doors closed, putting a cinderblock in front of them to keep them that way.

Then he turned and booked it towards the farmhouse.

He wasn’t quite fast enough. A bright flash of lightning lit up the area, the crack of thunder following shortly after. The storm was almost on him, and he could hear the wave of rain approaching. It hit him before he could make it to the porch, falling heavy, drenching, and cold. The snow might be gone, but it was still cold, and this rain was absolutely freezing. By the time Don crossed the last few yards to the porch, he was soaked.

He stopped on the porch, doing his best to shake off what he could of the water, and wringing out his mask. Hoping that the fire was still going, Don opened the door and walked in, quietly closing it behind him. The house was quiet, everyone else asleep, and Don moved on silent feet, heading towards the bathroom for a towel. He was quiet even as he was preoccupied with thoughts of stoking the fire to get warm.

Or, at least, he was until he heard a noise in the dark of the house. Not aware that anyone else was down here, Don automatically whipped his bo out, sharp eyes searching the room even as the rain and wind beat against the windows, rattling them in their frames. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and, in a moment as quick as that, the situation became clear.

The afterimage was still in Don’s eyes even as he lowered his bo staff. Still dripping water, Don made his way towards where he had heard the quite gasp, where he still heard the ragged breathing, and to where he had seen, for a split second, his big brother pressed into a small space under the stairs, his hands grasping the hilts of his swords so hard that even in that brief moment Don had seen how white his knuckles were.

“…Leo?”

His voice was soft, but it clearly startled Leo, and Don saw him start to draw his swords before he realized who was talking to him.

“Donnie?” His voice was rough, an edge to it that Don had never heard before. It wasn’t fear, exactly, or desperation. It was some combination of emotions.

Don put his bo back on his back, relaxing his posture to hopefully put Leo more at ease. “Yeah, Leo, it’s me.” He walked towards the other turtled, crouching down just in front of his—well, there was no better way to put it—in front of his hiding spot.

Don opened his mouth to ask Leo what he was doing up, when the lightning flashed again, the thunder sounding even louder. Don watched as Leo stiffened up, hands darting out to grab Don’s arms. He gripped them hard, pressing his arms against Don’s soaked ones, but it was less like Leo was looking for comfort, and more like he was trying to make sure that Don was there.

Something about his grasp distracted Leo, though, and Don sensed more than saw Leo turn his attention towards him. “Don—you’re soaking. You’re freezing.”

“Yeah,” Don said, a little ruefully, even as he felt the water flowing down his arms and onto Leo. “I wasn’t paying attention and I got caught in the rain. It’s a cold rain, too, so that wasn’t much fun.”

Leo’s hands tightened their grip on him. “You have to pay attention, Don,” he said. “Not paying attention, that’s dangerous. You’re alright, aren’t you? You’re not hurt or—”

Another flash of lightning and crack of thunder sounded, and Don felt the full body flinch that came from Leo.

It clicked with Don.

It hadn’t stormed since the day that Leo had nearly died. There had been a pretty heavy thunderstorm that day. But since then, it had snowed. Thunder wasn’t typical with snow. However, with the weather taking an unexpected warm turn—well, warmer than it had been, anyway—now a thunderstorm was possible. And the last time Leo had heard thunder and seen lightning, he had been in a fight for his life and beaten nearly to death. This was a huge reminder of that day, and Don being soaked and cold probably didn’t help anything either.

Don took a breath, and gave Leo an easy smile, although he wasn’t sure if his brother could see it or not. “I’m fine,” he reassured him. “I was just out in the barn. I had time to close it up and everything. I’m just wet and cold. And now you’re wet and cold, too, probably, because I got you that way.” He turned his hands so that he could squeeze Leo’s arms, both of them holding onto each other’s forearms now. “Do you want to come with me to clean up? We can dry off in the bathroom, and then get the fire going. Maybe get some tea or get into Mikey’s stash of hot chocolate.”

For a moment, Leo didn’t say anything. But then there was more lightning and thunder, and he flinched again. Slowly, he nodded, and Don smiled at him again, slowly rising from his crouch and drawing Leo up with him. His brother uncertainly stood, looking both as if he wanted to stay as close as possible to Don, but also as if he wanted to stand on his own. Don solved that problem for him, by putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. Taking his brother’s wrist in his other hand, he tugged Leo quietly up the stairs with him and to the bathroom.

Even terrified, Leo’s footsteps were quiet, and neither teenager made a sound as they made their way into the bathroom. Don silently closed the door behind them and flicked on the light, the sudden brightness harsh to both of them. The room felt secure, though, and Don let go of Leo, reaching instead for the towels. If Leo had something to focus on, that would probably be useful.

“After you get yourself, can you get my shell?” he asked, tossing a towel at his brother before starting to strip his wet gear off. “I’ll try to dry off the rest of myself.”

Leo took the towel that Don tossed at him and shakily nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice still sounded off, but he was talking, and that was good, or at least Don hoped so.

It didn’t take Leo long to dry himself off, and soon Don felt the towel on his shell. He could feel Leo trembling, though, and Don searched his mind for something to talk about that would help Leo get his mind off of the storm.

“Remember when we would do this for each other as kids?” Don said. “Splinter would bathe us two at a time—whichever two of us he caught first—and then he’d tell us to help dry each other off while he either got the other two or cleaned up.”

For a moment, Leo didn’t say anything, and Don was afraid that maybe he’d said something wrong. But then Leo let out a light snort.

“He usually got to you and me first,” he said quietly. “Raph is stubborn and Mikey’s just hard to catch. We just wanted to get it over with.”

Don let out a light laugh. “That’s true. If he finished with us first, then we could go read books until bedtime.”

Leo’s hands felt a little steadier on his shell, carefully drying between the scutes and around the rim. “Yeah. We’d be pretty happy doing that until we had to go to bed.”

A loud crash of thunder sounded, and Leo froze, taking in a sharp gasp of breath. After a second, he took his shaking hands and the towel off of Don’s shell, pulling back. Don straightened up and turned to look at Leo. In the brighter light he could see how pale his brother looked, how hard he was grasping the towel and the shake in him. He frowned a little, and then reached forward, working the towel of out Leo’s grasp. He frowned when he realized that Leo’s elbow pads had gotten a little wet, and he reached to undo them. Leo’s attention immediately snapped to him.

“I got them wet,” Don said. “Your wrist wraps, too. Better to let them dry, right?”

Slowly, Leo nodded and let Don work. He seemed to be considering something, and then, when Don was done, reached down and undid his belt and kneepads, although he kept his scabbard in his hands and his mask on.

Don could get that.

Leo’s grip on the scabbard tightened again as the thunder rumbled through the house. Leo was still caught up in his head. But what else could Don do? He had read things here and there, but he’d never thought he’d have to apply them.

“Come on,” he said after a moment. “I’m still cold and I think some hot chocolate sounds good. How about you?”

“Sure,” Leo said, watching as Don reached over to turn out the light.

The two of them waited just a moment, letting their eyes adjust before they headed out of the bathroom and downstairs. Don led the way, but Leo stuck close to his shell the whole time. Don didn’t mind, and took care to move in a way that allowed for him to stay that close.

Neither of them bothered to turn on any lights until they got to the kitchen, not wanting to disturb anyone else. Don reached and turned on the dim light over the sink, giving them just a little light to work with. “Want to get the milk? You’re better at this than I am.”

Leo’s eyes were fixed on the storm outside, but he nodded, and almost absentmindedly went to get the milk and a saucepan. Don frowned a little at that, butwent on the hunt for Mikey’s chocolate, letting out a quiet, triumphant “ah ha!” when he found it.

Leo’s attention was fixed on the saucepan of milk, although it darted towards the windows anytime the thunder rolled. Don set the powder by him, getting two mugs for them as he contemplated what to do next. Maybe creating an environment that was the opposite of what Leo was remembering would help? Or distracting him? He rolled ideas around in his mind as he searched. Unfortunately, it didn’t take him too long to find some clean ones, and in that short time, Leo had gotten the milk to a near-boil and was mixing in some of the chocolate powder. Don couldn’t help but notice, though, that every time the thunder sounded, Leo’s normally smooth motions jerked just a bit.

There had to be something more he could do.

Still, with the hot chocolate fixed, there wasn’t much more to do in the kitchen and there were enough windows that Leo looked way too uncomfortable for Don’s liking. “Why don’t we go set up a fire?” he suggested. “We can move the couch in front of it and snag some blankets.”

Leo looked from the window back to Don, tensing as more thunder rang out. “Sure,” he said, his voice a little tight. “Sounds good.”

Don wasn’t sure he believed that was how Leo really felt, but he still led the way out, leaving the light on over the sink. The two worked quietly to get the fire going, and then moved the couch and side table closer to it, settling down and wrapping up in blankets that were nearby. Don couldn’t help but notice that Leo’s swords didn’t go far from him and Don, likewise, propped his bo nearby, just in case that would help his brother feel more at ease as well.

Not sure what else to do, Don started talking, just a steady, but quiet stream of consciousness kind of thing, trying to stay away from any topics that might make things worse. “Hey, remember when we both got into reading those Hardy Boys books when we were seven? Man we’d stay up hours, sneaking flashlights reading them. Sensei started running out of books for us to read we went through them so fast.”

It seemed to be working, as Leo seemed relax a little, listening to Don’s voice over the growing thunder, even responding some.

And then the loudest crack of thunder yet sounded, cracking right over the house, simultaneous with the lightning that filled the room. Leo jumped where he sat, a strangled noise escaping him, and Don, purely on instinct reached and pulled his brother to him. Leo latched onto him, holding tight, his breathing ragged. Another boom of lightning and thunder sounded, and Leo held on tighter his breathing hitching with panic. He shook as the storm seemed to crescendo, shaking the windows, and Don held tightly to him, rubbing his shell.

The barrage only lasted a couple of minutes, although it seemed much longer than that. But even as the thunder let off, Leo kept his firm grip on Don.

“…Leo?” Don asked softly, after a few moments.

“I—I—” he stuttered on his words.

Don tucked Leo’s head under his chin and pulled his brother closer. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. We’re warm and dry. No one is hurt. There’s no danger. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Leo said, sounding as if he didn’t want to admit to it. “When—when it was… the rain was so cold, and the thunder so loud. It was inescapable. Just like—” Leo shuddered, and there was hitch in his breath, like he was trying not to cry.

Don’s grip tightened on his brother. “Oh, Leo,” he said. He pressed him a little closer, wishing he could do something, anything, to help him.

An urge bubbled in his chest, something he hadn’t felt since he was very young. But it felt right to do now, and Don went with it. He pulled Leo in even closer, and, for the first time in years, he churred.

Leo froze for a moment, but then it was like something in him loosened, and he relaxed just a bit, a shuddering breath running through him. Thunder boomed again, but Don, determined, churred more and louder, keeping Leo’s head pulled to him, almost as if he were trying to drown out the thunder. Something about it much have worked, because Leo didn’t seem to tense up quite as much. Don kept it up, rubbing Leo’s shell as well, and tucking the shared blankets around the both of them. When the lightening flashed, Don churred louder, drowning out what he could of the thunder, and hiding his brother’s tears.

Slowly, over the next couple of hours, the rain lessened turning from a driving force to a barely heard pitter-patter. The wind went from rattling the windows to brushing them. The flashes of lightning grew less, and the peals of thunder more distant. Don’s churring became more consistent as the need to make it louder started to fade. Outside started to look a little lighter.

And yet, Don didn’t let go of Leo, and Leo didn’t even try to move away from or let go of Don. The most either of them had done was slip Leo’s wet mask off at some point and tuck the blankets closer. Don kept up his steady churring, feeling Leo slowly start to relax more and more as the storm moved on its way. He was almost certain that Leo had fallen asleep, when his brother shifted slightly.

“Donnie?” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Thanks.”

Don smiled and nuzzled his brother’s head a bit. “Anytime, Leo,” he said.

Leo let out a hum, and this time, Don was certain that he slipped into sleep. Still, he kept the churring up until he, too, fell asleep.

A few hours later, Splinter crept down the stairs, taking in the sight of his two sons curled together on the couch. He silently padded over to them, taking a moment to adjust the blankets around them, and pressing his nose to their heads like he used to do when they were mere tots. He could guess what happened, and he was grateful that Donatello was there for Leonardo, and that Leonardo was still willing to accept comfort from his brother.

Quietly, he made his way back up the stairs. He’d warn Raphael and Michelangelo to stay upstairs for a bit, and request that Mr. Jones and Ms. O’Neil do the same, and allow for Leonardo and Donatello to sleep as long as possible.

As he made his way back up the stairs, he felt a knot of worry in his heart loosen. Despite what happened, and the injuries that had been sustained, his sons would be alright, for they still had each other. And that was all that they needed.

#tmntwritefight #tmntwritefight fic #tmnt #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt fanfic

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