#and then they were like 'what protein do you want?' but they only had chicken | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ellesthots · 3 months ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

XXXIV. “the affliction of pity”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce is forced to look in the mirror after the next morning’s antics with you.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, bickering, hurt/comfort, splash of angst

words: 7k

a/n: more Alfred in this chapter !! let’s goooo !! more of a few things 😌 pretty significant chapter, might I say 💬 setting some seeds…

As you rolled over in bed the next morning, everything felt normal. Until you remembered you were in his clothes, in his house, and you’d hugged.

And the gun to your head. That too.

You checked your phone, at a measly eight percent. There were two missed calls from Dr. Crane. You sat up in a rush and called him back, worried something might have changed. He picked up on the last ring this time, a shift that caused a wash of anxiety to run through you.

“Ms. Y/N.”

“I’m sorry I missed your call.”

“As am I. How was Mr. Wayne last night?”

Shit. In the bustle of the evening, you’d forgotten. You lowered your voice. “Fine. We were able to touch base, and everything seems to be going well.” You stammered along. “I didn’t see any of the side effects you mentioned, either.”

“When will you see him again?” His tone was terse. Evidently he didn’t like when you didn’t answer.

“Today, actually.” You hoped he wouldn’t ask why. He didn’t.

“I don’t need to remind you of the stakes. I anticipate another update tonight or tomorrow.” The line clicked off. You wished you hadn’t taken the call first-thing, and struggled to shake it off as you walked down to get more Tylenol. You wondered if this much acetaminophen was good for you, but figured this much pain wasn’t, either.

Thankfully you didn’t have to dig for the Tylenol, or a glass, because they both sat at the counter beside the fridge. Your head hurt less, but your leg was positively throbbing. Bruce wasn’t in the kitchen, which you were grateful for. Last night’s memory was rapidly sinking into you with an anchor weight, particularly how you’d offset your conversation until some time this morning. You didn’t feel nearly as uninhibited now, and didn’t know if you’d be able to bring anything up.

You grabbed a protein shake and walked up the first stairwell. You held in a gasp when Alfred appeared, dressed immaculately as ever, as if he got a lovely full night’s rest. Part of you suspected he heard your shrieking cries, but he didn’t give it away if he did. “Morning, Miss. Would you like breakfast?”

You held the shake up. “I can just have this, thanks.”

“It’s no issue. I’ll be making some for myself and the boy. Come down in ten minutes.” He waved dismissively at your ‘meal’ and headed downstairs. You wondered what the hell he could make with only a few veggies, chicken, and ice cream. Maybe he had a secret butler lair with anything Rapunzel could ever want.

You turned to walk up the second set of stairs when a sleepy voice halted you. “How’d you sleep?”

You didn’t look at him, forcing your eyes to remain forward. Anxious butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the memory of him, on the brink of passing out, holding you while you sobbed. Your throat tightened, shy. “Fine.”

“Want to talk while Alfred cooks?”

You didn’t, but that gave you a time constraint. Alfred would save you from whatever awkward, embarrassing territory you and him might venture into. You still didn’t face him. “Okay.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Where is there?”

“The study, your room, mine. Anywhere.”

Your cheeks reddened at how genuine he still seemed. You’d fully expected him to act like last night never happened. You didn’t want to go in either of the bedrooms, and you eyed the old man’s study just up the stairs. You gestured to it, and heard him follow close behind.

The room was exactly as you remembered it; a thick wood table with a seat behind and in front. There was a decent-sized rug by a fireplace with some newspapers scattered around it. You cringed thinking about sitting across from him so officially, so you went to sit on the floor. He followed your lead, sitting a few feet away, closest to the papers. You fiddled with the unopened drink in your hand, moving its weight from palm to palm.

“How’s your pain?”

You sighed, an embarrassed grin exploiting your cheeks. “An attentive host.”

He waited, and you glanced up at him for the first time since you’d hugged. He had the same pants, and a different shirt. You inhaled so quickly you almost coughed. “I’m sorry about last night,”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m serious. It was weird and awkward of me,”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You shook your head loosely, biting your lip. His eyes focused there a moment before flitting down.

“I want to help.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears beginning to well. You were frustrated and self-conscious of how much strain you’d put on him. “You’ve been nothing but helpful.”

Bruce was quiet, watching you try to force back tears and channel your energy into one of his protein shakes. He didn’t know how helpful he’d be perceived when, after breakfast, he’d have to have another talk with you, essentially demanding that you’re never seen in the city again. He pondered how manipulative it was not to disclose that prior to asking you to open up, which clammed him from speaking.

The room felt staticky, like if you reached into the air, the tip of your fingers might spark. You figured he was being quiet so you had space to speak. The skeptical part of you wanted to tie your lips closed, ranting about how he didn’t want to give this to you, he felt he had to. The sensitive side yearned for someone to hear your pain, and he was being persistent about it. It was blood-curdlingly difficult, but you took the first step—chucking the words out of you while forcing your anxieties to the back.

“I’m just lonely.” You stared down at your hands, setting down the drink so you could wring them. “I thought coming here for school would give me community.” Your voice was shaky but you tried not to think about it, throwing the words out as quickly as they formed. “It made it all worse. I had this fantasy that the size of the city would energize me, but it’s just spitting me out.” Tears sprung to your eyes, forcing you to pause, rubbing your eyes hard. “Sorry.”

He could feel the desolation oozing off of you. Every time you apologized made him more indignant. “I’m not judging.” You glanced at him as you removed your hands from accosting your delicate corneas, and he nodded for you to continue.

The combination of his attentive presence and kind reassurance made the tears pass the floodgates. The words were coming quicker now, less inhibited. “Being home isn’t fun either, my mom’s cancer is just, they don’t want to talk about it.” Frustration bled. “They’re acting like everything is fine, like nothing is different. I don’t like being around them and I hate being away.” Your throat was constricting as you held back full-bodied sobs.

Anger was beginning to creep in, your face contorting into a glare. You still weren’t looking at him, looking off to the side, unfocused. “I had this friend group back home but they don’t give a shit about me. I don’t know if they ever did. I have Mar here, but she just parties all the time, and she didn’t even, she didn’t even ask how I was before she left yesterday.” You could hardly believe it hadn’t been twenty four hours yet. You could hardly believe how whiny you were acting.

The devastation and anger was riling you up, making the words spill out before you even comprehended them. “And I fucking hate that I’m even saying all of this right now. The gun, the fucking, the interview, you breaking down in that fucking alley wouldn’t have even happened if I weren’t meddling!” You were beginning to pant.

“Hey,”

You didn’t hear him, and started shaking, breathing so fast you could hyperventilate. Your thighs were starting to become a receptacle for your tears. “I thought he was gonna kill me, I’ve never seen a gun that close; I yelled at you and, kicked you out and, and, you’re tied up and,”

His hand on your knee made you shriek, slapping your palms to your cheeks as you folded over, wailing. “Everyone’s gonna die, everyone around me,” you gasped between every word, which rapidly devolved into trying to catch your breath in painful puffs.

He was melting like butter. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”

“Look at me.”

You wanted to say no, but you didn’t want to further inconvenience him. Meeting his concentrated gaze filled you with cavernous shame, your eyes stuttering down to his chin in subtle avoidance.

“Stop apologizing.”

Another lump jumped to your throat.

“Can I hug you?”

You nodded, relief pooling in your stomach at his request. You wanted another hug from him even if you weren’t losing your mind. “Please.”

This was foreign to him, but it was the only thing he could think to do. He wrapped his arms around you again, and it felt just as desperate, just as necessary, even for him. You didn’t cry as much as when he hugged you the night before, seemingly getting a lot of it out beforehand, and he struggled not to stiffen when your breathing began to even out, and your sniffles waned. Quickly. Very quickly. Your shaking slowed until the only movement was your breathing. That ‘please’ stuck to him like velcro.

It was extremely disorienting. He’d experienced people clinging to him in the suit, looking at the cowl with a frantic desire to be soothed, but never just as him. Not once. He didn’t know he could calm someone like this as Bruce.

You pulled out of the hug and sniffed, getting up to leave. You almost apologized. “I need to blow my nose.”

Alone in the study, he was worried he’d panic. The way you’d said it, it seemed not like you’d wanted a hug, but that you’d wanted a hug from him. ‘Please’ like you’d wanted one already but wouldn’t ask. ‘Please’ with your eyebrows knitting with neediness, ‘please’ cutting through the tears and shame even when his words didn’t make a dent.

He sat in a haze of dismay as disappointment crowded him at your departure. This wasn’t good.

He stood up to leave, mentally rehearsing a ‘need to shower before breakfast’ shout as he walked past the hallway bath, but you’d already come back.

Both of you wanted to hug again, but neither said so.

“Setting the table.” Alfred’s voice floated from downstairs. It almost sounded like he was whistling.

Bruce walked past, but you caught his elbow. “Thanks.”

Your lashes were still clumped together from crying. Your eyes were puffy and red. His hand twitched to wipe the tears still lingering on your cheekbone, but he cringed instead. “Don’t thank me.” He hurried down the stairs and hastily shut the door to his room.

Doing your best to ignore the tinge of frustration coating his tone, you met Alfred in the kitchen. The scent of a fresh omelet wafted from the stove out to the foyer. He had three table settings in the same fashion as last time, and you sat at your place with your hands tucked in your lap. Alfred was whistling, a jazzy sort of tune, as he scooped up the first one and walked toward you. “Same ingredients as your last visit. No peaches.”

Visit. What a kind way to dress it up. You thanked him as you took the plate, suddenly struck by a hazy memory of Bruce tilting your chin up to drink Benadryl. You swore you could feel his finger there now. You swallowed.

You weren’t in love with eggs by any means, but Alfred made them look salivating. It was plated to perfection, intimidating you nearly into not wanting to eat it. When he walked over with a pitcher of orange juice, you wondered where they’d come from—until you noticed an empty bag of orange netting sitting across the kitchen in the pantry. A few rinds were discarded near the stove, and you hurried to pour some for yourself. Bruce was woken up every morning with fresh squeezed juice? Or at least had the option?

The coolness of the juice was everything you needed, a balm to your hot throat. A satisfied chuckle came from the stove as you reached to pour a second glass. “Sumo citrus. Out of season, but still quite stunning.”

“I’ll drink you out of house and home.”

Alfred finished dishing up, and pulled out his chair before frowning. You followed his eyes to Bruce’s empty seat. After the short pause, he wiped his hands. “Ah, well. We’ll get started without him.” His cheery demeanor was infiltrated by a short grimace, undoubtedly perturbed by Bruce’s absence. “If you fancy any salt, pepper, let me know.”

He’d seasoned it spectacularly, and you told him so after your first few bites. Your stomach felt like an empty pit, realizing you hadn’t eaten more than the odd granola bar in days. You finished quickly, leaving little space for conversation, and he gestured to the stove. “Would you like more? I made an extra.”

You nodded, and he took your plate with a wink. “Finally I have someone who enjoys my cooking.”

“It’s stellar, really.” You eyed the orange juice, now with only a third of the pitcher remaining. You ate the second omelet, surprisingly just as warm as the first. Alfred had just finished his, taking a sip of his juice.

“Thank you. I needed that.” Your eyes trailed across the table to the glaringly empty seat, feeling dejected. He probably hadn’t come because you’d been too much, gone too far. Not only had you pushed the boundaries, you’d obliterated them. Why had you agreed to hug him again? Why had you let yourself lose control in front of him, again?

You’d forgotten how perceptive his butler was, too. He set his utensils in the middle of the plate, untucking his napkin from his lap. “I apologize for his behavior, Miss. It’s truly abhorrent.”

You shook your head so fast you saw stars. “No, it’s fine. He’s had a long day, and night,”

“So have you.” He gathered both of your plates and disposed of them in the sink. He rested his hip against the counter, tucking one hand into his pant pocket, the other grabbing the cane resting nearby. He sighed. “Feel free to have the rest of the juice, a shame for it to go to waste.”

He looked tired. Not as tired as the last time you came, but nonetheless. You obliged, already feeling the pressure on your bladder. You must’ve had half a gallon of this stuff.

Alfred’s head cocked toward the foyer. Bruce appeared not a moment later, his expression distant and cold. He slid into his seat and dug in without comment, not looking at either of you.

You set your glass down, your stomach flipping. You had half a mind he had simply taken too long in the shower, and tried his best to hurry, but no. In the same outfit, same dry hair, like he’d just been ignoring you.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Alfred glance up to the ceiling before tossing a dish rag over his shoulder, getting to work at the sink. You stood to join him, but he waved you off. “Appreciate it, Miss; you need to recuperate. I’ll manage.”

You stood there between the table and the sink, the already dim energy in the room withering further with every second Bruce remained unspeaking. You blinked a few times, unnerved and upset, walking quickly out of the room. You ducked around the corner, hoping they thought you gone. A few moments later, Alfred spoke.

“Bruce.”

“Don’t want to hear it.” They were both speaking hushedly, though Bruce was admittedly not trying as hard to muddle his volume.

Alfred’s tone was the coldest you’d ever heard it. “I’ve never been more embarrassed.”

Bruce didn’t respond, only scraped the fork against the plate as he likely hurried his meal.

“She’s been in a terrible situation,”

“I said I don’t want to hear it.” His tone was back to that very first night; back to the hallway at City Hall when you’d blackmailed him. That same haughty, defensive, biting timbre.

“I’m telling you regardless.” The sink stopped. “I fear you’ve become too desensitized for your own good.”

More scraping.

Alfred sighed, his tone gentling. “I know the last week has been difficult,”

Bruce pushed his seat out. “Going to talk to her.”

You tiptoed further into the corner, cloaking yourself in shadow.

“What about?”

“Getting her to leave.”

You’d never before heard Alfred scoff, but now you had. It was freakily uncharacteristic. “You’re better than that, Bruce. Do not.”

“Or what?” Bruce’s tone was mocking, the chair making a final thud into the table. You bit your cheek to abate the rising anxiety. Of course he wanted you gone. Of course you were nothing more than a nuisance. Rage nipped at your skin thinking about how he’d led you on, thinking that he might have cared.

Before Alfred could reply, Bruce emerged into the foyer, and immediately caught on to your presence. You glared at him, feeling tears smart your lashline again. His face fell with his shoulders and you huffed past him. “Y/N,”

“I’m grabbing my phone and you’re taking me home.” You were already halfway up the stairs, but he was catching up.

“Stop,”

You pressed on, breaking into a run up the second set.

He grabbed your wrist and you yanked it back, barely catching your balance. You whipped around, chest heaving, eyes wild. “Sorry for overstaying my welcome.”

You spun around and ran to your room, trying to slam the door but his foot stopped it. Tears streamed down your cheeks in silent fury. You grabbed your dress, shoes, and phone. “I won’t bother you at City Hall, don’t worry.”

“It’s for your safety.” His stepping into the room crowded it. He sounded exasperated. “You need to leave Gotham. Immediately.”

“You don’t get to boss me around.”

He scoffed. “Less than a week and you’ve already been threatened.”

“And he’s in jail whether I leave or not.” No longer giving a shit, you shimmied off the sweats and yanked off his shirt, leaving you in your bra and underwear. He averted his eyes and stared at the wall, audibly scowling. You threw them at him and they hit his shoulder. You wrangled your dress back on, still damp and awfully smelly. You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on your loafers.

“It could happen again. You’re a target now.”

“I’m not leaving.”

He side-eyed you, checking if you were clothed. He loathed that he knew the color of your underwear now. “And I’m not cleaning you off the sidewalk.”

“Bruce Wayne would never have to do such custodial work.” Your tone was dripping in sarcasm and mockery, forcing him to grit his teeth. You were riling him up, you both knew it. You were riling each other, teetering on the precipice of words better left unsaid.

He stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. You glared at it. “You were going to leave last week.”

You finished fighting with the heel of your shoe, finally able to rush past him. He stepped in front of the door and your heart lurched into your mouth, eyes flashing. “You are not blocking me.”

He hesitated before stepping aside. When you put your hand on the doorknob he did too. “If this is because of last Thursday,”

“You don’t want it, I get it.” You jerked the door open, the phone falling out of your hand. You both stooped to reach it at the same time, your hands colliding once more. His hand tightened atop yours, forcing you to look at him. You ripped the phone away and swung the door open, leaving into the hall. He followed you out, draining the last bit of resolve you had.

“Is it a sin to make sure you’re alright?” You bit back the last half of what you wanted to say: ‘I already see how Alfred’s being punished for it’.

Bruce glared at you. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“It’s not just you.”

“None of it should be.”

“I wanna see where this election goes.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You bristled, hard. “I do. I want to report on it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You expect me to believe that? In a city you hate?”

“I hate the culture. Which I could influence.” You made the mistake of wincing down toward your thigh, and he stepped closer.

“I want to help you.”

You glowered at him, unappreciative of his indecisiveness. Did he want to help you, or hide away in his room to try and forget you existed? “Would’ve been helpful to show up to breakfast.”

Bruce groaned. You had a physical reaction to the sound.

You hated it more than most things, more than you hated humid hundred degree days and men catcalling—but even when he was angry, and distant, and weird, you wanted to stay in his orbit. You needed to, or Dr. Crane would have your head… and maybe his. “I’m the only one outside of this place who knows. I can be a tool.”

“I have enough tools.” He hated the piece of him that wanted to give in. He hated how his voice lost its edge the closer you got to the stairs.

You were also excruciatingly aware of how close you were to the exit, and how much you didn’t want to take it. Squeezing your eyes shut and imagining the Bruce that cried into your palm was the only way to cool your temper. His hugs lingered not too far behind… if they were even real. The only thing that actually moved the words past your teeth was remembering how deeply you regretted being cold to him at your apartment. “I want you to have someone to go to. And I want someone to go to.”

Your candor surprised both of you.

“It’s not worth throwing your life away.”

The wear of this argument wasn’t sitting right in your chest, and it forced your expectations lower. You shifted quickly back to the matter at hand. “I’m staying in Gotham, at least for now, whether you want to acknowledge me or not.” You didn’t need to be on good terms to keep an eye on him. He’d still come to City Hall meetings, and you’d be able to give some updates to Dr. Crane until he was out of the woods. It would only be a few more weeks. And you would enjoy getting to hear the city’s voice, trying your hand with more interviews.

You turned and set off downstairs. “What’ll it be this time? Packing me in the trunk?”

He barely registered what you said, his eyes fixed on your back as you descended the steps. ‘I’m just lonely’.

He grabbed his keys and walked to the garage with you, instructing you to lie flat again. “I’ll drop you off a few blocks away.”

Staring at the black ceiling of Bruce’s car while you bumped through back alleys and cobbled streets was, to put it lightly, depressing. You were starting to get used to the pain, utilizing it to distract from your whiplash disappointment and deep-seeded fear about being home alone tonight. At some point you must have closed your eyes and been lulled asleep, because his voice startled you into sitting up.

“Just a few blocks south. Closest I could get.”

When he noticed you’d fallen asleep, he drove around a few more miles so you wouldn’t be disturbed. He only started winding back in the direction of your apartment when he heard you begin to whimper. His hands had tightened on the wheel, his teeth gritting, as they so often did around you. He thought he’d mastered letting Alfred’s disappointment seep like guilt through his skin, but he couldn’t stop the thought he might be misrepresenting you.

Selfishly, he’d been centering himself in your distress, when in actuality… your life was bigger than that. You had parents to worry about. Friends to be disappointed with. A burgeoning journalism career to dive into, to which the corners of the internet were behaving like piranhas. A gun to your head, and an empty apartment in a city that genuinely seemed hell-bent on hurting you. Spitting you out, as you so eloquently put it.

Maybe he was pitying you, now.

The Moore was not-so-conveniently located on one of the main streets of town, forcing him back into a side alley between an old pharmacy and a deli that wasn’t open half the time. In the early days he’d stow the Batmobile here. The brick hadn’t changed much, a few new potholes. Wasn’t frequented enough to be as decimated as the roadway. He parked here when he’d visited you those few times.

He woke you, and while you roused, pulled your recorder and notebook out of the passenger glovebox. He’d circled back to Miller’s car on the way to your friend’s before the police got to it. He just hoped you didn’t make too big a deal out of his remembering.

Thankfully, you didn’t. You looked a bit surprised, but took it without comment. You looked disheveled, tired, pained. The passenger door swung open after he told you which direction to walk.

“Can your friend stay with you?”

You’d nearly shut the door on him before he spoke. Too tired to lead with irritation, you gave him a lackluster response. “It’s Friday. She’ll be out clubbing.”

You hesitated before shutting the door, wanting to thank him, but too hurt to commit. You fought not to think about how his laser eyes were focused on your back as you walked away. Struggled not to recall the weight of him.

Walking around Gotham in midday was like walking around an entirely different environment. Late morning to mid-afternoon was the only time kids were seen, and only with older siblings or adult family members. You couldn’t imagine growing up here. How it might harden a person.

It was a massive triumph pushing open your apartment door while holding a feeling bordering on terror that someone was waiting to jump you. You rushed in and shut the door like when you’d watched something scary as a kid. When the anxiety got too high, and you were positively certain a demon was rushing behind you to beat you to your bed.

In a blink you’d shoved a chair under the handle. Once in your room you walked its perimeter, checking all corners of the bath, under the bed, and resigned to shoving the couch in front of the door. A hazard if there was an emergency, but you couldn’t prioritize anything else right now.

You went to get water at the sink, feeling like a paranoid freak inspecting the jenga at your entryway. Once a-fucking-gain your thoughts wandered to the city’s prince; how silly did he think you? All this over one gun? I take fifty billion a night. A dark streak of violence ran through him, one that wasn’t evident in his arms, or gazing into his sleepy puppy eyes… You slammed the rest of the water, almost choking on it.

If you thought too long, you would break down, so you drew up an imaginary list of tasks to keep yourself tethered, trying to ignore how the water was beginning to sour the more you smelled the city’s backwash on your clothes. First: shower. Second: nap.

It was a Herculean effort not pressing DOWN when the elevator doors opened. Alfred was sitting across from it in the kitchen, his hands clasped together on the table. His gaze was focused precisely at eye-level, like he’d been a statue primed for Bruce’s arrival. “I want to talk with you.”

He looked at the ground, stepping out. “I’m going upstairs.”

“No, Bruce.” His tone was deadly serious, with a shaky undercurrent. Bruce conceded, as he so often did once Alfred got to this point. He didn’t come closer, only stepping out enough for the elevator doors to close, making up the difference by stepping to the side.

“I’m disappointed in you. Deeply.”

Bruce stared at the ground. He figured he’d have something to say to him about your leaving, like he had any idea what he was talking about.

Seemingly sensing his frustration, Alfred’s tone softened. “Seems to me you both could use a friend.”

“Look where it got you.” With a shrug of his shoulder, he gestured to where Alfred was sitting. It was evident by the way Alfred’s face fell, and his strict tone, he was referring to Riddler’s blowing up the top of Wayne Tower.

He didn’t miss a beat with his curt response. “Look at where it’s gotten you.”

Bruce slowly glanced up, struggling to see the full features of his face in the unlit kitchen, but still managed to meet his eye, sensing plenty more where that came from.

“Dory and I are getting older. If you keep following this path,”

“Alfred, stop.”

“I’m afraid you’ll end up entirely alone.”

The room’s ensuing silence chewed at that word, alone. Bruce wondered how he could slip past the man without escalating things. He knew he wouldn’t be let off without responding. He knew these situations all too well. “So I should risk someone’s life, for what? Temporary company?

“People come and go, that’s how life works.”

Bruce stepped forward, trying to work up the courage to storm past. The fuel wasn’t entirely there yet. “I’m not speeding up the process.” No matter how many times he explained this to him, he never got it. He never understood he was doing what he had to do, and that—

“The least you can do is be kind to her.”

Alfred was slipping under his skin again. “I am.”

The butler’s voice raised slightly. “By leaving her alone?”

“It’s for her safety.” He took another step, tempting a getaway.

“Or for yours?”

Bruce blinked hard. The old man never failed to tie a rocket to his shoes, and he propelled himself across the kitchen and nearly made it halfway before he spoke again.

“Don’t think I forgot what you said that night.” Alfred shifted in his seat, the boy now a few feet closer. He knew he was losing him, his hairpin trigger temper always half pressed when he spoke. Sometimes he felt like Bruce was waiting for him to give up with his fingers crossed behind his back.

“Year after year you’ve denied my every demand for your safety. Every time you’ve struck it down, as if each night you’re out planting flowers.”

Bruce looked everywhere but the table’s vicinity. “I don’t know what point you think you’re making.” He cloaked his words in as much snarl as he could, hoping he would get the hint and stop where he stood, before stuffing the air with more life lessons.

“Yet, after my accident, I noticed you changed the suit. You began coming home earlier.” Alfred stood up, and Bruce stepped back. He leaned on the cane, taking off his glasses with the other hand. “You know what you do is dangerous.”

He let out a brittle, taunting laugh. “That’s what I‘m saying.” Maybe he was finally getting the point. Maybe he would finally stop wasting his time and keep his projective, sentimental thoughts to himself instead of dragging them both down with it.

“Not in that way, Bruce.”

Sometimes Bruce wished Alfred could read his mind, hear all the things he wanted to say but kept hidden. Right now it was a lot of grumbles, some pointed accusations, but nothing unfurled on his tongue. Instead, his body reacted, quickening his heartbeat and narrowing his eyes.

“I think it goes both ways.” Alfred set his glasses on the table. “I believe you’re afraid if you let someone close, you’ll put them in the same position you once were.”

Heat bloomed in Bruce’s throat, and he tried to storm out of the room and escape the clouds weighing down the ceiling, but Alfred tossed another hook into his arm near the doorframe.

“And if you were honest with yourself, truly faced what you endure each and every night, it would feel like looking down the barrel all over again.”

Bruce could’ve screamed. He wanted to. He could’ve done a lot of things, but his mind was fuzzy. All his tired body did was tremble. All his mouth did was bite his cheek. Say the most benign version of the dialogue swarming inside. “You don’t know what I think.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was a bluff. He felt the tips of his fingers go cold.

“It’s far easier to disregard your life when you have no one to answer to.”

“I’m answering to you, aren’t I?”

Alfred paused, his voice lowering and slowing. “I often think you wish you didn’t have to.”

He locked eyes with him in an instant, Bruce having a visceral reaction to what he was insinuating. Did Alfred really think he didn’t care about him? Was his behavior being represented that poorly? His body filled with blue and purple emotions, his stomach tightening, face heating. The bruise fronted as defiance. “I’m doing what I need to. I—”

Alfred’s voice was bored, frayed. “‘Have a duty’. Yes, boy.”

Bruce bristled, hard, and visibly so. Alfred caught it, and felt a desire to rescue him, looking decidedly dejected. After the last week, however, he knew he couldn’t let things slide as he used to. The path he was on was destructive, and walking away wasn’t going to change anything. “You also have a duty to yourself.”

Bruce shook his head, his vision blurring slightly. “I don’t care about that.”

Alfred hesitated to go this route usually, and reserved it only for occasions supremely deserving—this was one of those times, though he was concerned how it would go over. Bruce was standing a few feet from him, between the fridge and the kitchen’s entry, his eyes darting across the ground like his head was swarming with thoughts. “Your parents would want you to be happy. Are you happy?”

As expected, Bruce responded with silence. Silence that cut Alfred’s heart in two. He knew he wasn’t. He hadn’t seen a genuine smile from him, or a full-bellied laugh for that matter, in decades. It might have even been since that night. The boy held so much pain, and kept so isolated. He gulped back tears.

“What I’m doing is more important than that.”

Against his better judgment, he folded. Bruce never liked to see him cry, going stiff and static. He didn’t do it often, but worried about burdening the boy so soon. So he sighed, shifting the subject. “If you don’t check on Y/N tonight, I will.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and set it near his glasses, moving his hand up to massage his temple.

“She doesn’t want pity.”

He held back another sigh, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Care and pity are not the same, Bruce.”

Alfred left first, not wanting to chance the boy’s tender conscience with any more guilt at having left preemptively. It wasn’t unusual for these conversations to end with Bruce coming into his room later that night with a thinly veiled olive branch.

Once in the confines of his room, Bruce nearly missed the edge of the bed, fighting off disorienting swells of emotion that left no energy for proprioception. Possibly more than he ever had, he wanted to curse Alfred out. Run into his study and tell him he had no idea what he was talking about. But his body was telling him otherwise. Telling him he was right. He was isolating. It was obscenely dangerous. He didn’t want to look at it.

Care versus pity. Every face from his childhood stuck to the back of his retinas. The pouting, downturned faces at the funeral. The ‘gentle’, rather condescending tone that echoed off the tower walls for years, until people stopped caring. Until he stopped trying. Until he stopped visiting his parent’s room and bolted the lock.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and clenched his core, subtly rocking back and forth, juxtaposing the two scenes, a task which felt like drowning—whatever happened last night and this morning, and absolutely everything he’d ever experienced from everyone else.

One felt warm. Uncomfortably so, but nevertheless comforting. The other was distant, and cold.

He tried to avoid it again, unclenching his stomach and stripping as he walked toward his bathroom. He turned the shower to scalding, and stepped in, hoping it would soothe his aching muscles to sleep, maybe beam Alfred’s confrontation out of his brain.

One felt like a balm, or a salve. The other felt like it carved him out deeper, eviscerating his insides. One told him it would be okay, and the other said he’d never be the same again. Their eyes gutted him. Told him his parents were gone, slaughtered, murdered. He ran some shampoo through his hair.

He lathered his body while it sat, feeling every pass over scar and scab. He loathed being in his body. Being aware of the injuries painting his skin. The drain in his bones. He was usually adept at avoiding it. Grinding until he passed out the instant his head hit the pillow. Sleeping in until it was time to suit up. Time to plan. To think about anyone else’s problems besides his own.

A bubble of soap slipped in his eye, and he flinched.

He suddenly felt like crying.

Pulling on your own sweatpants and a baggy hoodie was a luxury as you prepped to visit Rai’s. Frustrated at your screaming stomach that wouldn’t let you simply sleep the rest of your life away, you popped a small-dose edible so it would kick in after you’d come back and finished eating, letting you have a semblance of peace the rest of the evening. At the very least it would lower the risk of you screaming into your pillow all night.

Same walk, same street, same people, same sky. The constant ebbs of injury had colored you blue. A leaf startled you on its crunch, the sudden movement and barely-tempered shout causing the parents and children to slink away from you on the sidewalk. You kept your head down the rest of the route.

Rai was helping another customer when you arrived, but he gave you a small wave. You never liked to crowd people, especially the older customers that came in who lived in the historic buildings nearby. They treated Rai’s like a full-on grocery, sometimes bringing their own cart to fill. This lady, with her wispy gray hair and thick red sweater was one of those patrons.

You pulled a sweet tea from the drinks, and an orange soda. Rai was chattering away with the lady, who had ostensibly selected one of everything in the store. You reveled in having less time to spend in your apartment, and wandered to the chip aisle while you waited for your turn at the counter. Your fingers traipsed through rows of Ruffles and Lays, when you felt a buzz in your pocket.

Alfred.

Jesus, fuck. You raced to set the drinks down, your heart pounding. You’d left him in another state again. Too harsh, too unforgiving, fuck! “Hello? Alfred?”

“Hey.”

Bruce answered, and a concoction of relief and bitterness settled on you like a blanket of snow. “Hey…?” Your fingers tightened around the phone.

“I was wondering,” he drew a sharp intake of breath. “If you wanted to watch a movie or something.”

Shit, how out of sorts was he? “Like tonight?”

“Like tonight. I could go to your place, or,”

“Mine’s fine. I’ll bring the TV by the couch.” You were buzzing. You couldn’t very well decline, or what might he get up to? Was this his way of asking for help? You also couldn’t very well ignore the twinge of relief that having company would bring, even if it was his. Or the single atom in your body that preferred it to be him.

“Want me to bring anything?”

Your eyes flickered to the deli. “I’m good.”

“Half an hour work?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Bruce hung up, heaving a deep breath. He flopped onto his back on his bed, Alfred’s phone falling out of his hand near his pillow. He felt better now. And worse. A little bit of everything.

What does someone wear to watch a movie?

After a few minutes he strolled to his closet, and thumbed a hole in his only clean pair of jeans. Hmm.

Dior. Prada. The sound of metal hangers sliding on a metal rod. Gucci. Dolce & Gabbana. He eyed the black jeans again, and the matching pair of trodden Converse in the corner. He pulled them on and grabbed the least distressed tee from his dresser… they were all worn thin.

It didn’t matter. Did it? No.

He grabbed his keys and headed for the basement. He’d have to leave through Wayne Terminal, take the beater car, drift. He passed Alfred on the stairs, noting the fresh outfit and shoes. “Going out?”

Bruce nodded, not saying anything until he turned into the kitchen and was fully out of view. “Checking on her.”

Alfred grinned with the sound of the elevator’s descent.

91 notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 2 years ago

Text

The hot seat.

Synopsis: You decide to attend a speed dating event in the city where you're deployed. Simon “Ghost” Riley, your lieutenant, is also there.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,595

Notes:

I got this idea after a friend told me she matched with one of her colleagues on Tinder.

Fluff.

Want more?

———————————————————————

“Why don’t you just give it a try?” One of your friends suggested, “It’s not like you’ll be committing to anything.”

And when you told them there are other ways to meet new people, such as dating apps, they laughed so hard that you felt offended. “You don’t trust your own shadow,” one of them said, “how could you possibly trust a couple of pictures and a few messages before meeting a stranger?”

They were right; not only had it been months since your last date, but your trust issues weren’t helping. So you listened to your friends and decided to give it a shot. This could be your opportunity to get “back on the horse.”

They wanted to come to your house a few hours before to advise you on what to wear—it seems like it wasn’t just you who had trust issues. “You have a thing with self-sabotage,” one of them admitted, “and we don’t want you to portray yourself as less than who you really are.” A bolt claim from Jessica, the master of self-sabotage, who kept bailing her partner out of jail because he was constantly breaking into people’s houses.

You politely declined, promising to do your best. You chose a little black dress, opaque tights, and black heels. You let your hair down for once, since the army wouldn’t let you, and applied some make-up—but not too much—to enhance your features.

The speed dating event is held in a trendy downtown bar. The room is crammed with small tables, each with two chairs facing each other. You take a deep breath and walk over to the registration desk. You sign up, fill out a form with your information, and they hand you a name tag.

“This Is What You Came For” plays over the speakers, and you can’t help but wonder what made the DJ choose that song. What did I come here for, Rihanna? You think to yourself. To tell a stranger in three minutes about my food preferences and favourite colour? Is that what will ensure compatibility?

Your nerves start to kick in, so you rush to the bar. Your options are limited to beer or wine, according to the bartender. When you ask why, he starts narrating the horrors he’s seen of people attempting to calm their nerves with shots before the speed date. You choose wine and turn to face the people you’re about to meet in three-minute rounds. A few catch your eye; some look intimidated, while others appear overconfident and exuberant. “Peacocks”, as you call them.

The event organiser announces the beginning of the event, and you make your way to your assigned table. Dread grips you. What if you don’t meet anyone interesting? What if everyone you talk to is dull or uninteresting? You take a seat and wait for the event to start.

The first guy who sits down is a health freak, to put it mildly. He gets up at 4 a.m., lifts “hard” for two hours, goes to work, and waits until his next workout at around 6 p.m. He says he likes chicken because of its high protein content and asks what your favourite food is, to which you respond, “Haribos,” to piss him off.

The next one is a cryptocurrency investor. Enough said.

The third guy is a motivational speaker. You’re unsure about the “motivational” part, but he’s undeniably a “speaker.” He doesn’t. Stop. Talking. He only asks for your name, which you don’t have to say because it’s written on your tag. He then starts mumbling about books he’s read and the importance of a proper and consistent morning routine. He and Mr Health Freak could have easily become soul mates, you think to yourself.

Three minutes pass like hours, and you lower your head to the table. This was a mistake. Coming here was, as you suspected, a bad idea.

“I see you’ve already given up.” The man in front of you comments with a smile.

You look up and meet his gaze. He is tall and well-built, with short blonde hair and dark brown eyes. But it’s his sleeve tattoo that draws your attention.

It’s familiar to you. You’ve seen it before, peeking through a military uniform and tactical gloves.

Simon “Ghost” Riley.

You’d never seen him without his mask, but his build, voice, and tattoos are distinct. Your heart is racing as you struggle to remain calm. He, too, appears surprised. Did he not recognise you at first because of your make-up and hair?

Well, it seems like he recognises you now. But you’re not supposed to acknowledge his true identity; doing so might destroy everything he’s worked so hard to keep hidden all these years. It may also jeopardise your professional relationship.

But, my God, he’s hot. He’s exactly as you imagined him, if not better. It’d be best to act as cool as possible. Ignorant, stupid, call it whatever you want—just don’t reveal his identity. There are tens of thousands of people named Simon, and you are not supposed to give your surname to the other person here. So all you know about him is his name. He could be any of the other “Simons” out there.

You immediately put on a happy-go-lucky face and smile, trying to muster the courage to date your lieutenant for three minutes.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you reply, trying to play it cool.

He fidgets in his seat, still feeling uneasy. You need to act quickly.

“Yes, I’m about to give up,” you moan and pout, “so please, for the love of God, be a decent one.”

He lets out an awkward chuckle. “I’m not sure about that,” he says.

“Oh, really?” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows, “Unless you speak nonchalantly about yourself, chuck twelve egg yolks in the morning, or boast about imaginary coins, you’re good.”

“Ah,” he says hesitantly, “no, I prefer my eggs cooked.”

“Boiled, scrambled, or sunny side up?”

“I don’t mind as long as they’re cooked properly.” He responds, and you raise your fist to your mouth.

“I assume no runny egg whites?” You ask, making a disgusted face.

“Christ, no.” He smiles and shakes his head.

He appears more at ease now, thinking you haven’t identified him.

But then another problem arises. When dating, one of the first questions you usually ask is about the other person’s occupation.

“So, Simon,” you say, “what do you do for a living?”

“I, um, work as an operator,” he replies. “And you?”

That was a wise move on his part. He knows you’ll relate if he discloses his primary occupation, and you’ll start speculating. So he decided to reveal his side job. Although he is not completely honest with you, which could be interpreted as a red flag, there is a serious reason behind his answer.

“I’m a sergeant in the military,” you admit.

He nods and smirks but doesn’t ask a follow-up question.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m not very good at this.”

“Neither am I,” you chuckle, “but I can help you.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Do you prefer cats or dogs, Simon?”

“I like both,” he says, “I can’t have a preference for animals; they aren’t eggs.”

“Phew!” You exclaim, theatrically placing the back of your hand on your forehead, “most of the men I met today hate cats!”

“Yeah,” Simon agrees. “I believe it’s because they don’t have control over them like dogs.”

“I feel bad for most of the women in here,” you say, looking around, “for settling for such controlling personalities.”

“How do you know I’m not controlling?” He asks, his brow furrowed.

“Men whose job is to order soldiers around, tend to live a more chilled lifestyle.” You elaborate.

“Order soldiers?” He asks, and you immediately stiffen up. “How do you know I order soldiers at my work?”

“I, um, assume you do because of your profession.” You stutter and look down at your lap.

“I said I’m an operator,” he smirks, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, “but I never said what kind of operator I am.”

Your chair has turned into a hot seat all of a sudden.

“From what you know, I could be a heavy machinery operator.” He adds, his smile widening.

You blush and turn to look at the clock; time’s almost up.

He leans forward to the table. “Why such eagerness to end our date, sergeant?” he whispers, “I thought we were doing so well.”

You raise your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, Lt.,” you admit, “I just didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“I appreciate that,” he says, “but knowing that you know who I am is already uncomfortable, don’t you think?”

You look down again, and he continues.

“Perhaps it would have been better to acknowledge the elephant in the room from the beginning.” He explains.

You let out a sigh. “You’re right,” you say, “I should have been more honest.”

He nods, and the bell rings for your next date. Simon gets up from his chair and smiles at you.

“Normally, I’d end this with a nice to meet you,” he says, “but in this case, it’s more of a nice getting to know you better,” he adds, extending his hand for a handshake.

You stand up and take his hand in yours. “Likewise, Lt.,” you say, smiling.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

“For another date?” You joke, “You move too fast, Simon.”

“For the best military drill of your life,” he corrects you with a smirk, “for thinking you could fool me so easily.”

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

2K notes · View notes

nmakii · 9 months ago

Note

Ok so another part to your yandere alastor series?! Im like obsessed with them, i love the way you write Alastor!!

So an idea i guess? I love the idea Alastor slowly corrupting his kids and reader trying her best to correct them? Obviously she can’t. Idk, i can see Al wanting his son carry on his legacy while his daughter is becomes a sweet but strong woman who can probably destroy your life in a matter of minutes. I just want his kids to get corrupted to become like him!! 😭

IN A MOURNING WARNING, NO ONE HEARD

[hold up! read the rest of the story first!]

— day by day, alastor ruined your children with his malicious thoughts, while you set them straight. it’s as if evil and good decided to fight their battle in your house.

every day in this house was a headache. sleeping beside the monster called husband every night, him cuddled up to your side as if he hadn’t broken your hopes for years. acting in front of your children as if everything was fine— that they had parents who were madly in love with each other. and, raising your children. of course, raising them in itself is difficult, but alastor seems to just enjoy making your life a hell on earth.

implanting evil thoughts into your babies’ minds, and there was no one else but you to fix his mess. to instill morals in their minds, and to make sure they grow up to be diligent and kind.

sitting down at the dinner table seemed to grow harder and harder each day. resisting the urge to vomit as your son told you and alastor of how he found a rat at school, and how he had cut its’ tail off to see if it’d regrow like a lizard. the image of your little boy being so cruel made you sick to your stomach. and, alastor, he’d done nothing but laugh. “oh, my! quite the experiment, my boy!” he chuckled as he took another bite of his food. “now, dear… that isn’t very nice, don’t you think?” you frowned. “mmh, but dad said that i should feed my curiosity!” noah pouted.

“well, dad is true on that. but, you shouldn’t feed your curiosity if it hurts other people or animals.” you said, lecturing him. “au contraire, my love.” alastor interrupted. “id say that curiosity is one of the most important human emotions! how else do you think mankind discovered to hunt and cook chicken, pork, beef…” he rambled. “they are good for the body, aren’t they? they give the body protein so that they’re strong and so they can protect the people they love! don’t you want our little boy to protect his friends and family?” he raised an eyebrow. “yeah, momma! so that i can protect you and emilia!” noah said.

you felt your heart crack at his words. it seemed as if there was no hope in undoing what alastor had done. as if the little boy you worked hard to raise died. but, maybe there was still hope for your daughter.

“oh, and dad!” noah said excitedly as he looked to alastor. “my friends think its so cool that we go hunting, and they wanna join too! can we bring them, please?” noah begged, bringing alastor’s amusement. “aw, they want to join us? hm, i suppose we could, but only if they’re as well-behaved as you!” he hummed, to noah’s delight. “really?! you’re the best, dad!” noah grinned, running to alastor to loosely hug him by the neck. “yes, yes… now, go finish your meal. your mother worked hard to cook that, and it won’t taste so good when it’s cold.” he said, patting his son on the head.

you zoned out, staring at your daughter in her chair, playing with her food, and scratching the bowl with her little fork. she giggled and talked to herself, before blood started flowing from her nose. “oh, dear…” you muttered under your breath, running to the kitchen to get a tissue paper. “eww! momma, emilia is drinking her own blood! yuck!” noah called out, scrunching his face in disgust. and, when you returned, emilia was, indeed, drinking her own blood— licking her top lip as the blood leaked, and smiling at the metallic taste in her mouth. “oh, emi, sweetie… don’t do that. blood is yucky.” you scolded your daughter as you wiped the blood from her nose.

“yummy!” she shouted, licking her lip for the remains. alastor grinned at her comment, “i couldn’t agree more, baby!” he laughed, swaying the water in his glass. “not right now, alastor. emi is bleeding.” you huffed out in a frustrated manner. “ah, i suppose you’re right, darling. emi, baby, are you okay?” he cooed to your daughter across the table. “i’m okay, daddy!” she grinned, going back to eating as per usual, despite the roll of tissue in her nostril.

“are you okay, my love?” alastor asked, his eyes moving to you. “i’m alright, just exhausted today.” you let out, keeping your emotions and intentions to yourself. “hmm, then why don’t you rest after dinner, dear? noah and i can wash the dishes.” he assured you. “wah?! but, dad, i wanna go play!” noah huffed and pouted. “now, son… protecting also means to help others when they are tired. don’t you wanna help momma?” he asked your son. and as noah thought it over, alastor spoke again, giving him more of an incentive. “now, i hate to do this… but, if you don’t help your mother, i won’t bring your friends to hunt.” noah’s eyes widened at the unfairness. “what?!” he frowned. “guh, fine, ill do the dishes!” he pouted, gathering the cleared dishes and bringing them to the sink. “hmph, good boy.” he grinned. “go rest now, dear.”

and, as you went up the stairs, that moment finally dawned on you. that hunting with his friends and father meant so much to him, he was willing to do household chores. it shattered your heart as tears filled your eyes— why couldn’t you go back to a simpler time? when it was just the two of you. when all you had was each other.

“momma, i missed you!” noah said hugging your legs as you returned from work. “aw, i missed you too, baby!” you smiled at your precious boy. “c’mon! i wanna play with you!” he said, attempting to pull you by your wrist. “in a second, sweetie! momma has to take off her heels!” you laughed.

that memory was 6 years ago.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hasbin alastor #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hc #alastor headcanons #human alastor #alastor the radio demon #yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere

160 notes · View notes

impala-dreamer · 5 months ago

Text

The Fragile Heart

A Stort Story

~ After returning home from filming a movie in Europe, Jensen fights to control himself and Y/N keep safe. Unfortunately, lust is hard to fight and hunger even more so…~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader

5,002 Words

NSFW, Vampire!AU, Relationship Angst, Mentions of Past Infidelity, Smut, Blood, Dark Romance, Death

Written for @jacklesversebingo "Bad Things" by Jace Everett was the prompt and inspiration

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

He came back wrong.

She couldn't explain it, but he was different. Usually overly affectionate and sweet, her husband shied away from her touch, snapped at tiny offenses, and hid his thoughts away.

No matter what she did, she couldn't reach him.

No matter how tight her grip, she couldn't hold on.

He slept most of the day, complaining of a migraine that he couldn’t shake. She’d bring him meds and water, a snack now and then, but he’d wave her away with a grunt and push his head deeper beneath the pillow.

At night, he seemed better, but still off. He’d disappear into the home gym most of the night, refusing supper for protein shakes and lifting more weight than she thought was safe.

It seemed he could barely stay in the same room with her for long, and as the days ticked by, Y/N grew more worried.

When she tried to confront him and plead for an explanation, a placation, anything- he’d sigh and turn away, unable to give her what she needed.

She was losing him.

Jensen could barely stand it. The entire time he was away, all he wanted was to come home, but being there was painful. Seeing her was tearing him in half. The guilt of what had happened and the fear of what he could do was too much to handle.

He knew he shouldn’t hide, knew she’d listen and be by his side, but he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk losing control and taking away the one thing he truly loved, the only thing in the world that he needed: her.

Each day was worse than the last. Y/N looked at him with eyes filled with pain when once there was only love. She sat alone at the dining table, picking at food her stomach was too upset to take. The blanket wrapped tight around her while the television watched her was no comfort, the books she held lay in her lap ignored and unread.

After a while, she stopped trying to talk to him. She no longer reached for his hand when he walked by or met his gaze with adoring eyes.

He was losing her.

Just before sunset that night, Jensen was slumped in his favorite chair by the living room window. The curtain was drawn shut and he held his head in one hand as if the very act of being there was painful.

He looked up when she came in, green eyes glowing slightly in the lamplight. For a second, he forgot everything. For a blessed moment, they were happy and whole.

He smiled softly. “Hey, baby.”

She stared at him before answering, confused by the greeting after so much silence. “Hey.” She crossed her arms over her chest, putting up invisible defenses. “I’m not cooking tonight,” she said simply while looking down at her socked feet. “If you get hungry, there’s some yogurt in the fridge or that leftover chicken from the other night.”

Jensen pulled in a heavy breath. “You’re not hungry?”

“No.”

Y/N turned to leave but he stopped her.

“Wait…”

In a blur, he jumped up from the chair and touched her shoulder. She spun and found him closer than he’d been in weeks. Tears sparkled in her eyes and she held her breath, needing him to make a move.

He fell into her gaze. “Y/N, I-”

She looked so tired and lost that his chest ached. On instinct he lifted his right hand, ready to cradle her cheek like he’d done a thousand times before. When his touch landed, Y/N flinched and he watched a shiver work its way through her body.

“Jensen, you’re freezing.”

Immediately, he snapped his hand closed and pulled away, backing up a step. “Sorry, I’m… it’s cold in here.”

She moved to follow him, closing the space between them with a long step. “Baby-” Concern flooded her voice and Jensen’s jaw clenched tight. “Are you sick? Is- is that what’s been going on? I can call the doctor or we can go in the morning or-”

“No!”

Y/N gasped and backed up, more hurt than scared.

His shoulders fell. “I’m sorry. I’m not sick- I’m just-”

“What?”

He turned away, but she grabbed his wrist, keeping him there, refusing to let him storm off again. Her fingers burned into his skin. She was so warm, so soft. His breath quickened and his heart raced.

“Y/N, don’t do this.”

She held him tighter. “Me? I’m not doing anything but trying to get you to talk to me!”

He could feel her pulse through her grip, like tiny beats in the tip of each finger. He tried not to focus on it, but it was too hard to ignore.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” Her voice cracked as emotion took over. “Please. You’ve been home for almost a month and I have no idea what happened in Paris; no clue why you’re acting like this. Please. Talk to me!”

The more emotion she felt, the harder her blood flowed and Jensen closed his eyes, letting the sound permeate his being. He could almost see it pumping through her body; feel each tiny blood cell sweeping through her veins. He locked his jaw shut and took a breath to steady himself.

It was pointless.

He was close to breaking.

“Jensen!”

When he wouldn’t answer, Y/N stepped in front of him, forcing him to at least look at her. His mind was reeling, his flesh tingling with dangerous lust.

“Please talk to me…”

She dropped his wrist and placed her hand on his chest. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his gray t-shirt and his hands began to shake. He wanted to grab her, slam her up against the wall, and-

“No.”

Y/N’s lip trembled. “No?”

“No, it’s not- I didn’t mean-”

Slowly, her hand fell to her side. Y/N looked up, choking back a flood of tears. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she swallowed them down. “Why won’t you talk to me? I miss you.”

Her words wrapped around him, pushing caution away.

“I miss you too, Y/N.” Jensen reached for her cheek and this time she didn’t flinch. He slid his fingers behind her ear and back, bracing the nape of her neck in his big hand. “So fucking much…” He urged her chin upwards and pulled her body flush against his. “You have no idea…”

Shivering but desperate, she fell into him and let her lips gently part. “Please…”

Her breath washed over him like sunshine, warm and inviting. He bent to kiss her lips, instantly remembering their secret rhythm and how perfectly they fit together. Y/N exhaled into him and he sucked it down, kissing her deeper and wrapping his thick arms around her. She moaned as he ran his hand down her spine; shuddered when he sucked at her bottom lip.

“Fuck, baby… I need you.”

Jensen growled as her whisper echoed in his head. He needed her just as badly and wanted her even more. His tongue swept over hers and he heard her heart tick faster. Her breasts pressed firm against his chest; her fingers teased upwards to hook around his collar.

“Jensen…”

An ache spread through him and fire sparked deep in his gut. His fingers tensed on her flesh, dimpling her softness as he held on. His lips danced across her cheek and jaw as his knee pushed between her thighs.

Y/N tugged a hand through the long hair that curled around his ear and moaned as his kiss fell against her throat.

He shut his eyes, feeling the fire grow more intense. His mouth ran dry, his muscles tightened, his senses heightened. He could smell how wet she was as the arousal dripped from her cunt. He could feel her temperature rise half a degree as the blood rushed to the surface of her skin. Her heart beat loudly in his ears and Jensen felt his control slipping.

He sucked at her throat, licked hard at her thrumming pulse, each beat driving him farther away from safety and into the darkness that waited for them both.

His upper lip twitched as the monster struggled to break free and Jensen panicked. Immediately, he jumped back and turned away, covering his deformed mouth with his hand and closing his senses to her presence.

Y/N stumbled in place, her balance shattered when he released his hold. “Jensen?”

He cowered by the window with his back to the light. “I can’t.”

Her heart ached. He could hear it slowing.

“You can’t? You can’t what? Kiss me?”

He shook his head.

“Hold me?”

His chin dropped and he held his hands over his ears, desperate to block the sadness in her voice and the percussion of her heart.

“Listen to me? Look at me?” Tears fell. Her stomach churned. “Look at me!”

Afraid to move, he stood frozen like a coward. Silent, hurting, and terrified to lose her.

She wanted to beat her fists into the wall, slap him, scream in his face- anything to get him to talk, but she knew it wouldn’t matter.

She took her broken heart to bed and shut the door without another word.

He walked the city like he had every night since he’d been home. Keeping to the side streets, he hid himself away in the alleyways and the empty lots, all the places the light rarely touched. If anyone recognized him, they didn’t show it. This late at night he was just another lonely wayfarer in fancy boots and designer jeans. A mess of a man who had no place to go, nothing to do but linger in the dark.

With every step he thought about their kiss and how closely he’d skirted danger.

Each blink brought her face into view, with broken bones and bruised flesh, pale skin and lifeless eyes.

It was a warning he couldn’t ignore, but he was too in love to back down.

Y/N lay in the dark counting the minutes until morning. Twice, she’d dozed off, but a buzzing mind kept true sleep at bay. She tossed and turned, twisted the blanket around her body, cradled the pillow in her arms.

There was no comfort without him there.

The empty bed was a painful reminder of love slipping away.

When he came in, the air went out. Y/N jolted up from her pillow, gasping as if the oxygen was being sucked from the room. Every tiny hair stood on end and the electrical pulses shooting through her body told her to run.

“It’s just me.”

Jensen’s voice calmed her panic but did little to ease the hurt. He stood in the bedroom doorway, his face lit only by the faint stream of light peeking through the curtains. He looked ghostly, his face pale and gaunt.

“You scared me,” she told him, sitting up against the padded headboard. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere. Just out.” He shifted his stance and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Did I wake you?”

Y/N shook her head and hugged her arms across her chest. “Haven’t been sleeping lately.”

Jensen hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

She sighed and looked away. “Don’t-”

“No. I am.”

He took a step inside and reflex tightened her body. She flinched and he froze in place.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “About all of it. Everything. For tonight, for not… talking to you. For leaving you alone all this time.”

Drawing her knees up, Y/N hid her face in her hands. “You don’t have to, Jensen. I’m… I’m so tired.”

Hurt and worry knotted his gut. Another step pulled him closer to the bed, but he kept a safe distance.

“I need to tell you what happened, I want to. I just don’t know if-”

“If I’ll forgive you?”

He looked down at the carpet and found the faint outline of the red wine stain still stuck in the fibers from a night of drunken sex three years ago. He shouldn’t have been able to see it in the dark but it was clear, every strand of thread, every fleck of stain visible now.

“If you’ll… understand.”

Y/N exhaled a shaking breath and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She didn’t want to fight.

“Was it another woman?” she asked, dreading the answer.

Another.

The feeling she put into that single word shook him deep.

Years ago, he’d fucked up. There had been another woman, a guest on set that he’d gotten too close to. It was only a week, but it had nearly shattered their marriage.

He swore he’d never go there again, and he wasn’t sure that he even had this time, but she needed to know. She deserved to know. Everything.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said softly, “but yes.”

He could almost hear the crack in her heart. The fragile heart that had forgiven him years ago. The heart that had stood by him through everything life had thrown his way. The heart that always welcomed him home. The heart he was forever breaking.

Jensen sat at the very foot of the bed and hunched over, resting his forearms on his knees. He clasped his hands and closed his eyes, trying to figure out where and how to start.

Y/N watched him struggle but turned away when he looked back. She refused to meet his gaze, afraid she’d crumble into more pieces than they could ever pick up.

“I’m listening.”

He took a deep breath.

“I can’t even explain what happened-”

“Try.”

He swallowed hard. “The shoot was… crazy. I’ve had rough gigs before but this took a lot out of me. This was…” He felt her eyes on him, heard her steady breath, smelled her trepidation. “Anyway. There was a lot of drinking. Too much.”

Y/N sighed. “Go on.”

“Couple of us found a bar- just a local place. There was nothing special about it. The booze was cheap and…”

“I get it,” she snapped. “You were drunk. And then?”

“I was just minding my own business and-” He pressed his nails into the palm of his left hand as memory washed over him. He could smell the stale beer, taste the bourbon, feel the cool air. “I don’t know where she came from, she just appeared at my side and… we started talking.”

Y/N held her breath and her tongue, giving him the time he needed to get it out. Anger swirled in her stomach but she did her best to keep it from boiling over.

“I can’t even remember about what, really. It was all a blur. Like, an actual blur. After a while I could barely see anything in the room but her, as if the background had gone out of focus. I felt stoned. Slow. Like… I was drugged.”

Concern pushed anger aside and Y/N leaned forward, kicking her knees down and to the side. “Drugged?”

“I just felt… strange.”

“Baby- what happened?”

He looked up with tears rimming his emerald eyes. “I honestly don’t know. I have gone over it a million times but I just… don’t… know. One minute we were talking and… I know she touched my face. I know we left the bar… and then-”

Y/N braced herself with a deep breath that steeled her soul.

Jensen looked away again, shamed and confused. “I woke up in bed. My bed.”

She clenched her jaw, waiting for the worst of it.

“Alone.”

“Alone?” Her breath released and she shook her head. “I thought-”

He laughed bitterly and stood up. “So did I. I thought- fuck, Jensen, you did it again. You fucked up- but… It was so much worse.”

“Worse? How could it be worse?”

Jensen turned away and rubbed his neck. He felt the marks she’d left behind, invisible yet there, haunting him eternally.

“You won’t understand.”

Y/N swung her feet off the side of the bed and gripped the sheets for strength. “Try me.”

He didn’t know how to say it. It made no sense. It all seemed like a crazy nightmare. How could she understand?

She grit her teeth. “Jensen!”

Startled, he turned back. “She drank from me.”

Y/N sat up straight and a confused smile tickled her lips. “What?”

“She drank from me,” he said again, his voice low and calm. “Drank my blood, Y/N. And… I drank hers. At least, I think I did. I don’t really remember.”

The tickle spread down into her chest and a laugh bubbled up. “What?”

“I said you wouldn’t understand.”

Y/N laughed louder, shocked at the audacity of his lie. “Wait. So… instead of just admitting you went off and fucked some stranger in Paris, you’re trying to tell me that a vampire picked you up at a bar?” She stood up as her attitude and anger swelled. “That’s what you’re going with? A vampire? What, did your buddy Kripke write this excuse for you?”

The rage in her voice made his skin prickle. He cringed and spun away. “Don’t.”

Again, she laughed. It stung him deep.

“Oh, I fucking will!” Enraged, she grabbed his upper arm and tried to spin him back to face her. “Are you seriously gonna stand there and tell me a fucking vampire story right now? After everything?”

He would not be moved, standing like a statue next to her.

“Y/N, please-”

“A vampire!” Another yank on his arm did nothing to appease her. “No. I want you to look at me in my face and tell me that you believe some French bitch sucked your fucking blood and turned you into a vampire.”

His head was spinning. The heat of her touch burned into his soul. His muscles ached; his bones felt like they were about to splinter. He held his breath, trying to stay calm, to fight the urge to snap back.

“Look at me!”

She was screaming and he was silently boiling inside.

“Fucking look at me! "Goddamnit, Jensen!”

Desperate, Y/N shoved him hard and the dam broke.

Jensen spun around and showed her the truth.

His eyes, once a comforting forest of green, were rimmed in crimson and seething with danger. His plump lips, so cracked yet soft, kissable and beautiful, were pulled tightly back, revealing a pair of dagger-like fangs and a hungry tongue.

Terror petrified her limbs and locked her in place, eyes wide and staring. Jensen’s body trembled there, his chest heaving with panting breaths; his hands balled into strong fists to keep from grabbing her.

Every second was agony for him. He could hear her blood coursing like a raging river, see her pupils contract and expand in such miniscule points no human eye could track. He wanted her to understand. He wanted her help, needed her comfort. He wanted to rip her chest open and devour everything inside.

Y/N took a deep breath and the panic subsided. She lifted a hand to his cheek without hesitation or fear.

“Jen…”

He closed his eyes and let her touch ground him. He felt the pain ease as he leaned into her palm.

“Baby…”

Her whisper broke through everything and the monster calmed. He opened his eyes and hot tears streamed down his face.

Y/N took him in her arms, holding him tight as he crumbled.

Silently, they moved back to the bed and she eased him onto the pillow, never lifting her touch from his skin.

“I do not understand this,” she said gently, leaning on an elbow to look down at him. “But we will figure this out. I’m not gonna give up on you, Jensen. Not ever.”

He shook his head. “What is there to figure out? I’m cursed. One night of drunken bullshit and I’m a fucking monster.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.” He sat up quickly, knocking her hand away. “I’ve done things.”

Y/N bit her lip, struggling to stay strong for him and contain her own tears.

“Every night while you’re in here alone- I’m… I’m out there…” He looked to the window across the room and the pale light illuminated his face. “Hurting people.”

Y/N cringed and hugged herself tight, trying not to let her imagination take off.

“I’m sure you can’t help it,” she whispered.

He looked back over his shoulder. “I can’t. I can’t fucking stop it from happening. I get this pain in my gut. This hunger… I can’t stop.”

Every story she’d read, movie she’d seen- the thought that it was all real was driving her mad, and yet- there he was, living it.

“Maybe there’s a cure or something. Like… well, I don’t know exactly but if-”

“No.”

Jensen dropped his head into his hands and his shoulders began to shake. He exhaled a trembling breath and Y/N shifted closer, laying her hands on him once more. She pulled him close and he melted into her, soothed by her warmth.

“I’m so sorry.”

She kissed his forehead, smoothed back his hair. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I am.”

She kissed him again and he lifted his chin, meeting her gaze.

“I am so fucking sorry.”

Y/N nodded and raked her hand through his hair, curled her fingers around his ear. “We’ll get through this. We will.”

He clung to her, praying she was right. “How?”

“Together.”

Jensen closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to her chest. Her heartbeat was so steady in his ear, her fingers felt like heaven running across his scalp. Slowly, he lifted his lips and she met him halfway.

The kiss was slow and familiar, like he was finally coming back home.

She pressed harder and his lust stirred. He licked at her lips and breathed her in, needing everything she could give.

Y/N fell back against the pillows and he followed, dropping down to cover her with his full weight. Her lungs emptied and he breathed life back into her as his hand slid down her side. Her lips parted for his tongue and she moaned when he lifted up an inch, just high enough to trace her hipbone with his cool fingertips.

She gripped his collar as his hand snuck into her thin panties, rocked her hips as his palm pressed up against her cunt.

“Fuck…”

He slipped his middle finger inside and she shivered at the cold.

“Sorry.”

She shook her head and licked into his mouth. “Don’t stop…”

Wetness trickled down onto his wrist and he lifted his thumb to stroke her clit, expertly winding her up the way only he knew how. Her breath quickened, her temperature rose. He could feel it like never before: every fiber of her body tightening as the pleasure increased.

Jensen stared at her face, marveling at the subtle changes. Blood pulsed in her cheeks, her lips fell slack, her eyes went blurry, all under his gaze.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed. It was like seeing her for the first time and truly knowing her. “I love you.”

A smile lit her face and she blinked up at him, worried but grateful he was back. “I love you…”

He felt the snap, the precise second her orgasm struck and he sat back to watch her body writhe with bliss. It was pure magic the way she moved, the way her body opened up even more for him.

“Need you,” she moaned, reaching out for him.

Jensen rushed to shed his clothing, kicking his boots off and rolling onto his back to yank his jeans away. Naked and pale, he returned to her, shifting his thighs between hers and spreading her knees wide.

He hesitated but she relieved his worry, setting her hands on his chest and nodding gently.

“Please…”

Falling forward, he set one hand by her head and eased his cock inside with the other. His jaw dropped as her body squeezed around him, warm and tight and absolutely made for him.

Y/N shivered but held on, snaking her hand up to rest at the nape of his neck. Moans filled the room and tight-lipped, loving curses passed between them.

Lost in her, Jensen sensed the hunger rising again. His muscles twitched with the need and he shook his head, refusing it to surface.

Sensing his struggle, Y/N dug her fingers gently into his neck and urged him down. She kissed him hard and then turned her head to the side, stretching her throat for him.

His entire being seemed to focus on the thick vein pulsing in her neck, calling to him, begging to be torn apart.

He held back.

“No.”

Y/N ached into him. “Do it. I want to feel it. Please.”

With a low growl, he kissed the crook of her neck and jerked his hips. She gasped and her heart rate soared. Another kiss, another hard snap of his hips. Y/N trembled beneath him and whimpered as his tongue swept over her pulse.

“Please…”

The desire was rampant, but love held him back. “What if… What if I can’t stop?”

Y/N squeezed his neck and ran her hand up to cradle the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“I trust you.”

The heat of her, the wetness, the soft flesh made his thirst peak, and Jensen sank his teeth into her throat.

The first splash of life against his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through him so intense that he came, flooding her cunt as her blood filled his mouth.

“God…” Y/N’s consciousness wavered. She felt light, as if her body was floating in his arms, safe and loved forever. Every gentle pull of his lips drew more sense of self from her mind until she was a simple cloud of pleasure set to dissipate into the night sky. “Jensen…”

He felt her heart straining and her warmth fading as she shuddered with ecstasy. Intoxicated, he drank deeper, pulling her essence into himself and moaning with every drop he swallowed.

“Jensen…”

Her eyes refused to focus, rolling uncontrollably in her skull. Her lungs burned as the blood ceased to return. Her legs went numb, her hand fell limp onto the mattress.

“Jen-”

Wrapped in bliss, he bit down again, loving the way her flesh yielded to him. He licked at each wound, and savored every flavor. The salt on her skin, the faint remains of her night cream. The blood, so rich and full of love, pouring into every inch of him. He smiled against her throat. “Love you… Love you… Love you…”

He didn’t hear the moment her heart stopped, but he felt it like a strong force shoving him in the chest. He jolted back and blinked into the darkness. His body was tingling, alive and full of energy. For the first time in weeks he felt true warmth spread through him and he laughed.

“Fuck, baby, that was incredible.” He licked her taste from his lips and moaned. “So fucking good!” He stretched hard, moving his muscles and grinning. “You good, baby?”

A tiny breath fell from her lips and Jensen’s lightness faded.

“Y/N?”

Her cheek was frigid and pale, as if she’d siphoned the cold from his soul.

“Y/N.”

He shook her but she wouldn’t wake.

“Y/N!”

In a panic, Jensen dug his nails into his own neck, ripping a deep gash that sprayed across her face. The blood ran down and he took her weak body in his arms, pressed her cold lips to the wound.

“Come on, baby… Don’t leave me….”

The blood gushed down her chin, soaked into her skin, forever stained the mattress.

“Y/N, please…”

A stream found its way between her lips and a surge of electricity sparked on her tongue. Jensen felt the pull as she accepted his blood, sucking hard at his throat.

“That’s it, baby…” He smoothed the hair back from her face. “That’s it. Fuck…”

He sat by the window and watched her for hours. She lay as if dead, her body unresponsive and posed where he’d left her. There was no breath to lift her chest, no beating heart to echo in his ears.

The night slowly faded and Jensen closed the curtains against the light. He wiped the tears from his cheek and climbed into bed beside her, draping his arm across her middle. He rested his head on her chest and closed his eyes.

One last night together and then eternity without her.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

The day came and went with Jensen sleeping fitfully by her side. At sunset, he heard a gentle thump and then another. He opened his eyes and held his breath, listening for more.

“Come on, baby…”

A louder thud gave him hope. Jensen sat up and gripped her shoulders tight.

“Open your eyes, Y/N. Please.”

The sun finally hit the horizon and Y/N sucked in a full, gasping breath. Her eyes flew open and her body tensed, every cell filling with preternatural power as the cursed blood flowed through her.

Jensen backed away as she sat up, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked at her husband. The darkness was no match for her vision and she could see every detail in his face, every pale freckle, every line, every lash clear and vivid.

“Jensen?”

He rushed back to her side and took her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I thought- I mean- I killed you…”

Smiling gently, she pulled him close. She licked deep into his mouth and his head spun.

Y/N was as cold as he was now, but it wasn’t painful. It felt right; he felt complete.

“How do you feel?”

New life pulsed through her, tingling and alluring. Y/N took a deep breath and exhaled against his lips.

“Hungry…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @rosecentury @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05

#jacklesversebingo23 #jensen ackles fanfic #vampire au #vampire jensen #jensen x reader #spn fanfiction

79 notes · View notes

ariseur · 7 months ago

Note

hey again 👀 soooo you said i should send another ask if i had an idea and diva you said that to the wrong person. i have too many lmao

im stressing that u should write this at your own time! no rush :)

but yeah im actually writing a longform seph/reader fic where the reader is from a southern/appalachian coded town near gongaga. my idea id love to have your spin on is a scene where sephiroth (someone raised on protein powder and spinach probably) gets to try some real southern comfort food that the reader makes for him :). im talking biscuits, fried chicken, some kind of creamy noodle dish, just all the unhealthy savory goodness

he deserves it 🥺

ty for the last request again btw✨💕

“ spread kisses like honey. ”

sephiroth (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

omg this has been sitting in my drafts sooo long!! this was really cute and i loved writing it, it reminded me of lucy gray and coriolanus snow from hg hence why i put the title as a lyric from her ballad 💕 always look forward to your requests!! thank you againnn!!

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

you and seph being sickly sweet towards each other, sephiroth being utterly in love with you in his inner monologue, kind of not canon because there are moments where i mention how sephiroth talks to genesis and angeal despite knowing zack and interacting with zack ( which like clashes with the entire point of cc .. but shhh i wanted domesticity ), intended lowercase, lmk if i missed anything!! 💕

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1088 words, 5905 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“you’ve never had this?” you gasped dramatically, your shocked face only to be met with sephiroth’s stoic one. he hesitantly nodded— was that.. a bad thing? did he somehow offend you in some way? the steam that had emitted from the plates below you set on the

“don’t you like pasta?” you asked, still utterly baffled.

he nodded slowly, “is something wrong?” he didn’t understand the confusion. there were a lot of foods he hasn’t tried, isn’t that normal for everyone? you blinked owlishly, lifting up the fork with the pasta noodles stabbed against the metal, the creamy sauce departing from the food in small, slow drips.

“what have you been eating if you’ve never had something as delicious as this?” you muttered, your lips reverting back into a tight ‘o’ as you blew on the fork— before finally slipping it into your mouth. “i’m shocked.” words muffled as you still chewed on your food, at least covering your mouth while you spoke.

sephiroth chuckled amusedly, “we’ve grown up in deeply contrasting places.” he crossed his arms against his chest, watching as you slurped up the pasta with stars in your eyes— occasionally opening your mouth to let the heat escape, soft steam pouring out from the small gap you’ve left while chewing. “still,” said you, “‘s so good.” he could barely make out your voice from how full your mouth was but he still shook his head as he leaned further back in his chair.

closing his eyes, he tilted his head down while he let the strands of snowy hair fell and covered bits of his face, blocking the bright sun even to the darkness beneath his eyelids. sephiroth didn’t pay much mind to the fact that your loud chewing of garlic bread and slurping of buttered food had come to a halt until he felt a strong aroma slip in from under his nostrils, it was only then did he open his eyes to see you holding the fork to his lips.

you held an expectant gaze and he quirked a brow before ultimately leaning forward while he let his eyes rake over the food. it looked a little messy, the sauce dripping over the place as you had ripped a piece of garlic bread off along with it and placed a chunk on the metal twinges of the utensil. he looked up again at you, waiting as you nodded your head and tried to keep your excitement contained. he blew on the fork a little bit before opening his mouth and letting it settle upon the steel. what could one bite do, he asked himself.

but once he had finally tried it, he could’ve dropped dead right then and there. the combination of the salty and savory flavors was perfect, and the way the bread had soaked some of it up too was incredible. sephiroth closed his eyes, letting his jaw work as he let his taste buds be blessed with what was known as your cooking. he had always seen you working your way through the kitchen, using various pots and pans and oils while you zipped around — and when sephiroth had offered help, you simply put a hand up and looked up at him for a split second, trying to simultaneously get the perfect roast as you smiled at him sweetly. that was enough for him.

despite watching you cook a lot ( and the only times he did get to help, he ended up being ordered by you to stand in the corner or measure occasional ingredients ), he had never actually savored something as good as this. being a first class prevented him from doing any good when it came to dinner time, either the timing being too late and you had already gone to bed or you were too tired and he decided not to bother you and he ate something small.

but this, he thought, this was perfection. when it came to you, sephiroth never let his appreciation go silent as he would always thank you or give you sayings of endearment and encouragement. he didn’t have words for this dish, he had never tried anything like it. so in awe, he merely said, “you’ve truly outdone yourself,” as he handed you back the fork. you didn’t mind the simple compliment. it never sounded generic to you when sephiroth would express his gratitude, even when they were mumbled in passing with dragged feet when he had come home from an exasperatingly tiring job, he always made sure to tell you how much he was grateful for you and what you do when he’s away.

he couldn’t wait until he was back at hq to boast to genesis and angeal about how delectable your cooking was. maybe zack, too — although sepiroth had a feeling that the energetic SOLDIER might just end up begging you for food even more. not that you minded, though. you were always so kind, sephiroth didn’t know how you were always able to do it.

“thanks.” you chimed, your voice ever so warm that it made his heart flutter. sephiroth wasn’t exactly what you’d call — expressive. he always held a smooth, cool tone of voice and occasionally threw a sassy remark towards you or genesis, or even that kid zack fair he introduced you to. but you understood his inflection of which he spoke in, you could tell his emotion even when he had entered a room ( and vice versa ). you were one of the most cherished things in sephiroth’s life and it could not go unnoticed.

with his tongue peeking out from between his bottom lip to gather some of the residual flavor that was left behind, his eyes roamed across the table further to more so further treasure your sacrifices ( of both time and food ).

“what’s that over there?” he lifted a finger, almost perfectly manicured despite using his hands excessively in battle, to point over at a small white dish filled with elbow macaroni and a homemade cheese sauce. you turned your head and grinned, reaching over the wooden dining table to grab it and lower the bowl on its side to reveal the contents. “mac ‘n’ cheese,” you replied, “want some?” your eyes seemed to glimmer with more amusement. sephiroth had now developed a new interest in your food and he couldn’t wait to indulge in it.

with the smile and those eyes of yours, how could he say no to one more bite?

𐙚 taglist ; @snoopicle

𐙚 requests are closed — june tenth, 2024

104 notes · View notes

kedreeva · 3 months ago

Note

are you able to keep button quail indoors year round? what kind of care goes into them? i used to have chickens and i miss the fresh eggs (i dont even eat eggs often) so i've been wondering about the like. dresser quail setups lmao they don't sound like the best husbandry wise but i really like the setup you just posted and I'd love to hear about how you do it.

They actually have to be kept indoors during cold months but they can be kept indoors year round, which is what most people do rather than moving them. I actually just got these guys last month, but I used to keep button quail a long time ago (they were some of the first birds I had actually!).

The setup I have is custom built and kind of roughshod BUT I like it. A while back I had some rescue axolotls (that have since been rehomed) that I wanted to give more flat space to, so I got them a Lowboy aquarium and built a sturdy stand for them. The aquarium eventually sprung a slow leak and instead of resealing or getting a new one, I let them go to a friend and built the wood and wire part to accommodate a pair of rats I was holding for a friend. It's not actually attached, so the plain wood part can be removed entirely and the lowboy can be taken off the stand. It's a huge pain in the ass but you CAN.

Once the rats were gone, began using it as a brooder for the coturnix quail. The door opens down and lies flat so I can get closer to the inside, and the opening is at perfect reach in and handle things height. There are shower rod clips all over from the rats that I can use to hang things (heat lamp, decor).

But you actually don't need that much. If you've seen the dresser setups (which, good instincts, you don't really want wood where they can poop on it, that's why the aquarium bottom is nice, though I assume and hope those people put like... Linoleum or something down over the wood, but I don't trust people about that kind of forethought), then you'd know they don't need a ton of space. Rabbit/guinea pig cages from a box store make great enclosures (rabbit hutches can work too if you seal the wood part to avoid liquid waste from seeping into it). These guys:

Except not that one, you want one with the really close together wire. If you keep an eye on craigslist or FB marketplace you can get them pretty cheap (I just got one for like $10, I snap them up when I see them because they're really useful for quail stuff).

They eat a mix of game bird 28% protein chow and 16% protein layer feed, for the quail 23% protein, 2.7% calcium mix they need. They can drink from a water bottle or a quail water tower. They can't tolerate cold so they need indoors over winter in cold places. They lay eggs daily year round, but the eggs are tiny- you'd probably need 8 of them per chicken egg. But, you can have them where you can't have chickens and if you don't eat a ton of eggs they can work. They make a LOT cuter noises than coturnix but if you can tolerate the coturnix, the coturnix lay bigger eggs and only need slightly bigger accommodation.

#quails #asks #the quails #button quail #anon asks

54 notes · View notes

mykoreanlove · 1 year ago

Text

Jackson on Kinjaz

Your phone was blowing up constantly.

„Oh my god, did you see this?????“, your friend asked.

With shaking hands you clicked on the link.

„I used to be critical on myself in my mind in a negative way. Not healthy. At all. I would call myself names and put myself down in my mind. I drank the most disgusting shakes for my body health but up here? I was rotting.“

„Yeah, yeah. I remember videos of that nasty shake. What did you put in there - chicken?“

„Gotta get my protein, man. But you know I would constantly feel guilty for what I have done or what I might do.“

„Like what?“

„Like. Okay, like did I practice enough? Is magic man good enough? What if I let everybody down? How will I cope? How will I live?

All these voices.. these fucking nagging voices were with me 24/7.“

„Damn that sounds tough. What did you do?“

„I thought it was impossible to fix because I tried so hard and nothing changed me. Or if it did, it would only last a couple of weeks and I’d be back to feeling like shit and talking down on myself.

Jackson, you moron, how could you do this? Did you really think you could make it? You don’t deserve this success. You don’t deserve to be happy.“

„Jackson, bro. I feel for you. Really.“

„Look, I’m just being honest. I would naturally think of punishments coming my way. I’d imagine injuring myself or loosing all my fans or money. I’d think of the most horrific shit late at night when I should be peacefully sleeping.

I would try to change my thoughts to change my feeling. I would rationalize my way out for hours to only find myself entering a new cave.“

„Like a merry go round.“

„Exactly, I was stuck. Same shit, different day. My gut always had this underlying feeling of tension.

I tried my best to give myself relief but like I said, I could not find Relief for longer than a week. Maybe a month at best.“

„Is that why you turned to alcohol? Because I remember you chugging down a bottle of Hennessy and thought to myself that’s not normal.“

„Oh, of course I started drinking more. I needed more. What used to make me pass out back then is like a cute little cocktail to me now.“

„Damn, that really is a lot to handle. Did you try other things, as well?“

„Look, I tried everything in the book. You name it, I tried it. Worked out. Meditated. Drank. Had sex. Nothing could give me what I craved so badly. Nothing. Until I found her.“

You swallowed hard.

You had no idea that he would share all this with the public. You were very well aware of his struggles but hearing him talk about them upset you. It broke your heart imagining him like that, all dim and broken.

Also, it made you nervous.

You had no idea that he would introduce you into the world like this.

You had no idea that he would reveal your relationship to his homies on a podcast.

Yet, you were intrigued.

„Her as in …?“

„You see, love is a funny thing, right? I didn’t plan to fall in love, nor did I want to but I kind of did. I found the one, man. I found the love of my life and I was lucky enough to have her love me back. Do you know how rare that is?“

„Yeah, it is for you. I remember our last interview and how we wanted to get you on tinder and shit.“

„Exactly! I used to be on my own for years. Years, man. I gave up on love completely, thinking this was meant for others but certainly not me. And then she came into my life. Like an angel that was coming down to help me. Save me even.“

„Your savior, huh?“

„I swear to god her love saved me. It saved me from drugs, it saved me from self destruction and first and foremost it saved me from myself. I gotta be honest man, if I hadn’t met y/n I wouldn’t even be here anymore.“

„Wow. That’s, that’s a pretty heavy revelation. I’m glad you’re doing better now.“

„Oh, I am. Management is probably going to kick my ass later but I don’t care. Let me loose fans, let me loose money. I don’t give a shit. If you support me now, you support the real Jackson Wang. And that’s me right now - happily coupled to the most beautiful soul on this planet. If you can’t handle that - my bad.“

„Okay guys, it’s over. China‘s most wanted bachelor is officially off the market. WHOOOO!!“

„Yeah, the king has finally found its queen.“

„So, what is she like?“

You paused the interview and took a deep breath. Jackson was very vocal of his feelings for you, but hearing it like that felt different. The biggest smile was plastered on his face as he was talking about you.

You as in his queen.

You as in future Miss Wang.

Hundreds of butterflies announced themselves in your stomach, making you giddy and joyful.

„Oh man, she is the best. Like, she is so breathtakingly beautiful. Inside and out. We have the best conversations. I feel like she is my best friend. Truly, no one gets me like she does. It’s just.. it’s effortlessly easy. We laugh a lot, we talk a lot, we share everything with each other. I’m just so grateful, man.“

„Yeah, I can see that. You’re grinning from ear to ear. Make sure to invite me to your wedding.“

„Like you invited me to your birthday?“

„Okayyyyy, let’s wrap it up. Guys, that’s it for today. Thank you Jackson, really appreciate you brother.“

You stopped the video, giggling at your petty boyfriend.

„Remind me to have a word with you once you’re back, yeah?“, you texted him.

It didn’t take him a second to instantly call you.

„Did you see it? Already? Damn babygirl, you’re quick“, he teased.

„You could have warned me, Wang!“

„I didn’t plan to say all that but I couldn’t help myself. It just.. it just came out of me. I really meant it though.“

„Everything?“

He knew exactly what you were implying.

„Oh, I’m gonna make you Miss Wang for sure. Rule my kingdom with me? Please?“

325 notes · View notes

darkbluekies · 2 years ago

Note

Blue, do you have any facts about any of your characters that you'd like to share. Habits, thoughts, info, etc. Basically anything. This is your opportunity to info dump lol (if ya wanna ;3)

(I'm new here btw, love your work)

🥀anon~

Warnings: murder, suggestive indications,

Silas:

— gets clingy/horny/vulnerable when drunk

— is a good cook

— barely has ant contact with his parents

— likes children (not in a creepy way smh)

— he can't keep his hands off of you normally (imagine when he's drunk) and loves to hold you close to him

— he gets jealous really, really easily and can't control himself when he does get jealous

— loves to mark you up, because ... jealousy and possessiveness

— a bit of a husky voice, a bit deeper, a bit of a Greek accent, crisp voice.

— nationality: greek

— age: Around 35-38, birthday season: late fall

— has to work out a lot to keep his muscles (googled the different types and he resembles a ripped/athletic build) so he drinks more protein shakes than he'd admit

— height: around 185 cm

Dr Kry

— secretly wants to become an author

— he's an only child

— grew up in a very strict household

— he's amazing at turning on/off his feelings and act professional unless it's you

— frowns often

— a honey smooth voice, not very light, not very deep. Clear pronounciation

— was the smartest kid in his class

— age: 33-36, birthday season: winter

— never cries

— nationality: swedish

— he doesn't eat much, mostly chicken in all forms, but drinks a lot of coffee (he has a caffein addiction)

— has a habit of finishing your sentences when you don't want to talk

— height: around 186 cm

King Edmund

— his parents were murdered when he was around 16 which made him the youngest king in their history

— gets someone to taste test the food the two of you eat to make sure no one has poisoned it

— has a sword with your name ingraved in it

— powerful, dominating voice, when he speaks it sends shivers down everyone's spines. He almost always sounds "angry", but he can force it down to a sweet mumble when he's with you.

— age: around 19, birthday season: early summer

— nationality: his own kingdom BUT if he had a real nationality, it would be most likely German

— you're the only one he's nice to, but he's a big fan of discipline and will correct you if you do something he isn't liking

— he doesn't feel much regret or empathy when doing something bad, since he's the king and gotten to do everything he wants, he hasn't developed a lot of those kind of emotions

— height: around 177 cm

Jerry:

— likes tattooes, probably has one inspired by you

— trains boxing

— she likes night views, for an example sitting on a roof top to watch the city lights or sitting on a dock to hear the waves late at night

— quite a strong, clear voice, not very raspy, but a little husky every now and then

— age: 24, birthday season: late spring

— she wishes that she could let her guard down with you, but thanks to everything she's been through during the years, she can't let herself

— nationality: korean

— she's the type to go: "you're great sweetie" without looking at what you're doing.

—jerry loves alcohol and melts inside when you get her favorite beer for her

— she watches over you when you sleep and doesn't let anyone come close to you when you're that vulnerable

— will mock you if you say you like something, but then it'll mysteriously appear in your bedroom in large amounts

— height: around 157 cm

Hedwig:

— her voice is sweet like honey, very feminine and delicate!!

— age: around 18-19, birthday season: late summer

— BIGGEST sweettooth, she loves everyhting sweet

— wants an idyllic family life

— nationality: british

— dream job: model

— a big fan of photographing ... you

— hedwig loves to spoil you, you'll always have new clothes, perfumes, jewelry, books, etc etc

— clingiest motherfucker you'll ever meet

— LOVES to show you off

— doesn't like horror movies and if you force her to watch one she'll hide under your shirt every time she gets scared

— always smiles when you talk to her

— height: around 165 cm

#yandere thoughts #yandere oc #yandere doctor #yandere #female yandere #yandere talks #yandere headcanon #yandere x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere x you #yandere ocs #yandere oc x reader #🥀 anon

610 notes · View notes

wheeboo · 1 year ago

Note

mingyu cooking you wholesome and nutritious meals to take to work because he loves you and he's also tired of seeing you survive on protein bars and coffee for lunch. he'd make you the most yum food fr :(

AHHH SKYE HE MOST DEFINITELY WILL LIKE YK THOSE CUTE BENTO BOXES THAT IVE SEEN PPL MAKE FOR THEIR SIGNFICANT OTHER?? yeah he would do that

imagine waking up from sleep a little later than usual which causes you to stir out of bed, noticing that mingyu wasn't there which only made you assume that he went out for his morning gym runs. you find yourself rushing out of the bedroom since you were constraint on time. it was a long day ahead at work and you didn't have time to pack any proper lunch for yourself. the thought makes you sigh--you were running out of your protein bars and weren't even sure if you would be able to make it to get your daily morning coffee.

however when you enter the kitchen, your sleepy eyes widen in surprise to the sight of mingyu hunched over the kitchen counter, seemingly concentrated on doing something that you weren't able to make out of.

"gyu?" you call out his name lowly, rubbing at your eyes.

he immediately turns around to his name being called, face lighting up upon seeing your tired look. he turns his entire body around as if trying to shield what he was doing behind his back.

"what are you doing? i thought you went to the gym," you mutter as you trudge to retrieve a glass, filling it up with water and taking a few long sips.

mingyu grins. "had other important things to do then the gym."

"oh yeah? and what is that?" you say, leaning your head on the refrigerator as you attempt to gaze past him to see what he was hiding behind, but his large figure is quick to shield it away.

yet he brings himself in your direction, circling an arm around your waist and pulling you close as he leads you towards whatever he was doing on the counter. and when you look down, you swear nearly spit out your water.

your eyes lay upon a beige-coloured miniature bento box, filled with colourful steamed veggies and neatly sliced fruits, a small container of homemade dressing on the side, and perfectly sliced portion of grilled chicken and freshly cooked rice.

you feel your heart swell with warmth. "you... you made all this?"

he nods, still hugging you close. "of course. i wanted you to have a nutritious meal for work today. you know how tired i am of seeing you live on just protein bars and coffee?"

you chuckle at his words, letting your head relax against the comfort of his shoulder.

"thank you for this," you tell him, a relaxed smile to your face as you gaze up at him.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. "of course, baby. i gotta help you conquer the day somehow."

that was enough for your smile to grow even bigger.

when lunch time rolls around at your workplace, you eagerly take out mingyu's bento box from your bag and place it in front of you on the table. and when you open it, you also notice a small piece of paper hidden that you didn't see before, assuming that he had placed it in when you were getting ready early this morning.

enjoy your food, lovebug. i love you ♡ - your personal chef (and the love of your life)

#skye!#etherealyoungk #answered #friends ༊#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #mingyu imagines #mingyu fluff #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x reader #soft hours!

251 notes · View notes

jtl-fics · 2 years ago

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 30

Ichirou Moriyama had long been someone Riko had spoken about and therefore someone Kevin knew of.

First reverently as he talked about how someday his brother would come for him and how he’d watch Riko’s games. Then Ichirou never showed up once and the anger set in and mentions of his brother would result in especially bad days.

Kevin’s only saving grace at the Nest near the end was that Ichirou had been as uninterested in him as he was in Riko.

Neil was the one who had handled any communications with the new Master of the Moriyama family and Kevin was grateful for that. His stomach still twists when he found out what it would cost him to have the closest thing he would ever really have to freedom since his mom’s car accident but Kevin could hardly fault Neil since Kevin has no idea if he would have been able to even open his mouth and speak to negotiate with Ichirou. He certainly wouldn’t have thought to bargain for Neil and Jean’s lives.

So he was going to make sure the Neil had the best possible chances to get on a great team not just because he had every faith that Neil could be on the national court but also Kevin wanted him on the national court. Neil was his partner and his friend.

This was his last year that he could help as directly as this so he and Neil were still putting in the hours in their evening practices. It was also the last year that Neil could rely on him to assist in getting everyone up to snuff.

Ichirou Moriyama was going to be stopping by at some point and Kevin had decided that the best way to handle this information was to focus on something life affirming.

“I’m just saying it isn’t an unknown flavor combination.” Kevin argues.

“Kevin there is something very different about vanilla protein powder in chicken stock and Chicken and Waffles.” Aaron says from his spot behind Kevin in Wymack’s car.

“There shouldn’t be! It’s all the same flavors, just liquid!” Kevin turns in his seat to point at Aaron, “You should put on your seatbelt, what if Wymack crashes?” He says for the third time since the car ride had begun.

“That’s my problem, not yours.” Aaron says and his eyes have been locked on the roof of the car since the car ride began which was rude but Kevin had learned to expect nothing less from a Minyard.

“It will be my problem when your corpse breaks my neck as you fly forward!” Kevin hisses.

“Coach, could you do me a favor-“

“I’m not going to crash the car.” Wymack interrupts eyes on the road and hands at 10 and 2.

“God forbid you do something nice for me.” Aaron gripes crossing his arms.

Kevin decides to change his target.

“Coach-“

“Kevin, you’re not putting any protein powder into Smith’s soup. That’s final. Do you want to mess up his Grandma’s hard work to follow the Doctor’s recipe exactly?” Wymack asks.

No.

No Kevin does not wish to mess up Grandma Smith’s hard work.

He just…

A Food pyramid flashes in his mind.

…thinks he knows more than the hospital dietician.

“It’s not that Smith’s Grandma made bad soup.” Kevin says because the woman was a talent in the kitchen even if she might use a bit too much butter. He’d let her know but Nicky refused to translate and she’d smiled so warmly at him and touched his face so gently… “I think she was led astray by bad science and Nicky wouldn’t translate for me.” He says, “If she understood English she would have understood and agreed with me.” He says because he did manage to get her finely chop a bunch of carrots to put into the pasta sauce so that Neil would get some veggies.

She was a reasonable woman who understood the importance of good nutrition.

“I don’t know about that.” Coach says and Kevin wonders what he means by that.

They’re close behind Andrew’s car and Kevin can see two parking spots next to one another near the front except Andrew pulls into the spots in a way that means it is almost impossible for anyone to get into the second spot unless they owned a tiny smart car.

Andrew often parks like that to make sure no one dings the Maserati.

“That little shit.” Wymack grumbles as he continues to drive.

“Aren’t you going to let us out at the entrance?” Kevin asks.

“Who am I, your driver?” Wymack grumbles and does not slow down to let them out at the hospital entrance. “You’ve been bitching about not getting enough exercise and eating too much fat this weekend, consider this just some of the exercise you’ve been wanting.” He says.

Kevin leans back in the chair.

He does NOT pout. He merely frowns with his lips puffed out and feels as if he has been treated unfairly.

He uses this time wisely.

He thinks about Neil and Andrew’s ‘secret’ conversation.

Kevin still doesn’t know Russian, has no plans to learn it because he does not want to know 80% of what Neil and Andrew say to one another, but Kevin has always been great at understanding tone and it’s not that hard to understand that they were talking about FF when he ‘Kapitan Neil’.

He thinks about what might stress Neil out about FF (never once does he consider that FF being in the hospital with a stab wound may be the thing that stresses Neil out, not when there’s an explanation that involves Exy).

FF might choose to leave.

That would not bode well for Neil.

Kevin has already signed but Neil needs the next few years still to make sure he can follow through on his deal with Ichirou.

FF is a great defensive dealer.

Kevin still doesn’t really understand how he can seemingly just appear on the Court to intercept passes but Kevin has been informed that all of his plans to figure it out are ‘medically unethical’ and ‘likely to get him thrown in prison’.

Nicky patting his face pityingly and saying, “Your face is too pretty for prison.” had been when he stopped looking at how he could buy electrodes.

His follow-up search to find out that no prison in the United States currently had an Exy court as a facility had him drop the outline of his research into his recycle bin and right click to delete permanently.

Since Kevin cannot find a way to replicate that particular talent of FF’s then they just need FF to stay.

He also quite likes the steady freshman. He’s probably not ever going to be National Court level like he and Neil are, but he would be a solid Dealer on a good team. Kevin wouldn’t even mind playing with him professionally.

They park the car far in the back of the lot and Wymack grumbles at a different nice car that is taking up two spots. Kevin climbs out of the car and they start their way towards the hospital.

Kevin considers jogging in circles around Aaron and Wymack as they walk just to burn off more of the lunch they’d just had but decides against it.

Maybe a different nutritionist will be on staff today and will be able to back Kevin up on his plan.

***

Captain Neil and Andrew are quickly followed by Nicky and his Grandma both of whom look nervous but some of that seemed to dissipate when they saw him.

“Are you okay?” Captain Neil asks.

FF goes to open his mouth but a nurse interrupts, “He decided to go on a walk in his current condition. I thought we were quite clear that you needed to stay in bed. Stressing yourself is why you collapsed in the Cafeteria like that.” His main nurse chastises.

“Sorry, it won’t happen again.” FF promises because it won’t. He’s planning on asking for a medically induced coma to escape the consequences of his actions so leaving the bed is the last thing he’s going to do. His dad’s trust for him can have money taken out for his medical needs and there has never been a greater medical need in his entire life than right now.

“What happened?” Andrew demands stepping next to Neil.

How does one explain getting a job offer from the Yakuza (Yakuza or Mafia)?

“I wanted to go for a walk.” He answers because he had and that’s easier to explain.

“Why did you meet Ichirou Moriyama?” Andrew asks again in German.

Well dammit.

FF finds himself at a crossroads.

Does he tell the truth? That he’s an idiot and didn’t realize the man was reaching out to Captain Neil? That he went and had an entire conversation with the man who owns Captain Neil, Kevin, and Jean Moreau? That afterward he tried to stand up and fainted which is how he got taken back to his room?

He thinks he has enough lies going on between his own and his grandma’s and he needs to relay something from Ichirou Moriyama.

“Lord Moriyama wanted me to tell you that he no longer needed to speak with you Captain Neil.” He relays just like he said he would and he sees Captain Neil tense.

“Smith.” Andrew says his name.

He also doesn’t want to talk about it any further.

“I’m fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.” FF closes his eyes as he answers back in German. He feels exhausted now and wishes that he had just requested a coma earlier so that he wouldn’t be in this situation. “Captain Neil, you left your phone here and it’s been pinging. Sorry I read one of the texts.” He gestures vaguely to his side table.

None of his guests speak for the next few minutes as the nurses finish reminding him to stay still, that he’s lucky his stitches didn’t break, that he’s on thin ice. He’s tired and he’s hungry so he’s curt with them in a way he’ll regret later but right now it’s just a lot when he can still feel Captain Neil and Andrew’s eyes burning into him.

Then Nicky proves to continue to be the nicest friend he has when the nurses leave and he feels Nicky’s hand take his and squeeze. “Hey, how are you really feeling?” he asks.

FF takes a deep breath, “I have...no idea.” he says. “I’m sorry.” he adds.

Nicky squeezes his hand again, “Hey, Aras made you some soup and we kept it away from Kevin. You’re probably a lil’ cranky because you’re tired, hungry, and in pain. You don’t need to talk about it right now okay?” Nicky says.

He’s really lucky to have Nicky as his friend.

He squeezes Nicky’s hand back and valiantly does not cry. He squeezes his eyes tighter to keep them from slipping out, it’d be embarrassing to cry here like this.

“Thank you.” He says voice quiet but doesn’t open his eyes, knowing what will come out if he does.

His Grandma comes to his side again and strokes his face. Her fingers wipe away the few tears that did slip out despite his best efforts but he thinks she did it so casually that maybe no one noticed.

It hasn’t been a good day, but Grandma’s soup has always been something that makes him feel better. He just wishes he could be alone for a minute with just her to witness the next few minutes.

Nicky, bless him, must sense that because he squeezes his hand tightly before letting go, “C’mon, let’s give Smithy and Aras a moment okay?” He says.

FF doesn’t open his eyes until his Grandma whispers, “My little Rotisserie Chicken, they’ve stepped out.” She says.

“He offered me a job in the Yakuza.” He blubbers immediately. “I don’t even know if they have dental.” He spills one of his lesser concerns.

“Oh honey, let’s eat some soup.” She soothes stroking his face.

***

Neil feels bad.

FF was pale, shaking, sweaty, and despite his grandma’s best efforts Neil had seen a tear slip from his tightly closed eyes.

He looks to his side and sees Andrew’s own hands tightened into fists.

“C’mon, let’s give Smithy and Aras a moment okay?” Nicky says and drags them out of the room through the sheer force of his ire. It’s moment like this that Neil really does understand why it is that FF prefers to spend his free time with Nicky over any other of their group.

They get out of the room and down the hall before Nicky starts in. “You two are the KINGS of not talking about shit so, for now, LEAVE it.” He hisses in German in a bid to keep the conversation private from anyone walking past.

“We need to know what deal he and Ichirou came to.” Andrew says in the same language.

“You’re going to find that out from Ichirou probably once he crazy murders Romero and Jackson in the next couple days!” Nicky cries dramatically, “Smithy probably doesn’t even know the full details because he’s in a lot of pain because he’s been STABBED.” Nicky points a finger at Andrew but wisely does not poke him with it. “Do you think he ACTUALLY went on a walk? Ichirou’s men probably took him since they couldn’t find YOU Neil.” Nicky points at Neil and, again, wisely does not poke him with it.

Neil’s stomach twists.

Maybe Neil should invest in a phone clip like Wymack thought the implication that the Moriyamas came to where his phone was leaves him wanting to skip it like a stone straight into the ocean. Too bad going to a beach still makes his palms sweaty.

“So what WE are going to do,” Nicky does a quick circle to point at the three of them, “is we are going to be good friends and help Smithy because he’s stressed, in pain, and needs friends not INTERROGATORS.” Nicky waves his arms in exasperation.

“Who are Neil and Andrew interrogating?” Aaron asks and Neil looks to the side to see Aaron with Kevin being pulled along by the scruff by Wymack.

“Smithy.” Nicky says.

“Why?” Kevin asks.

“Because Ichirou came and talked to him.” Andrew explains.

Kevin goes pale. “Why? I thought he was going to talk with Neil?” Kevin asks looking at Neil.

“He probably came here following Neil’s phone, which he left. So he grabbed Smithy to talk to him.” Nicky says, “Ichirou seemed impressed and pleased with whatever they talked about but Smithy is a little fragile after all of this so,” Nicky stepped into Kevin’s space, “Leave.” He pokes Kevin’s chest once, “Him.” He pokes Kevin’s chest twice, “Alone.” He pokes Kevin’s chest a third time.

“How would he even have an understanding of who he’s talking to?” Kevin asks looking sick. “No one has mentioned anything about the whole thing with the Moriyamas right?” He looks at the rest of them and Neil knows none of them would mention it.

Nicky rolls his eyes with his entire body.

“Kevin, do you know how many languages Smithy is fluent in?” Nicky asks.

“Uh…quite a few?” Kevin responds looking thrown.

“Yeah, one of those languages is French. Which you KNOW because he’s corrected your pronunciation before.” Nicky reminds Kevin and the Son of Exy blushes slightly.

“What does that have to do with this?!” Kevin squawks.

“Kevin, how many conversations have you had RIGHT in front of Smithy in French as you talked with Jean?” Nicky asks.

“None!” Kevin hisses.

“Can you say that for sure? You know how it can be with Smithy. Aaron over here has basically almost fucked his girlfriend in front of Smithy before because he didn’t realize he was there.” He juts his thumb towards Aaron.

“Hey.” Aaron scowls not happy to be reminded of that. “He needs a damn bell.” Aaron grumbles.

“I’ve talked about it in front of him and you never told us?!” Kevin exclaims.

“It’s Smithy! He’s not going to tell anyone!” Nicky argues.

Which is very true.

FF is just not that kind of guy.

“So we are ALL going to be good, supportive friends to Smithy and hopefully he gets out of here today despite the whole shit show with Ichirou and we get him back to Abby’s where he can rest up in her guest room with his grandma.” He points at each of them with a frown.

“But-“

“Kevin, leave it for now.” Wymack finally steps in to the conversation. “How’s he looking?” He looks to Neil.

Pale, tired, pained, and trying not to cry either from pain, stress, or fear Neil does not know.

“Bad.” Neil answers.

Wymack sighs, “Stay out here. I’m going to go check.” He says.

They watch as Wymack enters into FF’s room.

Kevin is still spiraling from the realization of all the different conversations he could have possibly had in front of FF thinking French would act as a barrier.

A thought crosses Neil’s mind, “Wait, Smith doesn’t know Russian right?” He looks to Andrew because he and Andrew have said quite a few things to one another when FF was there.

“No, he said he isn’t learning it here.” Andrew shakes his head. “Even if he does learn it Smith would just leave if he was uncomfortable.” Andrew shrugs.

They have all seen a ‘Smith 180°™‘ before when he’s walked in and has seen Aaron and Katelyn or entered a room where Nicky was talking to Erik or Matt was talking to Dan. Neil has even noticed one or two when him and Andrew may have been in a less than private place.

It was nice to have someone who would just see them like that and leave it alone instead of betting on it, trying to take a picture, or gagging like it’s disgusting.

Wymack walks back out after a minute in FF’s hospital room, “Let’s give Smith and his Grandma a couple more minutes.” He says and Neil’s heart sinks.

***

Wymack wasn’t quite sure what he walked into.

Smith’s Grandma was wiping his face and feeding him soup which is about what he expected. What he hadn’t expected was what FF was saying to his Grandma.

“….didn’t even wash his hands Gran. What if none of them wash their hands? I can’t work in that kind of environment!” FF babbles as he takes another spoonful of soup from his Grandma.

Smith’s Grandma looks up and sees that it’s just him at the door before continuing in English, “Sweetie, you don’t need to accept the job offer from the Yakuza.” She soothes.

“What do I even do?! What’s the etiquette? Do I send a letter refusing the job offer? Do I email him thanking him for the interview? Was it an interview?” FF asks.

Wymack shuts the door and he’s sure FF hadn’t even noticed him.

Yeah the kid needs a couple more minutes

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themundanemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupandfries @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit @lesbian-blackbeard @lesbiansupernatural @silvermasquerade @thepeachfuzz @minniemariex @kazoo-the-demjin @gaypomegranate @ji-nk-ies @neilimfinejosten @omgrubelangel @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice @percabethotplove @cozyrosykay @foxyatlas @theoneandonlylostsock @cindersapsecrets @scornedethnographer @hugemotherfuckingnerd @givemethedamnflowers @our-king-bree

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#Fluent Freshman AU #FF - Pt. 30 #Can't BELIEVE there's 30 parts of this #Happy 4th of July to all my fellow Americans #Happy Tuesday to everyone else #FF be going through it a bit in this chapter #He's a silly goofy guy but also he's having a delayed reaction to realizing who he just talked to #Yes Wymack was dragging Kevin because Kevin tried to go get into another argument with the Nutritionist #Also Yes GS had Neil eat veggies without his knowledge but EVERYONE else knew #Also yes the car that was parked the same assholey way that Andrew's was is Ichirou's car #Some other things that FF is worried about with the job offer #How does one ask for a raise within organized crime?#How organized is the crime?#Do they have payroll?#Or is it commissions based?#Is there some sort of ACCOUNTANT who manages all of that?#That's gotta be stressful #If he wants to pursue other avenues of employment how does he use this on his resume?#IS Ichirou Moriyama a good reference?#Do they get paid vacation?#What are his benefits?#Does he get to request 1 free hit a year?#If hired can he push a hygiene initiative?#Like YES you are trying to kill your target #But Sepsis is such an awful way to go #What do human resources look like in a crime family?#aftg #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #Andreil

363 notes · View notes