#Like- sure he Can say that kind of ominous stuff on his own- but I think it'd be really great | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

2nd2ndalto · 3 months ago

Text

what if there were two (side by side in orbit)

(Chapter 4 here)

Chapter 5

March 1999

“Got your mail,” Will announces as he comes back into the office. He falters at the edge of Nico’s desk, trying and failing to see a single square inch of available space on which to drop said mail - a handful of memos, photocopied reports and interdepartmental envelopes.

Nico straightens from the newspaper he’s been poring over, immediately registering Will’s dilemma.

“Oh, thanks, I can –” Nico accepts the little bundle of papers from Will and automatically looks around for somewhere to set it down, reaching the exact same conclusion Will did a second earlier. Will laughs.

Nico slumps, defeated, still holding the mail in a loose grip.

Will plucks the envelopes from his hand. “Here, I’ll put them…” Will glances around, finding almost every other surface cluttered with papers, books and files.

Nico sighs, dejected. “It’s a lost cause.”

“I can go put them back in your slot in the mail room,” Will offers, only half-kidding.

“No, I’ll just –” Nico takes the papers back again, opening three crammed-full drawers in his desk before finding one with room to stuff the mail on top and shutting it with a satisfied nod.

“Much better,” Will says. He moves to his own, mostly-clear desk and begins to flip through the items he’s retrieved from his own mailbox. Nothing too interesting. Copies of authorized expense reports, a reminder that he’s due to renew some sort of workplace safety training that he doesn’t even remember completing the first time around. He pauses, eyes skimming over a glossy flier.

“You think we should do the workplace communication training workshop?” Will says contemplatively. He glances over to Nico, who looks predictably appalled.

“No,” Nico answers.

Will grins. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t you want to learn to communicate more effectively with me?”

Nico gives him a withering look. “Solace, if we communicate any more effectively, they’ll make us teach the class ourselves. And neither of us want that.

Will attempts not to look too outwardly pleased at this. “Good point,” he agrees, solemn. “We don’t want to peak too soon. Or like, get promoted against our will.”

Nico lets out a laugh. “Definitely not. I kind of like it down here.” He shoots Will a smile, a real one. Will winks. Nico huffs and turns back to his paper.

Will sets the flier aside, unfurling the red string of an interoffice envelope. He squints at his name, misspelled and scrawled messily underneath two dozen others, before pulling a single sheet of paper from the envelope, folded in half. It’s nice paper, embossed. Thicker than the stuff he and Nico are allotted to print letters on. Will makes a face, scanning over the page. “What kind of a name is Octavian?”

Nico’s head jerks up from his newspaper.

“Sorry,” Will shakes his head. “That wasn’t very nice, was it? I’m sure he’s lovely.”

“He’s not,” Nico says acidly. “What does he want?”

Will blinks, surprised at the sudden vitriol in his partner’s voice. “It doesn’t say. I’ve never even heard of this guy.” Will peers at the letterhead, then the interdepartmental envelope, trying to ascertain where the letter originated from. “He wants to meet with me tomorrow. Why wouldn’t he call, or send an email? What if I hadn’t even checked my mail today?”

Nico scowls. “That’s Octavian.”

“He’s the… associate deputy director?” Will reads from under the signature at the bottom of the letter.

“Yeah,” Nico says, tired. “He’s Reyna’s boss.”

“Wonder what I did to deserve a meeting,” Will says, his stomach lurching unpleasantly. He reads through the letter again, but there’s absolutely nothing to indicate what the meeting might be for. It feels ominous.

Nico grimaces. “Nothing, most likely. He’s – Octavian doesn’t like me. Or the X-Files. I’m actually surprised his name hasn’t come up before. When I’ve mentioned fighting for the department to keep its funding – that’s all on Octavian. He’s always looking for some excuse to shut me down. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was looking for you to snitch on me.”

Will scoffs, disgusted. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”

“No?”

“Of course not!” Will says, aghast. “I would never. What would I even snitch about, if I wanted to? That you put in extra hours you don’t claim in your paysheet? That you do research into cases on your own time? Besides, we’re partners, Nico. You’re my friend.”

Nico looks a bit shaken by this declaration, and Will turns back to his desk, giving the other man a moment.

“What happens in the basement stays in the basement,” Will announces with finality, flipping through the rest of his mail. Nico laughs.

Nico’s in the office a full hour early the next morning, pacing, his stomach in knots. He’d tried to brush off Octavian’s letter, and done a pretty good job of it for most of yesterday. But it had started to weigh on him by the evening, alone in his apartment. By the time he’d gone to bed, the thought of Will’s looming meeting had taken up a heavy, unpleasant occupancy in his gut.

First, there’d been the niggling worry that Octavian was looking for dirt on Nico. But even if Will would have indulged that, which he’d made quite clear he wouldn’t, Nico’s not really worried about his work or his methods being scrutinized. He’s proud of the cases they’ve worked, maybe even more so in the last six months. Sure, they haven’t solved every case in its entirety, they haven’t locked up every perpetrator, but they’ve been careful and thorough. They’ve helped people. The case in Fairbrook was a standout, certainly, and it’s gotten a lot of attention, both from the Bureau and the media. Surely that will help his case, if he needs to have one.

So there have been those worries - small and persistent, really nothing new. The X-Files has been in perpetual danger of losing its funding ever since Nico first descended into the basement. But what’s truly had his insides twisting since last night is the unwelcome worry that perhaps this meeting means that he’s losing Will.

There’s no denying that Will’s an excellent agent, and he did amazing work in Fairbrook. What if the Bureau wants to reassign him somewhere they think he’ll be more useful? What if Will wants to be somewhere where he’ll be more useful?

Nico works alone. He always has. Sure, there have been other agents assigned to work with him here and there, and it’s been fine. Nothing special, but fine.

But Will... Will is a partner, in a way Nico hadn’t even considered possible. Nico doesn’t want Will to leave. He’d arrived at this realization with complete, crashing clarity at three am just as he was finally about to drift off to sleep. The rest of the night had mostly been a write-off.

How did this happen? This was not part of the plan when Will came to work down here. Work, sure. They could work together. With a very few notable exceptions, Nico gets along decently with his colleagues. He can be a team player when the situation requires it.

But just when exactly did Will worm his way under Nico's skin the way he has? The way that makes it feel like there's a tangibly empty space in the office when Will leaves early for a dentist appointment, or gets pulled into another department for an afternoon? The way Nico glances over to Will automatically, reflexively seeking his agreement, his input. The way it settles him when he receives it.

The way his stupid heart swells when Will laughs at his jokes, loud and bright, his lingering fond smile.

Fuck.

And now – what if all that gets snatched away? What if that's even what Will wants? Sure, Will seems to enjoy Nico's company, but really (as Nico realized as he entered that particularly devastating train of thought around four am) Will seems to enjoy everyone's company. It's not as though there's anything special about Nico, no reason for Will to want to stay here of all places. Here, in the basement, the armpit of the FBI. Here, hanging out with the one little weirdo no one else takes seriously.

Will's just so damn easy to get along with, so fucking pleasant to have around. So much more curious and open-minded than Nico ever would have expected. He's smart and funny and... tall and... okay, Nico supposes he can admit it – it doesn't hurt that he's really attractive.

Fuck. Fuck.

Having completed probably a dozen laps of the office (not easy, thank you, there’s not exactly a clear path around the perimeter), Nico drops heavily into his chair then drops his head into his hands. He's an existential, underslept mess, in no way prepared for Will's early arrival when the office door opens mere seconds later.

Will beams at the sight of Nico, sitting there like a disheveled, pathetic pile of desperation, and how the fuck is that fair?

Nico clears his throat, forcing himself to sit up straighter. "You're early," he says. The words come out sounding far more accusatory than he intended.

"Yeah." Will's face falls a little. "Sorry?"

"No, no," Nico says immediately. "I'm – just ignore me. I didn't get much sleep."

Will's brow creases in sympathy. "Sorry to hear that."

Nico watches with a sinking heart as Will pulls off his coat and hangs it by the door, ruffling a hand through his hair and brushing water droplets off his bag. What if this is their last morning in this office together? What if this is the last time he watches Will hang his coat, cross the office and drop into his chair? Every little motion is so familiar now, so much a part of his morning. How did he never think to properly appreciate it before?

Will turns once he's seated, regarding Nico with a little more scrutiny than Nico had been prepared for, and Nico immediately attempts to look completely sane and cool. Like the sort of person who wouldn't miss his partner at all, were that partner to be reassigned.

Will doesn't look as if he's fooled, which is concerning in itself.

"Should we go grab coffee?" Will asks, worried. "Have you eaten?"

Nico nods, grateful for the distraction. "Definitely yes to coffee and no, I haven't eaten." He stands from his desk. "Dunkin’?"

Will makes a face. "It started pouring right after I got off the train. I ran all the way here with my bag over my head. I don't suppose you have an umbrella?"

Nico does not, so the cafeteria it is, then. On days when they’re feeling particularly motivated, they'll take the stairs up to the eighth floor, but god, it's early and Nico feels like shit, and Will seems to understand this without Nico needing to explain. Will leads them to the single elevator that descends to the basement level.

The elevator gets progressively stuffier and more crowded as it rises through the building, and Nico gets progressively more twitchy and irritable. By the sixth floor, there's barely room to breathe, and he and Will are trapped in the back corner together, a wall of suits and briefcases forming a barricade of claustrophobia in front of them.

Will glances down at Nico, then bumps their shoulders together, once, then harder, teasingly shuffling over inch by inch until Nico's smushed against the wall, Will grinning and Nico trying valiantly to maintain his scowl in the face of this unasked-for amusement.

Ten minutes later they're settled at a table with a view of the rooftop garden, Nico gazing out the windows at the puddles collecting on the pebbled cement outside and picking at a bran muffin. Across the table, Will checks his watch.

"What time's your meeting?" Nico asks. As if he doesn’t know. As if he’s spent more than a few minutes not thinking about it in the last eighteen hours.

Will lets out a breath. "In an hour."

"Oh –"

"Yeah." Will makes a face. "He emailed me last night to move it earlier. Not sure why he couldn't have just emailed in the first place."

That's not such a bad thing, Nico supposes, as his stomach gives a violent lurch. At least they'll know soon, one way or another.

"Guess he didn't say what he wanted to meet about in the email," Nico says, trying to sound as though this is only of minimal concern to him.

Will shakes his head. "Nope. Just hope I'm not about to get fired." He lets out a nervous laugh and Nico glances up, surprised.

"Why would you think that?"

Will shrugs. "I don't know. It's all a little weird and mysterious, isn't it? Maybe I made some horrible mistake and didn't realize."

"You definitely didn't. If anything, I'd think he'd – well. Just, hypothetically... what if they offered you a promotion?"

Will laughs, surprised. "What would – that doesn't make any sense. I'm brand new. I barely know what I'm doing yet."

Nico scoffs. "That's ridiculous. You do know that, right? The Robert Marcus case – that was basically all your doing. And the whole Bureau's been talking about it."

Will blinks. "I mean – that was a group effort, though."

Nico averts his eyes, gazing into his coffee. The coffee here is decent, at least. Thick and strong. The ceramic cups are small, but heavy, a pleasing weight to them. The bran muffins leave a lot to be desired. Although Nico's not sure if he could enjoy eating anything at this exact moment.

"What – what would you think? If they did offer you a promotion?" Nico asks, his heart throbbing in his chest, staring desperately into the depths of his coffee.

"Do you really think that's what this is about?" Will sounds incredibly skeptical. Which is kind of hilarious, Nico thinks. Will, the skeptical partner, whose deadliest skepticism is directed at his own abilities.

"Wait," Will says, taking in Nico’s expression. "Are you – are you worried that I'll be promoted?"

And okay, that's uncalled for. Nico is frankly offended. Nico is supposed to be the psychological profiler here, thank you very much.

Nico shrugs. He chances a glance at Will, who's gazing out into the rain, brow furrowed. Probably considering all the other floors he could be working on that aren't the basement. All the other agents he could be working with who aren't weird and grouchy. And short. Take Magnus, for instance. Magnus is tall, and he’s almost always in a good mood. That fucker.

Will's gaze finally flicks from the window back to Nico, something tentative there. "I don't think there's any other job I'd rather do at the Bureau," he says slowly, as if he's only just realizing it himself. "I feel like I really lucked into something, being assigned to this department, you know?” Will’s blue eyes are clear, and Nico's stomach seems to settle back towards its regular location. “The work we’ve been doing together – it’s fascinating. And it feels worthwhile. Like we’re making a difference. I think it’s something I think I could learn to be really good at. I’d like to. And I mean." Will swallows. "I think you already know that I enjoy working with you," he finishes, timid.

Nico can feel his cheeks warming. Stupid cheeks. "Yeah," he mutters, turning his coffee cup in his hands. "I mean... me too."

"You like working with me, or you like working with you?" Will asks, suddenly wide-eyed and dead serious.

Nico scowls. "Fuck off."

Will laughs.

"I like working with you, okay?" Nico says, pained.

Will's fully grinning at him now, the full, devastating one hundred watts.

"And you know. You did just save me from death by exsanguination, so it's probably in my best interests to keep you around," Nico says, as grudgingly as he can manage.

Their conversation in the cafeteria is heartening, but Nico's still a grouchy ball of nerves almost an hour later as he watches the clock in the basement office tick down, the time of Will's meeting looming closer and closer. With fifteen minutes to go, he can't take it anymore and he stands abruptly, throwing his jacket over the back of his chair. He crosses to a cabinet in the corner and pulls out a bag, little-used, slinging it over his shoulder.

Will blinks up at him from where he's cross-legged on the dusty floor in front of a filing cabinet, digging through the bottom drawer. "Are you running away from home?"

Nico rolls his eyes. "I'm going to go to the gym."

Will's eyebrows rise. "The gym? Oh. Okay."

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Nico mutters, "I go to the gym."

“No, obviously you do, I mean…” Will suddenly goes pink and flustered, his gaze somewhere around Nico’s chest, and Nico’s brow furrows in confusion, glancing down to make sure he hasn’t spilled something on himself.

Will clears his throat. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you go to the gym. Here.”

They gaze at each other for a long moment. Will’s pink cheeks make his eyes look bluer. Brighter.

“Well,” Nico says, bemused. “I guess it’s been a while. And hey,” he adds as he reaches the office door, as if it’s nothing but an afterthought, “good luck with your meeting.”

Will smiles from where he’s still seated on the floor, looking nervous. “Thanks.”

Nico’s workout doesn’t last long. Mid-morning is apparently a popular time to use the Bureau gym, and Nico can’t bear the thought of making small talk with any of his colleagues at the moment. He lasts about half an hour, weights and some half-assed cardio before he hits the showers, washing up quickly before heading back downstairs, hair still damp.

Maybe he’ll have some time to collect himself before Will reappears. Maybe he should have done some yoga. That's supposed to be relaxing, right? Frank showed him some poses once. He doesn't think he can remember any of them except the one where you lie flat on your back.

Nico does actually manage to distract himself by reading through a file for a few minutes before he hears the heavy slam of the fire door at the stairwell, letting him know that someone’s reached the basement level.

Nico watches the office door, breath caught in his chest. He only has seconds to wait.

“What a fucking asshole,” Will announces, the office door slamming shut behind him. “What the actual fuck.”

Will’s face is flushed. He pulls off his jacket, the motion jerky, tossing it on top of his coat on the rack by the door. It falls to the floor. Will takes a deep breath, hands on his hips before retrieving it and shoving the jacket more violently at the coat rack. Nico thinks he’s actually shaking.

“What happened?”

“You were right.” Will throws up his hands, disbelieving. “He wanted me to fucking snitch on you! He started asking me all these inane questions, like whether your methods made me feel unsafe.” Will rolls his eyes, gloriously. “All these fucking pointed questions about our protocol for initiating cases and –” Will lets out a huff of frustration. “I obviously wasn’t answering the way he wanted me to, and he just got… more and more infuriating.”

Will sits on the edge of his desk, then immediately stands again, shoving a hand roughly through his hair.

“That fucking anemic loser,” he seethes. “The absolute nerve. I can’t even –” Will shakes his head, lost for words.

Nico watches him for a long moment, now torn between worry and admiration. “And so what did you – what did you tell him?”

“I told him you were a brilliant agent, one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and that the FBI was lucky to have you!” Will says, his voice rising.

Nico's throat goes tight.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t actually yell at him.” Will huffs out a laugh. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Nico feels as if he’s been hit over the head with something very heavy. “Well. I might have. A bit. I sure would have enjoyed watching it.”

Will smiles, finally. His eyes are bright, cheeks pink. He’s radiant like this. Like some kind of avenging angel, or a Greek god.

“Thank you,” Nico manages. “For defending me.”

Will shakes his head, frowning. “I just told him the truth.”

“So he’s not – he didn’t threaten to pull our funding or, I don’t know. Assign us both to Agricultural Corruption?”

Will barks out a laugh. “No.” He lowers himself to the edge of his desk again, aggressively scrubbing a hand over his face. “He made some noise about irregular procedures and untenable evidence.” Will throws up one hand in a half-hearted air quote. “But honestly it seemed like he was just grasping at straws by that point. He kept bringing up specific instances of when seemed to think we weren’t following protocol - he had a fucking list – and I just very patiently explained all the ways he was wrong.”

Nico laughs. Octavian’s got to be absolutely seething right now, and that’s a pretty great feeling. As if that wasn’t enough good news, it doesn’t sound as if Will’s going anywhere. Nico suddenly feels about twenty pounds lighter.

“Seriously, what an absolute dick,” Will says. “What the fuck is that guy’s problem?”

Nico shrugs. “He’s one of those guys who always wants to be at the top of the heap. Even as far as he’s climbed the corporate ladder here at the Bureau, it doesn’t seem to have made him any happier. It’s not enough for him to be at the top. He needs everyone else to know they’re at the bottom, too.”

“I can’t stand guys like that.” Will scowls. “He did commend us on the Fairbrook case, though he didn’t seem happy about it. Told me I was a valuable asset but he sounded like he meant the exact opposite. I made sure he knew that without your timely research resources, Marcus would still probably be murdering diabetics.”

Will stands again. “You know, I think I need to walk this off. I’m kind of a wreck right now. I managed to hold it together while I was talking to him, but I feel like my blood pressure’s through the roof.”

“Isn’t it still raining?” Nico asks.

“I don’t think I care," Will laughs, shoving a hand through his hair again. The violence he’s perpetrated on it in the last few minutes combined with the humidity of the day makes it stand out like a messy halo around his head. It’s glorious. "I can’t believe I put on my best suit for that idiot.”

"Well, you look..." Nico swallows. Amazing. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. God, why the fuck did he start this sentence? The longer Nico's lost for words, the more Will's smile grows, and when Nico finally manages, "very professional," Will grins, wide.

"Aww, thanks."

Nico rolls his eyes as hard as he can.

"Do you want company?" Nico asks, as he watches Will pull his coat back on. He immediately curses his lack of filter. "It's fine if you don't." Will’s jacket falls from the coat rack again and Will kicks it aggressively into the corner.

But Will only says, "of course I want your company.”

"What if it's still raining, though?" Will asks as they head to the stairwell. "You don't like getting wet."

"I guess I can make an exception," Nico mutters, because that sounds a lot more sane than, now that I know you're staying, I kind of don't want to let you out of my sight.

Will steps back neatly, holding the door open for Nico with a little bow when they reach the ground floor. "You know, for someone who doesn't like rain, you'd think you'd keep an umbrella around," he muses, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, well. I'm an enigma wrapped in a mystery," Nico mutters, and Will’s bright laughter is worth any potential rain.

The rain is more of a drizzly mist by the time they make it out onto Pennsylvania Avenue, and they walk in companionable quiet in the general direction of the sculpture garden, Will looking a bit more settled the longer they walk. It settles Nico, too.

His mind drifts back over the last six months, still a bit baffled that this has become what it has, and so easily. A partnership. A friendship. Will had said, of course I want your company like it was nothing, implicit.

And Nico suddenly remembers his worries, in the first few months Will was here. That he wouldn't be able to keep Will at arm's length, that he had to make sure not to let Will in, not to let Will know him. As they wait at the back of a crowd of tourists for the lights to change at Constitution Avenue, Will's shoulder bumps gently into his, and Will smiles and Nico realizes it's far, far too late for that.

The realization doesn't hit him like a truck, not like last night, when he desperately wanted to sleep. Instead, the knowledge settles over him gently, like the misty rain, like the half-memory of a mostly-inconsequential task that he neglected to complete.

Well, damn.

Still March 1999

Nico, having returned from the continental breakfast buffet, hands over a coffee and muffin. Will accepts both gratefully from where he’s seated cross-legged on his bed. Nico’s footsteps falter on the way across the hotel room. “You smell… fruity,” he comments, then immediately looks embarrassed.

Will grins. “Well,” he shrugs. “I am, a little.”

Nico huffs, settling himself onto his own bed, newspaper spread out in front of him.

“It’s probably my shampoo,” Will realizes. “It’s Dewberry, from the Body Shop. Kayla got a big gift basket for her birthday, but she didn’t like the scent. I like it, though. So you’ll have to put up with me smelling fruity for the foreseeable future.” He tilts his head in Nico’s general direction, ruffling his still-damp hair.

Nico rolls his eyes. Then, a moment later – “It could be worse,” he mutters.

Will hides a smile, turning back to his own work. If he’s forced to tolerate Nico’s arms in that devastatingly tight Ramones t-shirt every time they share a room, Nico can put up with Will’s fruity-smelling hair, Will thinks ruefully.

They’re sharing a room on this particular trip because Reyna insisted on it; Will’s been called here to conduct a couple of autopsies, Nico tagging along because he’d read about reports of possible UFO sightings in the area. They’re both a little disappointed with yesterday’s conclusions – neither of the autopsies revealed anything indicating foul play, and Nico’s UFOs turned out to be drunk teenagers with laser pointers.

Sharing a room isn’t a hardship, anyway. They’ve done it on cases more often than not in the weeks since their visit to St. Ambrose, Ramones t-shirt notwithstanding. The couple of occasions they’ve booked separate rooms, they’ve wound up watching TV and chatting until late in the evening anyway, WIll often dozing off in Nico’s room.

Nico folds up the newspaper, leaning back on his hands and gazing towards the window. It’s still pouring out. The rain began just as they pulled off the interstate yesterday afternoon and it hasn’t stopped since. Neither of them had thought to bring an umbrella, and they’ve been sprinting from building to car to building attempting to shield themselves with briefcases and newspapers.

“It’s still fucking raining,” Nico grumbles. “I hate getting wet.”

“Because you’re made of sugar,” Will says vaguely, glancing over his report.

Nico snorts. “I’m what?”

Will glances up, grinning. Nico’s gone a bit pink.

“Because you’re made of sugar. It’s what my mom says. You know. Because if you were made of sugar, you’d melt. In the rain.”

Nico scowls, clearly trying not to look amused. “If anyone’s made of sugar, it’s you,” he mutters. “I’ve seen what you call breakfast.”

Will laughs. He refuses to feel any guilt over his penchant for pastries. “Are you calling me sweet?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “You wish.”

Will grins wider, flopping back onto the bed for a long stretch. He doesn’t miss the way Nico’s eyes flit to his waist, where his shirt rides up. The reflexive flip-flop in his own stomach is already expected, familiar. He’d pulled on sweats and a t-shirt after his shower, knowing they likely wouldn’t leave the room for a couple of hours and not quite ready to face getting properly dressed.

Will rolls to his side, tugging his shirt back into place and propping himself up on an elbow. Nico regards him, looking a bit exasperated. But that’s become familiar, too.

“So you don’t want to head out yet then?” Will asks.

Nico glances back to the window. “Eh. It’s still early. We could wait a bit, see if it eases up. I’m not crazy about driving in this.”

“Sure,” Will says easily. “I think I’m done my report. You wanna watch TV?”

Nico makes a face. “It’s all gonna be morning news right now. I’d be happy to never hear another word about the fucking Clintons.”

Will nods, in complete agreement. “Animal Planet?”

Nico huffs, then – “Oh, actually…” He hops up from the bed, grabbing his overnight bag from the floor and retrieving something small from a side pocket.

He tosses the item to Will, who of course, fumbles it. It lands on the bed though, and Will’s eyes go wide. He feels his face heating, fast. “Um,” he says.

“Oh,” Nico laughs, almost giggles. Will glances up, astonished.

“I should have explained –” Nico begins, red-faced himself, then laughs harder as he takes in Will’s expression. Will doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nico laugh so hard, and the sight makes him feel almost unbearably fond. He’d be able to enjoy it so much more if it weren’t for the accompanying and distracting feelings of shock, and confusion, because –

Nico leans over the bed, grabbing the pack of very clearly x-rated playing cards from Will’s limp hand.

“They were a gift,” he says, still very much red in the face, still laughing. “A stupid – I don’t know, it was one of those stupid blind gift exchanges. Secret Santa, or something. And – they’re the only playing cards I have, and I thought I could try teaching you to shuffle again next time we were on an overnight, but I didn’t really think about –”

“Oh,” Will laughs, the pieces finally fitting together. “Oh. Yeah. A little warning might have been nice.”

They gaze at each other in silence for a moment before bursting into simultaneous laughter.

“Sorry,” Nico laughs, “just – the look on your face.”

Will shakes his head, scrubbing hands over his very warm face. “Fine,” he laughs, “Fine. Let’s shuffle.”

He heads to the table, and Nico follows. It’s sweet, Will realizes, a shot of warmth to his chest as the shock fades. It’s sweet that Nico remembered this, that he wanted to give Will another chance. Will splits the deck, snorting when even more explicit scenes are revealed.

“Jesus, Nico,” he laughs. “I don’t know if I can – where do you even get – it’s just so many naked men.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Nico agrees, peering over. “To be honest, I hadn’t actually opened them.” Nico grabs the top card from the deck and surveys it critically, eyes dancing. “Are you saying this gentleman isn’t your type?” He flips the card to show it to Will, who inspects it for a moment, lip caught between his teeth, trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know. He’s awfully… oily.”

Nico nods, trying to compose himself. “True, true. He looks like he could use a good shower. He flips to the next card. His brows shoot up. “Oh, look. These three are having a shower.”

Will shakes his head, letting out a giggle. “I don’t see a lot of showering going on there. That’s a waste of perfectly good hot water, is what that is.”

Will makes a few half-hearted attempts at shuffling, but it soon devolves into commentary on the scenes depicted on the cards, Nico laughing loudly as Will deems certain situations “physiologically improbable” and “highly inadvisable.” Will’s not sure if he’s ever been so pleased with himself for making someone laugh before. There’s something about seeing Nico so uninhibited that makes him feel about ten feet tall. His stomach aches from laughing when Nico finally slides the cards back into the box.

“Oops,” Will says, snatching up a card that’s fallen to the floor. “You missed these guys.”

Nico’s mouth twitches as he surveys the card, seven of hearts. “What do you think, workplace safety violation?” he asks, turning the card to Will.

Will leans closer. “Definitely. Although… they are wearing hard hats.

Nico shakes his head, slotting the card in and closing the box. “Should I leave them in the desk for the next people to find?”

Will considers. “Maybe not. Imagine if someone’s kid opened the drawer, and –”

“Oh god.”

Half an hour later the rain isn’t splattering quite so hard against the windows, and they decide to make a break for it while they can. Nico makes one final sweep of the room while Will kneels at the door, tying his shoes.

“Oh hey, you forgot your glasses,” Nico says, snagging them from the corner of the nightstand where Will had left them last night.

“Oh shit, thanks.”

Nico raises an eyebrow, settling the glasses on his own face as he returns to the door.

Will feigns annoyance although Nico, of course, looks adorable in the glass. Will plucks them off Nico’s face when his partner is close enough. He folds them, slipping them into the pocket of his blazer. When he glances back up, Nico’s brow is furrowed, his eyes on the pocket where the glasses disappeared to, and Will feels a twinge of discomfort.

“What?”

“That – that’s a really strong prescription,” Nico says slowly. “You don’t usually wear contacts, do you?”

And Nico likely already knows the answer to that, considering their hotel-room proximity in the last month, both of their possessions spilled over bathroom counters and hotel room beds and floors, Will’s socks occasionally ending up in Nico’s laundry and vice versa.

Will groans inwardly. Instead of answering immediately, he opens the door, heading down the hall towards the elevator. Nico’s quiet, but as the elevator descends, he’s still watching Will with something like curiosity, or concern.

“I don’t like wearing contacts,” Will says, finally, as they reach the main floor.

“But you don’t like glasses either? I almost never see you wearing them.”

Will grimaces. “I – I know it’s stupid. Or vain, or whatever. I just don’t like the way they look.”

Nico regards him seriously as they take their place at the end of the line to check out. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Will rolls his eyes, batting Nico’s hand away.

They make one more stop at the continental breakfast after checkout, one last coffee for the road. Nico shifts so Will can fill his cup, securing the lid on his own coffee.

“So am I just like, kind of blurry to you all the time?” Nico asks, still teasing. “How do you manage to pick me out in a crowd?”

“I just look for the grumpiest short guy wearing a tie,” Will shoots back, unthinking, then – “sorry,” he says, because the words sound meaner than he intended, and something like hurt flickers over Nico’s face, But Nico’s shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –”

“Kids teased me,” Will says flatly, because suddenly, unfortunately, it’s become a thing he needs to explain. “I know that’s stupid and I’m an adult and I should be over it, but…” he shrugs.

“No, I get that,” Nico says, softer.

“You’re not really that grumpy,” Will feels the need to say as they head for the front doors.

Nico huffs out a laugh. “It’s okay, Solace.”

The rain has eased a bit more now, and the two men jog across the parking lot in the misty drizzle.

Will’s given up on looking presentable at this point. He’s past due for a haircut, his curls have gone rogue in the humidity, and he doesn’t mind getting a little damp when all he’s got ahead of him is a two-hour drive. It’s clear that his partner doesn’t feel the same, but Nico flatly refuses Will’s offer to bring the car around and pick him up at the door.

Much to Nico’s dismay, the CD player is on the fritz in their fleet car. After his third attempt to get the player to accept Road to Ruin, they give up.

“Just put it back in the case,” Nico says glumly. “We might never get it out again if it does go in.”

Will does so, flipping to the radio. They’re not required to keep the police scanner on, but Will supposes they should at least check in and make sure they haven’t missed anything important.

There’s nothing at all for the longest time, and Will starts to doze to the sound of the static when suddenly there’s a crackle.

“Dispatch to all available units. We have a code 10-65, missing minor near Rockwood Forest. Repeat, missing minor near Rockwood Forest. All nearby units please respond.”

Will glances to his partner. “Missing kid?”

Nico��s brow furrows. “Yeah. Can you check on the location? I think we’re near there.”

Will presses the call button radio, leaning closer to the dash. “Dispatch, this is unit 215. We’re about 30 miles west of Argyle. Can you give us an ETA to Rockwood Forest from our current location?”

“Stand by, unit 215.”

The wipers are on low now, just an intermittent drizzle. Despite the damp and the low hang of clouds in the sky, it’s gorgeous out here, just starting to green up. Will finds himself itching to get out in it, inhale a few deep lungfuls of fresh, forest air. Hopefully be of some help, too.

The radio crackles again. “Unit 215, you’re approximately ten miles west of Rockwood Forest.”

Will glances over at Nico, who nods. Will clicks the radio once more. “Unit 215, en route.”

“Hey, it’s you guys!” Magnus brightens, making his way over to them through the crowd of officers. He squeezes Will’s arm, and Will pats him on the shoulder. Magnus takes a formal step back, back straight. “Agent di Angelo,” he nods, eyes sparkling. Nico rolls his eyes.

“So, what’s going on?” Nico asks.

Magnus heaves a sigh, shoving a hand through his hair. “Too much, honestly. We’ve got an escaped convict – there was a crew of prisoners from Morgantown doing some highway cleanup about a mile from here, one guy made a break for it. We think he headed this way. This is him.” He hands Nico a photocopied picture. “Then there’s a nine-year-old boy missing in the area as well.”

Will and Nico share a glance, concerned, and Magnus immediately shakes his head. “We don’t have any reason to believe they’re connected. Guy was in prison on some minor charges, he’s not believed to be dangerous. Kid seems to have wandered off from his buddies who were playing in the area. But it’s all-hands-on-deck until we find them both.”

Magnus hands Nico another photocopied sheet, a school picture of a young boy with a wide, toothy grin and shaggy dark hair. “Sam’s been out for a few hours already, no sign of either of them. The kid – Andy Torres – may or may not be in the company of his dog, who’s also missing.” He passes Nico one more sheet, a photo of the dog.

Will leans in, propping his chin on Nico’s shoulder for a better look. Nico elbows him in the ribs.

“Nice dog,” Will grins, taking a step back.

“Yeah,” Magnus sighs, frazzled, “husky-shepherd cross. Not considered dangerous. Answers to Chew-Barka.”

Will laughs. “Nice.”

Nico inspects all three pages of slightly damp paper before passing them to Will. “So. Where do you want us?”

Feeling more than a little self-conscious about it now, Will pulls out his glasses as they enter the forest. They are kind of necessary, in the current circumstances.

Nico’s gaze flicks over. “You know, they –” Nico cuts himself off, making a face. “The glasses. You look… good. In them.”

Will breathes out a laugh, embarrassed. “You don’t have to say that. But thanks.”

“I wasn’t just saying it.”

Will glances over to see his partner, eyes set on the trail, pink in his cheeks.

“But if you really don’t like them,” Nico adds, awkward but determined, “you could get some new frames, find something you like better. They have some really nice ones now. My sister just got some – they’re like, purple and… chunky.” Nico waves a hand vaguely in front of his face.

Will smiles, fond. “I don’t know if I could pull off purple and chunky, but yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

Nico’s quiet for a moment, the crunch and squelch of mulchy leaves underfoot. “Anyway. I’m sorry for teasing. I didn’t realize it was a sore spot.”

Will shakes his head. “No, it’s really fine. I’m just being stupid.” He makes a face. “And I’m – sorry I called you grumpy.”

Nico sighs, a little dramatic now. “You know, the more times you apologize for calling me grumpy, the more glaringly obvious it is that you’re not sorry for calling me short.”

Will laughs, loud. Nico’s still got his gaze set ahead of him, but there’s something pleased and satisfied in the set of his mouth that loosens the tension in Will’s shoulders. “You don’t wanna be good-natured and tall,” Will says. “That would make you too powerful.”

He makes a gentle, purposeful collision into his partner’s side on the narrow path and Nico rolls his eyes.

They’ve been tramping through the forest for almost an hour when Nico suddenly comes to an abrupt halt. Will, once more lamenting his choice of footwear, slips on the wet leaves underfoot and nearly bowls his partner over.

“Did you hear that?” Nico says, hushed.

They’re both silent for a long moment, blue eyes gazing into brown. All Will can hear is birdsong, water dripping somewhere nearby. Maybe several somewheres.

He pushes his hair off his forehead, and his hand comes away damp. He grimaces. His shoes are caked with mud, pants damp and muddy up to mid-calf. Nico’s looking equally damp, the bottom of his coat spattered with mud and a smudge of it across his cheek, dark eyes wide under a mop of dark hair. His hair has a bit of a wave to it, moreso in the humidity, a perfect, spiral curl just behind his left ear.

Nico shakes his head. “Fuck. I was sure I heard something. A voice.”

Before Will can even reply –

“Help! Somebody help me!”

“Andy?” Will calls.

Silence.

“This way,” Nico mutters, turning to lead Will straight through the trees, nothing like a path for them to follow. Will’s hot on his tail, shoes slipping on the slick ground, grabbing onto rough bark to steady himself.

There’s the sound of a dog letting out a sharp whine. They pick up speed, branches scraping at their faces, dead leaves catching in their hair. Will takes a damp tumble when he trips over an exposed root, knees muddy, but he’s up again a second later, pushing through the underbrush. They emerge from the trees onto the bank of a creek, trickling sluggishly through deadfall and muck. There’s a culvert, just visible, and then the sound of a few plaintive barks.

They approach the bank. It’s slippery with wet leaves and mud. It doesn’t look particularly treacherous though, just messy. Thankfully, the water below is shallow. Will half-climbs, half-slides down the bank. Nico follows, only slightly more graceful.

“Andy?” Will calls again, near the culvert. “Andy Torres?”

“Hi?” comes a boy’s voice in response.

The two men glance at each other. Relief.

“Are you okay in there? Why are you in a culvert?” Will asks, loud. Nico snorts and Will shoves him, nearly sending him sliding further down the bank. Nico grabs Will’s arm to steady himself.

“My dog ran in and he got stuck,” says a small voice after a moment. “Can you get my dad?”

Will smiles, half-listening to Nico, now on the radio to other searchers in the area. “Your dad should be here soon. In the meantime – my friend and I out here are FBI agents. We’re going to try to get you out, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” the boy says, sounding less than enthused. Then he adds, “I’m really muddy. My mom’s gonna be mad.”

“Wait until your mom sees us,” Nico calls, dry. “We’re even muddier.”

There’s a giggle from inside the pipe.

They share a glance. “After you?” Nico says hopefully.

Will tilts his head, glancing first at the muddy culvert, then Nico. “You are smaller. Besides, someone should stay out here and um… wait for the others to arrive.”

Nico groans. “Fine.” He inches a bit closer.

Will scans the area critically. “I think we’re going to… here.” He carefully lowers himself to the creek bed, cringing as his already-muddy shoes fill with icy, stagnant water.

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he says deadpan, and Nico grimaces.

They manage it, eventually, Will giving Nico a boost into the pipe, both getting even muddier in the process. The dark-haired man disappears into the hole in the bank grumbling to himself.

Half a dozen other agents, a couple of EMTs and Andy’s dad have arrived by the time Nico emerges with Andy and Chew-Barka in tow, and Will watches, amused, as Nico is roundly congratulated, probably receiving far more handshakes and thumps on the back in ten minutes than he’d like in an entire year. He finally makes his way back towards Will looking harassed but pleased, and they follow along near the rear of the group as everyone heads back towards the trailhead.

Andy, thankfully, doesn’t seem hurt in the least, and his high, excited voice carries back to them as he swings off his father’s arm, enumerating his adventures. Chew-Barka looks thrilled just to be along for the ride, repeatedly tripping up the search team as he attempts to make friends with everyone.

“That was a good morale boost,” Nico murmurs, a small smile on his face as they pick their way over a fallen tree.

“Yeah,” Will agrees. “Always good to schedule in a few of those.”

They trudge along in silence for a while, the group in front of them slowly drawing further ahead.

Will glances over at his partner. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Nico huffs. “Just trying to keep my shoes from getting wetter than they already are.”

“Good luck with that.”

They’re only walking for another minute when Nico speaks up, sudden. “Did you see his dad?”

Will blinks. “Whose dad? Andy’s?”

“Yeah,” Nico says, and then there’s a pause as they pick their way around a large puddle, anchoring themselves on branches alongside the path to keep from falling into the muck. “He didn’t seem upset with the kid at all, did he?”

Will frowns, considering. Andy’s dad had caught the little boy up in his arms and squeezed him like there was nothing else in the world. He thinks there isn’t anything quite like the relief on a parent’s face at finding their child is safe when they were worried otherwise. “Why would he have been upset?” Will asks slowly. “I know the kid wandered off, but… I think he was just happy we found him in one piece.”

Nico nods. “Exactly. That’s how – that’s what dads should be like,” he says fervently.

Will glances over, processing. Nico’s studiously avoiding his gaze. Then, “Oh,” Will says, soft. “Not like your dad?”

“No, he would’ve…” Nico shakes his head. “No. Not like mine.”

Will’s throat goes tight. He wants to reach out, but Nico picks up his pace, and Will does his best to keep up.

Several hours later there hasn’t been any sign of the escaped convict. The rain has stopped though, and the sky has begun to clear, trails of white fluffy clouds smudged above the treetops. Nico’s somewhat less damp, now, if nothing else. He hopes the lady at his regular dry cleaner will refrain from comments on the state of his pants.

The search crew are lingering around the trailhead, awaiting further instruction. Nico glances over to see his partner seated at a picnic table with Sam, dappled sunlight illuminating Will’s blond curls and Sam’s hijab, sky blue today. The two are chatting animatedly.

“Search is moving into town,” Magnus announces, making his way over to Nico. He’s looking a bit disheveled at this point in the operation too, but his gray eyes are bright. “There was a reported sighting. I just heard from Ramirez-Arellano though. She wants you and Solace to head back to DC. Says if you accumulate one more minute of overtime she’s sending you both on a forced vacation.”

Nico huffs. “Fine.” He can’t say he’s too disappointed. His back is aching and his toes are icy inside his wet socks.

“Keep in touch though, yeah?” Magnus says. “Sam was saying something about organizing another karaoke night.” He winks and Nico rolls his eyes.

Magnus heads back to the search crew and Nico crosses to the picnic table. Sam’s gone, but Will’s still sitting there, legs stretched out, eyes closed, face turned up to the weak spring sunlight. Photosynthesizing, maybe.

Nico stops in front of the picnic table, giving the wooden structure a light kick. “Hey.”

Will opens his eyes, already grinning. “Hey.”

“Hate to interrupt your tanning session, but Reyna wants us to head back. They’re moving the search into town, and we’re not invited.” Nico drops down beside his partner. His cold feet are throbbing.

“So rude,” Will sighs, dramatic. “I have some good news, though – look what Sam lent me!”

Will holds out a CD. Nico peers at it, then pulls a face. “Dawson’s Creek? Isn’t that the show with the teenagers with the huge vocabularies?”

“Nico.” Will shakes his head, solemn. “It’s so much more than that. Dawson’s Creek is a classic. Ahead of its time. Sam and I are going to watch the season finale together, in May. You should come!” Will nudges his leg with a muddy shoe, and Nico grimaces. Not that he can get much muddier.

“I think I’m washing my hair that night.”

Will sticks out his tongue.

Really? He’s almost thirty years old. He’s a doctor.

“Party pooper. Anyway, the soundtrack is really good. You’ll like it. We can listen to it on our next trip.” Will wiggles his eyebrows in a manner that’s probably meant to indicate that what he’s just proposed should be enticing to Nico.

Nico sighs, pained. “Fine. I guess.” He stands. His cold, wet shoes make a weird squelching sound, accompanied by a weird squelching sensation. Gross. “Let’s go. I wanna stop in town for snacks before we head back to DC.”

“Sure.” Will extends his hand.

Nico blinks at the hand, then at Will. “What.”

“Help me up,” Will says, as if that should have been obvious.

“Help you – why should I – why do you –” Nico sputters.

Will sighs. “Nico, we can argue about it, or you can just help me up.” He makes a grabby gesture.

“Oh my god,” Nico mutters, grabbing Will’s warm, large hand and yanking him to his feet. It does something stupid to Nico’s stomach and he drops Will’s hand quickly, shoving down the impulse to rub his own hand on his coat. Really, if Will’s hands are going to be so much larger than his, then surely Will should be the one helping Nico up, or –

Will smiles, all sunlight and freckles. Jerk.

“Andy was right,” Will says. “You are strong.”

“What?” Nico laughs, startled. He can feel himself going red, and he walks a bit faster up the path, attempting to position his flushed face out of sight.

“I heard him telling his dad,” Will grins, catching up easily with his stupid long legs. “All about the strong, brave policeman who rescued him.”

“Jesus,” Nico mutters, unable to come up with anything cleverer.

Will laughs, bright.

The car is parked about half a mile from the trailhead, and they make their way back through the wooded trail together. The sun is slowly beginning to warm the forest, and it smells lush and earthy, droplets of water sparking on leaves in the filtered sunlight. Nico’s dragging a bit after a long day, having trouble focusing on anything besides his wet feet, but Will seems energized, practically skipping next to him.

“I’m so hungry I could eat the north end of a southbound polecat,” Will announces, affecting a southern drawl. Nico snorts, and Will glances over, grinning. “That’s what my nana used to say,” he explains. A branch catches his hair and he pauses to untangle it.

“That’s a new one,” Nico mutters.

“Why, what would you say?” Will asks, still bouncing along next to him.

Nico makes a face. “I don’t know. I’m just hungry. I don’t feel the need to drag out colloquialisms about it.”

Will ignores this. “I’m so hungry I could eat my arm,” he says. “Or your arm.” He grabs Nico’s arm and squeezes.

“God, you’re so touchy Nico complains, batting Will’s hand away. They’re walking side by side, but it’s still obvious, the way Will wilts at the words, a dimming in Nico’s peripheral vision. Nico immediately internally berates himself.

The truth is he’s never been touched so much – at least not outside of romantic relationships. Or at least, not in his memory. He’s sure his mother was affectionate with him, but his memories of her are so hazy, more flashes of her smile, a vague memory of her presence in the house, comforting. And while Bianca was his best friend, his companion and sometimes caregiver, she was never easy with physical touch the way Will is. Nico never has been either. He never thought he particularly liked it, or wanted it. It's taken some adjusting to, as prickly as he knows he can be, but now that he has, he very much doesn’t want to be without it. And Will’s touch is so easy. Something generous. Unconditional. It makes Nico feel warm and grounded.

“Sorry,” Will says, chastened, the teasing gone from his voice. “I’m – I know I can be. I’ll back off.” Will moves a bit further away.

Fuck.

“I don’t – I don’t actually… mind,” Nico manages, feeling his face heat. “I was just – I was teasing. Sorry.”

Will glances over, still guarded. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Nico says, embarrassed. “I might – I kind of like it. Actually.” he admits. His face is burning, but look. He brought this on himself.

Will beams, suddenly throwing an arm around Nico’s shoulders, hugging him from the side. It nearly knocks them both to the forest floor.

“Okay, okay. Nerd,” Nico mumbles, gruff. But he carefully slides an arm around Will’s waist, squeezing back before Will moves away, and okay. That’s kind of nice.

They make the short drive into Rockwood. It’s barely large enough to be called a town, Will thinks, and lunch options are thin on the ground. They park on the main street, leaving their muddy coats in the trunk before making their way across the street and up the block to a small grocery store. They exit soon thereafter with a paper bag brimming with snacks, wrapped deli sandwiches and two bottles of soda. Will glances at their reflection in a glass storefront as they wait for the town’s single traffic light to change. He huffs out a laugh.

Nico turns, cocking an eyebrow. “What?”

Will waves a hand towards the glass. “Just wondering how you manage to look artfully windswept after our trek through the woods while I look like I just crawled out of a trash compactor. Especially since you were the one who climbed through the culvert.”

Nico snorts, glancing into the glass. He preens a little and Will laughs. Will glances back to Nico himself, who’s gone a bit pink.

“You – you look fine, anyway,” Nico says, gruff.

Will grins. The light changes and he follows Nico across the street. There aren’t many pedestrians around to begin with, and both men glance up automatically as a man passes them, crossing the street in the opposite direction.

They pause mid-step, halfway across the street. Realization seems to dawn over Nico at the same time as it does Will.

Nico scrambles to pull out the papers that Magnus gave them hours ago, his eyes wide.

“Was that –”

“Fuck.”

A quick glance at the photocopied picture of the escaped convict and both Will and Nico hurry back across the street the way they’d come.

“Edward Michael Corrin?” Will calls.

The man whips around to look at them. His eyes go wide and he takes off at a sprint.

“FBI, stop where you are! Nico yells. If anything, this makes the man run faster.

“I hate running,” Nico groans, cursing and taking off after Corrin. Will sadly abandons their bag of snacks, dropping it as carefully as he can before racing after his partner. Nico may not be tall, but god, he’s fast, and Will’s quickly out of breath.

The town of Rockwood borders right on dense woods, and that’s where Corrin seems to be heading. Will grimaces, thinking ruefully of his already-wet feet and muddy clothes.

Will’s just finished calling for backup as he sees Nico disappear into the trees, maybe 50 yards behind Corrin. The guy’s got a lot of life left in him, considering he’s been on the run all day.

The land here isn’t quite as wet, but it’s rocky and uneven. Will’s pace is slowed immediately as he tries to find a safe way through the woods. The forest here is mostly deciduous, thankfully, just the barest hint of new leaves on the trees. Otherwise, Will thinks there’s no way he would have spotted his partner, halfway up a sharp incline. Nico’s gasping for air, leaning forward with hands propped on his thighs. Will reaches him a moment later, clutching at a stitch in his side.

“I think I lost him,” Nico manages, breathless. “Fuck, I hate running.”

Will breathes out a laugh, sharp. “Yeah, it‘s not my first choice either.” His lungs are burning, but he manages to force himself upright, shoving hair off his sweaty forehead and scanning the landscape. “You didn’t see which way he went?”

Nico shakes his head, still catching his breath. There’s a rip in the shoulder of his jacket.

“Should probably keep climbing,” Nico manages, tilting his head towards the top of the hill. “Might get a better look from up there.”

Sadly, he’s probably right, and they make their way up, breathing hard. The rocky soil underfoot might make for good footholds under other circumstances, but right now the rocks are slippery with rainwater and dead leaves, and Will nearly loses his footing several times, finally resorting to crawling rather than climbing to the top of the hill.

“Where the fuck is everyone?” Nico breathes as they reach the hilltop. It’s dotted with birch up here, too, but the trees are thinner.

Will glances around, chest heaving. “Maybe – there?” He points across the little plateau they’re standing on, because he’s sure he’s just seen movement, a flash of color…

“Where?”

Not enough breath for conversation, Will grabs Nico’s chin with a sweaty hand and points him in the right direction. Nico blinks, startled, but there’s no time to argue, because –

“Oh fuck, that’s him.”

And Nico takes off running again. Will groans, one more deep breath before following. Where are the others?

At least he’s no longer fighting his way uphill. The ground up here isn’t quite as rocky, and Will makes better progress than he had been.

“FBI, stop where you are!” Nico yells again. Corrin doesn’t, but in the next second, Nico’s somehow right on his tail, then he’s got the other man by the shoulder and then they both go down. There’s a brief tussle, but by the time Will catches up, Nico’s got Corrin’s hands behind his back, fumbling for his handcuffs.

“Nice one,” Will gasps, crouching down to help. Nico pulls Corrin to his feet just as the other agents crest the hill, Sam and Magnus in the lead.

“Nice of you all to finally show up,” Nico says, breathless.

There’s a blur of activity. Corrin is led down the hill. Nico takes a few minutes to debrief Magnus, but finally they head back towards the little town they’d left so suddenly. They don’t talk much as they make their way back over the rocky ground, finally emerging from the trees into late afternoon sunlight.

“Oh hey, our snacks are still here!” Will exclaims as they round the corner, spotting the paper bag he’d stowed next to a mailbox. “Thank god, because I could, quite literally, eat your arm at this point.”

He quirks an eyebrow at Nico, who rolls his eyes. “Oh – you’re bleeding,” Will frowns, grabbing his partner by the arm and turning him.

“It’s fine. Sam gave me a bandaid.”

“Let me –” Will ducks his head, trying to get a better look. Sure enough, there is a bandaid at the corner of Nico’s forehead, right at his hairline. A dark lock of hair has fallen over it, might even have done a good job concealing it, if not for the trickle of blood.

“Nico, it’s not fine. There’s literally blood running down the side of your face.”

“Just a flesh wound.”

Will rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean you – here. Sit. I’ll be back with the first aid kit.” He grabs both Nico’s shoulders, guiding him firmly to a bench.

“Will, I can make it back to the car, it’s just a cut,” Nico complains.

“Yeah, I know, but the light’s better out here. Just stay put. And give me the car keys.” Will gives him a stern look, holding out his hand, and Nico finally slumps, acquiescing.

Will shoots a glance over his shoulder to make sure Nico hasn’t moved as he hurries back to the car, popping the trunk. He’s been trying to push it aside as best he can, but images of Nico collapsed on a motel room floor, rapidly losing consciousness, seem burned into his brain. The way Will’s heart had plummeted when Nico had stopped responding, gone limp under his hands. The interminable drag of minutes as Will waited for the ambulance to arrive, counting Nico’s every breath.

Nico casually bleeding from a head wound isn’t particularly helping matters. Will takes a moment for a few deep breaths, for whatever good that might do, before heading back up the street.

Nico’s waiting for him, looking mollified or disgruntled, Will’s not sure.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” Will says, settling himself next to Nico. He opens the little med kit, cleaning his hands and then pulling on gloves. He offers the hand sanitizer to Nico as well, who holds out his hand obediently as Will squirts a blob into his palm.

“Can you hold your hair back?” Will asks.

Will carefully peels the bandaid back, blood already soaking through the fabric. It’s a jagged cut, nearly two inches long and still bleeding freely. It could probably use a few stitches.

“Jesus,” Will mutters. “How did this happen?”

Nico’s nose scrunches. Sitting this close in the sunlight, Will notices a scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “Not sure. Might have been a rock.”

Will gently tilts Nico’s head to the side. “Did Sam see this when she gave you the bandaid? Why didn’t she take you to the EMTs? They were right there when the guys carted Corrin off.”

Nico makes a small sound in his throat, noncommittal.

“Nico?” Will frowns. “Did Sam tell you to see the EMTs?”

Nico glances over, cagey. “I told her you’d look at it.”

Will huffs. “Seriously? And were you planning on mentioning that to me?”

Nico shrugs, and Will gets to work cleaning out the cut, his jaw set. Nico’s gaze flicks over to him a few times, but he stays quiet.

Finally Will shakes his head, dabbing at the still-bleeding wound. “I can put a Steri-Strip on this, but I’d really recommend getting it stitched instead.”

“But you can do it?” Nico says, hesitant.

Will sighs. “I can. If the other option is putting a bandaid back over it and oozing blood all the way back to DC.”

Nico grimaces. “Can – can you do the Steri-Strip? Please?”

“Fine,” Will says, short. The trouble with human bodies is that they’re so fucking fallible. All that blood, right under the skin. Bones that break and hearts that stop and the smallest, stupidest choices that can put you six feet under. Will grits his teeth, throat tight.

“You’re angry at me,” Nico says quietly.

Will blinks, pulled from his morose contemplation.

“What? No.” He shakes his head. “No, I’m really not. Sorry.” He carefully secures one side of the Steri-Strip to Nico’s forehead, applying gentle pressure with two fingertips and holding gauze against the wound with his other hand. “I’m just going to hold this here for a minute and make sure the adhesive sticks before I secure the other side.”

Will’s eyes flick to his partner, who’s watching him with something like wariness.

“I’m not mad,” Will repeats. “I’m just –” he trains his gaze on his gloved fingertips, pressed to his partner’s forehead. Nico’s blood slowly soaks through the gauze, shocking red against the white. Will takes a deep breath. “I almost lost you on our last case. Gotta be more careful this time. Right?” His voice comes out clipped and hoarse.

“But that wasn’t your fault,” Nico says slowly. He’s still holding his hair out of the way, and he swaps one hand for the other, taking care not to jostle Will’s fingers.

Will grimaces. “Wasn’t it? I read the autopsy report on the first victim. I performed the autopsy on the second one. And then I let you order pizza, and I left.” He hadn’t had the space to give it much thought at the time, but in the ensuing days it’s weighed on him more and more. It seems baffling how quickly they moved on from it. Baffling that they’re both still here, alive and breathing.

Nico’s brow creases. “But that’s – I read the autopsy reports too, Will. I didn’t put the pieces together either. And besides, if you hadn’t left, we’d probably both be dead.”

Will shrugs. “I think this side is adhered now,” he tells Nico, avoiding his gaze. “You’re just going to feel some tension and then I’ll secure the other side.”

“Okay,” Nico says quietly.

Will finishes applying the Steri-Strip, then carefully tapes a square of gauze over it. He clears his throat. “I don’t think it’s going to bleed too much more, but the gauze will take care of it if it does.”

Will takes a deep breath, finally turning his gaze to Nico, who’s watching him with those big, dark eyes, his expression solemn. Looking at Nico from inches away like this is a bit like gazing directly into the sun. Will glances down instead, peeling off his gloves and discarding them with the trash in the can next to the bench.

“Any other open wounds I should know about, before I put the kit away?” Will asks irritably.

“No,” Nico says softly.

Will begins packing away his supplies. His hands are clumsy, though, his heart beating too fast, and he fumbles the gauze and then the baggie of cotton balls. Nico pulls the kit and all its accessories out of Will’s hands, packing everything away and handing it back wordlessly.

“Thanks,” Will mutters. He sighs. “Look, I didn’t mean to bring that up. I didn’t mean to make things awkward. Can we just forget about it?”

Nico watches him for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he says finally.

Will can still feel his pulse pounding in his throat. “You don’t know?”

“Well, I –” Nico lets out a breath, sharp. “Look, I’m not good at…” he waves a hand vaguely. “Talking. But I think – look. This job has certain risks, right? And we know that going into it. And if anything ever happened to me, because of this job – this job that I choose to do – I would never want you to blame yourself. Not even if, say, you think you missed something. Or even if you fucked up – which you didn’t, incidentally. But I would never want you to carry that with you. Because this job is my choice, and I accept the risks that it involves. Okay?”

Will lets out a breath. “I mean, that’s easy to say but…”

Nico nods. “I know, but –”

“But obviously I’d never want you to blame yourself either,” Will says, “if anything ever happened to me.”

“Well.” Nico suddenly looks conflicted. The waning sunlight catches on his dark hair, his long lashes, a flash of gold. “That’s different.”

“What? Why –”

“Because I’m never going to let anything happen to you,” Nico says smoothly, his lips quirking.

Will stares at the other man for a moment, his throat going tight. “Yeah? That’s your grand plan?”

Nico shrugs, smug. Will manages a laugh. “You’re such a nerd.” Will restrains himself, just, from throwing his arms around his partner’s neck and sobbing into his shoulder.

“Fine. Then I’m not going to let anything happen to you either,” Will says, as light as he can.“And in fifty years we’ll be like… chasing down perps together with our walkers and canes.” Will feels his face warming at all the possible implications of that, but Nico only laughs, looking pleased.

Will stands, holding out his hand to his partner, who accepts it. Nico’s hand is warm. It fits nicely in his. Will pulls Nico to his feet.

Will leads the way back to the car, unlocking it and passing the keys to Nico, who still has a quietly please look on his face.

“You wanna solve crimes with me when we’re old and infirm?” Nico asks, light.

“Well,” Will huffs, stowing the med kit in the trunk. “Not if you can’t be bothered to tell me when you’re actively bleeding,” he can’t quite resist saying.

But Nico just grins. “That’s probably something I can work on.”

There’s a light chill in the air now, at the day’s end, but the car is sun-warmed and cozy inside. Will’s very much looking forward to staying seated for a couple of hours and finally eating something.

Nico starts the car and then pulls down the sun shade, flipping open the mirror. He wrinkles his nose. “Not so artfully windswept now.”

Will glances over and grins. “I don’t know. I think you can pull it off. I especially like the bloody bandage. And the leaves.”

Nico huffs, tilting his head. He plucks several dried leaves and a small twig from his hair.

Will watches, fond. “You missed a couple,” he says, and when Nico can’t quite locate them, turning his head this way and that, Will can’t help himself. “Here,” he says, leaning closer.

Nico stills, but Will’s committed now, stomach fluttering with nerves despite the fact that he’s just spent the last twenty minutes in close quarters patching up Nico’s head. It feels as if there’s something more private about the car, though, and this is distinctly less medical. Less necessary.

Nico’s hair is soft, silky. Will’s fumbling fingers take a moment longer than they should to extricate the leaves, and he can feel his face warming in the process. Nico smells a bit like sunshine, a bit like the fresh forest air, and under all of it, the comfortingly familiar smell of Nico. It doesn’t help Will’s butterflies.

“Got it,” Will says, finally, a little rough, holding up the leaves in demonstration. He lowers the passenger side window, letting the leaves flutter out onto the street outside.

There’s a rather loaded silence following this interaction and it’s truly ridiculous, Will thinks, the way his heart is pounding in his chest.

“I really need a haircut,” Nico mutters as he starts the car.

Will huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, same.” He ducks his head to inspect his reflection in the window, shoving a few errant curls out of his face.

Will finds a radio station that’s acceptable to both of them, and neither speaks much more until the exit signs for Baltimore begin flashing past in the twilight.

“Actually –” Nico glances over at Will, then away.

“Hmm?”

“If you wanna take a quick detour into Baltimore, I’ll treat you to a haircut?”

Will’s face must betray his confusion, because Nico immediately goes red, turning back to the road. “Sorry, that sounded really weird,” he laughs. “My um – my sister. Half-sister. She lives in Baltimore. She always cuts my hair for me. I could use a trim, and we’re in the neighborhood – forget it, though. I’m sure you want to get back to DC.”

“No, that actually sounds great.” Will actually has very little desire to get back to his empty apartment. Kayla’s away overnight, and the Wednesday night TV lineup is usually a bore. He grins, poking Nico in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re going to introduce me to your family already. It’s only our tenth case-iversary.”

Nico scowls. “I changed my mind.” He moves to bump the cruise control back up.

Will laughs, loud, grabbing Nico’s wrist to pull it away from the cruise. “No, no, I’m sorry. I would love a haircut. I promise I’ll be good,” he adds, because Nico’s looking pained.

“Anyway, it’s our eleventh case-iversary,” Nico mutters a moment later.

Will blinks. “You’re right,” he realizes. “I forgot about the spaceship.”

Nico snorts.

“What’s the gift, for the eleventh case-iversary?” Will wonders aloud.

“Haircuts,” Nico says, dry.

Will nods, serious. “Right, right. Tenth was shitty take-out coffee.”

Nico shakes his head, looking harassed, but he drops his speed again. “Case-iversary,” he mutters under his breath, disparaging, as he exits the freeway. Will laughs. ___

It’s fully dark by the time they park on a quiet street in the heart of industrial Baltimore. Nico turns off the car and then pauses, not unbuckling his seatbelt yet.

Will shoots a glance in his direction. “What’s up?”

Nico looks uncertain. “Um. Just – my sister –”

“Hazel, right?”

Nico looks surprised. “Yeah. You remembered.”

Will shrugs. “It’s kind of an unusual name. Pretty.”

Nico watches him for a moment, then nods. “Yeah,” he says. “So – she lives with her boyfriend, Frank. He’s great. They’ve been together for ages. Actually, he’s my star researcher – remember he did the background check on Robert Marcus?”

“Oh, Frank Zhang, right? Perfect, I already love Frank,” Will smiles.

“Me too. He’s fantastic. But then there’s their roommate, Leo.” Nico scrunches his nose. “He’s… well, he can be a lot. Just so you’re forewarned.”

Will nods. “Okay, noted.”

“He actually – he’s the one who gave me those playing cards.”

“Oh, I see,” Will laughs.

“Yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Will closes the car door, stretching. He glances down at himself, brushing off as much of the dried mud as he’s able to. Nico joins him on the sidewalk, does the same.

“Ready?” Nico asks.

Will swallows, more nervous than he thinks he probably should be. “Yup. Bring it on.”

Nico pauses, his gaze softening as it flicks over Will’s face. “They’ll like you,” he says.

There’s a shriek as the door opens, and Nico is immediately enveloped by a woman several inches shorter than him with a fluffy cloud of golden-bronze curls. “You should have told me you were coming by,” she exclaims, then turns to yell over her shoulder, “Frank, have you ordered the pizza yet? Can you get extra?”

Hazel’s eyes light up as she catches sight of Will, hovering awkwardly just beyond the doorway. “You must be Will!” she exclaims, reaching out to shake his hand. Will smiles at being so enthusiastically received then smiles a little more, just to himself, at the surprise of Nico’s hand, pressing low on his back as the other man ushers him into the apartment. The small touch is reassuring, immediately making him feel more at ease. As much as Nico denied it, Will knows that he can be too touchy.

“You’re not allergic to dogs, are you, Will? Or cats?” Hazel asks.

“Or hamsters, or lizards?” comes a deep voice in the background. “Hi, I’m Frank,” says the man attached to the voice, sticking out his hand with a warm smile. He’s tall, burly, with close-cropped dark hair and a kind face.

“Frank works at an animal shelter part-time,” Hazel explains, somewhat apologetic as Will toes off his shoes and an enormous orange cat approaches, sniffing the muddy cuffs of his pants. “He brings home a lot of strays.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling me now?” asks a third voice, and another man crowds into the already packed entryway. He’s about Nico’s height, and wiry, with a head of brown, glossy curls. He grins widely at Will, giving him an appreciative, very obvious once-over, then turning to Nico. “Is this your skeptical partner? He’s hot.”

Nico scowls. “You can fuck all the way off,” he mutters to the newcomer, then turns to Will. “I’m so sorry. Please feel free to ignore him. I try to.”

“Nice to meet you, Will. I’m Leo.” The man sticks out his hand, offering a toothy smile. Will reaches out to grasp Leo’s hand. “The moon landing was faked,” Leo adds, his smile never faltering.

Will can’t tell whether he’s supposed to laugh or not, and he ends up just kind of awkwardly staring.

“God,” Nico mutters, grabbing Will by the arm and dragging him further into the apartment. “Hazel, we actually came by to see if you had time to cut my hair – and Will’s,” Nico says, sounding a little guilty. “I know I should have called first, but we were in the neighborhood and –”

Hazel’s face lights up. “I would love to cut your hair, Will,” she says, stepping closer and beginning what feels like a clinical inspection of Will’s head, rising on her toes and tilting her head from side to side. Will tries very hard not to feel like some sort of a medical specimen. “And yours too, Nico,” she adds as an afterthought, reaching out to examine a curl at Will’s ear more closely. “Will, what’s your curl regimen?”

“My um – what?”

“Your curl regimen,” Hazel says, deadly serious. “What products do you use?”

“I –” Will blinks at Hazel. “I wash it? And um… sometimes I use a little gel?” He looks helplessly at Nico, who looks like he’s trying desperately not to laugh.

Nico nods, solemn. “It’s true, he does sometimes use a little gel. I’ve seen him do it.”

Hazel’s brow furrows. With disappointment, maybe? Will suddenly feels very guilty for something, though he can’t quite get a handle on what that might be.

Nico sighs. “Sorry. Hazel gets a little excited about curly hair. It’s kind of her thing.”

Hazel turns to stick her tongue out at her brother and then, thank god, ceases her inspection of Will’s head. Hazel’s brow furrows as she takes in Nico’s appearance.

“What on earth did the two of you get up to today?” Hazel asks, sounding worried. She plucks a leaf from Nico’s hair that Will must have missed earlier, her eyes going wide at the hint of bandage half-hidden under Nico’s over-long bangs. Hazel brushes the hair back from Nico’s forehead. He makes a face but doesn’t flinch away. “Oh no, what happened?”

“Well, actually,” Will says, “Nico completely saved the day.”

Nico’s gaze flicks over to him, pink in his cheeks. “I absolutely did not.”

“You absolutely did,” Will says. He turns to Hazel. “We were heading back to DC after a case, and we got a call about a separate incident while we were on the road. Missing dog, missing kid and missing convict. There were at least a dozen other agents on the case, but Nico managed to personally find all three of them.”

“Nico, really?” Hazel squeals. “That’s amazing!” She throws her arms around her brother.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Nico mutters as Leo claps him on the back and Frank nods approvingly.

“You mean when I describe the events exactly as they occurred?” Will grins. Nico shoots him a smile, a bit bashful. Hazel’s gaze flicks between the two of them with a level of interest that makes Will a little nervous.

She gives Nico a squeeze around the waist. “Come on, big brother. You can tell me all about your heroic deeds while I wash your hair. We’ve got time to give you a quick trim before the pizza comes, and then I can do Will’s afterwards.”

Will thinks Nico looks a bit reluctant to leave him with Frank and (probably more accurately) Leo, but he follows his sister and they disappear down a hallway together.

Frank leads the way into the main living area, he and Leo settling themselves in easy chairs. Will sits on the floor against the couch as a dog shyly approaches, sniffing delicately at Will’s hand when he extends it. She’s medium-sized, possibly some kind of a lab mix (Frank introduces her as Summer) and she climbs into Will’s lap, turning in an awkward circle before curling herself into a ball and tucking her head against Will’s stomach.

Leo is certainly a lot, as Nico described, but he’s easy enough to talk to. Soon he and Will are engaged in a friendly debate on flat earth theory, Frank sitting quietly in the background and occasionally shaking his head good-naturedly.

“I’m not saying I believe you could actually walk off the edge of the earth,” Leo is saying, his eyes bright, “but you have to admit they make some compelling arguments. And to be perfectly fair, I haven’t tried it myself.”

Will, who’s been trying hard not to laugh, finally allows himself a proper grin aimed at Nico as the dark-haired man returns to the main living area. Nico shoves a hand self-consciously through his now much-shorter hair, smiling to see Will sprawled on the floor against the couch, Summer still curled in his lap and a three-legged gray cat tucked under his arm. Nico lowers himself to the couch at Will’s shoulder.

Leo grins, jerking his chin towards Will. “He’s like a fucking Disney princess.”

“He sure likes to sing like one,” Nico complains and Will grins, his gaze flicking up to his partner. He sees the gauze has been removed from Nico’s head.

“Can I take a look at –” Will motions to Nico’s forehead and Nico leans forward obligingly, so Will can avoid dislodging the cat and dog.

A light touch to Nico’s temple and Nico leans his head closer. Will nods approvingly. “It looks better now. I think I did a decent job,” he says, a little relieved.

“You’re a forensic pathologist, Will?” Frank asks.

“Yes,” Will says, surprised. “These days the most medicine I do is autopsies. But Nico was kind enough to let me practice on a living specimen today.”

Leo and Hazel laugh. “I never should have brought you here,” Nico says, an amused look.

Will grins up at him, unrepentant. Frank looks to be thinking something over, a worried pinch to his brow.

“I know you’re not a vet,” Frank begins,“but would you mind taking a quick look at Otis later?”

“Sure,” Will agrees immediately, then suddenly hopes that Otis is, at least, a mammal. “And Otis is…?”

“A dog,” Frank says, looking relieved. “He’s got this infection under his ear. I’ve been doing my best with it, but I’d really appreciate a second set of eyes on him. I know you’re not really trained to –”

“No, it’s okay,” Will interrupts, smiling. “I’d love to take a look at Otis. I agree. It’s always good to get a second opinion.”

The doorbell buzzes, and Leo carries the pizza in a minute later, setting boxes on the table as Hazel follows with a stack of plates. Will fills his plate and moves back to the floor at the foot of the couch. Hearing a huff next to him a moment later, he laughs in surprise to see three more dogs sitting in a line, avidly watching the progress of his pizza from the plate to his mouth.

Hazel rolls her eyes. “Just ignore them, if you can,” she tells Will, attempting to (mostly unsuccessfully) shoo the dogs to their beds. Frank, looking a bit shifty, explains that while city bylaws generally prohibit having quite so many pets in a dwelling, he’s found certain ways to circumvent this.

“It’s okay, Frank,” Nico says. “He’s not that kind of cop.”

Frank looks a little relieved, dropping into a chair with a plate of pizza in one hand and a one-eyed tuxedo cat tucked under his arm. A second cat, this one a brown tabby, immediately hops gracefully into his lap.

“Definitely not,” Will assures Frank, grinning at the two cats simultaneously head-butting the man in the chair, Frank attempting to hold his pizza safely out of the way. “Anyway, you’ve certainly got the room for it here. This place is amazing.”

It really is. The apartment is impressive, the main living area a loft-style apartment with high ceilings and huge, arched, floor-to-ceiling windows. A mish-mash of pleasantly mismatched but comfortable-looking chairs and couches are scattered throughout the space, along with a large collection of dog beds, and several of the most elaborate cat trees Will has ever seen. In the corner, what looks like a crib mattress is occupied by something large, shaggy and weathered-looking. A dog, probably; whatever it is is lightly snoring.

Frank brightens. “Thanks. My dad owns the building, so our rent’s pretty cheap, and he’s willing to overlook the fact that this place isn’t really zoned as residential. We’ve got plenty of room for the pets and all our side-hustles. Hazel has a little salon in the back, and Leo has a workshop. The door to the kitchen is right where you came in, and that hallway there,” Frank points, “leads to the bedrooms.”

“I’d be happy to give you a tour,” Leo grins, leaning forwards in his chair. “Of the bedrooms.”

Will blinks.

“That definitely won’t be necessary,” Nico says firmly.

Hazel laughs, her arms raised over her head as she ties her hair out of her face. “If you’re finished eating, I can cut your hair now, Will.”

Will is, and Hazel leads him down a hallway into a small space that’s been converted into a salon, a long mirror and two styling chairs.

“I’ve heard lots of good things about you,” Hazel says casually as she drapes a cape over Will’s shoulders. Is my brother treating you well?”

Will wishes she wouldn’t say those words in quite that tone – but maybe he’s just imagining unasked questions. Regardless, his face warms, and he hopes Hazel won’t notice.

“Nico’s great,” Will offers. “He really knows his stuff. I’m learning a lot.”

“That’s good to hear.” Hazel efficiently spritzes Will’s hair with water, shielding his face with a hand at his forehead. “He can be a bit stubborn sometimes. Doesn’t always like following rules.”

Will laughs. “We make it work. We don’t always agree, but we can usually find a way to meet in the middle.”

“It sounds like the two of you make a good match,” Hazel says, reaching for a comb. “Professionally speaking, of course.”

“Of course,” agrees Will.

Hazel does her best to make a case for Will growing his hair longer and letting her teach him a decent curl regimen. He politely declines, citing a lack of time for grooming as well as the general vibe of the FBI.

“I understand,” Hazel says, sounding a little regretful. “You have beautiful curls, though. You let me know the second you decide to grow it out and I’ll set you up with products.”

“Will do,” Will agrees as Hazel begins snipping. “So, do you see a lot of clients here?”

“Yeah, I do,” Hazel says. “It’s been really busy the last couple of years. I have a lot of regular clients – and then I’ve got a ton of government and corporate contracts right now. Everyone’s in a panic about Y2K.”

Will blinks. “You’re – sorry. I’m assuming the government contracts don’t have anything to do with cutting hair?”

Hazel laughs. “No. I guess Nico didn’t mention – I have a degree in computer science – as well as my cosmetology license.”

“Oh, wow, that’s fantastic.”

“It keeps me busy,” Hazel agrees.

“I bet. And can I ask – the government contracts are for –”

“Oh.” Hazel rolls her eyes. “Paranoia, mostly. Government agencies and big corporations are afraid that when the millennium hits, all their computer systems will fail. Mass chaos and panic, you know?”

Will nods. He’s seen some Y2K compliant stickers on some equipment at work – he stuck one to Nico’s forehead the other day as he passed by his desk – and he’s heard some buzz in the media, but he honestly hasn’t been paying a lot of attention.

“I heard about some guy somewhere in the midwest who wants to go into his bunker on New Year’s Eve with two hundred hamsters – he’s planning on using them as a self-sustaining food supply,” Will says, remembering a newspaper he’d been reading to Nico on a recent road trip.

Hazel laughs. “I’m not surprised. Leo’s been trying to convince us to build a bomb shelter out in the woods. Honestly, the chances are it’s all going to be a bit of a letdown for everyone who’s so worked up about it. But everyone wants the appearance that they’re making an effort, right? They want plausible deniability. The contracts are out there – so I take them on, fix up the code, and keep pulling in the big bucks,” Hazel moves to stand in front of Will, checking her work.

“That sounds like a win-win,” Will says.

Hazel shrugs. “I think so. It makes Frank a little uncomfortable, knowing all this work is being done and all this money is being spent when it’s not really necessary. But someone’s gotta do it. And once the millennium turns over and everything is fine, Frank and I might finally be able to buy a big property in the country.”

Will’s eyebrows rise. “Oh yeah? That sounds amazing.”

Hazel smiles. “Yup. Frank can rescue as many dogs as his heart desires and I can finally have horses.”

Will glances up at Hazel’s face in the mirror, seeing the same expression on her face when she mentions horses as Nico has when he gets started on cryptids. Will smiles. Hazel’s engaging and kind, and Will finds himself warming to her quickly. Sure, Nico has those same qualities, sometimes in abundance, but it’s quieter. You have to work to get there, with him. With Hazel, it seems to be all on the surface.

Will’s back in the living room not long after, dropping onto the couch beside Nico, who’s scanning over a newspaper. Nico glances up from his reading in surprise, reaching out a hand to Will’s hair and brushing his fingertips over it lightly before seeming to catch himself.

“Looks good,” Nico manages, looking a little embarrassed.

Will grins. “Thanks. Hazel does good work. What’re you reading?”

“Oh.” Nico passes the paper over. “These guys –” he gestures around to the others in the room, “put out a monthly newsletter. I was just getting caught up.”

Will glances at the cover, scanning over headlines including Criminal Whalers Exposed and Teletubbies Mind Control??.

Will blinks, then flicks a gaze over to Nico, surreptitious and questioning.

Nico appears to be fighting a smile. “It’s mostly Leo’s brainchild, as you might have guessed. But it is actually a group effort. Frank’s research is amazing, of course – you know, government watchdog stuff.”

Will nods, grinning. “I have no doubt.” He flips the newspaper open.

“You can have that copy if you like,” Frank offers.

Will nods his thanks. “You guys have some great side hustles going on here. Coding, journalism, top-tier research –”

“And Leo,” Nico mutters.

Hazel bumps Nico with her shoulder, hard enough that he collides gently with Will on his other side. Will bumps him back.

“We all love Leo,” Hazel says.

Leo beams, and Nico almost audibly rolls his eyes.

“He can fix absolutely anything,” Frank adds. “He’s our robotics expert. He actually built the cat trees,” Frank gestures over to the massive structures at the other side of the room. Will notices now that they’re bolted securely to the wall.

“Cool,” Will nods. “And the animals are very cool, of course,” he adds, as Summer makes her way back into his now-available lap, stopping to touch her cold, wet nose to his before settling back in. “Did I see lizards in the back?” Will asks, scratching Summer behind the ears. He’s pretty sure he saw a lit tank in a room somewhere along the hallway.

“Yup,” Frank says proudly. “That’s Pancake. He’s a bearded dragon. We’ve got a bit of everything here.”

“Everything but birds,” Leo says, and before Will can answer he adds, serious, “because birds aren’t real.”

“Oh my god,” Nico mutters. He glances at Will, who nods. “We should actually get going.”

“It’s been a long day,” Will agrees. It’s hard to believe that it was just this morning that he and Nico were laughing over Leo’s x-rated playing cards.

The whole group of them crowd into the entryway to bid Will and Nico goodnight, Hazel throwing her arms first around her brother, then Will. Will hugs her back, surprised, but pleased. He has to admit, Hazel is nothing like what he would have imagined a sister of Nico’s to be.

“Come by any time, Will,” she says warmly. “Oh wait - here’s my card.” She presses it into his hand. “You won’t find anyone who does curly hair better. I cut your hair from now on,” she says, just a bit too intense, and Will suddenly sees the resemblance between the siblings, vividly.

“Yes please come by any time,” Leo adds, somehow making the words sound more suggestive than Will would have thought possible.

Nico scrubs a hand over his face. “Valdez, please don’t scare him away,” he says weakly. “I like this one.”

The door closes behind them and Will follows Nico to the elevator, grinning. “You like me,” he teases.

Nico snorts. “Yeah, don’t let it go to your head, though. It’s only our eleventh case-iversary.”

(chapter 6 here! Please note chapter 6 is split into two parts)

Notes:

1. It's another chapter already! I didn't think I'd get it out so fast, but this one wasn't in bad shape. The updates will slow down at some point because there are still big chunks I need to write from scratch. 2. I can't even remember how long this thing is because at some point it got so large I had to split it into separate docs. It might be 200k total by the end? 3. Thank you SO MUCH for reading and thank you SO MUCH for your comments. They really keep me going <3 4. Thanks once again to @rosyredlipstick for the beta. Thanks also to @anything-thats-rock-and-roll and @snoelledarts for allowing me to borrow their pets/friends' pets :)

#my writing #x-files au #solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #casefic #conservatively rated teen for now #alternate universe - fbi #magnus chase #samirah al abbas #octavian sort of #this chapter isn't so much a case as a bunch of fluff and loose ends #back to real cases next chapter!#hazel levesque #leo valdez #frank zhang

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deepghostdreamerdream · 2 years ago

Text

Our Future.. |Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings : cursing

Themes : fluffy

Description: during sixth year, sebastian being exhausted taking all these classes at once whilst using a Time turner could be exhausting, but you can never be too tired to not turn it the opposite way....

Sebastian's POV

God I shouldn't have signed up for so many damn classes! I just got through herbology and defense against the dark arts, whilst also juggling charms and potions.

By the span of 1 month, he couldn't do it anymore. He was honestly thinking about returning the wretched thing back in again. But that was before he knew of its other purpose.

During potions, one of the newer assignments were to collect your own ingredients for the thunderbrew potion, and those take a minute to find, at least he will have the weekend to stay at feldcroft.

He's been staying there by himself since the incident with Solomon and with anne being gone as well, who else was gonna take care of the garden or the home whilst gone for school.

He would come every weekend to clean and tend the plants, and neighbors.

After class released, he ran straight out to the floo flame, not even bothering to talk to ominous and Y/N walking out as well.

It's true, he has been avoiding them since the end of fifth year, it's just... how can you come back from that. Like nothing happened.

He just needs his head clear, he's sure they won't abandon him... Will they?

He shakes his head as he finally takes In his surroundings, he's at his childhood home.

Some of the neighbors waving him at him, and shouting welcome home, while all he could do was wave back, he didn't deserve their kindness.

After a long afternoon of cleaning and tending, he decides to take a bath and gets ready for bed.

He plops on the bed that his sister once laid in, he could still smell her and Solomon scents in the home, he'll never forget them.

The time turner still hung around his neck, he lifts to examine it.

It really was pretty just by itself, and extremely powerful.. Sounds like someone he knew, he giggles and lowers the flame to a dim light to fall asleep to.

BY MORNING

Sebastian was still dead asleep by sunrise which was unusual since he's usually a morning person.

But that's not what wakes him up, what wakes him up was a pair of frail but strong hands grips him and holds him down, scaring the living shit out of sebastion.

He opens his eyes up to see a boy around his age about twelve or thirteen, pretty scrawny form, about 5'4, had hair just like his but more wavy and his eyes were familiar but couldn't point it out.

"Who are you! What are you in my bed?!" he yells in sebastian's face keeping a heavy hold on him, damn for a scrawny kid he was sure strong.

Sebastian manages to push the kid off of him and snatched his wand before he started to book it, forgetting his stuff and him only having his wand and the time turner.

He managed to run to the little valleys by the village, he was actually scared he ended up in someone else's house for a minute but that wasn't possible, it was his home.

The village was loud and full of people, he hasn't remembered the last time there was this many people in feldcroft. It kinda scared him, where did all these people come from?

Now his face was confused and angry, what the hell was a random kid thinking he could just barge in and yell at him saying that HE was the one trespassing, I don't fucking think so.

He cast disillusionment to sneak closer to the house and saw the boy come out of the home with something in his hands or rather someone.

A little girl not older than five, she had more olive skin than the older boy, her hair being the same brown and tucked in a ponytail, but the one thing that stood out to him, was that she had his mother's eyes.

Even the Same shape and color.

He was tearing up at the sight of practically seeing his mom in some way or another.

He wanted to get closer but then a woman was running towards them, she looked really familiar too.

"Finn! What happened?!" the woman grabs the little girl from his Arms and grabs him In for a side hug and kissed his head.

"There was a boy in my bed! One minute he wasn't there and then the next he was! I chased him out, I don't think he saw ellie when he ran." he finished and sebastian couldn't help but giggle, he talks super fast when he gets excited, just like Y/N.

But now that he was inching closer and closer by the more they were conversating, but something about the mother gets him thinking, she sounds awfully familiar too.

He takes a good look and then realized that this WAS Y/N.

His heart dropped when he realized as his brain connected the dots, he must of accidentally went to the future in his sleep.

He thought of something else, 'So, Y/N has kids in the future?' he couldn't stop staring at her because she was truly enchanting, she had this glow on her when she was with her kids, it made her more attractive even.

'She is so beautiful.' and right when he thought that, someone apparated in the middle of feldcroft and it looked like a older version of HIM.

He came running to the house, grabbed his son by the shoulder, just like Solomon would do to him, heh apple doesn't fall far from the tree I guess.

The father took him a few feet away from the girls to talk.

He was too distracted by watching himself and his son talk to each other. Ellie was picking up another aura around, just like her dad's but much lighter, more youthful.

Ellie began to thrash in her mother's grasp making y/n let go of her and follow her.

After having ellie Y/N figured out pretty quickly that her daughter would have her abilities, even showing her things she hasn't seen before.

But the one thing that ellie does, she can see and feel aura's, she can know who they are and to see if they are good or bad.

If ellie senses something she will want to reach out and follow whatever it is, and if someone or something was holding her back, she would throw a tantrum.

But as a mom, she did worry one day ellie might sense something she's not supposed to and it'll have a hold of her. She knows it's only been people and some ancient magic she had found but Y/N was worried of all her baggage will be placed on her children, especially their daughter.

Her son however had her personality, her son was all her except one thing, he had sebastian's overprotective nature and has his knack of never giving up, especially when it comes to his family.

She hadn't sensed any ancient magic In her son like she had with her daughter, in her mind she was thankful, he wouldn't have to go through the hardships of ancient magic like his sister will have too.

But she snapped out of her thoughts as she follows ellie around the valleys, she saw ellie heading up to the creak between two big stones.

Not long after she had found the younger sebastian, and again had got the shit scared out of him making his disillusionment spell disappear.

Y/N couldn't believe her eyes, she was looking at a 16 year old version of her husband. It was weird to think she met him at that age, but she shakes her head and heads towards him.

She grabs ellie from in front of him and just stares at him, whilst ellie keeps reaching for the younger clone.

Sebastian was so distracted by seeing his future self and HIS son that he didn't notice his own daughter sneaked behind him.

He couldn't help but stare at how breathtakingly beautiful y/n had grown to be.

'Is this really our future together?' hope glammored in his eyes, but he guess he must've been staring for too long cause she started to question.

Once y/n saw the boy that her son was ranting about, her nerves calmed down realizing this was someone she knew, but what was not good was that she met this version of her husband when she was 15, he wasn't supposed to be here, and he wasn't supposed to know anything about the future.

And he CANNOT let her husband see his younger version, one of the rules of the time turner I guess.

"Quick! When did you come from?!' she whispers as she crouches down to his level due to him still sitting, he's confused on how she figured out the situation but it was obvious cause the time turner was out on top of his shirt.

He answers, "uh the beginning of sixth year?" see if that would ring a bell, and turns out it did cause y/n smiles and says, "Just give it 5 turns to the left, that should bring you back to where you were." she smiles kindly as she starts walking back with the little girl.

"Wait! Can I see her? One more time?" sebastian asks in a desperate tone, he wanted to see his mom one last time.

Y/N immediately knew that he saw his mom in his daughters eyes, a trait she never would have thought of, but that's what makes ellie much more special.. so she sets Ellie down and let her run to sebastian.

He gets up before she crashes into his arms, even though he was still young, ellie was still so small compared to him, his little girl.

He lifted her to where he could really see her features, she was a very beautiful little girl, just like her mom.

And then he noticed that his older self and son were gone from the place where he last saw them.

He saw his older self go into the house, but his son stopped and looked in to see his mother and sister weren't there, but not long he looks up and sees his mother on the valleys.

Finn gets up to the top to see the boy he attacked earlier is holding his baby sister and his mom was just letting it happen?

"How do I do it?" sebastian randomly asks, making y/n laugh out loud, making her question, "What do you mean seb?" her nickname for him will always melt his heart, he knows it's not the most creative but it still wams his heart.

"I mean, How do I make this happen? A life with you and our kids, I want this to actually happen! Please tell me what I need to do!" sebastian kinda panics for a minute but calms his nerves when he hears his best friend laughing at him.

"You just need to be patient, let time take it's course, and maybe ask her to date." y/n couldn't believe she was giving her husband's younger self to get her younger self, ain't this one for the book of jokes.

"I think you should write her little love letters, those were always my favorites." he nods his head as she smiles then she takes ellie back into her arms.

"Remember sebastian, 5 turns to the left... Good luck." after she says that she starts walking away and finds her son spying on the both of them, she giggles and shakes her head, "Come on Finn!" she yells after making it down the hill past Finn.

Finn still hesitates to leave the boy all alone, not trusting but the last call of his mother made him leave.

Sebastian sees Finn Leave and smiles to himself, he really did have sebastian's overprotective nature when it came to his girls.

He takes a deep breath and turns the time turner the amount of times to return back.

And all of a sudden the noise of the village was as quiet as a door mouse, this seemed more accurate.

He ran down to his home to see if his stuff was there and low and behold it was.

He couldn't get the images of older y/n and his kids out of his head, his own kids!

'Wow.. I have kids' and they were beautiful and he couldn't wait till he can get that life, but now all he has to do is take the first step.

My dear charge, Y/n..

#sebastian sallow x reader

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damnaation · 1 year ago

Text

On Camera

A little borrower spy gets caught by an enemy operative.

Soft, safe, unwilling vore. Fearplay & mentions of digestion. Borrower prey with wings.

"If it were up to me, I'd just kill you. But Zor was insistent on getting some footage of the Phoenix. Don't ask me why, if things had gone according to plan you'd already be dead."

She writhed in his hand, her wings and lower body trapped in his fist but arms free to shove against his fingers. Not that it did anything, but it was certainly an interesting feeling.

The slash he'd gotten from the hidden claws on her wings last time still stung. He'd had to throw out that pair of gloves, too.

Luckily the camera wasn't too difficult to set up. He could manage with one hand.

"So small—it's almost hard to believe how much of a pest you can be. One little bird, causing so many problems for me." It's not like she's going to get out of this—he can monologue a bit. "Really, it's amazing. You borrowers are so tenacious."

"What're you gonna do to me?"

The first time she'd spoken since he'd caught her.

"Ah, so you can talk." He smirked down at her, getting a sharp glare in return. Cute. "Zor will get their footage. But they said I could choose how to be rid of you on my own. Really, I was planning on killing you, but now that I've got you I have to admit. You're quite the stunning specimen, little bird. And I'm fond of peacocks. Marvelous birds."

He hummed, pausing for a moment to ponder his options. The camera clicked and whirred, ready to start filming.

"I could keep you. Pretty little songbird in a gilded cage. Dress you up in little outfits like a doll—I'm sure someone would make them. For a price."

A pause. She didn't say anything in response, just gave him a tense stare.

"Well, business first. You have a performance to give, little bird."

~~~~~~~~~~

Red hadn't really been paying attention to what had been happening while he was recording. Or, rather, they'd been paying more attention to their surroundings than him. Trying to catalogue anything useful and formulate an escape plan.

Nothing came to mind. None of the objects small enough to move with trick were useful, and there were no convenient vents to escape through when he'd briefly released them to record the video for Zor—with a threat that if they tried to escape, he'd pluck their wings bare and stuff a pillow with their feathers.

Not very creative, but enough to keep her from attempting anything until she had a solid plan and escape route.

"Now. Where were we? Right—deciding just what to do with you." His grin felt almost hungry, hazel eyes scanning her appraisingly. Something deep in her screamed to fly, get away from the predator, but she stood her ground.

"Brave little bird, aren't you?" He murmured, leaning on the table and looming over them ominously. "How cute. I could just eat you up."

A sudden spark in his eye. They felt their heart drop out of their chest as he leaned closer, snatching them up in a tight fist.

"Well… that's an idea. You're certainly small enough. And it's not like you could escape."

They'd met other borrowers on missions who swore up and down that bigfolk ate borrowers. Red had always thought it was a ridiculous fear—humans could be cruel, yes, but that was incomprehensible.

Now, she was wondering if the reason it was so widespread wasn't a sign. If those borrowers didn't think her as ridiculous as she did them.

"You're insane." She blurted out, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. He'd seemed more than a little unhinged before, but this-

"On the contrary, little bird. I've thought about this for a long time. Since I learned about your kind, and heard stories. What must it feel like, to have that much power over someone? To be their entire world?"

He grinned, a little too wide and sharp for their comfort, before bringing his other hand up to flick their hat off. They gasped, flinching away—if he missed it would hurt. But all they felt was a rush of air and the sudden disappearance of the familiar weight of their hat.

"Th- the Agency knows where I am. They'll send someone for me." It was a desperate gamble, her voice breathless. She had no idea if they'd come for her—she'd lost contact, been captured by the enemy. She didn't even know if they knew what had happened yet.

"And how do you expect them to know where you've gone?" He purred, stroking their cheek with the back of a gloved finger. They let out a little whimper, wanting to pull away but unable to. "Face it, little bird. You're stuck. I'm the one with all the cards here. Now." His hold on them shifted, hand turning so they were almost seated on his fingers with their legs stuck in his grip but their arms and torso were free. Tugging at the hem of their coat he ordered, "Take it off."

Her hands automatically went to the buttons, before she froze. No—why make it easier for him?

Apparently her hesitance was a step too far, as he lifted her closer to his face, pulling sharply on the hem with his free hand.

"Either you take it off or I rip it off you, little bird." He snarled.

They unbuttoned the coat with shaky fingers, pulling their arms out before freeing their wings from the back slits and letting it drop to the table below with their hat. He hummed approvingly, gaze sweeping their tiny form before tapping their foot with a finger.

"Shoes."

She didn't resist this time, wiggling until she could reach the laces of her boots and untying them. His thumb pressed into her stomach from the position she was in, prompting a small gasp out of her when it twitched slightly. Almost stroking her leg. After a few seconds she toed her boots off, and they fell with tiny thumps. Straightening back up, she wrapped her arms around herself, trembling and not wanting to look at him.

He stroked their leg with his thumb again, before sliding it to flick at the hem of their blouse. They clutched at the front of it but didn't move to start taking it off.

"Pants or shirt."

Briefly glancing up at him in confusion, they shuddered at the intense stare he had fixed on them.

"You can keep one. Pants or shirt."

Small comfort. But after a few seconds of thought she let go of her blouse to ball a fist in the fabric of her slacks. He chuckled.

"Interesting choice."

And with that he slipped his thumb under the hem of her shirt, briefly pressing against her stomach with only the thin fabric of his glove separating them. A simple flick ripped it apart, tiny buttons popping free and scattering to leave the ruined shirt hanging from her shoulders. She bit back a gasp, heart skipping a beat at the effortless show of destruction.

Of course, he still felt it, judging by the low chuckle as he trailed his thumb up to their chin, forcing them to look at him. They swallowed nervously, feeling the press of their throat against his finger as they did.

"What a pretty little treat you are." He murmured, pushing the remains of their blouse off their shoulders with faux reverence. They shivered, feathers ruffling and wrapping their arms around themself in an effort to hide but he just pushed them out of the way with an almost hungry smile. "Now now, none of that. No need to be shy, little bird. After all, I'm going to have all of you soon enough."

She shuddered at the mockingly gentle way he handled her, gloved fingers lightly stroking her wings as he folded them flat against her back, carefully pinching her forearms between his thumb and first two fingers and lifting them towards his face. A terrified whine escaped her—the only thing she could force past the lump of fear in her throat—as he pressed her hands to his slightly parted lips in a mockery of a gentleman's kiss. She tried to pull away, trapped wings struggling to flare and tail curling tightly around one of the fingers wrapped around her body, but his grip may well have been steel for how immovable it was. The sickening warmth of his breath sent goosebumps down her spine and nausea roiling in her gut, her breath starting to quicken into desperate, terrified panting as she frantically cast her gaze around for anything she'd missed that might help her make one more daring escape from certain death.

Nothing. The camera was the only new object in the room, and it was still far too heavy for them to be able to use trick on, its light shining almost mockingly at them.

A wet heat pressed against their hands and they flinched, squeezing their eyes shut as a shudder ran through them. They knew what it was, they didn't have to look. But the warmth crept up to their elbows, the grip on their forearms vanishing to be replaced with a thin line of something hard pressing lightly against their wrists. Immediately, gruesome images of him biting down filled their mind, and whatever thin line of composure they still had snapped.

She was hyperventilating, pleading sobs nearly incomprehensible as she struggled helplessly against him—until the pressure on her wrists increased to the point she swore she could feel her bones creaking, and she went still, her only movement the shaking from her panicked, sobbing breaths. After a few seconds the threatening weight lifted, fingers gently stroking her head and shoulders as if trying to soothe her while he ran his tongue over the marks left behind by his teeth. And then she felt a tugging suction around her arms as she was pulled free, damp skin prickling at the change in temperature.

He hummed—a low, satisfied sound—before very deliberately swallowing. This close they could hear it, a quiet glk accompanying the bobbing of his throat and sending a shiver down their spine.

That's going to be me at some point.

"I'm surprised someone hasn't already eaten you up, little bird." He murmured, breath fanning against them as he brought them closer to his face and pressed a damp kiss to their stomach. "You're delicious. If I'd planned better I'd have brought something to pair you with. A sweet rosé would be perfect."

"Pl-lease-" she choked out, voice barely more than a breathless whine. Maybe she could bargain—not even for freedom, at this point she'd accept being a pet or a Zoraxis prisoner over this. "'ll do w-whatev-ver you wa-ant, J-Jun-niper-r."

He smirked, gathering up her hands again and stroking the backs of them with his thumb. "Anything?"

A frantic nod, their voice dying in their throat—he was egotistical, a bit of a megalomaniac, but as far as they knew not a murderer. If they could appeal to his ego, flatter him enough to make it worth keeping them around-

"I want to know what it feels like when you squirm, little bird." He purred, lifting their hands to his lips for another mocking brush before giving them a sharp Cheshire grin.

She could feel herself shutting everything out, the complete opposite of the hyper-aware, focused state she entered on missions. The only thought she had was that she would be another unrecovered body, another mystery never solved. If the Agency even existed for long after this. God, she hadn't even said goodbye. No headset, no backup, no way to tell what had happened. The only thing left behind would be her clothes, but those could be easily disposed of.

If they didn't think about it, the warmth was nice—they'd been shivering since they'd lost their coat and blouse, the room temperature more fit for humans than borrowers.

She kept her eyes closed and jaw locked tight—Red knew, deep down in the same part of her that knew the taste of the sky, that she would scream and plead for her life if she didn't. And she refused to give him that satisfaction.

Even as she felt the soft flesh at the back of his mouth press against her fingers, his tongue sliding against her bare skin, his teeth resting lightly at the bottom of her ribcage—too big to fit entirely in his mouth, her legs held in a firm grip.

His tongue curled around them, saliva soaking their bra, feathers, and hair until they clung uncomfortably to their body. A low hum echoed from his throat as he licked at their exposed middle before pressing them up against the roof of his mouth. Their breath hitched, heart skipping a beat as they started to squirm, panic welling up past the disconnected haze they were in. He hummed again, softer this time, stroking along their feather-train as if trying to calm them before swallowing around them. The saliva that had been pooling beneath them vanished as the muscles of his throat tugged at their hands but failed to drag them down, pinned in place as they were by his tongue.

Just get it over with, she wanted to scream, stop toying with me and just do it already. But if she tried to say something she didn't know what would come out. So she stayed resolutely silent, biting down the desperate pleas and sobs that wanted to escape.

She didn't have long to wait, though. He swiped his tongue over her face, leaving her coughing and sputtering, before gravity started to shift and she began to slide closer to his throat. His teeth inched from ribs to waist to hips, and a desperate, terrified whine escaped her, struggling once again in the last few seconds she had before her fate was sealed.

And then their hands pressed into the opening of his throat, and with a sickening lurch he swallowed.

The powerful muscles of his throat yanked them forwards, arms now trapped and their face pressed into soft flesh that seemed to ripple with his breathing. Their own frantic breaths echoed in their ears, heart racing almost painfully in their chest from terror and dread. They didn't doubt he could feel it, pressed against his tongue as they were.

At the time she'd thought his comment on how she tasted was either exaggeration or an attempt to get under her skin, but he was drooling enough that her slacks were almost immediately soaked to the point where his teeth rested just above her knees. The tip of his tongue trailed over her stomach, briefly playing with her belt before flattening against her hips and upper thighs.

For a brief, irrational moment they wondered if, had they chosen to keep their shirt instead, he would have paid as much attention to their legs as he seemed to be giving their torso. For some reason the thought made them flush and squirm.

He made a quiet noise that could be a chuckle, carefully unwound their tail from where it was coiled around one of his fingers—they'd known it wouldn't be enough to save them, but something about it had a grim sense of finality—, and almost lovingly stroked what little of their body remained outside his mouth before gravity shifted once again.

His tongue pressed them up and back, the entrance to his throat flexed, and he swallowed hard, powerful muscles finally pulling them down past the point of no return.

She felt his tongue curl around her feet and tail as he swallowed again, sealing her entirely in the hot, slick, tight confines of his throat. Overwhelmingly strong muscles forced her down with rolling waves of pressure, so tight she could barely move. Barely breathe, her lungs seizing in her chest in unadulterated prey-animal fear. She was going to die—might as well be already dead, with the unstoppable force of his body's autonomous movement dragging her towards the churning pit of acid that no doubt awaited her.

They felt lightheaded, the heat and terror and lack of air starting to get to them as his heartbeat sounded loud in their ears. If they were lucky, maybe they'd pass out from asphyxiation before they reached his stomach. Suffocation would be a kinder death than being digested alive, at least.

Just as she started to lose her grasp on consciousness, lungs burning and static growing at the edges of her mind, a tight wave of pressure began to roll up her body. Her arms were free—she'd reached his stomach.

As the tight squeeze slid past her head she gasped for air and immediately cringed, expecting her lungs to be filled with thick, noxious, stinking air, if anything. But—fortunately or unfortunately, she wasn't sure yet—it was breathable, hot and humid but without the sting of acid in her nose.

Through the static in their head they distantly heard what might've been a gasp, his heartbeat stuttering as they spilled into the empty cavity of his stomach. They lay there in shock for a few moments, muscles feeling limp as boiled noodles and lungs heaving to draw in as much air as they could, before they felt something pressing against them.

Digestion, muscles kneading and crushing her into churning acid, flesh dissolving and sloughing off bone-

She panicked, shoving against the encroaching press and flailing wildly as a terrified keen echoed from her throat. Far beyond the point of words, but if she caused enough of a disturbance it might force him to cough her up.

A low voice, sounds that they distantly recognized as words but couldn't understand in their terrified state. The pressing weight resolved into something more targeted, almost-

Almost like fingers pressing from the outside to toy with them, seeking out their body wrapped up in his.

Somehow, the thought of him denying her even the chance to die in peace was the final straw. The last frail strands of restraint she had snapped.

And she screamed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The stretch was just on this side of painful, a twinge like the feeling of swallowing too big a mouthful of food. Which, he supposed, he had. A few of them, in fact.

He pressed his fingers to his throat, shivering at the feeling of the little agent slipping further into him. Her taste still lingered, salty-savory and a little sweet, with something almost like woodsmoke running through it. Next time—and he intended for there to be a next time, the feeling was too intoxicating to only indulge in this once—he would be sure to have a drink; her feathers tickled the back of his throat and made it a bit difficult to get her down, but he'd managed. And the thought of her perched on the rim of a glass like an elaborate garnish was impossible to get rid of. He wasn't typically a fan of rosé, but he could made an exception for her.

God, he could feel her in his chest, the deliriously satisfying stretch tipping a bit closer to painful before-

He almost passed out at the feeling of her finally sliding into his stomach. That warm, fuzzy sensation of a good meal, magnified exponentially by the fact that what filled him had its own warmth and weight. A whole other person tucked deep inside him.

"Shit." He panted breathlessly, leaning heavily on the table and gently putting his hand to where he could feel her curled up inside.

And then she moved, and his legs almost gave out beneath him. The frantic fluttering of tiny hands deep in his core sending fireworks through his body, forcing him to grab the table tight just to remain standing. It astounded him just how sensitive he was, imagining that he could distinguish her individual fingers when she pushed against his hand.

"God. I don't think anyone could even notice you." He murmured, pressing a little harder to feel out her body beneath skin and muscle. "I could walk outside with you in there right now, and no one would be any the wiser."

The Phoenix, wholly and completely his, perfectly hidden from the world. Not a single sign as to her presence tucked away inside him.

She was trembling, a light fluttery feeling reminiscent of nerves. It sent sparks dancing through him, satisfying some dark, predatory urge in the back of his mind that wanted nothing more than to keep her there, a perfect little morsel only for him.

But unfortunately he had work to do.

A sudden beeping drew his attention to the camera—which had apparently been recording the whole time, judging by the light on the front.

… He was suddenly incredibly interested to see what it had looked like from the outside. And maybe, just maybe he would hang on to the footage. For his own personal perusal.

Apparently the beeping was a low storage warning. He stopped the recording, staring for a few seconds at the gallery thumbnail—the Phoenix, looking so very small on the table. His free hand drifted to his middle again, where he could still feel her slight, warm weight. She'd gone still, aside from the occasional trembling shiver.

"At least this time you'll stay put." He murmured a bit vindictively, pressing enough to feel her little form again.

She recoiled, the shaking growing worse.

And then a piercing shriek echoed from inside him, muffled but still loud enough to hear the sheer terror in her voice. He flinched, hand gripping his shirt tight in surprise.

As many times as Zoraxis had tried to kill her, she'd never sounded like THAT. He'd watched all the footage they had—no matter how grim or seemingly insurmountable the situation, she always maintained a collected, annoyingly playful attitude. If she were human, he'd characterize her actions towards him as almost flirtatious. Even his earlier attempts to capture or kill her had gotten the same response.

"... Phoenix?" He murmured, almost without realizing it.

She didn't respond, but he could feel her shaking like a leaf in the wind, curled tightly into a tiny weight inside him.

Something sour boiled up in his chest. He'd enjoyed her trembling, her desperate pleas, that infuriatingly collected attitude finally cracking to reveal the small, scared creature underneath. But this-

There wasn't any sport in this. She was terrified past the point of reason, near catatonic in fear. There wasn't anything he could do about it, though. He had a role to play, a part in Zor's plan. And with her finally out of the way he could do what they needed from him.

He would just have to leave her to straighten herself out on her own. Eventually she'd realize her place, learn that he'd decided to keep her as his prize. A pretty little bird in a gilded cage, safe and protected like her little Agency never would, far too willing to throw her into situations that should've killed her.

… Even still, his hand never strayed far from his middle for very long. After a while his little bird seemed to relax, uncurling from the tight huddle and going limp. Either she'd fallen asleep, passed out from terror, or completely given up, but at least she wasn't a tight knot of fear anymore. He could've purred at the feeling of her limp and relaxed inside him—hopefully some day she'd be this relaxed without the wordless terror beforehand.

#vore post #vore writing #soft vore #safe vore #unwilling prey #fearplay #i expect you to vore #ieytvore #< since I'm the only bitch here i guess i get to make the tag #vore story

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azucar-skull · 6 hours ago

Note

Injury prompt 26 HIII IM FROM THE DOODLE BUGS SERVER

I just answered another 26 but I just showed a screenshot so sure I can actually right smth rq

AND HIIIIII I love the doodle bugs, but that sever needs to be more active. I'll see about doing art/gaming streams or smth, might help draw in folks.

Anyways, prompt list... I wanna try adding a twist to this instead of smth like "oh no they passed out/presumed dead".

So here's some ghost possession. =)

26. "[Name]? [Name], this isn't funny. Please... stop."

(Leo gets possessed by a ghost yokai and scares the shit out of Mikey)

It was supposed to be a quick trip to the Hidden City. But of course that would be too much to ask from the turtles.

The brothers were searching for some ingredients that Draxum asked them to get. The oldest 3 were reluctant but Mikey has insisted they go. They went to the market to look for the ingredients and decided to divvy up to make things faster.

"We should stick in pairs.", Raph insisted. "No one is going anywhere solo, capiche?"

"We got it, Raph.", Leo rolled his eyes as he sauntered over to Mikey’s side.

Mikey knew that Raph was specifically talking about Leo. Yeah, ain't nobody letting his little...stunt go. Raph sighed at Leo’s attitude but said nothing more as he and Donnie walked off. Mikey went to turn to his red-eared brother only to find him 30 feet away already. Mikey quickly hurried over to him.

"Leo, come on! We gotta stick together!", Mikey called out.

"Then hurry up!"

Mikey huffed an annoyed sigh as he caught up, finding his brother beside a stall that sold some odd looking items. Ouija boards, tarot cards, specter orbs, and all different kinds of occult stuff. Yet, there's no one behind the counter. Leo grabbed a chunk of obsidian from a box and quickly tucked it in his pouch.

"Leo, put in back.", Mikey spat.

"Well, no one is stopping me. Plus, it looks cool and you know I can't resist shiny objects.", Leo smirked. "Now come on, let’s finish Draxum’s shooping list."

Leo started to walk off again and Mikey was getting particularly annoyed at his charades. But before he could follow after him, he noticed an info card beside the box Leo took the obsidian from.

"Tezcatlipoca; The Smoking Mirror. It is said that when you are able to see your reflection in the obsidian, you have found your true self."

...Okay, ominous.

Mikey begins to walk off after Leo when he hears a voice whisper very closely in his tympana.

"Give it back."

Mikey yelped and spun around. Who said that? But there was nobody there.

"GIVE IT BACK!!!", the voice shouted in his tympana. Loud and raspy and nasty.

"Give what back?! Where are you? Who are you?!", Mikey shouted as his eyes frantically look around the environment. He could feel that something or someone is here but he doesn't know where. "Are you some kind of invisible yokai??"

"Hmm, yes, you could say that.", the disembodied voice echoed. "A ghost yokai. The one running the occult stand. The occult stand where you turtles STOLE MY MERCHANDISE!!"

Suddenly Mikey felt a gust of wind past through him, sending chills over every part of his being. Shivering and trembling, the world warped in an inverted filter. It's all full of fog, it was hard for Mikey to see.

Then his head snapped around on its own.

A perfect 180, then the rest of his limbs followed. He tried to speak but...he couldn't. He was walking when every part of his mind screamed at him to stop but...he couldn't. He wasn't in control of his body. It was like he was being puppeted.

He was being possessed.

His legs started running, pushing through the crowd until Leo came back into the view.

"YOU THERE! LITTLE TERRAPIN!", Mikey’s own voice spoke beyond his control, interlaced with the loud and raspy tone of the ghost yokai.

Leo turned around, spotting Mikey and looked surprised.

"Woah, dude, what's with your voice?", Leo laughed.

"GIVE ME BACK MY MERCHANDISE YOU THEIF!"

Edit: this has been in my drafts forever and I forgot how it was supposed to end. Sorry-

#rottmnt #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #fanfic #drabble #idfk

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crowtrobotx · 1 year ago

Note

o fearless girl-dad-Karl-agenda leader, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble could we have Papaberg and Lottie having a tea party?

bisenberg agenda and the girl dad agenda.... i have so much responsibility i don't know if i can handle this!! regardless, nonnie, i was feeling inspired by this adorable scenario and decided to write a little ficlet for you. c: I hope you enjoy!! Long live Heisendad. Tea Party Words: 1201 Characters: Karl Heisenberg, Original character (daughter) Wife also makes a brief appearance just to troll him bc I couldn't resist Warnings: None, unless you aren't cool with swearing Note: This is an escaped/mechanic AU because I felt like it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Knees up to his chest and forced to wear a moth-eaten bow tie he’d found at the bottom of the closet, Karl Heisenberg had never felt more ridiculous in his life.

It had been a normal Sunday, one he’d planned on spending working on that puzzling noise coming from under the hood of his truck. But when Lottie had marched into the garage and loudly demanded that he attend her prestigious tea party, complete with lip wobble when he’d almost declined, he knew he was doomed. And so here he sat, a person who had once thought of himself as the very definition of rugged manliness, in a cluttered bedroom at the mercy of a six year old girl. Karl was afraid to breathe lest the child-sized chair fighting for its life beneath him finally gave way.

His daughter sat across from him, carefully rearranging a hodgepodge collection of mugs and cups she’d stolen from the kitchen. There was a depressing plate of crackers with no toppings or sides sitting sadly in the middle. They didn’t own a fancy pot or teacups, so the whole production looked less like an esteemed gathering and more like the kind of set a community theater with a $3.00 budget might put together. The other two guests - Lottie’s ever present teddy bear, yet again missing an eye and covered in faded marker doodles, and what was once a doll given to her by Alcina that now lacked a head and whose arms had been replaced by pipe cleaners - stared back at him in silent horror.

Karl tugged at his collar awkwardly. “So, uh, what’re we supposed to be doing? This might blow your little mind, but your old man hasn’t exactly been to one of these before…”

Lottie opened her mouth to speak and then paused abruptly. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “But I think we’re s’posed to talk about stuff. Y’know, gossip.”

“Gossip?” Karl chuckled. “What kinda gossip you got in first grade?”

“Sarah from art class said that Veronica’s mom chased her dad with a golf club because he kissed our gym teacher,” Lottie said without even a hint of concern.

“W-” Karl nearly choked. “W-what? Are you fuckin’- I mean, Lottie, honey. Don’t think we should uh, talk about that.”

She shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

“It is. It’s real fuckin’ funny.” He was absolutely going to have to snoop out if there was any truth to this information - he always hated Veronica’s dad. White collar prick. He steeled himself, willing his mind to stay in dad-mode and not shift into catty-bitch-Karl. “But we shouldn’t say stuff we’re not sure about, okay? We should wait until we’re certain before trashing folks to hell and back. It’s only fair.”

Lottie gave no indication she’d been listening. He noticed she hadn’t deemed it necessary to put on a nice outfit herself despite insisting he don his “fancy clothes.” She wore her usual old knit sweater beneath her overalls, permanently stained from endless romps through the muddy woods out back or whatever projects she helped him out with. He felt rather overdressed, to tell the truth. She rummaged around on the floor, muttering incoherently to herself, until she produced a pitcher that wobbled precariously in her grasp. It was overfilled and practically as big as she was. Karl made to reach for it, freezing in place when he heard his chair creak ominously. “Tea, Papa?” Lottie said sweetly.

He nodded, not cognizant of what came out of the jug, so focused he was on not unintentionally destroying any more furniture. He still wasn’t forgiven for the incident with the porch swing, he was pretty sure. Karl slowly lifted the “#1 Dad” mug to his lips, and swallowed with a surprised flinch. He coughed awkwardly.

“Is this…. Mountain Dew,” he didn’t even need to ask. There was no other substance on earth with that unnatural neon green color. “I thought this was a tea party?”

Lottie huffed. “The tea is too high for me to reach! You people act like everyone around here is a giant. I can barely see out the window to scare the mailman when he shows up….”

“You could’ve asked for help, Butterfly.”

“No,” she said defiantly, pouring herself a cup and splashing liquid across the plastic table. “I don’t need your cherry.”

Karl blinked. “You mean… charity—“

“WHATEVER!” Lottie threw up her hands in exasperation. “Ugh! This whole idea was a mistake! I don’t even know why I thought this would be fun. This sucks. Even Carlos said so.” The teddy bear gazed forward, dead-eyed. “Hon,” Karl started, leaning forward again only to stop with a FUCK when his shins banged into the table. “Jesus…. Fuck that hurt. Okay, what I was going to ask was why you wanted to do this in the first place? This ain’t exactly your style if you know what I mean.” Lottie sank down in her seat until all that was visible were two little messy buns peeking over the table. “I dunno. I saw it on TV. I think it’s supposed to be something little girls like to do but man, this is stupid.” Karl frowned. “You don’t have to do something just because you ‘supposed’ to. You know that. I do stuff I’m not supposed to all the time and look how I turned out!” Kris’s choked laughter from down the hall - of course she’d been listening - had him ready to shout something snarky back, never one to give up a verbal spar without a fight. But Lottie spoke again before he had the opportunity. “Maybe I just wanted to hang out,” she admitted with a twinge of embarrassment. “You’ve been so busy lately.” Guilt gnawed at Karl’s insides. He had been working longer than normal this week - business was good, but by necessity it meant he was away from home more often. Every time he felt like he’d gotten the hang of this Dad thing, it turned out he’d managed to mess it up again. Not on the level of his own abysmal upbringing, of course, but it was a nagging fear all the same. One that still kept him up some nights. In spite of his messy exterior, he was a proud man - and he was not going to let the title on his mug fall to some other asshole. “I’m… f-flattered you wanna spend time with me,” he said, searching for the right words and finding none. Lord, he was bad at this. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s do something you’ll actually like. You wanna go burn some of those leaves your mom made me take earlier instead? And we can bust into my good candy stash she doesn’t know about–” “Keep telling yourself that, babe,” Kris called again. “...instead of eating bland ass crackers.” Karl made a mental note that he would need to change his hiding place yet again.

“Fuck yes,” Lottie bounded to her feet. “Oh, Papa, can we also torch that awful dress Aunt Alcina sent? Please please please–” “With pleasure, Butterfly.” Karl enjoyed a hearty laugh for a few seconds before the chair finally decided that it had had enough.

#asks #karl heisenberg #resident evil village #heisendad #ficlet #karl heisenberg x oc

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audioaujom · 2 years ago

Text

26: Victim’s Memoirs [wrong end 3 ★4]

Corse Party Hub, next >

This is wrong end 3 ★4 from Chapter 1! If memory serves, this was originally a 3ds exclusive ending, but was added to the remastered PC version released a few years ago. The messed up/censored text will be translated at the bottom for anyone interested since I did alter it slightly from the original canon victim's memoirs.

Pairing: Ranboo and Tubbo

Word Count: 2332

Chapter TWs: Mind Manipulation ("Darkening")

“Hey, what's that?” Ranboo asked randomly, noticing a loose leaf sheet of paper tucked between some floorboards on the ground in the classroom he and Tubbo were investigating.

Tubbo shrugged, not really paying it much mind as he tried to rifle through some desks further away. “Dunno. Looks like notebook paper.”

“I think there’s something written on it…” Ranboo couldn’t help himself, crouching down beside it and trying to get a better angle on the hastily scrawled writing.

“Read it to me.” Tubbo called, not looking up from the desk he had his face stuck in.

“What?” Unimpressed, Ranboo grabbed the page and stood up, walking over to Tubbo with a frown. “Why would I do that?”

“I'm dyslexic.” Tubbo answered simply, looking up with a grin.

“That doesn't mean you can't read!” Ranboo protested, Tubbo checking the desk to make sure it was stable before hopping up on top of it and sitting down.

“What if I'm too lazy to do it, then?”

“Somehow worse.” Ranboo glared, but it didn’t bother his friend in the slightest. He finally gave in, sighing, “Here. I'll read it first, see if it's too difficult for you.”

“You're the best.” Tubbo grinned even wider, letting Ranboo scan the page before passing it over to him.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Let Our Parting Be But Temporary I send thee flowers, my beautiful flower, as thou wait'st eternal for my return; beautiful flowers thou canst see. And shouldst I e'er break free of this hell, and retake my place at thy side. These words I couldst never say and these feelings I couldst never give will all be laid bare for thee. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Cool. Love poem. Odd place for it, but… who am I to judge?” Tubbo looked up, tossing the paper off to the side after Ranboo didn’t seem to want it back.

“Most of the papers in here are more… um… ominous and awful.” Ranboo conceded, wandering back to the front of the classroom to continue poking around. “Wonder who wrote it.” After wandering out of the first classroom and rounding the next corner, Tubbo noticed the similar looking paper before his friend and ran over curiously. “Oh! Maybe this is a sequel to that love poem.”

“That doesn't concern you at all?” Ranboo asked, despite the fact he was already hovering over Tubbo’s shoulder as he crouched down to pick the paper up.

“Of all the things here that could concern me, this concerns me the least.” The blank look he shot back over at Ranboo was met with an eye roll, the two looking over the paper at the same time.

“...fair.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Alas, the only flowers that bloom in hell are white as freshly fallen snow. So on a lark, thy heart—pure as a heart can be—I wish to stab with pins, and scatter the petals. Let the white flowers be dyed red by thee you poor, poor boy! — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What in the Edgar Allen Poe?” Ranboo laughed a little, an odd feeling starting to build in his stomach from the weird writing.

“No, but it kinda is!” Tubbo nodded approvingly, setting it back down on the floor with a laugh of his own. “In a horribly disturbing kind of way.”

“Yeah, because Poe’s stuff wasn't disturbing.” Rolling his eyes, Ranboo started poking around the rest of the classroom to see what else they could find.

“I wouldn't know.” Tubbo grinned, watching him look around before adding, “You poor, poor boy~.”

“Don’t joke about that, it’s weird!” Ranboo chastised, the two going back to their hunt in relative silence, only commenting about the occasional bodies, nametags, or particularly ominous bloodstains.

Eventually deeming this classroom empty, they decided to try their luck on one of the higher floors and quickly climbed the closest flight of stairs. Hunting around the hallways, they quickly both spotted another paper, looking similar to the other ones they’d found so far.

“...more?” Ranboo asked, a little nervous, both of them bending down to look at the same time.

“Looks like.” Tubbo nodded, finally starting to pick up on his friend’s worry. “You can go first.”

“How gracious of you.” Ranboo huffed, standing up with it but holding it out at a distance they could both see it from.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — woe is me woe is the me who never stopped loving thee even if thou choosest to move on i will always love thee forevermore forevermore forevermore foreverm woe is you you poor boy who has left me after carving thine name in both heart and skin i want to show it to thee to prove that it is thine and that i still love thee you poor boy you poor poor boy — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“You know… normally I don’t mind poetry, but I gotta be honest, boss man, this is the weirdest shit I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Tubbo commented after a minute, Ranboo nodding instantly.

“It’s getting really creepy, for sure.” Tossing the page aside, Ranboo hugged his arms in a little tighter to his chest, glancing around to make sure there wasn’t anyone watching him as the hair on the back of his neck started to stand on end. “It’s starting to freak me out.”

“Starting to?” Tubbo scoffed, crossing his arms but also taking a quick survey of their surroundings. “I’m starting to think we’re the poor boys, since we’re being subjected to these things.”

“Always a possibility.” Ranboo trailed off, letting the paper drift back to the floor before heading towards the classroom they had just passed and poking his head in the door. As if looking for it, he immediately spotted the notebook paper in the corner of the room, with words hastily scrawled on it in the same light pencil as last time. “How many of these are there?” He complained loudly, his feet already carrying him over to the page.

“Only one way to find out!” Tubbo jogged past him, swiftly picking the page up and starting to read it.

“Tubbo, wait—!” Ranboo reached out to grab the paper from his friend—something about these pages was giving him a seriously bad feeling, but he was a moment too late as Tubbo angled it so they could both see and he gave in to his own curiosity.

“Too late!”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — didn't want to see your face, you poor boy your face is for no one but me, you poor, poor boy as you burn in the fires of hell, you poor boy i continue to live here, you poor, poor boy i am not dead yet, you poor boy let our par**** ** *** ***pora** y** *oor p*** b** — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Anything past the last few letters was completely caked with blood, the rest of the writing obscured by the still damp covering of red.

“You spoke too soon, Tubbo. This is the weirdest thing we’ve ever laid eyes on.” Ranboo spoke first this time, Tubbo agreeing quietly.

“Are you starting to get a really bad feeling?”

“If you mean the kind of bad feeling that would make me actually pee my pants, then yes. Yes I am.” Ranboo nodded seriously, though Tubbo chuckled a little at his awkward ramble. “These notes are getting really freaky, maybe we should stop reading them.”

“Yeah…” Tubbo didn’t mind the silence that hung between them after, understanding the anxiety Ranboo was feeling even as his was slowly overtaken by a strong, overwhelming curiosity.

If there are more, what do they say?

Scouring the rest of the floor was surprisingly uneventful, though it only served to grow the boy’s panic. Ranboo continuously fiddled with his hands while they looked around, the panic giving way to a slowly building dread that was heavy in his stomach.

Climbing the new flight of stairs felt like they were drawing closer to something awful, him hesitating before finally making it to the landing as Tubbo looked at him curiously.

“You alright?”

“This place, it… it makes me feel really, really bad.” Ranboo answered as best he could, Tubbo’s silence urging him to continue. “I don’t like it. Like, I know I’m not supposed to like some random haunted elementary school that feels like it’s in another dimension or something but I really, really, don’t like it.”

“I get it, but we can’t really do much other than continue exploring.”

Tubbo was right, unfortunately, so all Ranboo could do was trail nervously after his friend as they found themselves near a set of bathrooms right by the top of the stairs.

They both spotted the blood covered page at the same time, Ranboo freezing in place as his dread became so heavy he couldn’t imagine taking a step closer to it. He turned to say something to Tubbo, but the boy was already running forward to scoop it up.

“Alright, fuck it.” Tubbo called as he jogged over, picking the paper up and quickly scanning its contents. “I'm too curious.”

“No, don’t—!” Ranboo reached out to stop him but was too late, Tubbo’s eyes going blank by the time he reached the bottom of the page. He carelessly dropped the paper to the floor, slowly walking back towards Ranboo with an empty expression.

“Tubbo? Are you okay? What happened?” Ranboo tried, watching Tubbo slowly shamble towards the stairs. He glanced back over his shoulder at the rather innocuous looking page, curiosity and concern driving him to walk over to it even as his gut screamed at him to run. “Is it the note? What did it—!” One glance at the half-obscured writing had his head pounding, his vision going blurry with strange dark spots. “Ah!”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — **U CA* **ST DIE Y*U **OR **Y AP***GIZ* TO ME W*** **UR DEA** *OU POOR ***R B** IM GOIN* ** R** **UR INTEST***S FR*M Y*** B**Y **U POO* *OY AND MAKE RED FLOWERS BLOOM A** ****AD A** *VER THAT WH*TE SKIN O* **URS YOU POOR POOR BOY TH** **NT EV** ** *BLE TO TELL WH* YOU A** AN**ORE ***N IM DONE WI** YOU Y*U P**R B** YOU *OO* P*OR BOY **U POO* *OY *OU POOR ***R B** YOU P*OR BOY Y*U P**R POOR B** Y*U PO*R B** YOU POOR POOR BOY — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

All he saw after that was black.

Ranboo was collapsed in a heap on the floor when he finally managed to pry his eyes back open, his head still distantly pounding as he groggily sat up and looked around.

“Tubbo? Are you here?” He called into the empty halls, a quiet wind whistling through broken boards the only answer he received. “Where’d you go?”

Awkwardly wobbling to his feet, he headed for the steps, remembering vaguely that his friend had been heading in that direction before he’d passed out.

What happened? Was it… the pages?

He continuously called his friend’s name as he slowly made his way down the steps, heading into the closest classroom after making it down to the second floor. Not finding anyone in there, he headed back towards the stairs to head down the other hallway, trying that classroom instead.

“Tubbo?! Tubbo!!” His cautious calling turned to a cry of relief as he spotted Tubbo sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, ignoring the dread that was building back up from the blank way he was staring off at the wall in front of him. Ranboo was quick to grab him by the shoulders, shaking him gently to try and get his attention. “...Tubbo?”

“Poor boy… Poor boy…” Tubbo mumbled quietly, rocking a little in his seat and not even slightly acknowledging his friend’s presence. His voice was odd and flat, a strange darkened sheen having taken over his normally vibrant eyes. “Ranboo… You poor boy. You poor, poor boy.”

“Tubbo! What happened to you?!” Ranboo was completely panicked now, shaking his friend harder in desperation. “What's going on?! Tubbo!”

The dull, humorless laugh that came out of Tubbo had Ranboo jerking back, his mind torn between screaming at him to run and crying out for Tubbo to come back to his senses.

“Tubbo! No, please!”

The laughter turned almost inhuman as it pitched up, shrieking and hysterical as Ranboo backed away further with the feeling that something terrible and irreversible had happened to the other boy.

How much time had passed since they’d gotten stuck in here? It had only been a couple of days at the max, but it felt like a horrifying eternity. Hungry, tired, and nearly desensitized to the constant and ever present violence and madness, it was like Tubbo had finally shattered from everything. The laughter died down, his head lolling forward as overgrown bangs hung in the way of his lifeless eyes. “...Ranboo?”

Ranboo’s head shot up as Tubbo sounded… normal. He wiped at his face—When did those tears get there?—and walked back over towards his friend hopefully. “...Tubbo?”

“Ranboo…” Tubbo seemed close to tears, Tubbo reaching out to grab his shoulders again as a spike of relief shattered the stone of dread.

“Oh thank god, have you finally come back to your senses? You have no idea how worried I w—”

“Ranboo… you poor boy.” Tubbo cut him off, any semblance of himself gone from his tone in an instant. Dark, glazed eyes turned their attention to him, an unnaturally wide grin spreading across his face as he mumbled emptily, “You poor, poor boy…”

Horror crashed down on Ranboo like a wave, his heart and hopes smashed as he stumbled back a step. The laughter was back, gurgling and spilling out of Tubbo in gross waves, Ranboo’s panic overloading as he fell to his knees and clutched at his head in anguish.“I can’t… I… I can’t… take this… any… more…” He couldn’t see anything in front of him anymore, unsure if it was the mess of ice cold awful feelings that had overtaken his body or the strange dark mist clouding in from all sides, his own voice sounding foreign as all he could manage was to scream, “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!”

Translated Notes

Note 4/5

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — didn't want to see your face, you poor boy your face is for no one but me, you poor, poor boy as you burn in the fires of hell, you poor boy i continue to live here, you poor, poor boy i am not dead yet, you poor boy let our parting be but temporary you poor poor boy — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Note 5/5

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — YOU CAN JUST DIE YOU POOR BOY APOLOGIZE TO ME WITH YOUR DEATH YOU POOR POOR BOY IM GOING TO RIP YOUR INTESTINES FROM YOUR BODY YOU POOR BOY AND MAKE RED FLOWERS BLOOM AND SPREAD ALL OVER THAT WHITE SKIN OF YOURS YOU POOR POOR BOY<br /> THEY WONT EVEN BE ABLE TO TELL WHO YOU ARE ANYMORE WHEN IM DONE WITH YOU YOU POOR BOY YOU POOR POOR BOY<br /> YOU POOR BOY YOU POOR POOR BOY YOU POOR BOY YOU POOR POOR BOY YOU POOR BOY YOU POOR POOR BOY — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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duhragonball · 2 years ago

Text

Janwum III Update: 7827

Been a while since I checked in on this front, so let’s pull up a chair, swing it around to sit in it backwards, and discuss the state of this writing project.

Basically, I set out to do a big chunk of the 2023 apocrypha liveblog, and knock out 20,000 words in my fic in the same month. I had a plan to write 645 words each day, figuring I could liveblog stuff and still have time left over to sneak in the writing. Also, I keep trying to challenge myself to write consistent daily word goals, and I thought this would be the way to do it.

But around Day 12 or so I got fed up with switching back and forth, and the GT posts were coming along so well that I decided to shift my focus to just that. And now I’ve got GT liveblog posts queued up through the end of the Baby Saga, which leaves me just six days to finish the Janwum goal.

Honestly, I think this worked out for the best, as I now have to average a little over 2k words per day, and I now have a clear shot to do so, where before I was constantly distracting myself with the other thing. I guess I’m just not much of a multitasker. Given two jobs with the same deadline, I’ll always try to push as far forward with one as I can go before tackling the other. Fortunately, I took this into account when I planned the year, but I was just so eager to start the liveblog that I couldn’t wait until after I had written the 20k. I should have just flip-flopped the order from the start.

Also, punting a story 645 words at a time is kind of a pain in the ass. If I’m not feeling it, a small word goal is going to feel just as agonizing as a longer one, and if I am feeling it, I’m just cutting off my own momentum. I probably should have made sure to reach 10000 before stopping, but I pumped the brakes for a reason and I shouldn’t second-guess it now.

In any event, critiquing GT has been very instructive for me, as I feel like I have a better handle on what works and what doesn’t in a fictional fight scene. A big problem I have with writing Demigra is that it’s really unclear what he can and can’t do, and his power level is literally “strong enough to give your OC a hard time, but still lose.” It’s a lot like General Rildo, actually.

Also, one thing I wasn’t counting on was how rewatching GT has taken me back to 2004-2006, when I first came up with Luffa. I still remember looking up the “List of Vegetables” article on Wikipedia at my job to pick out her name. I wanted more out of Dragon Ball, and GT had been such a disappointment that I realized I would have to write my own stuff to get what I wanted, and yet I couldn’t think of a way to continue the canon story that would satisfy me. So I started thinking about making my own Super Saiyan, and realized the distant past would be a blank slate for me to work with. And GT’s mishandling of Pan and Bulla had a lot to do with my wanting to make the OC a woman.

Occasionally, I’ve questioned some of the decisions I’ve made with the fic. It gets pretty dark and violent in places, but then I rewatch the stale, saccharine hijinks in GT, and I remember how fed up I was with it. Not everything has to be edgy, but Funimation promoted GT with a lot of grim, ominous ads. The dub narrator always sounded like he was about to tell local prosecutors how he disposed of the bodies. But then the anime itself would always be Pan whining about some damn thing, and Goku saying he’s hungry again. I wanted something with more bite to it, and it’s taken me umpteen years to make it happen, but I’m doing it.

Well, I need to get cracking. I’ll see you later.

#janwum iii

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vermillyons · 9 days ago

Note

You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer.

you write shanks so endearingly here, the way he's so head over heels for them 🥰. it's almost childlike in how unabashed he is about it but it also juxtaposes with how insightful he is with him paying attention to reader's moods.

Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

ok but shanks tucking you in is so sweet 🥺💖. bc im a sap im going to imagine he gave you a kiss on the head and a little pat after that.

your mihawk jealousy headcanon made me think too much about how he'd express his jealousy before and during a relationship that it's gonna end up being its own post 😭✌️ (no im not biased whattt)

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he’s capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair.

mihawk really is the embodiment of “he’s just standing there! menacingly!” you did a really good job at describing mihawk’s body language and mood. i can’t help but smile at the image of mihawk staring daggers at the ex (poor marine).

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you’ve been sending his way - but that isn’t technically taking your joy, so he doesn’t back off.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don’t deserve you. But he could.

the implication of mihawk being so aloof towards reader that they can’t even figure out why mihawk’s so pissy like please 😭. mihawk you did this to yourself. also me going 👀 at the second quote’s wording “They don’t deserve you. But he could.” like the implications… the usage of “could” instead of “does” when it comes to mihawk deserving you.

Mihawk is simply delighted to see your attention going to its rightful place, on him. You should be looking at him with such interest and joy. You should be seeking his approval; not some simpering swine’s.

he is so cringe (affectionate)

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex’s first impression was that he is haunting you, but there’s some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

good ass imagery. i love the contrast between mihawk being ominous and protective, the way his possessiveness seems to take physical form here. it’s bad news for the ex but not necessarily for reader.

also:

“I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen’s rack. What’s the occasion?” Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue. “You’ve been good.” Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, “I could give you more rewards.”

im going to hold back from saying anything too incoherently horny. anyways, i hope they makeout sloppy.

crocodile strikes me as the type of menace to sabotage any dates that you’d try to go on if it’s with anyone else but him. reservations get mysteriously canceled, transport breaks down, that kind of stuff. in true mr. 0 fashion, he’d pretend he had nothing to do with it.

since this reader is his assistant, i can see them being smart enough to figure it out. either their reaction can be indifferent (all those red flags just look like flags when you’re a criminal lol), bothered by the lying, or amused (like, wow, he didn’t have to do all that if he wanted them so bad).

It only irritates him even more that you don’t notice him until you’re swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

(point and laugh) he liiikes them!

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn’t care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they’re barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc’s anger did.

this captures his condescending and imperious apathy so well. it’s like it’s beaming a picture of crocodile directly into my brain. giving the same energy when crocodile went “idgaf about your plans” to blackbeard. he’s the worst 💖💖💖

the metal isn’t cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

ok ok ok 😳👉👈 what a nice, subtly sensual detail.

Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

crocodile is going to be so insufferably smug once he finds out why reader’s been reconnecting with their ex.

When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

daz bonez, being an assassin, has definitely killed for pettier reasons but he really just killed the ex with no questions asked. unmatched loyalty! give this man infinite paid vacation days even if he’d never take them.

jealousy headcanons and scenarios r my kryptonite! especially for emotionally constipated characters lol. for shanks, mihawk, and crocodile seeing their crush interacting with someone that turns out to be said crush's ex? there's chemistry between the exes and are those lingering looks he's seeing?! 🫢

OOOOOOOO GOOD CHOICES GOOD CHOICES 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 I must say I am weak for some jealousy too 💀 why does it have to be so hot in fiction huh??? Or make me feel wanted????? Rude 😤

Three jealous DILFs coming right up 🫡

Jealousy from Shanks, Mihawk, and Sir Crocodile

Your ex comes back into your life and stirs up some feelings - How are these men taking it?

Form this took: started as a bulleted headcanons but then became a scenario/ficlet for each ahsdjajskdajs

Word count: Shanks - 1.1 k, Mihawk - 1.2 k, Croc - 1.2 k

Shanks

The clinging and diverting type

This mf tries to be sneaky about it

Key word: tries

It’s no secret that Shanks is the jovial sort and that his welcome and cheer extend easily to newcomers. However, something curious happens when the next one joins your large table.

You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed. You catch yourself and relax back into your usual posture, but Shanks knows you well enough to see there’s a posed touch to all your expressions. It tames them from the genuine displays of your thoughts and emotions that Shanks so loves into something more suited to a diplomat seeking favor. Now that had him wary.

It took no genius to notice that each time a great laugh broke out your eyes would sweep to that newcomer to take them in, or how your would flicker your gaze over to them every time you had the spotlight, as if seeking approval.

Gods Shanks hopes that isn’t the case

Driven to seek comfort in your presence, Shanks leans into his affectionate nature to keep close to you. You can’t think too long on someone else with him constantly leaning into your space to whisper dumb jokes and silly observations. He made those laughs and he gets to enjoy them up close and personal. You may look to others but you always look back to him when he ventures to lay his hand on your shoulder or hand or thigh and give a happy, hearty squeeze before retreating. He relishes in the fact that you had been uncertain of his touch when you first met yet now you trust and even welcome his hand on you.

Shanks is burst right out of his bubble of avoidance when you suddenly jolt and sit straight, separating yourself from his side.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer. The newcomer, who is leaning in so close to you. The newcomer, who now has all of your attention. The newcomer, who is giving you a smile that Shanks very much does not like. It’s very charming and holds a twinge of remorse that Shanks knows from experience would strike straight and true right to your heart

“I’m glad to see you in happier times. You look good,” they have the audacity to say, the words even seeping with honesty. Shanks isn't sure he focused on anything in his life as hard as he does on your reaction in this moment.

Your smile is breathtaking, one he isn't sure he’s seen before, all affection and understanding and a dusting of yearning. It turns his heart to goo right before it clamps it tight and squeezes, because that smile isn't for him. He needs that smile to be for him. His mouth is moving before the thought even sinks in.

“We do like to keep things cheerful here!” Shanks chuckles to the newcomer. He turns to you, making sure to catch your eye. “Life’s too short to anchor yourself to your sorrows.” Now back to the newcomer. “And this one-” an arm slips around your shoulders, hugging you to his warm side, “-helps keep it that way.”

The smile you give him isn’t quite as overflowing with emotion as the one you gave the newcomer, but he loves it all the same.

Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it and the newcomer actually sits down on your other side and insists on catching up. Shanks is a damn charmer though, and he knows it, so he’s not one to give up on keeping your attention through the night.

He stays in the conversation easily, not deterred by the newcomer outsider bringing up shared memories with you, even though they squeeze at his heart and lungs tighter and tighter. He uses it to get to know more of you, a part of him truly enjoying the new insights. However, a much larger part is simply set on keeping the reminiscing light instead of romantically charged.

As the time and drinks flow, his and the outsider's tactics get more obvious yet you get more oblivious, simply cruising on the comfy fuzz everything had taken on and enjoying the company. Your unintentional refusal to pick a favorite has both of them getting desperate and daring.

Try as they might, the outsider is clearly outmatched

By the end of the night you’re wearing Shanks like a perfume, he’s stuck to your skin at the heart of your body, chest always tight to your back or side, chin often hooked over your shoulder or on top of your head. His slight scruff tickling at your ear when he moves and talks is exceedingly distracting. So is the softness of his hair on your neck when he turns his head to bed his cheek into your shoulder and pull you a little tighter to him, saying its just 'cause he's a little sleepy and trying to get comfy. He unearths himself from his resting place only to seek it again every few minutes.

His arm is always around you when he wasn’t using it to drink (of course) or toy with you - tugging at your clothes for attention, tickling your sides to interrupt you, sweetly scratching your scalp to derail your train of thought, teasingly rubbing a thumb into your hip or thigh to feel you squirm.

Shanks is a handsy motherfucker (ironic right-), so you don’t take any of this as a proclamation of his love. The most you think is that it has just hit that point in your journey together where his vast appetite for partners has finally swept its way to focus on you.

You end the night giggling the whole stumbling way back to the ship, tucked into Shanks’ side. You manage to stay there despite being at the mercy of both of your swaying, constantly blending who’s supporting and who’s slipping. Your ex is far from your mind when Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

Shanks does however have a flash of your ex in his mind when he's happily gloating to himself that he had won.

His last blurry thoughts are of how to make sure you and everyone else unquestionably knows that you are off limits. The unspoken claim understood by the crew while he works at winning you over doesn't seem to be enough anymore. Especially if that pesky ex comes sniffing around again. Maybe they just need a lesson in what staring down Conqueror’s Haki truly feels like.

Mihawk

The intimidating and biting type

Mihawk would likely be the most covert of these three, at least as far as your notice goes

Your ex has no questions about Mihawk’s dislike for them. With his reputation as emotionless and solitary, it’s not guaranteed that your ex will put two and two together to realize that Mihawk's dislike stems from their previous relationship with you. Even if Mihawk hints at it, they'll tell themselves that they're imagining things. It’s much more likely that they’ll think it’s because Mihawk is that way with all but the Few Exceptions, and they have definitely not made the cut.

It definitely didn’t help that they were a marine

Mihawk is already unhappy to see a marine on his doorstep, no doubt sent to yip at him about some nonsense or other that the admirals were in a twist over. That unhappiness quadruples when he hears you tentatively call to this marine by name, and then it multiplies again when the marine responds by breathing out your own name with shock and hope

This pest needs to be out of his castle quickly

Yet he can't bring himself to simply throw them out when you come over so disgustingly happy to see them. There were a few times where he'd interrupted or snuffed out your joy while adjusting to you joining his home, and he found the feeling it gave him insufferable. That's what forces him to let the pest in and guide them with you to the smaller dining room.

He’d simply have to find what the pest needs fast and expedite whatever catching up you two apparently must do.

That's easier said than done; you and the pest are insistent on taking time between flustered pleasantries to share uncertain smiles and lingering looks of longing in charged silence.

It's giving him the worst mood he'd had in years.

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he's capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair. Both make the pest cringe and shy away, but the chance to gain your favor makes them push through it. Even though he hates it, Mihawk can't blame them.

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you've been sending his way - but that isn't technically taking your joy, so he doesn't back off.

In fact, he decides it's time to push even more.

He begins interjecting in your conversation, mostly with little insults to take the wind out of the pest's sails.

You aren't yet tipped off that there's something hiding behind his mood; he was never fond of braggarts so it isn't so out of the ordinary for him to humble someone. Of course, you wouldn't exactly call what your ex is doing "bragging" so much as filling you in on their growing career. They are actually relatively humble about it, clearly just excited to fill you in and not phrasing things to seek your praise.

Then Mihawk starts complimenting you.

Mihawk is not one to dish out praise. You've had to fight tooth and nail to get the mere drops of it you'd tasted so far, so his sudden highlighting of your positive traits trips your sensors. It isn't exactly alarm bells ringing, more it makes you feel like there's something you're missing. You figure it's the sudden disruption and old instincts from his Marine Hunter days cropping up.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don't deserve you. But he could.

No matter the reason though, you certainly relish in Mihawk calling you things such as "necessary for [his] castle", "smarter than those inane marine trials", "finally proficient and needing no distractions to ruin that", and "better company than a bunch of sea monkeys". Sure, from most anyone else they'd feel slightly insulting, but from everything you've so far seen of Mihawk that's a glowing review.

The uncanny nature of this whole interaction, from Mihawk's tank in mood to the sudden praise, keeps your focus away from your ever shrinking ex.

He figures he's been patient enough (it's been almost a whole ten minutes after all) and it is time to end this farce.

Mihawk stands from his spot and goes to sift through the wine rack. He returns with an above average vintage (even by his tastes) and two glasses. He sets them at the corner of the table so he can deftly open the wine. The silence as you both watch him work elates him.

The first glass is placed in front of his seat and swiftly filled. You watch the action with admiration for his fluid and confident motions. The pest watches with growing envy.

The second glass is filled while still sat in the corner, keeping its owner ambiguous.

The bottle leaves one hand and that glass enters the other, coming with Mihawk as he moves to stand behind your chair.

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex's first impression was that he is haunting you, but there's some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

That whisper gets stronger as Mihawk leans forward over you, getting much too close to be polite while he places the wine glass down directly in front of you. His eyes hold the pest's with an air of warning the whole time.

Mihawk settles back upright, placing a hand on both carved corners decorating the back of your chair. The act seems clearly possessive. But surely Mihawk couldn't have found some special fondness for you?

You are none the wiser to Mihawk's antics behind you, too enraptured by the closeness of his reaching arm then too distracted checking out the color and aroma of your gifted wine.

Having at least enough pieces of a functional brain to pick up on that cue, the pest begins rushing out some excuses and makes to leave.

Kind as you are, you tell them they don't have to rush off, but they're adamant. You're a bit sad to see this chance meeting end so quickly, but your mind quickly settles on thinking it's for the best. Your memories of them are distant enough to be cherry picked and seeing them scamper off so easily reminds you that there are reasons you parted.

Mihawk chases escorts them out and returns to you looking much less belligerent and much more at ease. You figure it best to not risk ruining the positive turn by questioning it, yet you can't help but ask one thing.

"I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen's rack. What's the occasion?"

Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue.

"You've been good." Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, "I could give you more rewards."

Sir Crocodile

The assertive and analytical type

Despite Croc being a plotter, I see him as being quite direct in this situation

Ok yeah maybe he insists it’s because you can do better and you’re definitely above crawling back to an ex (“you broke up for a reason didn’t you?”)

But maybe he also takes this as his opportune moment to get you into his clutches.

Who could blame him when he feels the threat of such an unworthy little nobody working so hard to catch your eye.

Croc always keeps an eye on you, no matter what else demands his attention. Sure, there's an obsessive edge to it, but he just needs to know what you're up to - has to know you're safe near for when he needs you. You are the best assistant he's ever seen after all, and he's been through an army's worth. He's sure his new organization would've crumbled if you weren't there to balance out the clown and his circus monkeys constantly shooting themselves in the foot (sometimes literally).

Many of those circus monkeys were even stupid enough to try and approach you themselves. Luckily for him, you seem about as enthused on the idea of you having a partner as he is.

Which brings us back to his irritation that you haven't swatted that bug away from you. No, instead you seem to be rather tolerant of their buzzing. Maybe even fond.

That just won't do.

The crowds at this schmooze-fest, thrown to entice more pirates and criminals alike, part easily for his beeline to you.

It only irritates him even more that you don't notice him until you're swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

And you truly are surprised - as far as you know there's no reason for Croc's usual grimace to turn into something so stormy, especially directed at you. It quickly jumps to your ex however and focuses that torrent there.

"I don't know you," Croc states gruffly.

"I'm-"

"Your name doesn't matter," Croc interrupts. "What do you do? Why are you here?"

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn't care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they're barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc's anger did.

You catch their eye and send them a sympathetic smile, and then Croc moves on to you.

"And you," he starts roughly. He lets you sit in suspense while he drags those hooded purple eyes from the crown of your head to the toes of your shoes and back. "Why are you here?"

You're taken absolutely aback by the question, mouth flapping from a mix of shock and offense. You have quite a list of things you keep your eye on at these parties; did he want you to go down the whole thing? After a deep breath, you try, "To gather informationof and from possible allies and help build relationships?"

"Wrong."

Well, at least he let you finish your sentence. Time to try again.

"To make sure the night runs smoothly," you say much more surely. It's an apt description of your overall job.

"Wrong again." Yep, that grimace is now definitely a smirk. One that only widens when you purse your lips and stare him down. You notice the genuine amusement shining in Croc's eyes and relax a touch, content to let him guide this to whatever destination he has planned.

"Then please, Sir, tell me," you relent. "Why am I here?"

He takes a deep puff of his cigar before pulling it from his lips and watching the smoke swirl out with his exhale. You watch it too - admire how handsome he looks reappearing through the haze. Enjoying how small you feel as he leans over you through its last remnants.

He rarely touches you with his golden hook, always using his hand (you've yet to realize it's because he prefers to feel you on his skin). Now, though, he raises it towards you. You're surprised yet again when the curve touches beneath your chin to tilt your face just a little higher; the metal isn't cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

He takes his time assessing you, giving you your own time to look over his breathtakingly chiseled face, admire his striking scar, forget everything else but his eyes on you.

Without intention, you gravitate towards him, leaning forward enough into him and that golden hook drawing you that you have to catch yourself with a stumbling step. The fond chuckle he gives in response resonates deep and rich and feels like a reward flowing over you.

"You, my dear," Sir Crocodile says with unfamiliar mirth, "are here to keep me happy."

"And how would you like me to do that, Sir?" you whisper back.

At first, that just earns you a smile. Then he's drawing his hook along your jaw, tickling the tip around your ear, drawing it gently across your cheek. It ends its journey on your lips, ever so gently pulling your bottom lip down before letting it flick back up when he draws his arm away. You watch the glimmering gold retreat. He's greedy for more of the longing he sees in your eyes. He leans slightly lower and gives you back that hook, this time in the form of an offered arm.

"With your company, of course," He finally answers. The warmth you hear in the drawl of his voice is beautiful.

You slip your hand into the crook of his arm, happy you can feel his body heat through the soft fabric of his shirt.

Halfway back to his previous spot, you realize that you'd become so distracted that you hadn't even said goodbye to your ex. You had wanted to exchange numbers, maybe truly get back in touch and feel out if things would be better this time. Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

"Did you see where they went?"

Croc has to hold in his smile at your question. "They scurried off on you. It's for the best though; they were exceedingly unimpressive."

You couldn't help but snort at his assessment.

After guiding you to your chair and pushing it in, Croc settles down himself. When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

Sir Croc smirks and takes a heavy sip of scotch.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

There you are sweet anon, I hope you enjoyed and that it properly scratched the itch❣️ Thank you for the ask 🤍 Sending much love!!!

Part of a little celebration

#fic rec #shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #crocodile x reader

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bongo-clash · 2 years ago

Text

Peacock Au Part 2

Okay so!!! Part two of this post about the DPxDC eldritch Danny fic that I'm now calling the peacock au lmao!!!!

(Chapter two of the fic under the cut) (Edit: You can now find part 3 Here!!!)

When the feeling of being just slightly dispersed settles onto the outer layer of his skin while he’s lying in bed, Danny knows what’s about to happen.

The thing is, he’s in his pyjamas. Sure, he could just stay in his human form for the summoning- because he’s done it before and it went fine- but he never knows who it’s going to be, and being spirited away to some college students’ dorm in his pyjamas is embarrassing. And sure, having something appear in the circle in the first place is probably enough that they’re not paying attention to what he’s wearing either way, but he refuses to bank on that. So, with a sigh, he allows himself the transformation, his human appearance falling easily away.

It always feels more natural to be a ghost during rituals, probably because they’re summoning a ghost and not a human, but still, it’s different. He feels that little bit looser, maybe even a little more himself, though he guesses being a bit more glow-y is just nice generally, and the space decals that tend pop up as part of his whole light-show-summons are a homely touch. On the other hand, it does make it harder to take stock of his surroundings when he finally fades into view wherever he is. He can make out vague grey walls and floors, but that’s about it.

Well, that and the man in front of him. Blond, taller than him if he wasn’t in the air, somewhere past his forties, wearing a beige trenchcoat and looking oddly terrified. Danny can see his hands shaking just a little. Does he know this guy from somewhere?

“Uh, dude?” Danny calls, going for something light. It’s annoying being dragged from the comfort of his own home, definitely, but this guy doesn’t look like some cult member, and if he’s alone and this scared it might mean he really needs the help. Danny can sympathise with doing stupid things in stupid situations. “You good? You’re not looking too hot there.”

He knows he’s using ghost speak, but it feels weird to use English in a summoning like this, and fortunately, Danny spies a translation sigil wrapped around the inner centre of the circle, so he knows it should be translating right back to the guy in front of him. Very handy for language barriers, he’ll admit- and it’s working, too, if the reply is any indication.

“I was told you could- you could help with the pits?”

His voice is gravelly, and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s nervous, doesn’t speak much, a smoker, or all three. Either way, probably not Danny’s business, and right now he’s just curious about what the man’s talking about. “Pits? That’s kinda vague, man. What pits?”

“The Lazarus pits to, uh, to be specific. There’s a huge one cropping up under Gotham that’s not supposed to be there, and the local- I mean, the locals are getting antsy about it. I… heard you could take care of ‘em.”

Lazarus Pits. He’s heard of those, Clockwork’s mentioned them a couple of times. They’re natural portals that open when enough energy is built up, and end up stabilising into the ground instead of collapsing to help seep ambient ectoplasm into the air. They don’t work as actual portals after that, but it’s vital to keep at least a few around no matter how corrupted they can get through human interference, because it keeps the balance of both realms steady. Having too many around isn’t a good thing, though, and especially not in populated areas. It can cause ecto-contamination, which is a lot more dangerous when you haven’t been around it since birth (or if you aren’t from Amity).

Speaking of which, it certainly is stinking up the place, now that he’s aware of it. Or maybe that’s just Gotham, he’s heard a lot about-

Hang on. Gotham. Weird potentially magic dude. He knew he recognised him! That’s John Constantine! Danny’s heard of John Constantine! Sam’s got her fingers in enough credible occult spaces that they’re at least vaguely aware of some of his endeavours, but if he’s in Gotham then that probably means he’s doing something for the Batman and, wow, Danny totally would’ve tried to go more professional for this if he knew this was going to be his first encounter with the Justice League,of all things.

Well, he guesses it’s too late now. At least the guy’s not being too weird about it or anything. “Man, yeah, I’ve totally got the smell stuck up my nose now that you mention it. Do you get that as well? Since, y’know, you’ve probably dealt with a couple ghosts.”

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. But can you fix it?”

Dang, the guy seems stressed about this. Maybe he just doesn’t like being in Gotham territory? He’s pretty sure he’s heard of Batman having a thing about magic. “Sure I can.”

“…Will you fix it?”

Danny figures that if they already know about his status through his Zone maintenance duties, and he’s going to be helping the Justice League, he might as well show off a little bit. Assenting with a hum and trying not to grin, he puts his hands to the floor, and lets his ectoplasm reach out to the source of the smell, sending a flash of light across the ground as it goes through. When it twinges back a response, he closes his eyes, and his energy curls around it, threading through like needles to seams, and pushes it shut with a gentle nudge. Luckily, it hadn’t been around for too long- barely fully formed and not even corrupted by human contact yet- it would’ve be a lot more difficult if it had.

He lets his hands rise up again after a long moment, looking to Constantine for a reaction. He can’t quite gauge what the man is thinking. “Alrighty, that should’ve done it.”

“Uh… cheers?”

He’s about to say something along the lines of ‘no problem’ or ‘you’re welcome’, but then he remembers he should probably warn him about the aftermath so he doesn’t freak. “The pit shouldn’t come back again, but just as like, a PSA: you might see more shades than usual hovering around for the next while. It shouldn’t be too big a deal so long as you leave ‘em alone, though, so don’t worry about it.”

For all that Danny’s trying to be considerate here, Constantine doesn’t look very considerated. “Can I- uh, yeah, great advice. ‘Appreciate it. But, can I ask just, y’know, what you are? Or not.”

“…Dude, what d’you think I am?”He replies, thoroughly bemused. Isn’t this guy supposed to be one of the League’s paranormal experts or something? He really should be able to recognise a ghost by now. “I keep your Lazarus Pits in check. You know, the pits of the dead?”

Okay, maybe a little rude on his side, but he thinks Constantine’s expression is a bit of an overreaction; he can see the sheen of sweat across the man’s forehead reflecting the light of the sigils. “Fair enough! Forget I asked- cheers for sorting out that pit, though. Uh, don’t suppose you’ll just let me go on my way or anything now.”

“Well, I mean, this was a favour for Batman, right?” He asks blithely, pointedly not paying attention to the way the man’s face keeps contorting. He swears Sam said he was more stoic than this. “I’m gonna go- ‘cause I’ve got things to do- but I guess if something comes up I’ll come to you? Or Batman, since this is his city and all. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”

Figuring there’s nothing left to be said, Danny lets the return sigil on the edge of the circle activate and punt him back home, wheezing a half-sigh and arching his back once the wispy image of wherever they’d been recedes. He probably looks exhausted after all that- no matter how recently formed the pit was, it still takes a little strain, and he’d just been about to sleep before he got summoned- but looking in the mirror on his wall for confirmation, he doesn’t find his usual face. Something twinges against where his spine should be, confirming its own previously unnoticed presence in the mortal plane.

…He didn’t go ghost when Constantine summoned him, he used his true form. That must be why he looked so nervous that whole time! And, man, ghostspeak never translates over quite right in this form, either- the Ancients use a different dialect to original ghostspeak- the man probably wasn’t hearing what Danny thought he was at all. What if the only reason he wasn’t attacking was because he was terrified? What must Constantine have thought of him?

Crap. He has to fix this. How is he going to find him?

#Peppered in some of my own worldbuilding about ectoplasm/the pits in DC there but Still-#I just thought it'd be Really Funny if Danny had absolutely no clue what he was saying was coming across so terrifying #Like- sure he Can say that kind of ominous stuff on his own- but I think it'd be really great #If no one knew when it was a translation error or if he meant it #If there's any mistakes in the please be kind I forget how to read when I'm editing-#Chapter 3's already done so I should be posting that either tomorrow or the day after!!#It'll pretty much be the conclusion to this whole thing but I've been talking to Bones and she's got So Many cool ideas #That I really want to make a part 4 for because they're really fun!!!#Either way this has been really nice to do!!!#dp au #danny phantom au #dp fic #danny phantom fanfiction #dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #Bongo's Aus!!!#Bongo's Writing!!!#peacock au

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years ago

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I come bearing a request! The Brothers with an MC who's really good at cooking and baking? Like, the stuff food blogs dream of. Master-level instagram pastries. Could compete with the chocolate guy if they put their mind to it.

👀 ooooo, I do love me some pastries-

(I know you have an *ahem* distaste for Lucifer, dear moot, so enjoy Lucifer acting like a bit of a dingus in his section!)

Lucifer

Oh, the human can cook. *insert asshole eyeroll here*. Great. Wonderful. Groundbreaking. That’s what’s got all his brothers acting like- what was that word Levi used? Simps? This human has turned six of the seven rulers of hell into a bunch of simps.

Sure, the human has near godlike cooking prowess. Sure, everyone looks forward to their day for cooking. And sure, everyone thinks the human’s pretty great.

Tsk, not him though. He’s a refined demon. Some silly food isn’t going to make him a lovesick fool… did he smell eclairs..?

Lucifer peered into the kitchen to see MC carefully taking a tray of eclairs out of the oven and letting them cool off on the counter. His favourite dessert… right there in front of him…

Due to not being a total moron, MC notices Lucifer and asks him what the hell he’s doing just standing ominously in the doorway. Lucifer makes up some bullshit excuse about reminding MC to do their homework and just leaves. Okay, game plan, he needs those fucking eclairs or he will spontaneously combust.

As he snuck into the kitchen that night, Lucifer took a moment to briefly wonder why he was creeping around his own house. He was the Avatar of Pride for pity’s sake! He could eat whatever he damn well pleased! Oh shit was someone coming- no? Okay, back to sneaking.

Lucifer crept into the kitchen, saw the eclairs, and all logic was thrown out the window. Time to eat!

“BEEL NO! NOT THE- Lucifer..?” “…” “…” “…you’re very talented, MC, do you mind making more of these?”

SOMEONE SNAP A PICTURE! THIS IS THE CLOSEST LUCIFER HAS GOTTEN TO BEGGING IN THE LAST THOUSAND YEARS!

Mammon

Ugh, stuck babysittin’ some dumb human, how lame…

As Mammon was throwing a “I’m broke and I’m stuck in a pact with a dumb human” pity party, the most heavenly smell entered his nostrils. Cooking… good cooking… was Barbatos visiting or somethin’? Nah, Lucifer woulda made a big fuss about gettin’ ready for Lord Diavolo. Huh, so what was goin’ on in the kitchen?

Huh? The human? The human can cook? Well damn, maybe this whole deal wouldn’t be so bad. Oi! MC! As payment for babysittin’ ‘em, he got to have an extra big share of- OW!

Did- did the human just hit him with a spoon?! Th-they can’t do that!

Apparently they fucking can. Mammon gets told to sit the fuck down and wait for the food like everyone else. He grumbles on the way to the dining room, but he can’t fully hide his excitement to try the food.

The food even looked pretty! How did they do that?! Magic. It had to be!

After everyone’s tastebuds were blessed with the heavenly substance that is MC’s culinary exploits, Mammon decides he needs to get on this human’s good side in order to receive more food! Maybe even find some way to make a profit or somethin’!

After weeks go by of trying to suck up to the human without looking like too much of a chump, Mammon eventually realizes… hey, this human ain’t so bad. They’re nice, they make him feel good about himself, they give him headpats… he’s really hit the jackpot here!

He’ll offer to help MC bake or cook, but beware, he will try and sample the food before it’s done. Don’t let him lick the spoon!!!

Leviathan

First thought? This human ain’t shit. Thought after seeing their food? WOAAAAAAAH! JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME-

He was unceremoniously cut off by Beel asking demanding seconds. Humph, fine, he doesn’t actually care about this dumb normie food anyway.

…well at least until Levi saw a little something something on TV that he just had to ask MC to try and make. He shyly knocked on their door and when they answered, Levi shoved the screenshot in their face and stuttered out a dinner request.

On the day MC was supposed to make dinner, Levi poked his head into the kitchen and tried to make it look like he was just standing in the same room as MC and not checking to see if they were making his dinner request.

Not that he’d blame them for not doing that… who’d wanna make some anime dinner for a yucky Otaku- OMG JAHSHSHABA THEY’RE MAKING IT! *fangirl squeals*

As Levi continues to commit the SIN of being in the kitchen at the same time as someone else, MC eventually just asks him if he’d like to help out.

“Here! Just keep turning the takoyaki.” “R-really? You trust me?” “Yes, Levi. You watched how they made it on your show, right?” “Yes! I won’t mess up! I swear on my honour as an otaku!”

All in all, it was a very cute bonding experience for the two. Now it’s a regular thing. Levi requests something for dinner or dessert, MC makes it, Levi helps out.

Satan

So, the human can cook. That’s nice. At least someone in this literally god forsaken house can.

He makes sure to thank MC every time they cook, then he makes sure to thank whatever deity is watching over him that Solomon wasn’t the human staying with them.

As the months progress, Satan realizes, he should learn how to cook better. I mean, Levi and Mammon were somehow both improving in their cooking endeavours, and if MC could teach those two, then he would be a breeze.

Satan walked into the kitchen and simply asked if MC needed any assistance with what they were doing. MC just slid him some garlic to dice and that’s how this mentor/student relationship was formed.

Satan was a star pupil, but Mammon and Levi weren’t above trying to sabotage Satan’s progress to get him to leave.

Here’s the thing, the sabotage worked, but it only worked once, and the two idiots didn’t stop to think that maybe they shouldn’t sabotage the meal they were going to have to eat later.

Well, cooking lessons continued uninterrupted after the ghost pepper incident…

Even when he’s ‘graduated’ their little cooking class, Satan’s always willing to lend a hand if needed. He also will slyly hand over some recipe books and cute baking supplies that he finds. MC should be prepared for lots of cat related things to come their way.

Asmodeus

The human can cook? Oh frabcious day! He’s saved from a life of his brother’s mediocre cooking! And the human’s so cute too! What a bonus!

Not only is the human cute, but their food is just so… aesthetic??? Pretty???? Omigosh he just has to get a picture for Devilgram!

For the first few months, MC’s relationship with Asmo consists of Asmo not at all subtly asking to take pictures of their food and post it to his Devilgram. Listen MC, his followers would just love it!

Being the saint-sheep they are, MC lets Asmo sit in whenever they’re making anything in the kitchen. And Asmo slowly realizes “hey, this cute human with the awesome food is actually pretty cool too!”

New Mission: Make the human fall madly in love with him so they’ll want to hang out more.

Whether the mission succeeds is up to MC of course. (I mean, I’m already smitten with him sooooooooo-)

MC offers Asmo a lot of the pastries they make, but the Avatar of Lust almost always declines. Listen honey, he’s on a diet- wait, don’t make that sad face! He’ll eat it! Look! It’s- it’s delicious…

Diet cheat day is now every day MC makes dessert. The feeling of bliss Asmo gets when he takes a bite out of anything MC makes is only second of the treats is second only to the joy he feels at seeing MC happy that he likes their food. It’s just so wholesome I can’t-

MC’s food Devilgram has almost surpassed Asmo in terms of followers and honestly- he isn’t even mad.

Beelzebub

Gasp! Lucifer finally got him the pet personal chef he’d always wanted! Thanks big bro! :D he’ll be sure not to eat this human!

On the first night MC was supposed to make dinner, Lucifer needed to hold Beel back from breaking into the kitchen to see what was causing that heavenly smell. It was, difficult… especially because Lucifer hadn’t slept in three days.

When they all sat down to eat, Beel practically inhaled everything and held up his half bitten plate for seconds.

We here at Stupid Headcanons incorporated recommend that MC have as many bodyguards as possible stationed around the kitchen at all times to ward off a hungry Beel. We don’t want him eating the ingredients and half-tempered chocolate.

A cinnamon roll through and through, he’ll eat everything MC gives him with a big ol’ smile on his cute little face. He’s not the best person to go to if MC wants advice or critique because the best thing Beel can usually muster is “it was really good.”

As Luke said in Lesson 5, Beel would make an awful food reporter. But we love him.

Similar to Levi, he’ll give meal requests on what to make for dinner. (At this rate, MC’s going to have to make some kind of list).

He kind of just waits by the door like a sad puppy whenever MC is making anything because he can’t get into the kitchen :(

Belphegor

The smell of freshly made chocolate chip cookies wafting through the house did reach the attic and it only fuelled his rage more. How dare the human win everyone over with cookies?!

After the attic incident, Belphie was won over with cookies.

Belphie just stands creepily in the kitchen doorway whenever MC is making anything and just makes shit really uncomfortable. Why’s he doing that, you may be wondering, well, he’s trying to calculate the energy needed to swipe the bowl of cookie dough and sprint to safety.

He never succeeds, mainly because once he gets to the bowl, MC already has the wooden spoon ready to smack him, so he just freezes mid-theft and slowly puts the bowl down.

“Oh my gosh, it says let the bread dough rest overnight? Let’s get a headstart and go to sleep now.” “Belphie what-” “I made a pillow Fort, come in. Let’s sleep.” “In the kitchen????”

How’d he make the pillow Fort without MC noticing? Years of experience. He’s trained in the art of- MC? What do you mean you can’t sleep right now and you need to get a head start on shaping fondant?

…he may have eaten the fondant while MC wasn’t looking… whoops… Beel may have rubbed off on him a little…

#Obey me! Headcanons #Obey me Headcanons #obey me #obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me mammon #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me Leviathan #Obey me Satan #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Beelzebub #Obey me Belphegor

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mokutone · 3 years ago

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I came up with another Tenzo HC that I think you'll like. We all know Tenzo likes reading about architecture, but what if he's also really into flowers and their meanings. So like Petunias are supposed to represent anger or being angry at someone. And then what if... Since ANBU just emotionally stunts our poor Shinobi, what if the way he learns to best communicate is by handing people the relevant flowers to express his feelings.

And we all love that HC of him growing flowers, what if the relevant flowers pop up because he associates that feeling with that flower? Like when it's a really really intense feeling, they just start growing.

Also, i know i share my HC with you a lot but i just feel like you always appreciate them <3

its so funny that u mention this bc just a day or two before i recieved it i was writing yamato and felt compelled to have him use a little flower symbolism! I didn't have him growing any flowers tho, just...ominously looming symbolism clinging onto a heavy thought.

i think this can be a really interesting HC to play with, especially when we consider how nebulous "flower language" is—like, for example the red spider lily has, apparently, the meaning of "elope with me" over here in the US, but in japan, the red spider lily is heavily associated with death, lovers separating, etc-you will see it in anime very often, i remember there was one i watched as a kid (hellgirl, i think?) that had them Everywhere and very ominously

and then there's cases where the flower is Supposed to have a meaning, but bc of how its practically used it has a different or even sometimes contradictory meaning,

for example the lily, in christian spaces the white lily is generally supposed to be indicative of innocence—which is probably why its used at so many funerals (symbolizing god washing out the sins after death and making the soul innocent once more, or something) but the fact that its used at so many funerals means that most people i know, when they see a lily, don't think "aw, how sweet..." we tend to go "oh god. the funeral flower." some even can't stand the smell of it

one of my friends gifted me a piece of jasmine incense he had got once for the same reason, that was a Strongly Funereal smell for him, but it was not for me.

then, there's also the individual meanings that flowers hold for people—

this is jewelweed, one of the most important flowers to me personally! it's native to most swampy, moist areas of the USA, it grows very fast, and tall, and spreads really quickly.

when i was a kid, we'd call this stuff "poppers" on account of how when you touch the green, dangling seed-pods, they would pop! like literally, they would explode, launching their seeds everywhere! here's a video of that.

I'm told that in the language of flowers In General, they represent motherly love, but to me, because of how i played with them as a kid, they will always specifically represent childish joy and wonder, as well as a certain amount of resilience due to how quickly and how well they take over an area (say hello to one of the few plants that can take on the invasive garlic mustard!)

this all to say, the associations between meanings and plants could be something that's really fun to play with—some of his meanings could be gathered from books, some of them could be gathered from the cultural knowledge he has access to, and more still could be developed from his own personal experiences with plants.

i'm not sure where i fall on how much yamato would internalize flower language...or i guess even what kind of flowers hed care about? i see him as somebody who tries to be, first and foremost, practical...

flower language is very poetic and mysterious, but there's practicality in mystery too—he's a ninja, after all, (and, ur right, given Anbu he seems to be a fairly repressed ninja at that) using symbols in order to communicate certain feelings could be very practical, if there are things that are difficult to say...

the only thing is that the person receiving the flowers from him would have to also know what they meant, in order for this to be practical...or there'd have to be a shared understanding of things related to the flowers.

anyway! ur right i did appreciate this, ty for sharing it

#yamswers #supervaca #if anyone else wants to dig into japanese flower language its called hanakotoba (花言葉) i think #i feel like because of the necessities of her profession ino would be far better at flower meanings than yamato #on account of the yamanaka flowershop supplying bouquets and etc #theres also the possibility that he associates certain People with flowers rather than feelings #like perhaps yamato sees dandelions and thinks abt naruto—on account of the hardiness and brightness of that little weed #but also the whimsical nature of it—how when it gets old its seeds are carried by the wind (+ naruto being a wind chakra user)#sakura obviously. sakura. i mean...#perhaps morning glory for sai...they can come in interesting colors and have a smooth graceful shape...but more than that they need a lot #of support—a morning glory is a vining flower...theyre Trying to get up high but they need to be able to cling to things #and metaphorically naruto sakura yamato and kakashi (and ino?) would be his trellis sdhgshdgsdg #the thing is i dont think hed be able to pin a flower on kakashi unless they had some specific encounter with flowers which was impactful #enough that that flower would forever be associated with kakashi #and on top of THAT. kakashi's name translates to "field scarecrow'' so surely it should be some kind of produce hes associated with #kakashi catches on to yamato thinking of flowers abt the kids and is like ''ooooh? do *I* have a flower toooo??'' and yamato #pats him on the shoulder and is like. nope. sorry. you're a rice field.#and kakashis like damn ok fuck you too buddy #yamatos like if it makes you feel better i dont think of myself as a flower either #and kakashis like ''well *i* could assign everyone on the team a dog breed theyd get along with the easiest so i win at w/e this game is''#yamatos like ''ok whats my dog then?'' and kakshis like ''cat. actually'' and yamato points at him and goes ''see! you're just as bad!!''#and kakashis like ''no see i have an excuse. you wore a cat mask for 10 years. when have you ever seen me in a rice field?''

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absolutelyfizzing · 3 years ago

Text

angels and demons

warren worthington x reader fluff

@shuckfaced-fangirl Hi! can I request a warren worthington x female mutant reader where her powers are shadow summoning? So I guess everyone in the school kind of views her as some sort of demon? With a lot of fluff? Thank you!!

Description - Y/N is a shadow summoner and is isolated from her peers. Warren helps her see that not everyone fears her and that she is worthy of affection.

warnings - its so fluffy. fem pronouns. some angsty stuff (isolation, depression, sadness), one innuendo, devastating fluff, warren being an angel. i tried to make it POC inclusive, please let me know if it feels restricting or excluding and i will edit it.

word count - 3700, i got carried away

A/N - im so sorry this took so long, i took a break from writing while i am working on moving to college. i will still be spotty for the next few weeks but hopefully, i will post a few more things in that time and then get back on a normal schedule. also, thanks so much for this request, i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope it is something you enjoy reading!

MASTERLIST

You walked through the halls with a lowered head. You knew that you made others uncomfortable and so you chose to try to make yourself as small and unthreatening as possible. You had been 'gifted' powers with which you could manipulate and create darkness. You were a shadow summoner. That wasn't a name that many found reassuring or comforting.

There were a few who could see past it and who was close to being what you might call friends but those people were few and far between. There were overwhelmingly more people who believed that you must have been a scary and mean person, that you were some sort of demon. This couldn't have been further from the truth if one were to look past appearances. Your shadow was larger and darker than that of your peers and it trailed behind you with a mind of its own, moving and growing without you even meaning for it to happen. Your hands were constantly covered in something darker and dustier than the rest of your skin, a deep and pure black. It trailed from the tips of your fingers and faded on your forearm so it looked as though you had just dipped your arms into a chimney or that shadows were crawling up your arms.

When you first got them, you thought they were sort of cool. They made you look sort of goth and that was fun. That feeling quickly faded when you saw how others, even your family, reacted. They said it was a curse from hell. You were barely convinced otherwise.

You sat away from others at the school during free periods. During lunch you sat alone and in the sun when you could, you hoped it might make others be less scared of you as it might make you look brighter but your shadow, dark and ominous, maintained a spot near you. You wore clothes that made you look more approachable to try to maintain that you weren't scary. Your brightly colored outfit didn't ever seem to work though, no matter how hard you tried.

You looked down at the food in your hands, the sandwich only half-eaten, and you noted your hands. They were so normal looking, your nails were well kept and you thought they were a good size. That they might even be a good size for someone to hold. The only thing was the unnaturally colored dust that seemed to cover them. It was a cool black, it glistened and sparkled in the sun when your fingers moved. It never moved or transferred to anything else, always stuck securely to your skin. You were distracted by the way your fingers seemed to shine when a shadow came near yours, wings outlined in it. You looked up to see a tall blond boy above you with curly hair and bags under his eyes. He nodded to a spot on the grass near you.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

You shook your head and even scooted away from the spot to give him more space despite the fact that you were in a large field.

"Do you want me to move?" You asked gently, wondering if maybe he wanted this particular spot and you took it from him unknowingly.

"I mean, I think that would sort of take away the whole point of me trying to sit with you." He smirked and you felt blood rush to your cheeks. "I like your hands" He hummed and you looked at him in shock. When his eyes met yours you tilted your head a bit.

"They don't bother you?" You tried to speak softly.

"No, I think they're awesome. They make you look punk." He smiled and you felt the corners of your mouth tug up a bit too.

"I like your wings." You almost mumbled as you allowed your gaze to move to the large feathery wings behind him. They moved in the wind and you found yourself wanting to run your fingers through them. "They make you look like an angel." You smiled and he groaned dramatically.

"I'm trying to look grunge." He pouted and you giggled a bit. At the sound, he looked up at you and blushed a bit. "Maybe we should trade."

"If I could trade you I would. Everyone is scared of how I look." You gazed back at the grass.

"I'm not." His simple statement made butterflies erupt in your stomach and you smiled a bit. You looked back at him and made eye contact for a moment.

"What's your name?" You asked and he maintained his gaze into your eyes. It was the most contact or conversation with someone else you'd had in a long time.

"I'm Warren." He smiled a bit and stuck a hand out to you to shake. You looked at his hand in shock. Nobody ever voluntarily touched your hands. Most of them worried that whatever was on them would spread. You hesitantly brought your hand to his, purposefully giving him plenty of time to remove his hand if he felt uncomfortable. But he didn't. Instead, your hand reached his and he shook it before letting go as if it was no big deal.

"I'm Y/N." You smiled a bit more and you felt a giggle come out of you from the joy of realizing this wasn't a dream, that someone was trying to talk to you and they weren't afraid.

"Is my name that funny?" He teased.

"No, I just-" you paused to think, "it's been so long since anyone has done this with me."

"Talked to you?" He questioned, obviously expecting you to say no and explain what you meant. Instead, you just nodded and his heart clenched for a moment. "Well, you can stick with me then."

"I don't know if you want your reputation to take a hit like that."

"My reputation is 'the angry and damaged kid', I'm sure it can handle the breaking news of me talking to a nice and pretty girl." He reassured before he even realized what he was saying. You could have cried at the feeling that rose up in your chest.

After that day, you stuck to his side like glue and he took no issue with it. The more you got to know him the more you appreciated the fact that he had taken you in. With his help, over the coming months, he helped you develop a stable friend group. That group included people like Ororo and Jane who had heard rumors about you and never bothered to check and see if they were real. They apologized profusely, especially Jean as she felt like she could have easily found out that you were kinder than she thought with her abilities but just had never done so, and you gladly accepted, just happy to be within a group.

You and Warren had developed a reputation. He was overly protective and gruff while you were overly nice and empathetic. You balanced each other well and if you were honest, you were in love with him. That always felt weird to say, you'd never been in love with anyone before but every second you spent with him made you more and more sure of your feelings.

When you and Warren were together, you would daydream about what it would be like to be in a relationship with him. Being held by him and wrapped in his wings. Getting to play with his unkempt hair. Holding his hand.

Sometimes he would try to encourage you to hold his hand. He would hold it out to you when he was helping you jump down from somewhere high. He would ask you to hand him things and then make decisive contact as he took it from you. He knew that it meant a lot to you, you practically gasped and blushed every time he did it. He had never met anyone so touch starved. He wanted to give you all the affection that you craved.

Unfortunately, Warren was rather oblivious, especially towards things like feelings and emotions. He had no clue that you had any interest in him, even though he hoped you did every day. If he wasn't so attached to your friendship, he might ask you out. Instead, he tried to maintain a friendly distance so he didn't cross any lines while also being as affectionate with you as he could be. You followed a similar path.

The person caught in the middle of this was poor Jean Gray. she had watched you pine over each other since you met and had heard every thought that went through both of your heads. She knew you would never complain or ask for help about anything so she liked to keep tabs on your thoughts every once in a while to make sure you were okay. Still, she tried her best to not listen very often or when you were thinking about anything very personal, she honestly did. But she was a romantic. All she wanted was for you two idiots to get together but you were both oblivious. She decided, probably 3 months into you becoming friends, that she had to do something about it.

She was sitting on your bed while you sat across your bedroom on your small couch. She fiddled with her thumbs while she tried to ignore your constant thoughts about Warren, his hands, his wings, his smile. She was exhausted. she took a small breath while she planned how she would try to say this to you.

"Do you want to know what I heard today?" She called and you looked up at her from the book you were pretending to read.

"Do you mean heard or 'heard'?" You laughed and she rolled her eyes.

"Either." Then she tilted her head. "Both."

"Yeah, I wanna know! What's it about?" You asked while leaning forward in your seat. Jean always had the best gossip to tell because she could literally hear it.

"Warren." She stated simply and watched your reaction. You flushed and stopped breathing for a moment.

"Wha-" you stuttered, "what about him?"

"That he has a thing for you." she winked and you flushed even more.

"You're lying." You assured, a questioning look on your face.

"I'm not and I'm tired of watching you two longing after one another while the rest of the school watches." She smiled and your heart picked up.

"I thought I told you not to look in my head!" You scolded but you weren't actually all that upset. You knew that it was very hard for her to control.

"I cant help it! Both of you think so loud. And I wouldn't have to anyway, Ororo mentioned it to me the other day and she definitely cants read minds." She giggled and you smiled a bit.

"Does he actually like me?" You almost whispered in disbelief.

"Yes! He's been obsessed with you since you started talking."

"But like he would want to actually go-"

"Y/N, I swear to god. If you don't go and talk to him right now I'm going to have a fit." She laughed and you glared at her.

"Okay okay fine, I'm going," you grumbled as you stood and walked toward your door. "If you are wrong I'm gonna be so upset with you."

She just laughed again and you started to walk down the hallway. You thought he might be in his room or outside. You decided to check his room first.

You knocked on his door but you were met with silence. You tried the handle and it moved.

"Warren?" you paused, "I'm coming in," you warned and pushed the door open. When you looked inside, he wasn't there. You took a moment to gaze around his room, it wasn't the first time you had been in there but every time was a bit exciting as you got to see all of the things he had that represented him. He had a boombox and a CD collection on his dresser. Some of his clothes were thrown around his room haphazardly and some of his drawers were open. You looked at the wall next to you where he kept photos that you took. You would carry around a camera or take pictures on your phone of everyone around campus. He always asked for them and then printed them out so he could hang them up. He had even managed to get a couple of you. You smiled a bit before heading back into the hallway, closing the door behind you.

You instead moved towards the door to get out onto the lawn where you thought he would probably be. He often sat under the big oak trees or on the roof if he wanted to get away from people. When you made it outside, you looked around for him.

"Y/N!" you heard him shout. You turned to look for him and saw his silhouette flying from the roof. You paused to admire him and his wings. He always looked so angelic to you. So powerful. You thought about how your power emanated darkness. That you would never appear angelic to someone and would more likely look like a demon. You looked down at your hands for a second, a habit you had when you were thinking about your powers. They sparkled a bit in the sun but it did little to quell the distaste in your mouth.

Suddenly there was a shadow in front of you that was not part of the darkness that surrounded you.

"Y/N?" he asked gently. "Are you okay?" he tried not to startle you. Being empathetic wasn't something that came naturally to him, but he tried extra hard around you. he noticed the way you were staring at your hands. The growth of your shadow as you thought about your powers more. He moved to touch one of your hands but you flinched back a bit. He brought his hand back and looked at you with concern. "Whats wrong, angel?" He asked lightly and you looked up at the pet name. He had started calling you that soon after you became friends. You thought it was out of irony but he really was convinced that you were some sort of angel. He also loved the way that your eyes would light up when he said it. You stared at him for a moment in silence.

"Do I scare you?" You asked quietly and your voice shook. He looked surprised by your question and you were surprised too. You didn't know why you were suddenly getting emotional. Why this was now all you could think about. Why it had to come up now when you were trying to express your feelings for him. Instead of responding he reached out to your hand, holding onto it when you let him, despite flinching away slightly. He started to walk, leading you toward the same tree you had met under. Once you both reached it he sat down and looked up at you, waiting for you to sit down too. You did, maybe a bit farther away from him than you needed to be.

"Do you think you scare me?" he asked genuinely and you took a second to think, looking back down at your hands which were now pulled back into your lap.

"I scare me," you stated simply and paused.

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't know." You mumbled. "I think I freak everyone out. Including you I guess." Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be. you really hadn't thought about it in a little while. It had been on your mind plenty when you first started talking to him. You were extra conscious of not pushing him to be around you or near your shadow. You knew that he would move away if he needed to but you also had so many memories of everyone around you fearing you, running from you, telling you that you were a curse. Instead of responding he held his hand out in between the two of you, palm up. You knew that he was inviting you to take it but that he wouldn't push you to. Instead of taking it, you placed your hand near his on the ground and he left his next to yours, not trying to take it if you didn't want him to.

"You don't." He let out, sounding sure of himself and slightly pained. "You don't scare me." You looked at each other. He had tears in his eyes. He was never one to get emotional so you were surprised. "Do I scare you?" he questioned, already knowing your answer but trying to prove a point.

"Of course not." You sighed.

"You have a lot more reason to be afraid of me than I have to be afraid of you." he looked at your hand again. "I'm the one who has a rough history, I'm the one who is angry and has a reputation of being aggressive."

"But, Warren, your mutation is-"

"Mutation has nothing to do with it, Y/N." he sighed. "You have control over your abilities, I have control over mine. The only difference between us is our personalities and I have never had any reason to fear you or dislike you. You're the kindest person I know and everyone in your life who has let you think that there was something wrong with you was terrible. And that was on them."

Your hand reached for his and you laced your fingers together. He squeezed your hand and ran his thumb over the back of it.

"I love you." The words came out of your mouth faster than you could think and you sucked in a breath, almost hoping he didn't hear you. When you glanced up at him he had a gentle smile on his face. He brought the back of your hand up to his face and kissed it before placing it against his cheek.

"I love you too, Y/N" He reached out for your waist and pulled you toward his lap, giving you plenty of time to give him a sign that you were uncomfortable. Instead, you put your leg over his waist so you were straddling his thighs. You held one of his hands in between you and fiddled with his fingers, admiring how your hands contrasted with his. Somehow, him holding your hand made it seem less out of place. You almost felt pride.

You were suddenly surrounded by warmth and shadow, the sounds of the quad around you becoming muted. You looked up around you and his wings were wrapped around the two of you, closing you off into your own little world. You felt the urge to reach out to them but you had never asked. You had never seen him let anyone touch them and you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"Go ahead." your eyes snapped to his in shock.

"Warren, you never let any-"

"I want you to," he admitted and it was true. He had thought many times about asking you to run your fingers through his wings. He would never complain about it but they were a little high maintenance and also sensitive. He never let anyone touch them because most people weren't gentle or he didn't trust them. He knew though that you were the gentlest person on Earth and that he could count on you to be careful.

At his reassurance, you smiled a bit. You reached a hand out to the part of his wing next to his shoulder. You both gasped a bit when your fingers made contact. Warren was a bit surprised at how sensitive they were to your touch and it had been a long time since anyone but himself had touched them. You were entranced by how soft they were. The feathers were delicate and there were so many. You were very careful in how you moved your hand along his wing, looking at him often to see if he was uncomfortable. As you were carding your fingers through his feathers, one came out. You gasped slightly horrified that you had hurt him.

"Hey, it's okay!" he rushed out as he saw your panic. "They just sort of... shed sometimes." He almost seemed embarrassed. Feathers would come off occasionally and he would often have to brush through them himself to release all of the loose feathers, sort of like brushing your hair. He reached to pick up the feather and held it in front of you for you to take. You gladly did and you twirled it in your fingers. "Maybe sometime, if you wouldn't mind, of course, you could help me brush through them?" he asked quietly and you smiled.

"Yeah of course. They seem like they might be a lot of work." you were touched that he trusted you to do that and you thought about how hard it must be to take care of them by himself when they were so big and most of his wings were behind him.

"You should see what it's like to shower with them," he grumbled and then his eyes widened at what he had said. He hadn't meant it to be an innuendo but now he was worried he offended you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and you fell into a fit of giggles.

"I might have to take you up on that offer." Your gentle gaze made him blush. He had never felt this comfortable with anyone. This safe. He decided right then that he would do anything you ever asked of him.

After that day, you and Warren became the cutest couple at the school. You were opposites in multiple ways and your relationship was more wholesome than any of your friends could handle. You got more confident in yourself and your abilities and he allowed himself to be more vulnerable. everyone agreed that you were a match made in heaven.

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