#folder name is because once again the last time i was this feral for a Man was like 4-5 years ago when i was in my bts phase | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

qitwrites · 3 years ago

Text

breaking ground

Fandom: boku no hero academia

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou / Bakugou Katsuki

(AO3)

The thing about your best friend/roommate/long-time crush/probably the love of your life being in a coma is that it sucks. Like, a lot.

‘Kats, if you don’t wake up, I will hide a dirty sock somewhere in your room. Somewhere you’ll never find it. And you’ll just have to live with that.’

The machines beep in the back, like a ghastly metronome.

‘I will move your desk 3 inches to the left.’

The soft rise and fall of the blonde’s chest is uniform, lungs contracting and expanding and contracting over and over.

‘I will literally stop watering the orchid Kats, I swear to god.’

Bakugou’s hands are by his side, nails longer than he’d ever keep. Kirishima makes a mental note to trim and file them later.

‘Ok, that’s going too far. I’d never kill Lucy, at least not on purpose.’

Bakugou continues to breathe with the help of a machine too complicated for Kirishima to understand, and the redhead just wants his best friend back. Because it’s been 16 days of Bakugou being fed and kept alive by a machine, it’s been 16 days since he heard his voice, saw his feral smile, looked into his bright, bright, bright eyes. And Kirishima is so ready for this nightmare to be over.

‘Come on Kats,’ Kirishima mumbles, laying his head down on the hospital bed and gently lacing his fingers with Bakugou’s, ‘you gotta wake up man. Our kitchen misses you. Our plants miss you. The neighbour’s cat misses you. Your mom misses you. I- fuck, I miss you.’

The machines continue to beep, his chest rises and falls uniformly, and Kirishima really just wants his best friend back.

The Bakusquad (the official immortalized name of the gang) lets Kirishima stay in the hospital in 3 days bursts, following which they bodily throw him out. For fresh air and some sunlight, they say, like he’s a dying plant.

‘You need to shower in your own home,’ Kaminari grumbles, stuffing his dirty clothes in a bag.

Sero pulls a beanie over his head. ‘And also water the plants in the balcony.’

Ashido stuffs his wallet into his pant pocket and slips his phone into his hand. ‘Also, don’t forget to dust the bookshelves! And leave some fresh water for Queens.’ She pulls him down for a soft kiss on the cheek.

Jirou pulls the phone from his hand, fiddles with it for a moment before slipping it back into his palm. She places a pair of wireless Beats headphones over his beanie, and he hears the first notes of a piano piece, calm and really lovely.

‘Playlist is on there,’ Jirou says, pointing at his hand.

And so Kirishima goes home, the home he shares with Bakugou, and he waters their plants, and dusts the bookshelves, and does some laundry and cooks easy fried rice the blonde had drilled into his brain.

He doesn’t look at Bakugou’s room door, doesn’t venture inside, doesn’t touch his space. He sticks to the common areas and his own room, and he keeps it clean and tidy, the way Bakugou likes it.

He’ll get to the blonde’s room eventually, just not yet.

Red Riot and Ground Zero are a hero pair. What this means is that they work individually when they want, and they pair up for bigger, more difficult missions.

And what a pair they make.

Riot is a wall, a shield, an unbreakable defence, always the last man standing. And Ground Zero is an explosion, a burst of light, an offence so quick and forceful the villains never stand a chance. They’re one of the best pairs out there, and they’ve done some amazing work.

It's almost stupidly ironic that Bakugou gets hurt during one of their paired missions.

The case involved several strong villains that attacked schools, and between rescue and evacuation and dealing with villains, Red Riot and Ground Zero had their hands full. Riot was mostly with the civilians and Ground Zero was keeping the damage to a minimum, but before Kirishima could go to Bakugou’s side and assist him, the damage had been done.

Because the last villain Bakugou had to deal with had decided to implode, killing himself and taking Bakugou out with him.

The damage had been immense.

Several concussions and broken ribs, bruises and internal bleeding that could only be controlled with a mix of surgeries and healing quirks. And finally, a waiting game. Bakugou had to wake up, his body had to heal itself and decide when and if he was going to wake up again.

And so Kirishima waits with him, silently supporting him from the side, ever patient, brimming with love.

25 days after the attack, Kirishima finally walks into Bakugou’s room.

The air smells faintly like sugar, like his quirk. The walls are bare but for the few polaroids Kirishima tacks on the wall above his desk. The laptop and file folders are sitting atop his table, a thin layer of dust coating them, and the only messy thing is his unmade bed.

Kirishima crawls under his sheets, breaths in his scent, and for the first time since Bakugou had decided to be an ass and slip into a coma, the redhead cries. Giant sobs that seem to come from his core, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, snot dripping out his nose.

Kirishima cries with the force of a thousand suns, and falls asleep right there, twisted in Bakugou’s sheets, in his unmade bed, in the middle of a room covered in a thin, fine layer of dust, smelling only slightly like burnt, warm sugar.

A month after the attack, Kirishima finally cleans Bakugou’s room.

Mina had made a good point. ‘If you don’t clean his room, it’s like you’re saying he’s not coming back so there’s no point. So, clean his room Eijirou.’

He appreciates that they don’t offer to do it. It’s usually impossible to keep them out of their apartment, impossible to keep them from getting belligerently drunk and playing monopoly on the living room floor while blasting 2000’s hits and throwing pieces of pepperoni at each other. Impossible to not love them.

But right now, the apartment is off-limits, and they seem to understand this. And respect it. And they understand that he needs a push here, a nudge there, and a gentle shove here to get his ass moving, to do the things he’s scared of doing, the things that just need to be done anyway

Kirishima loves them, so so much.

And so, he cleans. He dusts everything, puts Bakugou’s sheets in the wash and hangs his comforter out to dry. He fluffs up the All Might plushie and makes the bed, vacuums the floor, and puts his folded laundry back where it belongs in the closet.

He finds the box when he’s reorganizing Bakugou’s hero gear drawer. It’s a black box, smooth to the touch, no bigger than Kirishima’s palm, with just 2 words printed on top.

Death Box.

Its existence isn’t shocking to Kirishima. After all, he has one of his own, tucked neatly under his hanging jackets, pushed to the very back.

A Death Box is a pro-hero thing. It’s no secret that the life of a hero is riddled with danger and that one bad day could be the end. Every pro knows this. And most pro-heroes have a Death Box.

The contents of the box vary from person to person. Some leave behind letters addressed to friends and family. Others leave wills and assets and final testaments. Some leave behind cryptic messages or dramatic last words.

Kirishima never wondered about Bakugou’s box, and Bakugou had never asked about his own. But today, 31 days after the attack, 31 days of no Bakugou, 31 days of waking up with an ache in his chest because Kirishima’s heart is literally breaking, he finds himself gently pulling the box out and sitting on Bakugou’s bed, turning it over in his hands.

It’s really simple- no patterns or designs or anything. It's black as midnight, the lettering orange. Kirishima gently pops the box open and inside lays a single pen-drive. Nothing else.

Kirishima stares at it for a long, long time. He almost puts the box back in the drawer with the pen drive safely nestled inside, he almost forgets what he ever saw, he almost acts like he’s fine.

But he’s not fine. He’s so far from fine he can’t even spell the word. And he misses his friend with a pain so sharp he feels it in his bones. So Kirishima picks the pen drive up and takes it to the laptop. He switches the system on, plugs the drive in and waits for the program to load up.

Surprisingly, it isn’t password protected. He skims over the contents briefly. There’s a folder named Will and Final Testaments that he ignores completely. There’s another folder named Personal Project that he also leaves alone. The third folder is titled for everyone, and Kirishima clicks on that.

The folder is filled with video files of varying lengths. Each video is named after a specific person, and Kirishima smiles when he sees one for Bakugou’s mom, his dad, each of the Bakusquad, one for All Might, and one for Midoriya. The Deku video is easily bigger than all the others, all except one.

Because the one titled Shitty Hair is close to 45 minutes long.

Kirishima inhales shakily, and for once, he hesitates. Because once he watches this, he knows Bakugou will well and truly kill him. These videos, this content, it’s meant to be consumed after he dies. Not when he’s in a coma, not when he’s alive and fighting for his life. Not when he’s doing his best to come back.

But here’s the thing- Kirishima isn’t watching this because he thinks Bakugou’s as good as gone. He doesn’t believe that one bit. No, Kirishima is watching this because he misses Bakugou so much, so much that his insides feel like they're shredding up into little bits and pieces, and Kirishima just wants to hear him bark out his ugly laugh, he wants to see his eyes dance with mirth, he wants to watch Bakugou dump too much chilli into the curry and wrap himself into a blanket burrito on their couch in the dead of winter, cursing the weather viciously. He never thought he’d miss the way someone said fuck so much in his life, yet here he is.

So Kirishima inhales shakily, breathes out in a whoosh and hits play.

2 years ago

Bakugou had put off recording Kirishima’s message for years.

The one to his parents was simple enough. Dad, thank you for being some kinda balance in the house, and for loving me ridiculously unconditionally. Hag, ma, we’ve always had our own issues and we love so violently, but I do love you. I always have. Thank you for making me the devil spawn I am, couldn’t have been so great if it weren’t for you.

The Bakusquad (ugh, what a dumb name) had a video each. They weren’t super long, but he loved them all, more than they’d ever know when he’s alive, and he thought they deserved to know if he ever died before getting around to drunkenly confessing it or something.

Sero, your stupid fucking jokes have made some shitty days so much better.

Jirou, you’re insanely strong and you’ve had my back on more occasions than I can count.

Mina, my girl, you’re the OG. Thank you for never giving up on me, for always pushing me to be part of the gang, for becoming my friend.

Kaminari, you’re always gonna be hella fucking stupid, but you’re my stupid friend, one of my closest buddies, and it was a pleasure knowing you.

He might actually die if they find this when he's alive, but that’s the whole point of Death Box- it's to say the things you can't when you're alive or to remind people of the things you felt after you’re gone.

Midoriya’s had been hard. Midoriya’s had been really hard.

Unpacking so many emotions, talking about the past, UA, the present; it made his blood boil but also made him immeasurably sad. After their first year, Midoriya and he had grown close. They still found it difficult to communicate like normal human beings, but they always had each other’s backs, no matter where or what. And even as pro-heroes, they worked together wonderfully, competed for #1 fiercely, pushed each other to incredible heights, and picked each other up after terrible missions.

Deku, I know so much of our past is water under the bridge for you, and that’s been great for us because it lets us have a sort of friendship. But I haven’t forgotten. I will never forgive myself and all I could do is be better.

For all the fucked up shit that we’ve been through, for how much I still get angry when I see you and how much I want to be better than you all the time, you are the brother I never had, the comrade that never left, the friend that I’ve never deserved.

Izuku, thank you. I’m sorry.

Admitting to most of these things isn’t difficultly because it’s all true. And honesty has always come easily to Bakugou. As an adult hero, he’s learned things about himself, his own feelings, his own version of love for the people around him. And he can’t bring himself to say those exact words to Izuku, but he hopes his actions (Bentos pressed into Midoriya’s hands after long patrols, sharing beers on rooftops, patching each other up after shitty missions) are message enough.

But Kirishima? How is he supposed to find the words to tell Kirishima how he feels? How much the redhead means to him? Where does he even begin?

Bakugou huffs and slaps himself on both cheeks. Kirishima is out for the day, taking Mina shopping at the mall and catching a movie with the gang, a plan Bakugou had gotten himself out of just so he could sit here, in the apartment he shares with the only person he has ever had the good fortune of being in love with, to record a final message. What a happy thought.

Bakugou thinks Fuck it, takes a seat in front of the camera, ruffles his hair, and hits record.

‘Hey Shitty Hair.’

Hey Shitty Hair.

There are handprints on Bakugou’s face. His hair is a ruffled mess, his bed is unmade behind him, and his face looks almost nervous.

Kirishima doesn’t think about any of that.

Because seeing Bakugou on-screen with his red eyes boring into Kirishima, and hearing his voice, rough and loud and well-worn feels like the first breath of fresh air the redhead has gulped down in a month. It feels like a well-placed punch to the gut, and Kirishima almost bowls over, overwhelmed beyond comprehension.

He misses him so much.

Fuck, making this video is fucking hard, I’m not even sure where to start. Also, you better not be crying like a baby Ei, I sweat to God, I might be dead, but you still need to go out there and kick ass cause someone needs to take care of all those shitty villains.

Kirishima makes an aborted sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, because this is his best friend in the entire universe, the man he knows better than he knows himself. This is his person.

Anyway, I made a bunch of other videos for all the other losers, but yours has been the biggest pain in my ass. I guess the closer you are to someone, the harder it is right?

First off, I need to say thank you. For like, so much shit. Thank you for taking those first few steps in our friendship. For constantly pestering me and inserting yourself into my life. For training with me, including me in all kinds of stupid activities, and getting me into the gang. My time at UA would never have been so fun, so memorable, so amazing without you. You made it great, despite all the shit that went wrong.

The blonde sucks in a deep breath and his eyes pierce straight through Kirishima, peering right into his soul.

We don’t talk about Kamino because there’s never been the words. Ei, I was so scared. Fuck, I was so scared I couldn’t stop shaking. And then there you were, flying above me, hand outstretched and yelling at the top of your goddamn lungs ‘Come!’ And that’s it. I knew I’d be ok. I knew I’d be just fine.

And yeah, I mean, the pros were there and maybe we could’ve figured something else out and maybe things would’ve worked out a different way. But you guys coming for me, YOU reaching out to me? It was the first time I felt like I had friends. I had comrades. I had people. Of course, my emotionally stunted ass refused to accept these feelings, but they took root then. And continued to grow.

Bakugou sighs deeply and sits back in his chair. He looks at the ceiling and continues.

I’m not sure I know what love is. As a feeling, I don’t know how to categorize when I’m feeling love and when I’m not. At least, I didn’t for the longest time.

Bakugou looks back at the camera, and Kirishima’s vision is starting to blur dangerously.

I know I love my parents, but it feels different than the love I feel for the idiot brigade. It’s different from what I feel for Izuku. And it sure as hell feels different from the love I feel for you.

Bakugou sighs again, and his face breaks into the softest smile Kirishima has ever seen and everything hurts.

A few years ago, I think weeks after we’d moved into this place, we were making breakfast and you looked me dead in the eye and said ‘I think the morning glories are trying to kill me.’ And I laughed out loud and you looked so proud of yourself and I thought, ‘Shit, Ei is such an idiot.’ That’s when it hit me.

Bakugou’s smile grows fonder.

I don’t call people by their names even in my head Ei. You were Shitty Hair for most of our first year at UA. Then you became Kirishima, and then somehow it became Kiri, and then Eijirou and then Ei. Nobody, and I mean absolutely nobody else, is the same. Not a single fucking person.

The first time I called you Ei in my head, that’s when I realized I was in love with you.

Kirishima hits pause immediately. He closes the window, safely ejects the pen drive, puts it back in the box and returns it to its spot. He shuts the laptop down, walks out of Bakugou’s room and sits on the couch in the living area, the same one they’ve passed out on countless times, the same one they bought together with their first paychecks, the same one that’s stained with coffee rings and spaghetti sauce and pepperoni grease.

He picks his phone up on autopilot and dials a familiar number.

‘Kiri?’ Mina sounds like a hot cup of coffee on a chilly Tuesday morning.

‘Please come home.’

He hears some rustling and yelling in the background before Mina says, ‘Stay right there, we’ll be over as soon as Midoriya gets here ok?’

Kirishima hums out an affirmative and hangs up. It’s time they come home.

67 days after the fight, Kirishima gets a call.

‘He’s awake.’

Red Riot is back on the streets, patrolling during the day, staying with Bakugou in the hospital at night and barely keeping his shit together. But it’s ok, it kinda works. Works well enough that he can do his job and do it well, and his friends are always there, picking up his pieces, keeping him sane.

Before Kirishima can say anything, Midoriya continues, ‘Chargebolt is almost at your location to relieve you, so go.’

He takes off running. His lungs burn and he can barely see where he’s going but he’s made this walk so many times he can do it in his sleep. He runs as fast as his legs can take him and makes them go faster.

Kirishima bursts into the hospital and takes the stairs 3 at a time. He finally gets to Bakugou’s floor and sprints to the door, and he can barely pull in enough air. He’s lightheaded, his heart is palpitating, and his vision is blurry but he slides the door open anyway.

Carmine eyes snap over to his and time just comes to a complete standstill. There are no doctors, no nurses. There’s no Bakugou Mitsuki, no beeping machines that breathe for him, no beeping machines that feed him, no white sterile walls and ugly hospital gowns. There is only Bakugou Katsuki, his bright, bright, bright eyes and a hand outstretched at Kirishima.

‘Ei-‘

And that’s it. One moment he’s standing in the doorway, the next he has Bakugou gathered in his arms, and he’s so warm and alive and it’s absolutely everything.

‘Kats,’ Kirishima mumbles. ‘Kats.’

‘Ei, if you start crying, I will smack the shit out of you.’

Kirishima’s laugh is watery. He pulls away and cups Bakugou’s face, smooshing his cheeks a little.

‘Kats, for once, shut the fuck up and let me feel my feelings. Do you have any idea how much the plants missed you?’

Bakugou’s mouth twists in a grimace but his eyes soften till they’re just liquid ruby and Kirishima falls a little more in love.

‘Just the plants?’

‘Shut the fuck up Kats.’ And Kirishima hugs him again, presses Bakugou’s face firmly into the crook of his neck. The blonde’s arms tighten around his middle, and the world feels whole again.

A week after they return from the hospital, Bakugou finds a white envelope in the morning glories, the very same ones that Kirishima had insisted were trying to kill him.

To Kats it says in Kirishima’s untidy scrawl. Bakugou puts the watering can down and picks the letter up gently, opening it with trembling hands.

Dear Katsuki,

My Death Box has a bunch of letters in them. I wrote one for mom, one for mama, one for all our friends, I wrote letters to all of them.

Yours was the hardest because even after writing and rewriting it 5 times, it was always the same- all I can write to you is a love letter.

Bakugou doesn’t read the rest, just snaps his head up and looks around wildly.

‘EIJIROU, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YO-‘

‘I love you Kats.’ Kirishima is right there, standing by the balcony door, eyes wide and hopeful. He’s wearing sweatpants low on his hips, and in each hand, he holds a mug of steaming hot chocolate spiked with chilli. Mexican cocoa. Bakugou’s favourite.

He puts the mugs down on the balcony ledge. ‘I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t remember what it’s like to not be in love with you.’

‘Eijirou-‘

‘I love you.’ Kirishima steps forward and frames Bakugou’s face with his warm, calloused hands, and smiles big. ‘What about you?’

Bakugou scoffs. ‘What do you think, Shitty Hair?’

‘Gotta hear you say it, Kats.’

‘You’re a pain in my ass.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re so annoying.’

‘I agree.’

‘Your hair still sucks.’

‘Your nose twitches when you lie.’

‘And I love you so much anyway.’ Bakugou finishes and places his hands over Kirishima’s and squeezes.

‘Don’t start crying Ei.’

‘Let me feel my feelings, Kats.’

‘I’m not kissing you if you’re covered in fucking snot.’

Kirishima laughs at that, pulling Bakugou close. ‘Your nose still twitches when you lie.’

Bakugou doesn’t deign that with a response, just smirks his trademark smirk, looks at Kirishima with those bright, bright, bright eyes and kisses him stupid.

‘Again,’ Kirishima mumbles.

Bakugou does just that.

#boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha #my hero fanfic #kiribaku #bakushima #bnha kirishima #bakugou katsuki #bakusquad #ashido mina #sero hanta #kaminari denki #THANKS TO MY BEST FRIEND FOR NAMING THE FIC AND READING IT ONE BILLION TIMES #so this story is hurt/comfort and so much fluff #I LOVE KIRIBAKU SO MUCH ITS ABSURD #hope you enjoy :D

115 notes · View notes

mariesocuniverse · 4 years ago

Text

Relationships: WayV

MaeKun

if it werent for the the laws of ncity he wouldve asked her to join wayv and stay in their dorms

Since they don’t live together or are part of the same unit they don’t really spend a lot of time together but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t want to be with Mae

Large parent/protective older brother energy

not as protective as 127 hyungs but you know

Yeah she’s a menace when she teams up with other WayV members but she doesn’t clown him as much as they do it’s cause she saves that energy for doyoung lmao

mae claims she visits the wayv dorm for him but he’s 50% sure she’s just there for the animals

the other 50% is because she wants him to cook for her which he does even if she doesnt ask

hes like those parents who insist on giving you leftovers to bring home to your family

he taught her to do magic tricks bc she was insistent on wanting to learn at least one

okay but honestly she thinks he really cool despite all the clowning she does to him

like singing? dancing? cooking? visual? magic? and he can fly a plane????

one of the reasons she has high standards ngl

MaeTen

ten has unofficially adopted her whether people like it or not

he has fought with taeyong and doyoung about it she is his baby

if mark and johnny are his brothers, mae is basically his younger sister

if you look at his photo gallery he has a folder dedicated to mae and mae only

any photo or video of them together is basically ten clinging to her like a koala

he looks at her like she put all the stars in the sky but the same goes for mae

she has admitted in an interview that ten is one of her role models because of his talent and work ethic

whenever she needs help with dancing he’s one of the first people she asks

xiaojun once asked him who’s his favorite between yangyang and mae and you could see him malfunction for like six seconds before jokingly scolding him

“yah how could you ask me that type of question?”

fun fact! ten was the person she asked to go with her when she got her first tattoo!

he arranged the appointment at the place where he got his and held her hand when she was getting it

Lowkey considered getting matching tattoos but never really took the time to think of what tattoos they’d get

MaeWin

another top ship among czennies

these two are so soft for each other omg

just one glance at the two and you’re already melting

You can see Yuta screaming about MaeWin whenever the group is together and they’re interacting

And if you can’t see it you’ll probably hear it

MaeWin: casually talking

Yuta: is this what heaven looks like

MaeWinMark is just yuta’s weakness and he doesn’t even bother to hide it

Okay back to MaeWin before I get ahead of myself and make an entire post about Yuta and MaeWinMark

If they’re gathered in a large group their interactions aren’t really noticeable unless you’re actively looking for it

While the others are talking you can just see Mae playing with his hands or winwin giving her a soft smile while patting her head

They talk more when they’re either in a small group or just the two of them

MaeWin shippers were devastated when they got separated so when nct 2020 happened they went feral

Every once in a while they go out for hotpot and talk about what has been going on

LuMae

this man right here

they first met when she was visiting NCT U dance practice for BOSS with food and she heard him from the hallway

its one of the reasons why she wasn’t intimidated by him even though hes a giant

she was excited to see what kind of energy and personality he would bring to nct

and she was not disappointed at all

personal hype man

whenever they’re on a variety show together and mae is asked to do something he just yells “FIGHT HAEYADWAE”

of course the same goes for mae but less loud bc last time she kept yelling she lost her voice and couldnt talk for the rest of the show

He just has this energy where if he’s hyped up about something she feels energized to be hyped up well so you just hear the both of them cheering loudly

its always interesting to see because you just see a gentle giant cheering loudly with this smol girl next to him trying to match his energy

he always makes sure she’s comfortable when they’re at a schedule

like we know how he’s really silly on camera but he’s also very observant and caring

one time mae complained about how her feet hurt from the heels she was wearing so he just picked her up bridal style and walked to the van without a word

XiaoMae

They’ve heard abt each other from Kun and ten and greeted each other when they passed by each other in the halls but they never really had a chance to grow close until nct 2020 happened

Mae wasn’t in the Make a Wish unit so there weren’t a lot of chances to get to know each other while promoting either but it doesn’t mean they’re not friends

ten also hogs her attention when she visits the wayv dorms but we dont talk about that

these two arent as close as the others but not to the point where they actively avoid each other

whenever they’re together they just vibe

theres no awkward silence or small talk they just talk about random stuff

“no lucas, i dont hate xiaojun hyung we just dont hang out as often as we do”

“yes hendery we do have each other’s numbers we just don’t talk often”

WayV is lowkey tempted to lock the two of them in a practice room together and do a vlive to see what’ll happen

prime candidates for “It’s Awkward but It’s Okay”

their dynamic is kinda DoRen where they pretend to be awkward around each other as a joke

like they went out together once and everyone as excited bc omg they were interacting

XiaoMae shippers are starved for content and will accept any crumbs that come their way

HenMae

the duo people didnt know they needed until they met

its not like people didnt want them to become friends its just that theyre energies match well

these two are such a vibe

you know how there are ppl who don’t see for long periods of times but you still want tackle them in a hug whenever you meet? yeah its like that

kun sometimes wants to separate the two bc of how much chaos they cause together

they’re the duo where they think something is a good idea at the time but ends up as something bad at the end

kun has banned the two from the kitchen bc of a fire they started

HenMae shippers are thriving because of all the stories of the dumb shit they’ve done

lowkey considered doing a series together on nct daily but then the channel stopped uploading vids so it was never mentioned again

one time he was on call with his sister when she walked in and accidentally mistook her as his gf and now they jokingly have each other as bf and gf in their phone contacts

ten nearly had a heart attack when he saw the contact name pop up and mae picked up the call

yangyang has the whole thing recorded on his phone and refuses to delete it

MaeYang

(A/N everytime i see this gif i need a moment to pause and try and remember my ideas cause my head goes empty when it comes to yangyang)

okay if HenMae are chaotic, MaeYang are worse

kun doesnt need to dye his hair gray bc of all the stress these two cause him

czennies thought they didnt interact much bc of different schedules and groups but once nct world happened they changed their minds

MaeYang slowly climbing up the ranks of nct ships

during one of his lives yangyang mentioned how he spoke a lot with mae and that she wanted to add him to the 00liner gc

czennies lost it that day bc 1) holy shit theres a 00liners gc and 2) why tf hasnt yangyang been added into it yet

insists that she calls him oppa/hyung even though theres only a one month difference between them

Mae and Yangyang: whispering in the corner of the room

kun: theyre either talking shit about someone or world domination and i cant tell whats worse

he tried teaching her some german once and she now knows like three sentences

“Hallo, Ich bin Mae. Was geht ab? Mir geht’s gut.” (A/N this is the outcome of my three years of german lessons everyone)

and basically all the swear words but we dont need to talk about that

haechan jokes that he’s stealing mae away from the dreamies so he wont be the maknae in wayv

#nct 24th member #24th member of nct #nct female addition #nct female oc #nct au #kpop female addition #nct addition #nct dream female member #nct dream female addition #nct 127 female addition #nct 127 female member

94 notes · View notes

forbiddensoul562 · 3 years ago

Text

Contagion

I could have sworn I’d published this, but I found it in my draft folder this morning... So... I apologize that it hasn’t gone through a rigorous editing process, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Two years ago I sat on a train in Taiwan, headed from Taipei to a small, remote place called (I think) Wufeng. As I sat there, I thought about a post-apocalyptic zombie Meronia fic I’d read somewhere on here. It was very good, but I had no luck tracking it down again, and I thought that was a damn shame.

So, I pulled out my notebook and wrote a test first chapter of my own version during the whole two hour train ride.

It’s not much, and might not have much substance to it. But I’d love to get anyone’s thoughts on it’s start.

Working Title: Contagion

The moment they appeared their existence made national news… The world screeched to a halt, all attention on these things. Humans… turned diseased, feral, or perhaps something else entirely. No one knew for sure where they came from. It was as though one moment the world continued spinning like normal, and in the next… these things began flooding the streets. The initial confusion of news analysts and reporters slowly began to turn to fear. It took only an hour before the first bite was reported... The victim turned, becoming one of the diseased.

That was the moment public fear began to turn to panic, catching like wildfire.

As Near watched, from secluded inside his high tower, he was acutely aware that he was witnessing the turning point of human history.

By the second hour after the first report had hit the news, Near had decided that what he was witnessing was potentially the unravelling of human society. He was a detective… trained to solve the world’s mysteries. But this… There was no training for this, and even if he wanted to act, the pandemic was spreading far too fast.

By hour three Near found himself trying to name these things based on their condition – should he refer to them as the Sick, infected initially by some kind of widespread contagion? The news began to report them as simply ‘undead,’ and while Near understood that such a title effectively, and most simply communicated to the general populace what these things were doing, based on common knowledge from mass media, Near could only roll his eyes at how unoriginal and unfitting the term appeared to be.

At the tenth hour, local news agencies began going off the air as it was too dangerous to stay and try to report. It made sense, they had themselves and their own families to think about. It was in that moment that fear suddenly began to take the place of Near’s previously more pragmatic thoughts. A new, chilling terror of encroaching total isolation the outside world seeped into his bones.

It was then that he decided it best to make the one call of utmost importance in the dying world, before cell towers began to completely fall off the grid.

Rester handed Near the phone and the detective listened to the ringing tone as he pressed it to his ear, an unspoken panic brewing in his center and he couldn’t decide if it was premised in his worry for lines of communication, or something much more morbid. ‘Pick up,’ He mentally pleaded, desperately. ‘Come on, answer your phone…’ Of all the times to be ignored…

But then, as if by command, finally the other end of the phone ceased the repetitive tone, replaced instead with a simple, abrupt, “What?”

“Mello.” A heavy breath was released that Near hadn’t realized he was holding, momentary relief taking its place. “You’ve seen the news?”

[More beneath a ‘keep reading’, just in case Tumblr isn’t showing it...]

There was a brief pause from the other end, and Near felt his heartrate quicken in response. Time was just too precious for delays of any kind. Every second that crucial information wasn’t being conveyed was another second that Near felt his panic increase, worried that the call might drop and he might never get to say what he needed to.

“It’s starting to be chaos here, too.” Mello’s tone was somber, quieter as though speaking any louder would make the events all the more real.

“I see.” Near reached for a strand of hair, though the repetitive twirling sensation was proving to do little to calm his nerves, as it once had. This was just becoming too big of a catastrophe for his simple rituals to pacify his worry. “The world is ending, Mello.”

“Strangely dramatic of you.” The older successor muttered, but was quick to add, “You think I don’t know that?” There was an irritated edge to his tone, yet still Near couldn’t help cracking a small smile at Mello’s underhanded, and perhaps unconscious, implication that they both truly were not above dramatics. Though, perhaps he was reading too far into it, searching for a sliver of normality in a world that was quickly falling crumbling.

“No, of course you would already be aware.” After all, Mello was much more heavily involved in the world, or at least connected to it on a far more personal level than Near was. “No doubt the grid will be going down at some point. Maybe in a few minutes, maybe in a few hours, or days… So to that effect I wanted to contact you first over anyone else.” Near’s motions in his hair stopped, the white strand unravelling around his index finger. His vision and even his attention to the rest of the room seemed to blur as he focused entirely upon his connection to the only other person of importance Near had, in a world that was falling apart. “If things continue as they are, to the best of my ability I plan on attempting to create a safe zone within my tower. Right now it has the resources to survive here for at least a year, but I aim to build on those.”

When Mello said nothing in response, Near continued, rambling still, but this time more to the point, “What is happening right now is far greater than you or I, Mello, and on our own I do not think we will make it long. You lack the resources and I lack the physicality. But together, we-”

“Near, don’t, I’m not-”

“Mello, please.” He could hear the pleading in his words, “Just listen to me a moment.”

This time, the blonde remained quiet on the other end.

“If you can make it from your present location in California to here in New York… I would greatly benefit from whatever you have to offer to survival efforts. Neither of us will make it if we’re split up. This is not like anything else we have ever dealt with, and because of that I don’t think it makes sense to hold onto lingering animosity. Think of your survival.”

Near shook his head. Logic wouldn’t work with Mello… So he added quieter, “I need your help, Mello.”

There was a long silence between them, then, the words and residual antipathy culminating between them into that one moment of silence which seemed to hold all the necessary potential to be both of their ruin, not to mention all the others Near had every intention of trying to help. Everything hinged on this single moment… of being able to put aside disputes, and endless history for a greater good. It had never worked before. Yet this time, Near held his breath.

Finally, “I’ll do what I can.” The words were vague, but of course both successors understood the weight and challenge associated with attempting to travel from one side of the country to the direct opposite in the current collapsing state of things. But if Mello was as willing and able as his words alluded to, then Near was willing to hold his breath a little while longer.

Near nodded, “I look forward to your arrival, then.”

The detective was ready to end the call while he had Mello’s agreement and thus his own sense of hope, but of course Mello broke in before he could, “Yeah, you say that, but you’re not the one having to go out and deal with this shit. It’s a risk, Near. At this rate, who knows what the country will do in response...”

Near could read between the lines: Mello thought he might not make it.

But Near had to stay positive, even if he was feigning it for both of them, now. The thought of being alone to go going through what was shaping up to be the apocalypse was troublesome at best, and truly terrifying at worst. “Getting into and climbing the ranks of the Mafia was a risk, too.”

There was a short, curt chuckle from the other end of the line. “Yeah, well… we’ll see. I’ll try.” The younger successor didn’t like the tone latent in his voice. He didn’t like hearing Mello be anything other than his loud, over-the-top self that exuded confidence. But then, nothing was good about this situation or provided any reason for the blonde to hold onto his normal demeanor… Still, it was jarring and was almost worse than seeing the reports on the news.

But Near forced himself to nod, “Right, I’ll see you soon, then.”

Yet another pause on the other end, followed by a simple, “Yeah.”

In that moment Near found himself reluctant to cut their connection. There were so many things he wanted to say to the blonde successor… just in case this was their last time ever speaking. Years of harbored words flooded his mouth like bile, yet burning his throat with the knowledge that no matter how much he wanted to let it all spill out, Mello wouldn’t stand such talk. Not now. Maybe not ever. Though, perhaps it was better this way. He didn’t want to say anything that might prove a distraction to Mello’s journey across the country to get to him.

So he instead swallowed it all back down, promising himself that he would make time to pour out all of these words to Mello when the older successor made it to him.

He could only bring himself to whisper, “Good luck. Be safe. Please.” It was the closest thing to a prayer Near thought he could ever formulate.

“You too, Near.” Mello said much quieter. “Don’t... let anything happen before I can make it there, alright?”

“I won’t.” He shook his head. “I’ll be here waiting.” With that, he pulled the phone away and hung up.

#fsfics #Death Note #Meronia #MelloxNear #MelloNear

24 notes · View notes

darker-soft-starker · 4 years ago

Photo

Starker High School AU Pt. 6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

---

tw: general howard stark warning

---

There is a buzzing by his ear.

At first, Tony doesn’t really notice it, waking up in short increments before being pulled back under. But he keeps waking, unsure what keeps tugging him out of his dreams, hand flapping around his face as he tries to stop the incessant ringing.

“Blergh,” he mumbles into his pillow.

Batting his hand around to quell the source of annoyance, he comes to grip his phone, squinting as it lights up inches away from his face and vibrates against his palm. For a second he thinks it’s his alarm, but then he remembers that he didn’t set one. It’s a succession of text notifications cascading down his screen that alerts him out of the slope of slumber with a start.

The only time his phone goes off like this is an emergency. The first thing he registers is that it’s only eight-minutes after seven. He blinks, sight clearing from the sleep wedged in his eye as he reads the flurry of still-incoming texts.

> so thanks for last night > yknow > for the ride > i mean > you know what i mean > anyway > so that folder i gave you had my BIO notes, not econ > im such a doofus > i need them back > don’t bother looking at them lol > can we meet up?

Tony groans, eyelids heavy as anvils. Jesus christ. He didn’t get home until four after dropping this guy off and he’s already up and bothering him? What gives?

Exhausted and annoyed, he tucks his phone under his pillow and sets it on do-not-disturb for extra measure. There ain’t no way he’s getting up at seven on a Saturday for fucking class notes. Prick.

In his opinion, he’s filled his quote of good deeds for the month and he doesn’t need to be up for another few hours. Whatever it is, he thinks, snuggling into his pillow, he’s sure it can wait.

---

The next time he wakes it’s just after nine. There’s a gap in his curtains allowing a sharp shard of sunlight into the room where it directly pierces into his eyelids.

He groans tiredly into the drool patch on his pillow, willing sleep to come back to him, turning on his other side, gripping the edges of the quilt and tightening it around himself until he is firmly cocooned within it. It’s nice and warm, and sleep is such a rare commodity to him so it’s novel to bask in its dregs. But there isn’t any more sleep to come he’s quick to realize, giving up after a few minutes and blinking up at the ceiling.

Nine is practically six. It’s criminal to be up this early.

There’s an unusual flurry of texts on his phone, some from Rhodey, but most of them are from Parker, an endless ladder of increasing franticness.

Tony tosses his phone to the end of his bed carelessly.

It’s been literally less than twelve hours since he’s had to deal with the shithead. Surely whatever was lodged up his ass couldn’t possibly be as important as Tony ignoring him.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he stands and stretches his arms up high, fingers curling. The stretch feels good and he takes a quick sniff of his armpits to gauge if he can forego a shower for the third day in a row.

The stench is wicked. It’s possible that he’s overdue.

He strips off as he heads towards the adjacent bathroom, naked and nursing a semi.

He can’t help but shudder as his back meets the cold tiles, the intuitive shower head following his body with a mechanical whir, miscalculating its aim and spraying him in the face.

Ah. That will need to be recalibrated, he notes.

But, he can’t say he really minds, tolerating the spray, even as it hits his mouth like a fire hose. He ducks his head to wet his hair, reaching blindly for the touchpad to dial down the pressure. Once the water is to his liking he reaches down to take himself in hand, leisurely stroking himself.

It’s just a perfunctory part of his morning ritual; he doesn’t really have anyone in mind as he brings himself to full hardness, just the fleeting memory of lips around his cock, the next of a well rounded ass, not feeling particularly creative.

Okay, so maybe he pictures some big, brown eyes and dark hair he can run his fingers through. And maybe he goes off like a rocket. That’s his business.

Anyway, once he’s out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he inspects his appearance in the mirror. The bruises on his face are still pretty gruesome, deep purple and beginning to yellow around the edges. The cut on his lip seems to be well and truly scabby.

Turning to the side, Tony takes observation of his overall torso region; his stomach is not as defined as he’d like it to be - probably due to his affinity for carbs and sweets, if he’s honest. Between a few fingers he can pinch the skin and pull it a little -- and look, he’s a bit soft around the middle, but he lifts, alright. Maybe he isn’t exactly steel cut like the dudebros on the football team who have made being ripped their life mission, but he has musculature under the adipose.

Is he a little self-conscious about it? Sure. Is he worried about it enough to give up garlic bread and cronuts? No. Especially when he spots a new chest hair nestled comfortably between his pecs.

Probably a bit too proud of himself because of a singular piece of hair, Tony gets dressed in a pair of jeans that have seen better days, speckled with singe marks and thinning at the knees and a singlet, slinging on his leather jacket for the finishing touch.

He almost forgets the bot.

“Look at you,” he says, to the mangled mess of metal on his desk. Scooping the injured, beeping bot Tony stuffs it into his backpack. “Come here, darling. Shh, you’re okay.”

Peering both ways out of the hall to ensure the coast is clear, he quickly descends the stairs, shushing the bot the whole way.

On the ground floor, he pauses when he hears voices coming from his father’s office. It takes a second to recognise the voices, his father and Stane arguing over one another, loudly, then softly. He tries to listen in, catching somewhat audible hisses about the company finance officer.

Careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak he tiptoes to the kitchen to pocket a few muesli bars and a water bottle from the fridge.

The voices get progressively louder as he sneaks to the front door, silently saluting their maid as he passes. She waves back at him, offering a sympathetic smile as he goes out the door.

His heart pounds as he reaches his car, parked around the corner street.

“Alright, baby,” he grins, revving the engine. “Let’s go.”

---

“The fuck?”

It’s hard to be sure, but perhaps Rhodey doesn’t expect Tony’s unannounced arrival at his front door. Not if the furious scowl and bunny slippers on his feet are anything to go by.

Nonetheless, he slips past the front door, welcoming himself into his friends home, despite the exasperated outcry of for fucks sake Tony, it’s Saturday and it’s not even noon, can’t you call ahead?

No, he can’t call. Well, actually, he reconsiders, heading down the hall to the basement, his friends footsteps echoing behind him, he probably could, but it wouldn’t make anyone less mad at him, so what’s the point?

Besides, judging by the empty driveway and barren living room, Rhodey’s family is already out, he’s not sure what the issue is.

“The issue is I am tired, man,” his friend complains, following him down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Me too, honeybear, freakin’ exhausted,” Tony mutters, skipping down the stairs. “Go back to bed. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Oh sure, and let you solder your fingers together again. Nah. Not taking the fall for that.”

“I’m not going to solder my fingers together. I’m a pro.”

“Unless you need me to remind you of last summer,” Rhodey takes a seat at the workbench, “I suggest you shut up.”

“You’re rude, you know that?” Tony asks, retrieving the bot from his backpack and setting it upon the bench. “I’ll have you know that I’ve learned since then.”

“And yet you still refuse to wear gloves,” his friend sighs, settling heavily upon the adjacent chair. There’s a comfortable quiet between them while Tony works, carefully settling all the pieces onto the table, moving each with care.

It’s hard to miss the weight of observation on the back of his neck, but he lets his friend drink his fill before he’s ready to speak.

“You fuck up something?” He points to the bot.

Tony shakes his head, pressing the solder into the circuit board. “No. Well, yes. The coding is perfect, as usual, but this idiot isn’t any smarter than a Roomba. He’s meant to be smarter.”

“So?

“He is smarter. I dunno, sometimes he messes up,” Tony mumbles, reaching blindly for the bent-nose pliers before Rhodey places it in his hand. “He’s not bad, just dumb. It’s not his fault.”

“And again, what happened? Did you run him over?”

“No, the old man got sick of me playing with ‘toys’. Dumb-dumb here met the wall in a very dramatic fashion. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.”

There’s a sigh from behind him.

“Does that explain your face?”

Tony glances behind him and smirks.

“You mean my dashing good looks?”

“Tony.”

“Honestly? I got into a fight with a feral racoon that ran off with some old lady’s purse. It nearly cost me an eye, but I saved the day. She called me a hero, gave me some stale crackers from her purse and then gave me her number.”

“Tony.”

“Fine. I was skateboarding. I was in the middle of executing a super complicated kickflip but lost control when an enlarged gutter rat scurried in front of me. I flew headfirst into the gravel. Very embarrassing. That work?”

“Tony.”

“Look, just leave it will ya? God, you’re like a nagging wife. Pick whichever story makes you feel all nice and fuzzy inside.”

Rhodey is suddenly before him, waving something in his face. “Your phone, jackass. Your better half is calling?”

Huh?

Tony blinks, gently setting down the pliers and the chip he’d removed, taking his phone. It vibrates, Your Better Half flashing across the screen.

“Parker, ugh.”

He really should have changed the contact name by now, he thinks, swiping to answer.

“Alcoholics Anonymous,” Tony answers by way of greeting. “How may I direct your call?”

“Ha ha, very funny, asshole. So you are awake. I’ve been trying to contact you all morning.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think you actually might have separation issues,” Tony says. “I just got rid of you like eight hours ago.”

“I’m calling about the folder. Didn’t you read my texts?“

“Oh, I read them,” Tony settles back on the stool and continues to work on the main circuit. “See, I was just ignoring you. Hoping you’d take the hint, but I forget subtlety is lost on you.”

“Look, I need my notes. Can we meet up?”

“Right, for Bio,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“No. I, uh -- I have a test first period. I need to study for it.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember, the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. You’ll be fine.”

“I take AP Bio, asswipe, I’m aware of that. Can I just get it back, please?”

“You take AP Bio? Was that an admin error or something?” he asks, holding the chip he’d retrieved earlier up to the light to inspect for any damage.

It looks to be ok. The damage to the bot overall seems to be mostly cosmetic, couple of scratches, a few dents. Nothing that a few replacement panels wont fix. Whatever he hasn’t already got stored here Rhodey will surely have spare parts, it’ll be fine. God, what would he do if his friend didn’t lovingly tolerate Tony using his space for storage and barging in whenever he lucks. It’s lucky Rhode’s parents are so chill though, unlike his own. He may be a hot-head but he’s practically a saint compared to -

“ - hello? Are you still there? I can hear you breathing.”

Tony blinks. “Right. Your notes. Look, I’m kinda busy. I have a life outside of you and I don’t actually care about your academic integrity, so, you’re gonna have to wait.”

“For how long?”

“I’ll drop them off this evening, like six-ish. Hey, maybe we could do that interview with May if she’ll be around.”

“...I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“C’mon, I already told you I’m not actually hot for your aunt. I’ll be professional.”

Rhodey shoots him a bewildered look.

“That’s not what -- look, whatever. Just don’t be late okay. I have a life outside of you too.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I’ll try and not get in the way of your weekend plans of crying while you masturbate.”

“I literally hate you.”

“And yet you aren’t denying the crying. Anyway, I have to go now, try to clean yourself up before I get there. See you at six, bubby,” he hangs up, cracking his neck before refocusing on his mangled creation. “Now where were we?”

“What the fuck.”

Tony pauses, pliers in hand. There is a particular expression on Rhodey’s face erring on the side of confused and haunted.

“What?”

“’Bubby’?”

“Don’t say it like that - it’s like an inside thing. Don’t repeat it to him, alright, he’ll get pissy. And then I’ll get pissy.”

“You know it’s just a project, right? You two aren’t actually married.”

“Thank god. Could you imagine being married to that guy?” Tony shudders. “Scary.”

“Two weeks ago you said he was the bane of your existence. Now you have ‘inside things’ with him? You saw him last night?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. Yeah, he doesn’t really have a good explanation for any of that.

The thing about himself, Tony’s found over time and trial, is that he really, really likes to press buttons. He likes to test variables, wants to see what would happen if he did something he wasn’t supposed to, and map out the world as it occurs in motion around him. Curiosity means he likes to test the parameters, to see what can yield, what will bite back.

More often than not that kind of impulsive brand of curiosity has gotten him in some sort of trouble. Turns out not everything and everyone appreciates being tested - and many things like to lash out when pressed.

Parker, Tony has found, is somebody that doesn’t yield or bite. If Tony was a betting man he’d have placed his money on the boy being more of a yielding type - but what he does is he presses buttons just as much as Tony does, buttons he didn’t even know he had to be pressed.

And that very much interests Tony.

He just doesn’t know what to do with that information, except to keep pressing.

“I’ll explain later,” Tony promises, mentally crossing his fingers. “In the meantime, can we forget about Parker and focus on my broken baby here?”

Rhodey relents, but Tony knows that look in his eye. He’ll be hearing about it later and at the most inconvenient time. And he’s gonna tell Pepper.

Wonderful.

He really should change Peter’s contact name in his phone.

---

By the time he leaves the Rhodes residence and heads to his next destination, his robot is in somewhat in working order again. It remains fairly immobile though, just until Tony can replace the damaged infrared and touch sensor. It clicks its metal claws sadly towards Tony in the passenger seat as he drives.

It’s a Roy Orbison kind of day, so the music is loud and the guitar is heavy as he makes the drive to Harlem.

And if Tony frees a hand to pat the bot on its’ metal head every so often, that’s his business.

When he reaches the other side of the city he parks in his usual space at a nearby lot and contemplates whether or not he should leave the malfunctioning bot in his car for the sake of being professional. It clicks at his jacket, weakly grasping the material as if on a plea - and damn, Tony knows the thing isn’t actually sentient but what kind of asshole would he be if he left it here for the day.

Heart squeezing with sympathy, Tony delicately places him in the backpack, leaving the zip partially open for ‘air’.

Next, snacks.

While he’s retrieving a pack (or two) of Reeses, he comes across Parker’s folder that he’d stashed there last night. Their conversation from earlier returns to the forefront of his mind.

Look, Parker might not be the knuckle-dragging, monosyllabic dumbass Tony initially suspected that he was, and yeah he was savvy as demonstrated during their trip to the rental market - and yeah, definitely smarter than his social circle would suggest, and is absolutely and a source of constant surprise to Tony - but is he AP Bio - or AP anything material?

Time to find out.

The first thing that Tony notices is that the notes are definitely not for Bio. They’re for Econ, as initially prescribed.

The second thing he notices, as he flicks through the papers, skimming over the complicated graphs and annotated research, is that what he’s reading is actually good.

Well, I’ll be darned, Tony thinks, eyes getting progressively wider as he flicks through the pages. Not bad at all.

Makes him wonder why Parker thought he was missing his Bio notes though.

The answer to that becomes clear when a crumpled envelope falls out of the stack onto Tony’s lap. He picks it up, at first thinking it’s a part of the research, but pauses. It’s open and it’s addressed to May Parker.

“Um,” he says.

It’s from Queens Presbyterian Hospital, which should make him drop it as if it were burning. It doesn’t, though. Either it’s meant to be included in the folder, or it’s not and that’s why Parker has been acting like a crazy-ex all morning.

Hmm. Tony sits there, torn, debating whether or not to look into it, the overdue stamp standing out against the crisp paper like a warning sign. On one hand, he’s running kinda late and, y’know, privacy or whatever -- on the other, his fingers are already itching to know what’s in it.

Mind your own business, he can already hear Rhodey saying, mind your own business, Tony.

Curiosity and a distinct lack of a moral compass wins, as always. Just a quick peek, that should be okay, right? The envelope is already open anyway, so, it’s not like anyone will be able to tell.

God, this is none of my business, he tells himself, even as he’s retrieving the letter from within and starts reading it.

Oh.

Tony quickly stashes the letter back into the envelope and back into the folder. Yep, definitely none of his business.

Yeah, he really shouldn’t have done that. Big fucking yikes on his behalf. And yep, there’s the guilt -- or at least he thinks the stomach churning is guilt, it could be the stale muesli bar he ate on the way.

Nonetheless, it hangs over him like a dark cloud as he picks up his backpack and heads out to the garage across the road. What kind of asshole looks into someone’s mail because they can’t help themselves. This dick, that’s who.

Fixing a grin he doesn’t really feel, he heads to the back office. He knocks on the window, ducking his head into the open door.

“Yo,” he waves to the man sitting behind the desk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey kid,” the man looks up, smiling before his face drops. “Tony, your face. What happened?”

“This? It’s nothing --”

“-- is that why you couldn’t come to work yesterday? Not that I mind,” the man stands up. “Are you okay? Was it --”

“-- Was it nothing to worry about? Absolutely,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “Just an unfortunate encounter with a wild, feral squirrel in Central Park. I tell you, they’re deceivingly cute, but they’re pests. Totally out of control.”

“Tony.”

“Jarvis,” he interrupts, gesturing to the cars in the garage behind him. “C’mon. Look, let’s get to work, okay? Save the violins for later.”

And by later he means never.

The man sighs, world-weary, looking at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. At first he’s certain his boss is going to push the issue, but it must be a day for dodging bullets because he relents.

“Alright, kid. I got a ninety-four Ford sedan back there with your name on it. Busted fan belt, overheated engine. Probably needs a new set of spark plugs while you’re at it.”

With a grateful nod, Tony heads back, locating the vehicle in question. It’s rusted to all hell and probably not worth the cost of repair, but he gets stuck into it anyway, keen for a distraction. He sets his bag and bot down near him while Jarvis blasts Alice Cooper’s Poison.

Tony might not have all the answers to life’s problems, but this is something he knows how to fix.

---

He probably distracts himself a little too well, because by the time he’s wrapped up with the Ford it’s already five-thirty and he’s a mess of engine oil and coolant.

It’s only when Jarvis squeezes his shoulder and points to the clock on the far wall does he realise that he’s lost his sense of time. How the fuck is he supposed to clean up and get all the way from Harlem to Queens at this time of night?

“Ah, crap,” Tony mutters, setting down his socket-wrench in his toolbox. “I’m late.”

“Late for what? You got a hot date or something?” Jarvis asks, stepping back to give him some room as he rushes to the staff bathroom.

“What, no,” He calls back, running the faucet and pumping soap over his hands. “I gotta go see about a guy.” He struggles to hear his boss over the running water but he doesn’t have time to stop and figure it out.

“From school?”

“Yes, and a prime pain in my ass,” Tony mutters, drying his hands on his jeans, walking back into the garage. “Anyway, see you Monday, chief?”

His boss nods, passing Tony his earnings for the week in cash. Tony should have known to dash and run because he starts hearing the proverbial violins when Jarvis clamps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in a way that is more paternal than Tony is comfortable with.

“You know you can call me, you have my number. You come up and see me and the missus whenever you want.”

Tony fake snores.

“Jarvis.”

“We have a spare room,” he insists, shrugging sheepishly and stepping back. “It’s yours at any time.”

“I see you enough, okay, don’t push it. I’ll see you Monday,” Tony draws him into a one-armed hug and claps him on the back. “Don’t you worry about me.”

“Don’t make me worry.”

“No promises,” Tony salutes, slinging his backpack on shoulder and walking backwards out of the garage to the street. “Hug the missus for me.”

Jarvis salutes back.

With that he sprints across the street when there’s a gap in traffic, bot snapping gently at his hair as he runs.

Sweaty and sore, he is full of energy, a sense of accomplishment coursing through his blood, like an afternoon of work can only provide. He should fire off a text, he thinks, as he starts the ignition and heads out onto the road, yeah. Let Parker know he will be late.

And he does genuinely mean to send a message at the next traffic stop, but then Queen starts playing on the radio and Tony isn’t a fool, okay, he turns that up loud.

Next traffic stop, he promises himself.

---

“I’m beginning to think you can’t read the time,” Parker opens the door with a scowl. “You said six.”

Wincing in the hallway, Tony looks at his phone. Six-fifty-nine. It’s not totally his fault, okay. There was a pile up along the way and traffic was a nightmare of ridiculous proportions. He swears he’s gonna be the first person to invent a commercially viable flying car just for the sake of personally avoiding road congestion.

“Yeah, so. Here’s the thing: I had things to do, okay, priorities --”

“You and your priorities, I swear to god --”

“Here,” Tony cuts him off, passing him his folder, letter neatly inside where it isn’t going to obviously slip out. “Your folder, dumbass.”

Peter grips it, holding it to his chest as he stares at Tony for a moment, before passing it to the nearest flat surface, a weathered and small table that holds their keys.

“Okay, thanks,” Peter nods, smiling grimly, looking behind his shoulder. “Appreciate it. You can go now.”

“So where are the Econ notes,” Tony blurts, wincing as he plays dumb. “I mean, if you had something prepared.”

Peter blinks, surprised. “Oh, uh. Um, It can wait until Monday, can’t it?”

“The assignment is due Wednesday.”

“Right. Um, just give me a sec --”

“Is that Tony?”

May appears behind Peter, smiling brightly. Tony waves, rocking back on his feet.

“Hey, Missus Parker.”

“Hey there, handsome,” she hip-checks her nephew, joining him in the doorway and glancing between the two. “You didn’t mention we were having company tonight, Pete.”

“He’s not handsome and he’s not staying --”

“-- I was just dropping something off,” he looks to Peter. “And excuse you, the lady has spoken and I have to agree. I am handsome. Some might even say that I’m debonair.”

“And some might say that you’re deplorable.”

“Hmm, I think you mean adorable.”

That prompts a smile out of Peter. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up, all haughty.

“Tony Stark, you are many things, but adorable isn’t one of them.”

He leans in, pouting playfully. “Oh come on, Parker. I’m a little cute, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Uh, let me check,” Peter pauses before smiling sardonically. “Verdicts in - jury says you’re one-hundred-percent despicable. Sorry.”

"I’m sure I could sway the jury.”

“I think you mean you could pay the jury.”

Tony nods, pretending to be serious. “Well, yeah. You know, for consensus.”

Peter licks his lips, shifting closer.

“Consensus is important...”

“...Well, if you two are done,” May says after an extended period of silence, tying her hair back into a ponytail. “We were just about to head out to a Thai place around the corner. Tony, you should join us.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I should go --”

The rest of his words are cut off by a truly monstrous growl of his stomach. He winces, scrunching up his nose sheepishly. He probably should have eaten more than Reeses all afternoon.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” May says, stepping out of the doorway and beckoning Tony in. “Come in. Sorry about the mess.”

It’s with Peter still staring at him that he reluctantly enters their apartment, brushing past the other boy. It looks the same as it did the other week, mostly tidy and smelling like incense. There’s a sizeable stack of unfolded laundry on the dining table, however, that wasn’t there before.

Tony’s distracted by a pair of dancing-bulbasaur boxers sticking out of the pile when May leans in close to sniff at his hair.

“You’ve got something in your hair, honey. Is that paint?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, palm coming back streaked with green. “Oh, uh, radiator fluid,” he explains, holding up his hand.

“Can I ask what you did to your face?”

“I saved a homeless guy and his beef-sandwich from a pack of rabid, angry dogs. No need to call me a hero.”

May looks at him oddly. “Oh, well, if you say so. Go get yourself washed up and we can head out.”

The burn of Peter’s stare follows him all the way to their bathroom.

---

The meal is less awkward than Tony thought it would be.

Well, for him at least.

Over larb and khao pad they’d gotten through an informal interview with May about her experience as a caregiver with a single income. Not only was it informative for his own future financial independence, but she has been generous enough to speckle in colorful anecdotes of her nephew’s upbringing. Parker’s face has been getting progressively redder all night and it has nothing to do with the spice in his food.

Tony has enjoyed the evening thoroughly.

“ - and of course, we were lucky we hadn’t decided to go cheap on the health insurance. Especially when Pete here broke his wrist at gymnastics when he was eight.”

Tony barely holds back a snort.

“You did gymnastics, Parker?”

Peter tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and sighs. The flush seems to be creeping down his neck too, Tony observes gleefully. He stuffs a large mouthful of rice in his mouth to mitigate the urge to tease.

"Yes, he was very good, weren’t you, Pete? So talented, you should see his medals.”

“Stop, please.”

“C’mon, no need to be embarrassed, Pete, you were amazing,” she says. “You’re still a flexible little bug, aren’t you?”

Tony chokes on his rice.

Peter has his eyes squeezed shut and looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“May, I’m literally begging you.”

“Uh,” he beats at his chest with his fist, swallowing roughly. “So how long did you do that for?”

“Until I was fourteen.”

“Why’d you quit?”

There’s a very deliberate, weighted pause. May and Peter share a look between them and Tony gets a deeply uncomfortable sense that he’s just stuck his foot in it. Retract, he thinks, already regretting opening his mouth.

“Well,” May clears her throat, her tone light. “After my husband, Pete’s uncle Ben died, we moved away and we had to make some... financial cuts at the time.”

The bite he’s just taken goes to ash in his mouth. God, he really is a big idiot isn’t he. He’d assumed that May never got married to the man in the photos or that they’d just divorced, he didn’t realise that he’d passed - and so recently, too. Welling up with shame, he can’t stop himself from glancing at Peter, who’s staring at the table, lips pursed.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” May waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is strained. “Anyway, what about you, Tony? You’re severely asthmatic, right? That must have been hard, growing up if you wanted to play sports.”

Tony’s eyes widen.

“Yes, um, so hard. Luckily I’m not really an exercise-y kinda guy. I personally prefer to keep a heart rate below eighty beats per minute.”

“Did you have any hobbies growing up?”

“Yeah, driving my parents crazy,” Tony says, glad for the shift from the somber topic. “Escaping from nannies, seeing how quickly I could get them to quit.”

“You like tinkering,” Peter says quietly, looking up. “You mentioned, before. Cars and stuff.”

He shrugs, starting to feel as if he’s under the microscope, especially when Peter looks at him, eyes glittering with thinly-veiled interest.

“I mean, I don’t know. I like - building stuff, I guess. Machines and robots, y’know, cars. It’s like, whatever.”

“You want to be the next Elon Musk or somethin’?” Peter asks, not unkindly, resting his chin on his hand.

“Nah, I wanna be the first Tony Stark,” he scratches his cheek, suddenly bashful. It’s an uncommon feeling for him. One hard to avoid, however, particularly when there is a boy who Tony doesn’t really hate who’s asking about his life like it might matter.

He clears his throat. “Anyway, mostly it was just me cataloguing all the ways I could make the vein in my fathers’ head pop. I’m still working on that.”

May looks between them, smiling.

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Sure was.”

Still is, apparently, no matter how much he tries to stay out of the way.

The silence that follows is punctuated by the sounds of cutlery scraping across plates, of shrinking ice cubes rattling against glass. It feels pensive at the same time as it does thorny, like Tony opened the door to let someone in but accidentally let out a few ghouls.

And despite knowing he’d stepped on a landmine with the Parkers, he can’t help but wonder what other pieces of the puzzle he’s missing. Why Peter doesn’t live with his parents. Not that Tony is invested in him or anything.

He just doesn’t like mysteries, that’s all.

May excuses herself after to head to the bathroom not long after. It’s during that time that the waiter brings the check, which Tony takes immediately, slipping in some of the cash he’d gotten earlier, despite Peter’s protests. He was gonna do it anyway, even if he didn’t have the letter in the back of his mind.

“Stop paying for me,” Peter says after he passes the check-book back to the waiter. “Your family is rich, I get it. I’ve told you, I don’t need your charity.”

Tony shakes his head. It’s not worth mentioning that the only money he spends doesn’t come from his family.

“It’s not charity. Do you really think I’m that nice, eh? C’mon. Maybe I like lording it over you.”

“Well, at some point I’m going to pay you back.”

“And when that time comes I’m not going to accept your money.”

“You will,” Peter smiles wryly down at his plate. “I have my ways.”

“As do I, sweetums. Now, do me a favour: shut up and finish your larb.”

Peter does, but something about him shifts. It seems more quiet and contemplative, his eyes staying longer on Tony than they normally would. He wants to tell him to take a picture, but for once, Tony thinks it’s probably best if he keeps his mouth shut.

---

Back at the apartment, Peter goes to retrieve his ‘Econ notes’, taking the folder from the table and retreating to his bedroom. In the interim, May offers to let Tony stay over, inviting him for what he’s sure would be a rousing game of Mario Kart.

He politely declines.

“You sure? Winner gets to choose a movie.”

“I should really get home,” he says. “Thanks though. And thanks for dinner.”

“No problem. Thank you for paying, you didn’t have to do that. Let me pay you back.”

“No need. Think of it as payment for your services and letting us pick your brain tonight.”

She reluctantly accepts with a lot less pride than what her nephew displayed and that makes Tony feel a little sick, because it’s evident that she’s a proud and stubborn woman by nature. Her acceptance, albeit laboured, speaks volumes as to the reasoning behind it.

What takes him by surprise is when she hugs him goodbye and kisses his cheek.

“You’re a good egg, Anthony. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

It’s probably the most maternal touch he’s had since, well. Probably since he last went to stay with Jarvis and his wife. Fidgeting in the hold, he’s not sure if he wants to squirm or to sink into it.

May leaves when Peter comes back in, a familiar stack of notes in his hands that he passes to Tony.

“You gonna kiss me goodbye, too?”

“What?” Peter blinks.

"Uh, never mind,” Tony waves the papers at him. “Thanks for this.”

Peter looks around to make sure they’re alone before leaning in rather promptly.

“Wow, hold up on the proximity there,” Tony inches back, startled by their sudden closeness. “I was joking about the kiss --”

“You read the letter, didn’t you,” Peter whisper-hisses.

“What? Letter? What letter?” Tony says, voice strangled. “I don’t know of any letter.”

He gets a painful poke in his chest for his lies.

“Don’t play dumb. It wasn’t where I left it.”

“I’m not -- ow, quit poking me.”

“Then stop lying. You’re unbelievable -- don’t you know that opening someone else’s mail is a crime?”

Tony’s shoulders slump as he concedes.

“Look, it was an accident, it just slipped out. And also, it’s not technically a crime, if the envelope was already open.”

“Oh and the letter magically opened itself and forced you to read it.”

“That could be argued.”

“Why couldn’t you mind your own business?“

Sick of being poked, he shoves the papers between his arm and his ribs to hold them and takes Peter’s fingers in his hands, squeezing the digits when they struggle to break free of his hold.

“I should have, I admit it - I didn’t think, okay, I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

Peter stops struggling, looking over his shoulder again.

“I don’t know,” he leans in again to whisper, “I only found it yesterday, I haven’t spoken to her yet. Look, I know you hate me, but can you please not tell anyone about this?”

“Why would I tell anyone?”

“I don’t know, because you’re the devil, and you get a kick out of seeing me suffer?”

“True, but I’m not going to tell anyone. Promise. That would make me look like an asshole and you like a martyr. Ergo, I shut my cake hole and continue looking better than you.”

“You’re a real prince charming,” the other boy huffs, but seems to take him at face value. “If I find out differently I’m going to come after you. You’re going to need dental work afterwards.”

Tony lets go of their joined hands, balling his fists and raising them to his face, mimicking what the other boy had done last night.

“You wanna tousle, huh?”

He gets a light shove out the doorway for his attitude.

“Alright, smartass. Get the fuck outta here already.”

“Going, going. Goodnight, princess.”

He mock bows, peering up under his eyelashes, momentarily arrested as he watches Parker roll his eyes and bite his bottom lip in an attempt to smother a smile.

His heart continues to beat a bit oddly all the way down to the car, where he sits in contemplative silence for a few moments until the sound of metal clicking shifts him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, hey you,” he coos, gently retrieving his bot from his bag and placing it in the passenger seat, instantly feeling bad. “I didn’t think I would take so long. I’m sorry.”

Placing a seatbelt over the bot and buckling him in, Tony begins to narrate his night to him as he pulls off the curb and begins driving.

“I guess that Parker isn’t so bad,” he tells the bot, who swivels its head in response to his voice. “I mean, he can’t dress for shit and has questionable tastes in friends - oh, and cannot hold his liquor - but I dunno, baby-bot. He’s okay. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though -- and oh my god, did I mention he did gymnastics, what a fucking dork...”

The thoughts churn and buoy him until he pulls up to his house nearly an hour later. From the driveway he can see his fathers office light still on.

The sight of it makes his stomach drop, all good cheer gone in an instant.

“Damn,” Tony whispers to himself, tapping his knuckles against the steering wheel. This time of night on a Saturday can only mean one thing and he is really not in the mood to be in the crosshairs of whatever his father and Stane are up to.

But before he can work himself into a worry his phone vibrates in his pocket.

> hey, look, thanks for not being a total dick tonight about everything > and last night as well, I guess > yknow what i mean < ur welcome < by the way, i’m proud of you > for what < not finishing off ur aunts beer tonight < takes strength < asking for help is the first step > omfg i take back what i said > ur the worst < and ur a pain in my ass > they have creams for that u know > anyway, g’nite, butthole > p.s. you’re still not adorable Tony smiles down at his phone. < goodnight bambi The bot clicks at him, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Don’t look at me like that. Let’s go in, but you gotta keep quiet, okay.”

He manages to avoid detection and attention from anyone, despite accidentally stepping on a squeaky floorboard. Maybe it had something to do with the record player and raucous laughter coming from the office.

In any case, Tony’s just happy to make it back to his bedroom. There, he toes off his sneakers and starts getting ready for bed, stashing the leftover cash into a drawer.

It makes him think about Peter’s reluctance for Tony to pay for over the last couple of instances, and how freaking annoying that is. And rude.

Honestly, the dude should count himself as one of the lucky guys - Tony is not that magnanimous. He doesn’t experience an impulsive, unthinking eagerness to provide for just anybody.

Oh.

Tony stills in the middle of his bedroom.

Oh no.

He knows what this is.

“This is bad.”

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers @starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen

#starker #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #high school au

276 notes · View notes

marvels-agents100 · 4 years ago

Text

mnemosyne’s burden

the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: cm typical violence, mentions and allusions to sex, mentions of scars and trauma

word count: 5,317 ( aka why i cant ever get anything done )

author’s note: me ? writing ? never thought id live to see it. also the ‘ego’ line ( you’ll know which one it is ) was picked from the brains of @davidrossi-ismydad and @good-heavens-chris-evans

“Have a good weekend,” JJ said softly, pulling her arms around you, “Lord knows you deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes, smile sitting on your lips, “We all do, now go and see your boys.”

She chuckled, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

With a small wave and a dazzling smile, she walked through the glass entrance of the BAU, her blonde locks swaying as she left. You watched her with a grin, her presence being the last bit of light in the darkened unit. Everyone had already found their way home, bones aching and eyes exhausted after the five day case on the west coast. Spencer had already been mumbling statistics about sleep deprivation on the jet ride home.

You glanced up to the office that perched by the top of the stairs, its yellow light illuminating the desolate bullpen. It was odd, how a naturally bright and joyful color could bring a heavy darkness into an already dark room. A sigh escaped you, originating in your chest, as you looked at the pensive profile of the one and only SSA Aaron Hotchner.

His eyebrows were pulled taught and low on his forehead, his left hand writing mercilessly on the sizable stack of manila folders before him. There were no pauses or hesitations in his work, just the incessant scratch of pen against paper.

Before you had even fully thought to, your knuckles were tapping on the wood of his office door, echoing slightly in the large room.

“Come in,” his voice was muffled and tired.

You entered the room silently, door clicking shut behind you. His eyes lifted briefly to acknowledge you, but quickly flickered back to the work before him. Now that you were closer, you could see the lines below his eyes. They were deep and purple, made worse with every letter he wrote. His shoulders slumped forward, heavy with the sorrow and guilt that followed every case.

“Do you plan on sleeping at all tonight?” You questioned, your slightly defiant tone earning another fleeting glance from him.

“You and I both know that you already know the answer to that question,” he said, voice monotonous. You huffed at his words, knowing he was right. Having known each other for many years- all the way back to law school- made you very aware of his sleeping habits.

“I might know the answer,” you sat on his leather couch, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He set the ballpoint down and gave you his full attention, one of his eyebrows tilted upwards. “Did you need something?” He asked, professionally. You had to resist rolling your eyes.

“Aaron, please go home,” you nearly begged.

“You know I can’t do that, yet.”

“The papers and files will still be here on Monday,” you reasoned, “you deserve to sleep in your own bed and see your son.”

“He’s at a summer camp for the weekend,” he said dismissively, resuming his writing.

Giving up on persuasion, you stood and crossed the room quickly, resorting to stealing the pen from between Aaron’s fingers. He looked up to you in disbelief, mouth parted slightly and eyebrows knotted in confusion.

“What are you-“

“You’re going to go home,” you interrupted, “and you’re going to pack a bag for the weekend.”

“I can’t-“

“You’re not going to think about work, and you and I are going to go up to Rossi’s cabin upstate,” you weren’t letting him get a single word in, “I was going to go by myself, but now you are obliged to take this small vacation with me.”

He shook his head slightly, “I have too much to do here.”

“And this building, and all of your work in it, will still be here in a few days,” you argued.

“I just don’t-“

“Aaron, please,” you lost the edge in your voice, looking at him with wide eyes.

He had to look away from you, pushing aside the part of him that went absolutely feral every time you said his name like that.

“We come back Sunday night,” he wagered, meeting your eyes.

“We can be home before dinner,” you tried to hide the hope that laced your words.

His eyes searched your face for a moment, his mind contemplating your offer (while admiring you), “Fine. I’ll go.”

You smiled widely, placing the pen back into his palm gently, “Seven o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll come and get you.”

You turned, steps lighter in the wake of your triumph, as you walked to the door. As it closed behind you, the ghost of a smile tilted at his lips, his eyes still watching the spot you stood in only seconds before. His pulse was racing, mostly out of excitement but also out of fear. Hiding the way he felt about you had only become more difficult after he realized he wasn’t involved in a brief crush, but he was in love with you-

“If you want me, then take me,” you wagered, your voice venomous, “but leave that girl alone.”

The UNSUB snickered, his gun aimed pointedly at the temple of the teenage girl that was encircled in his arm. You stood with your own weapon raised, the rest of the team clearing the house attached to the basement you were in. You prayed that they would stay above ground, at least until you managed to move the girl into a safer area, away from her attacker.

“Drop the gun,” he spat out, and you followed his orders, lowering it to the floor softly.

“If you want me,” you repeated, “take me, let her go.”

The barrel of his pistol was suddenly pointed to you, his grip falling away from the young girl’s neck. She stumbled to the corner of the damp room, curling into herself. Your hands were held up in surrender as he hurried towards you, yanking you away from the stairs by the edge of your kevlar. He kicked at the inside of your knees, making you kneel in front of him.

“If I want you,” he chuckled darkly, the smooth metal of his gun tracing your jaw, “In what way, darling? Don’t worry, both ways end the same, but one is much more thrilling.”

He crouched to your eye level, and you resisted the urge to spit in his face. Instead, you kept your expression neutral, refusing to give him any satisfaction of knowing the fear that coursed through your veins.

“I think it’s an important distinction to make, don’t you?” You could feel his breath hit your face as he talked, a sickening smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He stood again, a bullet clicking into place as he pointed the gun at your forehead.

“Unfortunately for you,” he sighed, “I’m feeling a little impatient.”

Just as your eyes shut and you accepted your fate, a single gunshot echoed through the basement, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. You let out a strangled breath, slightly shocked by the fact that you could, in fact, still breathe. Your hardened demeanor crumbled, your hands beginning to shake as they lowered slowly. Two warm palms on your shoulders made your eyes open, the worried face of Aaron Hotchner hovering over you.

His eyes were so incredibly soft, his hands so incredibly gentle; it made you question whether or not you were in heaven.

“You’re okay,” he reassured softly, his hands guiding you to your feet, before tugging you towards him. You collided with his chest, his arms circling you completely as his face dropped to your shoulder. He was breathing heavily, as if he was holding his breath moments before.

If the kevlar of his vest wasn’t acting as a barrier, he was sure you would have heard the way his heart hammered against his ribs. He held you tightly, needing to feel you breathe in order to believe it, in order to slow his pulse. When your arms eventually winded around his waist- the shock of your brush with death wearing away- he had to stop himself from breaking down completely.

In the mere moments he had heard the threats that were given to you and the click of a loaded gun, he felt a fear that hadn’t taken a hold of him since George Foyet roamed the earth. He didn’t think before pulling the trigger from the top of the basement stairs, he only acted upon his instinct- to protect you.

He cared about you- he knew that- but the pure dread that washed over him when he saw a bullet aiming for your skull… that was a feeling he had only had for one woman before you. The woman that he loved, even in the wake of her death.

And that’s when he knew; the small fluttering in his stomach and the acceleration of his pulse wasn’t because of a small, fleeting crush on you- he was in the process of falling completely.

***

You were, once again, knocking on Aaron’s door, a coffee in your hand for the undoubtedly sleepy man behind it. A few moments passed without any sound from inside the apartment, your ear coming to rest against the wood to find any sign of life. A second knock did little to bring about different results. When there was still no answer, you pulled your phone from your pocket and dialed his number.

It rang twice before he picked up.

“Hotchner,” he said, his voice thick with sleep, resembling a growl.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” you cooed, your voice sickly sweet, “now, as much as I enjoy looking at your welcome mat, I would much rather be staring at the wonderful scenery of northern Virginia.”

He groaned in response, immediately hanging up the call. You giggled, hearing him shuffle around as he made his way to the door.

It swung open, revealing an overall disheveled Aaron Hotchner. His eyes squinted, still adjusting to the light, and his hair laid in an adorably messy state on top of his head. The gray of his shirt was wrinkled and the hems of his flannel pants brushed the hardwood floors, but he somehow still looked so damn good.

You held in your chuckle at the grimace on his lips, annoyance clear in his features.

“I don’t have a welcome mat,” he quipped, voice still crackling from his rest.

“Fabrication for the sake of comedy,” you explained, handing him his coffee and patting his chest lightly as you entered the apartment.

“I’m sorry I overslept,” he began, closing the door softly as a palm ran down his face.

“Don’t be,” you waved your hand at him, “just grab all of your things, I’ll drive the first half.”

The way you smiled at him made him question what he had done to deserve you.

“Sure thing, boss,” he joked, feet dragging as he walked towards his room. You chuckled at him, finding a spot on his couch as you waited.

He emerged no more than ten minutes later, pajamas traded for a pair of sweatpants and another plain shirt, messy hair slightly tamed, and a duffel slung over his shoulder. Without any hesitation, you let yourself look him over, drinking in how incredibly attractive he looked in everyday streetwear.

“You ready?” You asked, eyes snapping back to his face.

“More than ever,” he grinned, taking his keys from the table near the door. You stood, smoothing your palms against your thighs in an attempt to calm yourself down.

“Then let’s get moving, we’ve got a long car ride of early 2000’s pop ahead of us,” you teased, almost skipping through his door.

“I will launch myself out of a moving car,” he deadpanned, “you know I will.”

“Don’t give me any ideas, Hotchner.”

The smile he gave you definitely gave you many, many ideas.

***

Aaron’s undeniably distracting snores were the soundtrack of the drive to Rossi’s cabin. You had stopped to refuel when you were halfway through the trip, but the way he slept- his elbow against the door and his cheek scrunched against his fist- made the very thought of waking him awful and cruel. His legs were curled up in the seat, feet adorned in socks that had multicolored polka dots on them (one of the birthday presents you picked out with Jack the November before), and everything about him just seemed so relaxed- you wouldn’t dare wake him up.

So, you settled in for the second half of the trip, soft music pouring from the radio over the sounds of a sleeping Aaron Hotchner.

The forest began to get denser, the patches of green becoming a sea of foliage lining the road, which was notably unkempt and unused. It was all so beautiful, the way the trees shrouded the ground with fallen leaves, or how they stretched upwards to touch the sky. It was enough to tilt your lips in a content smile, the cabin owned by none other than David Rossi peeking through the branches.

Rolling to a stop in front of the wooden cabin, you pulled the keys from the ignition. Aaron slept soundly beside you- he must have gotten little to no sleep the night before. You reached out and tapped his shoulder lightly.

“Aaron,” you spoke softly. He stirred, but settled.

“Hey,” you shook him gently, “sleepy head, we’re here.”

“A little… longer,” he grumbled out, his words slurred and breathy, eyes never opening.

You leaned over the center console so you could whisper in his ear, “I will personally drag you out of this car, Hotchner, whether you are willing or not.”

He let out a long, annoyed sigh, his hand reaching to run down his face. When his eyes finally flickered open, he was met with you back in your own seat, wearing a smug grin. His gaze then flickered to the windows, taking in the cabin surrounded by nature.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He asked, voice slightly graveled.

You shrugged, “I figured I would let you sleep, I was fine to drive.”

His head fell back onto the headrest of his seat, another sigh leaving him. With a worried expression, he looked back to you.

“You wouldn’t be able to drag me out of this car,” he said, and despite the plain and factual way his words came out, you knew he was teasing you.

“Is that a challenge?” Your eyebrow raised.

“Not a challenge,” he was visibly fighting the smile that threatened to reach his face, “just the truth.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re on.”

Without hesitation, you launched yourself over him, opening his door completely. His hands tried to keep yours from unbuckling his seatbelt, yours and his laughs filling the air. You let out a cry of triumph when a click sounded and the buckle retracted from around him, hitting the wall of the car with a metallic snap.

“I’m… winning!” you pushed against him, his dimples on full display as he lightly swatted your hands away.

“Not for long,” he giggled, fingers finding your sides (which he knew was a weak spot, and therefore was a cheap shot), and tickling you mercilessly. You let out a squeak, pushing away from him, your back landing against your door.

“That’s playing dirty,” you pointed a finger at him, smile still on your lips.

“Maybe,” he chuckled, “but I was right.”

“Eat my shorts,” you playfully rolled your eyes, moving to open your own door, “now let’s go, you can hibernate inside.”

“Oh, I plan on staying awake, now,” he called over the car, moving towards the trunk. He opened it while you stood beside him, waiting to grab your baggage, “I’ve already lost a whole car ride of annoying you; I have the rest of the day to make up for it.”

The shit-eating grin he sent you only left you a little breathless.

***

The night fell rather quickly, the tired sun dipping below the tree line with an eagerness you weren’t too sad to see. The stars, away from the city lights and fog, always looked so beautiful in the arms of the woods.

There was a small flame within the fire pit that was stationary on the land behind the cabin, by the edge of the woods. Head tilted back, your eyes roamed across the constellations, a satisfied smile on your face.

Aaron leaned in the back doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes held nothing but adoration, looking at the way you admired the sky. Everything you did, no matter what it was, was just so endearing to him. It was just a side effect of love, he knew. You could do something as simple as making him a cup of coffee, or making sure he ate at least twice a day, and his heart would be left racing for hours to come. Even then, as you marveled at the sky, eyes wide as if it didn’t hang over you every night, he could feel an overwhelming rush of affection inhabit his chest.

His arms dropped to his side as he strolled towards you, a goofy smile resting on his face.

“Should’ve brought a telescope,” he said, plopping himself into the chair beside you.

Your head lulled over to look at him, smile widening, “I think they look just fine from here, don’t you?”

Your gaze returned to the lights above you, but his eyes remained trained on you. They softened, and he suddenly felt dizzy. The way your features looked against the background of the night sky was breathtaking.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, “they do.”

His tore his sight from you, instead looking into the flame in front of him. Holding back the sigh that sat in his throat, he focused on the flickering embers that floated onto the ground. It was almost laughable, how helplessly he had fallen for you. With every moment you were beside him, he just felt himself descending further. You lived rent-free in his heart, and he didn’t ever intend on evicting you.

“It’s nice to sit and relax,” you sighed, Aaron’s eyes flickering to you.

“As much as I hate to admit that you’re right,” he leaned back in his chair, head tilting to the sky, “it is nice to not wear a suit and tie for a few days.”

“I told you so,” you mumbled, unable to fight the smirk that creeped onto your lips.

“What was that?”

“I said,” you met his eyes, “I told you so.”

“I can start walking,” he threatened, his dimples on full display.

“I won’t stop you, Hotchner.”

He stood, giving you a small wave before shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling towards the front of the house. You watched him, rolling your eyes at his antics. Running to catch up to him, you linked your arm with his, pulling him back towards the fire pit. You tried to ignore the way the contact sent a warmth down the length of your spine.

“Come on, Aaron,” you whined, “you’re only pouting because I was right, and you were not.”

“Am not-“

“Yes, you are,” you stopped and looked up at him, still wrapped around his arm. A couple seconds passed before you realized how you were pressed against the length of his body, and how his eyes jumped between your own, the brown hues darkening the longer he looked at you.

A hot, searing blush spread up your chest and to your face, making you release him and step away slightly. Unable to meet his eyes, you kept your gaze trained on the floor. It was completely fantastical, the thought of you and Aaron ever being together. You fought long and hard to push your feelings for him- feelings that had always lingered in your heart- deep into the back of your thoughts, but recently, they had been popping up in your mind more than usual. There was something about the way his hair fell onto his forehead, they way his dimples creased with every laugh, the way his eyes sparkled like the stars in the sky… it captivated you and took your heart hostage.

You had spent years silently loving this man.

You began to stutter out an apology, “I’m sorry I-“

“Hey,” he interrupted softly, your eyes meeting his, “I’m not.”

“What?” Your voice was just as quiet as his.

“I’m not sorry.”

You stood there, speechless and in shock. The pounding of your heartbeat was loud in your ears, your lungs empty and temporarily disabled. He looked back at you with an expression of worry- a worry of being rejected. Your mouth opened and closed a few times, reflecting upon your answer before you decided on what to say.

“Really?”

Yeah, not exactly a scholarly reply, but you were in a bit of shock.

“Really, really,” he chuckled slightly, but his eyebrows were still turned upwards from nerves.

“God,” you sighed, “I want to kiss you.”

“I definitely won’t stop you.”

A wide, joyful smile filled your face, your feet bringing you towards him as your arms reached up to encircle his neck. His hands met your waist as soon as they could, pulling you to him as if your touch was the only thing keeping him breathing. Your chest met his, your lips mere inches from each other’s.

“How long?” You whispered, asking a simple question you knew he would understand, fingers lacing through the hair sitting on the back of his neck.

His knees almost gave out at the feeling of your breath on his lips, “Too long.”

And with that, you crashed your lips onto his, his arms immediately winding around you and squeezing you to him. It was a sweet, sweet relief, finally kissing the man you had been pining over for years. You could feel your stomach leap into your throat, your heart threatening to break through your ribs. The feeling of emptiness that usually occupied your chest had disappeared completely, filled with the love you held for the man that held you.

He wasn’t much different, heart racing and stomach churning. Loving you has been a wonderful form of self destruction, breaking down the thick walls he had built around himself to prevent vulnerability. You tore those walls down without apologies, and he had taken a chance in letting you, and wasn’t he glad he did. The darkness that encapsulated him had become the rays of sun that leaked through drawn curtains, your smile laced in every stream of light.

Pulling away from you, his chest rose and fell against your own, love struck smiles on each of your faces. He released you slightly, your hands trailing down his arms until your palms met. Lacing your fingers with his, you pulled him with you as you walked towards the house, your grin never faltering.

“We have to put out the fire,” he protested, tugging you in the opposite direction.

“Aaron,” you spoke lowly, “I swear on all things holy,” you pulled him until his chest met yours, your mouth hovering by his ear, “make it quick.”

You released him, walking backwards for a few steps before turning and ascending the stairs of the cabin porch, disappearing inside.

And, well, he definitely followed your directions.

Within record time, he was inside, pushing you against the wall of the master bedroom, hands holding your wrists above your head, lips attacking your neck.

“This is way better than what I imagined this weekend being like ,” you breathed out.

His kisses reached up to your jaw, his nose dragging along your cheek as he lifted his head, “And what did you imagine, sweetheart?” His voice held a dark and smooth tone.

“Well, a bit more sleeping, maybe a game of solitaire,” you smirked, “all the stuff old guys like to do.”

His eyes darkened even more, and you swore you heard a small growl come from him, “You’re a brat.”

He kissed you roughly, your lower lip dragging between his teeth. Releasing your hands, he hiked up the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and discarding it with a toss over his shoulder. You matched his actions, fumbling for his shirt and lifting it over his head before it floated to the floor. Slowly, your fingers and eyes trailed from his shoulders to his chest, then his stomach, gently touching the scars that littered his abdomen. He stepped away when you grazed the rough skin.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized softly, eyes studying the carpet below his feet.

You looked up at him, seeing the embarrassment and shame painted into his features, “Don’t apologize.”

He chuckled warily, “Bit of a mood killer.”

You sighed, fingers wrapping around his chin and tilting his head until you could see his eyes.

“I’m not going to tell you that these scars make you stronger, or that they’re a reminder of what you survived,” your hand ran through his ebony hair, “because you have always been strong, you’ve always been a survivor, and a couple scars don’t change that.”

He was still discouraged, and you could feel a pain in your chest simply from how completely broken he looked.

“Look, Aaron,” you spoke gently, “these are horrible reminders of a horrible time in your life, and you don’t need to romanticize them in order to accept them. And, when I see them,” your fingertips traced a particularly large scar on his stomach, “I see a part of you, and every part of you is perfect to me,” you looked back to his eyes, “and you, shirtless, is the complete opposite of a mood-killer.”

His eyes searched yours, his palm reaching to rest upon your cheek, “What have I done to deserve you?”

You smiled sweetly, holding his face and kissing him softly, “I could say the same about you, but I figure I shouldn’t inflate your ego.”

He hissed as if he touched a hot stove, head turning away from you slightly.

“Ouch,” he chuckled, “I take it back.”

“No you don’t,” you whispered as you pulled his lips to yours again.

“No, I don’t,” he mumbled between kisses.

“Now,” your arms wrapped lazily around his neck, lips ghosting over his, “stop stalling and put that big ego to use.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he growled, and he kept his word until the sun came up.

***

It was the pleasant and light chirping of the birds that woke you. Your eyelids cracked open to see sunlight draped over the room, spilling onto the white sheets that rested upon your body. A low groan sounded from behind you, the arm draped over your waist tightening slightly.

“Good morning,” his voice slipped out as a rumble of words, sleep weighing heavily on him.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” you twisted yourself so you laid on your back, fingers tracing along and forearm wrapped around you.

“Sleep well?” He asked, leaning forward to place gentle kisses just below your jaw.

“Mhm,” you hummed, eyes closing languidly. He chuckled against your skin, repositioning himself so he leaned on his elbow, hovering above you. The dark strands of his hair poked up in every direction, his half lidded eyes shining the color of honey in the morning light.

“Did you?” You whispered, playing with the hair just above his ear.

He pretended to bite at your hand, “Better than usual.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you winked, letting out a giggle when he nuzzled himself into your neck. He immediately decided it was his favorite sound.

“Let’s just lay here all day,” he sighed, lifting his head from you once again.

“I would love nothing more,” you ran a hand through his messy hair, “but you told Jess you would be home by dinner, and Jack gets back tonight.”

“Just an hour, then,” he wagered, “I’ll drive the entire way home.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you knew you would give in. There was no denying the persuasions of Aaron Hotchner when he wore the dawn like a halo, smiling at you like you were the only thing that existed on earth.

“Fine,” you drawled, “but only because you’re cute.”

“Damn straight,” he poked at your sides, smiling wider when you let out a squeak.

“Don’t even start,” you threatened, “we are having a good morning.”

“Oh, I just can’t help myself,” his hand ghosted over your side, sending a shiver through you, “I just love to hear you laugh.”

“You’re soft,” you rolled your eyes, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. He followed you as your head landed on the pillow, keeping his lips pressed to yours. Arms winding around his shoulders, your body molded to his. You almost whined when he pulled away from you.

He was scanning over your features, a certain sparkle in his eye and a content smile on his face.

“What?” You asked quietly, “What is it?”

“I-“ he cut himself off, biting his lower lip to keep himself from talking.

“Aaron,” you held his face in your hands, “what is it?”

“I just…” he hesitated, but the way the sunlight soaked into your skin and reflected into your eyes made it impossible for him to hold his tongue any longer, “I just love you. So much.”

The world froze around you, breath and heart stopping alike. All you saw was his face, the honey of his brown eyes, the warm smile on his lips. It was almost overwhelming, how purely beautiful he was, with a golden light enveloping him, making him impossibly soft.

“You love…” your words were merely a breath, any and all strength from your voice lost, “I… I love you, too”

He let out a small laugh- a sound you could listen to until your heart halted permanently and your lungs could no longer breathe- an expression of absolute, unbridled joy consuming his features. Shaking his head slightly, his forehead met yours gently.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words tumbling from his lips and onto yours, and God, did they taste sweet.

“I love you,” it was a mantra, a prayer, and he couldn’t stop himself from repeating the three words he held in the privacy of his thoughts for far too long.

Your fingers gripped onto his raven hair, your smile wide and giggling, “I love you, too.”

His lips met yours in desperation, kissing you with a feverish passion, as if he would never see you again. You let your hands explore the soft skin of his shoulders, trailing along his arms.

“Please don’t make me leave this bed,” his lips brushed yours with every word he spoke.

“Not now,” you promised, a compromise, “later.”

“I will take every minute,” he sighed, reconnecting his lips to yours.

And it was beautiful, the way his hands caressed you, the way his kiss lingered. He kept his word, cherishing every last moment with you. If he could, he would’ve begged the sun to stay in it’s waking state, stretching the morning for an impossible amount of time, simply to spend it in your arms and under the sheets. But, the day continued on despite his wishes, and the dread and fear of leaving you was one that settled heavily in his stomach.

It wasn’t until he reached his home, your hand intertwined with his, your smile warm and inviting, that his awful feelings were able to disappear.

It took one look at you- with the way your eyes latched onto him like he had hung every star in the sky, your skin illuminated by the soft hues of the sunset- then he knew, the love you shared would bring you back together, no matter how far the world tried to tear you apart.

“I love you,” your eyes sparkled as you spoke. He thought of the sky over the cabin.

“I love you,” he replied, “so much.”

taglist:

@quillvine @winterscaptain

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #fluff

221 notes · View notes

barnesbabee · 5 years ago

Text

I’m a Lie || K.H

Summary: Destiny is cruel sometimes... And you sure were punished by it, when you met your soulmate in the worst scenario possible.

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Words: Who cares tbh

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

⚠ choking, spanking, praise kink, violence, mentions of drugs ⚠

A/N: I love this one. By far one of my favourites and I feel like it suits the member well. If it flops I will singlehandedly murder everyone. Enjoy xx💖

ᴄʀ: ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱʙᴀʙᴇᴇ

The file plopped in front of you. A picture of a man was attached to it and you looked at it briefly.

Kim Hongjoong.

"Retain information. Eliminate him. It's not important how, by the end of the month Kim Hongjoong has to disappear."

You said nothing. Your only reply was a nod, and with that you grabbed the beige folder and exited the gelid room. The jet was already at the top of the building waiting for you to enter.

You bowed to the security guards that stood by each side of the jet's stairs, and they reciprocated the gesture.

Once you settled down in the plane, you crossed your legs and prepared yourself for some thorough reading. You flipped through the pages of the man's profile, taking in all of the information.

"Producer, writer, rapper... Kid had a future." You closed the binder with a sigh and threw it on the small table in front of you "Too bad."

You sipped from the water bottle in your hand and a man sat in front of you. He had a rough face, like he'd been through Hell and made it out alive. His dark hair was tamed by a coat of hair gel, and his eyes were droopy yet feral.

"Junhwan." You said, and bowed at him.

"Y/N." He bowed back.

He handed you a second file and a heavy handbag.

"From now on your name is Anne. You're an exchange student interested in pursuing a musical career as a producer. All of the items to bring 'Anne' to life are in the duffel bag."

You nodded and set the bag aside, ready to take in your character.

"Poor kid..." You told your colleague as you read the details of the person you'd be impersonating for the next few weeks.

The man in front of you scoffed.

"Since when do you pity people?" He asked with an amused face.

"I don't. But he got caught in a fight that wasn't his."

Junhwan leaned closer to you and looked you in the eye, irradiating and intimidation as he slightly leaned his head to the right.

"Don't let decency and sentiment get in the way." He warned with a cold voice.

You didn't reply. You felt offended that the man would even insinuate you'd fail at anything. You glared at him for a second, and drifted his attention back to the 'Anne' files.

However, you couldn't get out of your head the poor man that would be sacrificed in the name of another individual. It was unbeknownst to everyone how it had happened, but Hongjoong had caught his boss making a significant transaction to your boss and talking about it on the phone. He didn't understand at first, but when he caught sight of the bags filled with the white powder he was able to connect all the dots. Unfortunately for him, he was caught. And although the CEO of his company trusted him enough to keep quiet, your boss didn't.

It was sad... Usually the people you were assigned to were madmen, criminals, vile people that couldn't differentiate joy from violence, but never young men, at the peak of their career whose life was cursed by knowledge.

You sighed one last time before making your way to the bathroom. You dyed your hair blue and cut it shoulder-length, as you wanted your appearance to scream "creativity". Your hair was usually bleached, so if you had to suddenly dye it for some sort of mission it would be faster and easier.

One hour later you exited the bathroom, with blue hair and a brand new outfit that had been given to you. You grabbed all of your materials and exited the jet that hat landed not long before that.

Time flashed by the second you stepped foot in Seoul. You were used to monotone scenarios, cold atmospheres, and torture, but Seoul was the opposite. The lights and colors of the city were inviting and the smiles of the old ladies selling food on the street gave you a warm feeling in your body.

You tried to adjust to the city for the next day, and by 3 PM your assigned phone sounded with a ding. You checked it and read the message Junhwah had sent you.

"9 AM. KQ Entertainment, two blocks down your home. They will be teaching you, you're supposed to be an intern. I expect excellence and nothing else."

You took in the information and nodded to yourself as you read it.

"Understood." You typed and hit send.

You studied Hongjoong thoroughly that night. Every little movement, every peculiar habit, and every detail about the man. You wished you didn't need to do it however... The more you looked into him, the more you realized how pure, generous, hard-working, and amiable he was.

"Fuck..." You cursed, dragging the 'u' in the word, as you threw your head back.

You couldn't take watching that smile that would soon be gone anymore, so you just crashed in the small bed of your flat and waited for the next day.

When 9 AM rolled in, you were already in the building, looking for some sort of guidance.

"Are you Anne?"

You whipped your head to find a man you'd never seen before. He certainly wasn't a member of ATEEZ, but he looked like an idol.

It was finally time for you to perform as Anne, and so you put on a scaredy-cat face and bowed nervously.

"Y-yes, yes I am."

You made sure to add a little stutter for conviction. It seemed to convince the man, as he chuckled and extended his hand.

"I'm Jiho, but I go by Zico." He paused as you smiled and shook his hand "I will be one of your mentors, along with Hongjoong. He's the leader of ATEEZ, have you heard of them?"

You nodded your head slightly and he smiled.

"You'll like him. Follow me then, he's already in the studio."

Much to your dismay, Hongjoong was exactly what he displayed on camera. You half expected him to be rude and stuck-up, but he was just as kind and loving how as he made it look.

Focus on the mission.

Getting close to Hongjoong was easy. You pretended to be interested in every single task at hand, constantly asking for his help and even staying for longer than necessary at night.

“Anne... You know you don't need to stay, right?" Hingjoong told you.

His voice was tired, and he looked as if he needed to sleep for a day straight to catch up on missed sleeping hours but he still kept on working.

"I know Joong but..." You paused, looking down at your feet and fiddling with your fingers, trying to sell your character as best as you could "I like to spend time with you."

The last sentence came out a little too sincere for your liking, and for a second you became worried. All of the worry was replaced with confusion when Hingjoong brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. You looked up at him as if to ask 'What are you doing?'.

Hongjoong leaned forward and his lips ghosted over yours for a second. You didn't move, afraid of what the aftermath would be, but his impatience won over and he closed the gap.

You hated it. You hated how amazing it felt, how your lips fit together, how you felt a wave of sparks throughout your body, how his hands burned on your thighs... You felt like your whole body was on fire and fuck, you wanted to grab him by the collar and pull him closer, but you couldn't.

He pulled away, leaving you wishing for more. His stare instantly roamed around the room, avoiding your figure.

"I-I'm sorry... I'm sorry if you feel it's rushed. I'm sorry if you didn't like it but I don't know... I feel a connection with you, you know? It's cheesy, but I've never met someone who loves to work as much as you, someone who's always inspired and who's always eager to learn more, someone so loving and creative."

Your heart broke at the confession. It shattered into a million pieces that could never be put together again, and you hated what you were doing. You were knowingly breaking this man apart, tearing him up and destroying him bit by bit, and he had no idea, he just contributed to it.

"Hongjoong I... I feel the same way. I love working with you and you're such an amazing person, I'm sorry if you never felt it, it's just that I'm really nervous around you."

Those words were the hardest you had ever spoken, and the content smile in his face after your untruthful confession hurt more than any bullet you'd ever taken, or any knife that had ever stabbed you.

A Lie. He was happy because of a lie, your lie.

"Would you maybe join me for a drink tomorrow?"

You bit your lip. You were sure that if your response had to be vocal, a sob would end up leaving your lips.

You only nodded as a reply to his question, and said nod was met with the brightest smile you'd ever seen and a small nervous laugh.

"It's a date then!" He cheered.

"So it is..." You said, and pulled off the greatest fake smile.

You looked at the clock on the wall and pretended you had no idea what time it was before you had noticed it.

"Oh my! 3 AM!? I really must be going, I'll see you tomorrow Hongjoong!"

You kissed his cheek and left with a small wave.

The second you entered the flat, you threw your bag against the table and slid down the wall, face buried in your hands and the sobs you'd been holding back were let out and echoed in the almost empty room. You couldn't help but ket tears fall down your cheeks, wetting your palms in the process.

You detested the feeling. You dispised the overwhelming guilt taking over you. You hated that Hingjoong probably strolled back to his flat and happily told his friends about how he had a date and was looking forward to it, you hated how your lie was selling perfectly.

You stood up and stumbled across the room to find a mirror. You placed your hands on the sink for support and rested your forehead against the mirror.

"You need to get closer to him... You need to know what he knows... You need to make him speak... You need him to expose his knowledge... You need to do this. It is but another job." You repeated to yourself, in hopes that perhaps this chaos in your mind and stabbing pain in your chest would leave and let you be.

But it didn't. The pain only increased and became stronger, second after second. Hongjoong's face would sometimes flash on your mind, and a small smile would unintentionally spread on your lips.

The next day came excruciatingly fast, and as soon as it was deemed acceptable to be awake, your phone made a ding, and you checked it immediately.

Hongjoong told you about the time and place you'd be meeting in, and so you replied with an 'okay!' along with a couple excited emojis, although they represented nothing of what you were feeling, quite the opposite.

You threw on whatever you thought would please him most: black thigh-high socks, a green flowy skirt, and a black and yellow crop top.

Before you left to meet him you looked in the mirror and made sure to congratulate yourself for your work. You managed to carry on your mission, even though your wishes were to run away with this man and ket him live.

You took a deep breath and made your way to the small bar nearby. You had no worries walking around at night in a short skirt, because you were surely not short on knives.

It was a small place, decorated with rustic furniture and numerous rock and indie band items, ranging from albums, to picks, to guitars. The whole aesthetic fit Hongjoong pretty well, and when you spotted him in one of the tool chairs you realized how he morphed into the ambient. You smiled softly and approached him.

"Hongjoong, hi!"

You were immediately met with a blinding, toothy smile from the man, who stood up and immediately hugged you.

Throughout the night, Hongjoong ecstatically told you about his life, his hobbies, his friends, and about everything and anything. He was thrilled to have you there and you found it adorable how he wasn't afraid to demonstrate his fondness.

When it came the time to talk about you however, a sting hut your heart, and it's as if someone was squishing it from the inside of your body. But the lies flew out of your mouth naturally, telling him about a life you never had, about friends that weren't real, and about your untrue hobbies.

It was all so amusing to him... Hearing all about Anne's life...

The conversation came to a halt when the bartender approached you two.

"I'm sorry guys but I'm going to have to ask you to leave, on weekdays we close at 2 AM."

His mouth formed an "oh", and although neither of you said it, you both knew that you didn't want this to end. Fuck, you'd stay up for work for a longer amount of time...

"Hongjoong do you maybe... Want to go back to my flat and hangout? It's nearby!"

No, fuck what are you doing, crazy bitch.

"Sure! I'd love to!" He replied, absolutely thrilled about your invitation.

He held your hand tightly as you walked down the cold street towards your flat. You couldn't stop asking yourself why you had done it... Perhaps an inner wish that came out at an unfortunate timing?

It took no longer than ten minutes for you to reach the apartment, and once you stepped in you felt the need to apologize.

"I'm sorry... It's very small but it's all I need."

Hongjoong shrugged and took his jacked off, he approached you and placed his hand in your chin, making you look up at him.

"It's a cute apartment, just like you." He told you, whispering the last words.

As if it was a magnet, his lips were drawn to yours in a much passionate kiss than your first.

His tongue entered your mouth and left no corner unexplored, as his hands gripped your ass from under the skirt.

You could taste the alcohol in his tongue, adding a new flavor besides desperation and neediness to the kiss.

You were surprised at his dominant demeanor, yet it pleases you very much, and you were impatient to find where it leads you.

Hongjoong's lips trailed down your jaw and eventually found your neck, where he left small bites, and sucked on the soft spots.

"If you only knew what this skirt was doing to me..."

Your hands found his jeans, that you quickly unbuttoned. You slid your hand inside of them and applied pressure on his hard-on with your palm.

"I think I might be able to guess..."

You bit your lip, and palmed him through his underwear. Hingjoong threw his head back for a second and chuckled lowly. He grabbed your neck and pulled your face close to his.

"Fuck, you're such a tease." He moaned.

Hongjoong removed your hand from his body and gripped your wrist so you'd follow him.

He sat down on the bad and grabbed your waist, pulling you down in the process so you'd be straddling him.

He kissed the spot below your ear and tugged on your earlobe.

"I want you to ride me, baby.

"Yes sir..." You whispered in his ear.

You reached for the back of the skirt to unzip it, but hongjoong stopped you.

"I want you to ride me, with your pretty little skirt on."

You stopped straddling him and turned around, so he could perfectly see your naked ass as you stripped from your underwear.

Hongjoong pulled down his pants and underwear slightly, and started stroking himself at the sight.

You went back to him and straddled the man once more, helping him by placing his tip at your entrance before lowering yourself down on him. He filled you up just perfectly, and you hid your moans by burying your face in the crook of his neck.

"I wanna hear your pretty voice baby." He asked of you, while striking your head.

He gripped your hips and started moving you up and down, slowly at first. When you got used to the feeling, you started bouncing on his cock willingly, and he only helped by jerking his hips up and hitting deeper spots.

Hongjoong slapped your ass continuously, his strength increasing every time you slammed down on his dick.

You gripped his shoulders tightly.

"Fuck Hongjoong, I'm about to cum!" You whined.

The man lifted your skirt, so he could see the way he looked fucking you, and it was a sight to see.

"Shit, you're so beautiful..."

One of his hands gripped your neck, applying some pressure to it.

"Hongjoong fuck you're so good!"

Hingjoong came at the little praise, his thick liquid hitting your walls, and the warm sensation inside you made you reach your climax at the same time. The room was filled with whimpers, moans and heavy breathing, as you both came and tried to calm down.

Hongjoong delivered a loving kiss to your lips.

"God, you're amazing Anne."

Anne.

That's when it hit you. You couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep lying to the boy, making him live in a false relationship. The feeling was truly real but Anne was just a character.

You had to put an end to it... You couldn't handle doing it any longer. It hurt you to see the boy thoroughly happy and satisfied by a façade.

You stood up and walked to the kitchen, while Hongjoong got dressed. You pulled out your Glock 19 from one of the drawers and rolled the silencer onto it, carefully as to not alarm Hongjoong. You wanted to do this peacefully, you didn't want him to know about your betrayal. However, just as you approached the bed he was sitting in from behind, you let out a sob, and he turned around to look at you.

You hadn't even noticed you were crying. You hadn't even noticed the burning sensation in your throat and the stream of tears in your face, but you certainly felt as if your heart was being pulled out of you, and thrown in a fire.

Hongjoong's worried eyes looked at your face, then at your hand, and back at your face. A sad smile formed on his face and he nodded. He didn’t look disappointed or hurt, just... sad and apologetic, like he understood the situtation.

"It's about the cocaine, isn't it?"

You bit your lip and nodded, like he had done.

You approached him and aimed the barrel at his head.

"Honggjoong I'm... I'm so sorry." The last few words came out as a whisper.

"So am I..."

Before you pulled the trigger, he opened his mouth to speak once more.

"Can I... At least know your name? Please?" He begged.

Although he tried to remain calm, his voice was shaky and his eyes were covered with tears that threatened to fall, sooner or later.

"My name is Y/N."

He smiled, for the last time ever, and looked you in the eye, peeling his stare away from the gun's barrel.

"Y/N, you look beautiful tonight."

He blinked, allowing one last tear to stroll down his cheek, his smile never leaving his angelic face, as you cried, and pulled the trigger.

The silent bang made you collapse, immediately regretting what you had just done. You looked at Hongjoong, looking as beautiful as ever, even if he was bathing in his own bloof, and caressed his face, letting your tears stain his shirt, as you realized you had committed the biggest mistake in your life, but you had no choice.

"I'm sorry Hongjoong, may we meet again, in our next life."

#kim #kim hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong smut #hongjoong angst #hongjoong fluff #ateez hongjoong #ateez kim hongjoonf #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #kpop #kpop smut #kpop angst #kpop fluff

200 notes · View notes

the-darklings · 5 years ago

Text

—i will steal your heart;

𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 / 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘝 + “𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯” 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺: 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴

“I want the shipment here by Friday and no later,” you intone flatly, not looking at the man seated before you as you press on. “I don’t care what excuses they give you. If it can’t be done, tell him to hire better men who are not as incompetent as these are.”

“Him?” Hector wonders, amused, biting. “Can’t even say his name anymore? Tragic.”

Your eyes lift to look at him.

The Devil of Camorra sits draped across the seat of your office as if he owns it. As if he is a king, and leather seat beneath him his throne. One of his muscular legs leans over the armrest—swinging, careless, almost restless—his hands loose at his sides as he toys with a cigarette between his long, tattooed fingers.

You’ve forbidden him from smoking in your office since the last time he played with one throughout the briefing. Played with it for so long and so intently that you doubted he remembered a single thing you said. You had thrown a blade too quickly for him to react, and it had pinned that damned cigarette to the wall of your office. Then the death stick fell to the floor silently, now cut in half. It was one of the few times you’ve seen Hector bark a laugh with something close genuine amusement.

He has no business talking about something that doesn’t concern him though.

“Care to repeat that?” you wonder softly, a cold promise of your displeasure falling over you both like a shroud.

Hector’s pale eyes meet your own, as cold and distant as always, the harshness of his features only accented by the dark circles under his eyes.

“You deaf now, too?”

You close the folder in front of you calmly, and slide it across the smooth oak towards him, standing at once. “We’re done here.”

Hector stills in his shifting, his eyes following you as you round the table before pausing next to his chair.

“Will you show yourself out or do you need help with it?” you question coolly with a slight, clinical slant of your head. “I’m sure it won’t be too difficult for you.”

Hector stands, too, straightening to his full height—every inch the deadly predator, all muscle and deadly intent—and you gaze at him blankly as he buttons his suit jacket, ignoring the folder on the table. His eyes rake over your figure. From the dress, to the heels, to the slight sneer across your face and his teeth flash; a slow, deliberate thing.

“We should fuck.”

“Excuse me?”

Another flicker of a feral grin, dripping with sinful promise appears as his quicksilver eyes gleam. “You heard me, sweetheart.”

Scoffing, you dismiss him with a single roll of your eyes. “No thanks. We don’t even like each other.”

You step towards the door but his next words stop you dead. “You’re never gonna be with him, you know,” he states coldly and his words hurt more than you would care to admit because you know he’s right. “He got married, has a brat on the way, no matter how much you may love him or him you, it’s never gonna happen. Be it Camorra, or the High Table, or the Elder himself, they’re never going to allow you to be together. It’s forbidden now. Why be miserable, huh? You’re really going to waste away pining after another man who will never be able to be with you? Do yourself a favour and move on now. I can help you with it. We don’t need to like each other to sleep together. I sure as fuck am not offering this because I think you have a winning personality, sweetheart.”

He reacts barely fast enough to stop the blade from sinking into his neck, his finger latching around your wrist like a vice. The sharpened steel kisses the tattooed edges of his skin and he grins; a cold, pitiless thing. His eyes are devouring though.

“And you wonder why I want you underneath me.”

Your arms twist, loosening, swiping again, and Hector steps back, catching your arm as his legs bumps against your desk. Muscles quivering, eyes flashing. Your leg kicks up, your knee coming to rests just over his groin.

“I’m never underneath anyone,” you hiss icily and he leans into your knee, into your blade that scrapes teasingly over his pulse. “You will do well to remember that, Hector.”

“One tiny kick into that pretty ankle of yours and you would be,” he says, almost teasingly, and his wolfish grin spreads. “I bet you could keep up with me though. Imagine that.”

He says the last part like it genuinely surprises him—delights him.

He pushes you back lightly, giving you enough time to stand on both feet again but his grip transfers from your wrists to your waist. He drags a hand down your spine and a snarl twitches your mouth as you glare up at him.

It pisses you off that a tingle races down your spine at his hot touch.

“What are you so worried about?” he wonders with a raised brow, his pale eyes narrowing as you create distance between you. “Like you said, we don’t like each other. You still clearly love him or whatever. Why not let some steam off? He fucked his pretty little wife. Why shouldn’t you do the same, huh? Do something selfish and wholly for yourself for once or you are a sheep just like the rest of them. A doormat for others to use.”

He’s not wrong.

But you doubt you could ever stop—

Stop what exactly? Loving Santino? You once thought the same about John, and yes, maybe it took over five years to get over him but—

But Santino is out of your reach now. Perhaps forever, much like John was.

You could and should think about your own future now. Hector’s offer could be a start but…

“Get the fuck out of my city,” you hiss instead, a blade trembling between your fingers. “Or I will have your head. On a spike.”

Hector chuckles; a soft, cutting sound and you watch as he brushes invisible dust from his dark suit, licking his bottom lip.

“Keep my offer in mind,” he says breezily, unruffled by your refusal as he steps past you. He pauses beside you though, and you can feel the heated trail of his eyes across your body and features. Reluctantly, you drag your gaze to his and his wicked grin stretches further, accenting the sharp set of his cheekbones. “I bet by the time I’m done with you, you won’t even remember his name. I’ll strip it out of you piece by piece. No strings attached. Just the pleasure of a good, dirty fuck.”

Your expression remains frigid, unmoved, and Hector makes a small sound at the back of his throat as he clicks his tongue.

“I’ll be seeing you, sweetheart.”

His eyes drag over you again before he walks away.

The door rattles as he slams it shut.

You force yourself to breathe.

#oc writing #john wick fic #john wick oc #oc x reader #fic: children of ares #c: hector #hector is 100% that b*ch lmao #holiday queueing #s: my lady

125 notes · View notes

spnsimpleman · 5 years ago

Text

With silent fear and hunger

Part five of Anon request series- Unknown gang daughter.

Part one of the series- read this first! With the strike of a match Part Two- With a wink and a smile. Part Three- With a flick of my blade Part Four- With a smirk and a toss

Dean x unknown Daughter, Sam x unknown niece, badass!winchester Reader- is this a thing? Because it should be.

Word Count: 2367

Seven Devils- Florence and the machine

I double checked the accelerant before lifting it from the bin and carefully placing it in my backpack. The mayor had just left with his escort for the night and I had at least three hours before he was due to be home from a meeting with some other big shots. More than enough time to make sure the right wall burned and the fire department got here to put it out before the real evidence was destroyed.

I unzipped the front pocket and checked the flash drives and fishing wire again. With a deep breath, I zipped it up and closed the back zipper before slipping the straps onto my shoulders and tightened them. I tugged at my gloves and cracked my neck. Bumping into those idiots had messed with my head. Of course they had to find me now. If those assholes somehow got in the way… I didn’t want to think what I would do.

“Morons,” I whispered as I pulled my favored lock picks from my jacket pocket. Time to work.

The backdoor was a joke, I made it through both locks in under a minute. Then entered the code into the alarm next to the door. “Loose lips sink ships,” I grinned while locking the back door again and made my way upstairs.

The bedroom was exactly where Rosalie said it would be and the secret room opened with the right pressure on the right board. Who would think the man actually kept wood plank walls for anything other than an ulterior motive?

The dark room had two switches and I hit the lower one drenching the room in a low red glow. He didn’t spare any expense in here. The bed against the wall was equipped with fuzzy black cuffs on red silk sheets. The chains that restrained the cuffs gleamed even in the low light. I walked over to the computer in the corner with the old school webcam attached to a large monitor.

The password for the computer was even worse than the joke of a lock and alarm. HotforTeacher. Which wasn’t one of the outfits Rosalie had talked about. Maybe he thought he was clever that way.

Darius’s blank eyes flashed before me, JJ’s pretend smile while his face held too many shadows. I shook my head and shoved the invading images and thoughts away. I could banish it all, I just needed to finish this.

I pulled out the flash drive, plugged it in, and with a few little commands downloaded the files. A little bit of play with some internal code that I would have been completely lost in had Marco not shown me a few things and introduced me to the genius that taught him and, wah la. Rosalie’s videos were gone and my selected videos were in play instead.

I scrolled through the other folders labeled by name or his version of a nickname wishing I could erase them but I would only be erasing his crimes. He had enough help with that through the years. All those names would get their payback when the videos were found. He would be punished. He wasn’t getting out of it this time. I was entering the proof into evidence that he was the last to see some of those girls alive.

It was the only thing I could tell myself as I opened the player and clicked play all. The queue should play long enough that they heard it, give enough probable cause to knock the door down if the fire didn’t open it. Then I stepped out of the room and secured the secret door.

I splashed the accelerant all along the wall and across the floor of the hallway to the window then splashed some down the stairs. I put the bottle of accelerant down on its side in front of the side table. The fishing wire went around the back leg and then I tugged the wire with one hand. I caught the table and the fat candle atop it with the other. Perfect landing.

I opened the window behind the side table and threw the spool of fishing wire out before shutting the window just enough again. The fishing line was snug. I lit the fat candle and waited, making sure it stayed lit. Then satisfied, I walked down the stairs careful to avoid stepping in the accelerant.

With a few quick codes into the alarm box to wipe the history for the last thirty minutes and then the alarm re-engaged, I left the house almost exactly how I found it. I trekked around to the backyard and found the fishing wire spool in the bush under the window. I looked up with a whispered prayer and yanked. The light bloomed once then the slow bloom as all the synthetic fibers of the hallway runner caught and fed the hungry flame.

The sirens wailed, his alarm system notifying the right authorities immediately. The line in my hand went slack, the part on the other side of the window melted away. I pulled the rest to me and backed into the bushes then climbed the tree.

The sirens grew closer and I watched the flame dancing in the window. From my vantage point, I could see the wood planks being eaten away revealing the metal beneath, the very obvious door way now exposed. My breath hitched, my heart beating against my chest. Questioning whether my accelerant was too much, if I had misjudged the speed the firefighters would move at. Did they know what kind of man he was? Would they let that slow their steps?

No, real innocents lived nearby. Even if they knew, they wouldn’t let others be hurt. They couldn’t. They needed to get there in time. These people expected quick response. They never doubted it.

Darius’s blank face, his dull eyes flashed in front of me again. Would he approve of my methods? His feral, agonized scream filled my head and I winced, gripping onto the tree trunk. I pressed my face into the rough bark trying to crush the blooming memory I didn’t want to see. Not now.

Darius’s head crushed against the curb, the two gleaming white teeth skittering across the sidewalk, the agonized scream in my ear as rough hands held me back.

I screamed against the tree, the memory too much and too easily overtaking what I needed to do. I needed to leave, needed to move, but I was frozen in that moment I never wanted to remember. My fingers dug into the bark biting into my skin. The pain brought me back, centering me here and now. So close to the justice I had worked so hard on. If someone heard me… pointed me out…

I glanced around but I was still behind the extra curtain the tree provided in the dark and the sirens wailing so close must have drowned me out. Besides, everyone’s eyes would be on the fire. I looked across the yard to the window filled with flame and smoke and then the window burst out, the flames sucking in the oxygen like a greedy lover.

Two firefighters burst through the gate carrying the heavy hose around before unleashing the battering ram of water. I needed to move but the water slowly killed the flames until the fire was gone. The secret door was revealed and waiting for them, begging to be discovered.

I waited in silent fear and hunger, clinging to the tree far too tight as they went inside taking their sweet time to check and clear each room. Then finally they made it to the bedroom. I heard the call pour through the broken window. They thought someone was in there. Sound was still coming from beyond the secret door warming me that my gamble had paid off. He had spared no expense to make sure that room was never found from the hallway and it had kept the heat and fire away from the evidence that would damn him.

Two of them took off the hinges and removed the door, the screams poured out of that small room and spilled from the window. What would the neighbors think? That someone was just afraid? The mayor had a female in the house when the fire went up? But the firefighters entered the room slowly and I wondered what they thought as the sounds distorted. But my job here was done and hopefully the police officers that had arrived on the scene would be taking the computer with them. There was a lot of evidence on there and I really didn’t want to send the videos to the media.

At least, that do-gooder cop would be all over that. Hopefully, she’d get the call. Rosalie said she had helped her out and I needed to believe someone would make sure it didn’t get swept under the rug. But I had a plan for that too. Taking out the whole precinct wouldn’t be good for the neighborhood though.

I climbed out on a thick branch over the yard behind the mayor’s and dropped. I disappeared without a problem and quickly moved through two other targets. My last stop was easier even though his security was slightly better. I left his gift, the final drive in my bag, and was back in my apartment watching the news of the fires only forty minutes later. I smiled at the screen when Detective Briggs carried the computer out of the house with that asshole cop next to her carrying a sealed box.

They would be seeing everything they ever wanted soon and worlds would implode. I raised my water bottle in salute, “happy hunting, detective.”

I chugged the water watching the flashing lights behind the woman talking into the camera. The flashing lights and all the concerned people standing around watching like vultures.

We didn’t even have that when we needed it. Not that any of the people who would’ve been around would have intervened, not when Big Daddy was there. Fear was a very powerful thing.

JJ swung me up in his arms and spun as he let out a loud whoop whoop! I was laughing and holding on tight. His eyes were sparkling when he let me slide down his body, his smile more than I could ever ask for. “We did it.”

“We certainly did.” We both looked down to the acceptance letters on the small table. San Francisco State and a full ride scholarship. We were finally getting out.

“We need to tell them. We need to plan how to get away.” JJ squeezed my hand, his excitement rippling through him and into me.

“Let’s go.” We turned to the door and JJ reached for the knob, but it ripped out of his hand and Darius was in the doorway. His eyes wild.

“D…”

“We can’t stay here,” he rasped out and pushed his way inside.

“What..?” I couldn’t breathe. I met JJ’s gaze and he knew something was off as well, it only made my chest clench tighter.

“Go get your things. The duffle bags are in the closet, whatever you can carry,” Darius didn’t stop moving, collecting the cash we had stashed in random hidey-holes throughout the small house.

“D…”

“JUST GO!”

JJ flinched back and I pulled his arm, “come on.” I met Darius’s gaze and a shiver raced down my spine. Something bad had happened and he was just trying to keep it together. It was terrifying. I knew he was just a man but he had always been so sure and strong. A solider, a leader, more than us.

We packed quickly, whispering how we were planning to leave anyway, we were just upping the timeline. Trying to calm each other even though we didn’t understand what was happening, only that the one person who had always been strength personified was shaking. Trembling from something I was too afraid to focus on.

We rushed into the small kitchen and froze. Darius stood next to the small table with two bags at his feet and two sheets of thick paper in his hands. His eyes finally rose and flicked between the two of us, “you…”

I squeezed JJ’s hand, “we were just coming to tell you and Marco.”

Something flickered across his face but he shut it down and folded the papers, shoving them in the envelopes before handing them to us. “Good job.” He nodded, his brows furrowed and his jaw taut like he wanted to say something else but just nodded again. “Let’s go. Your future awaits.” He forced a smile but the worry, the fear drenched the room making the air around us heavy. I was underwater and trying to breach the surface but couldn’t even find which way was up.

JJ and I, hands clutched tightly, followed Darius to Marco’s tiny apartment. Darius burst through the door and we slammed into his back when he froze. I leaned around and saw Rafi, the leader of Marco’s crew standing in front of him. His gaze shot toward us and he shook his head.

“You need to leave. I can’t help you anymore, Marco, but I’m not going to stop you.” Rafi stated so quiet and still.

Darius picked up Marco’s two bags with one hand and pulled the back of Marco’s shirt. Marco turned around, his eyes red but fierce. “Let’s go.”

I met JJ’s gaze and knew whatever was happening, neither one of us had a clue. Darius pushed us out the door and JJ wouldn’t let go of my hand or I wouldn’t let go of his.

Darius said something about our acceptance letters and Marco’s face lit up for just a moment, “someone got us that place by the beach, huh?”

I still remember the feel of that smile I gave him when I thought we had won and beat the odds. We had finally made all that hard work pay off and got out. I just forgot the part about actually getting out before celebrating.

It was the last smile before the world tilted and everything fell apart. The last genuine smile I had in me.

Taglist: I see you! @thefaithfulwriter ,@dalia-artistik ,@justkending , @the–real-wombat , @donnaintx was there anyone else?

#spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean x unknown daughter #spn fan fic #dean winchester fic #sam winchester fan fic #spn badass reader #yeah this is still gonna hurt #badass taking down the dicks #with silent fear and hunger

7 notes · View notes

nothingeverlost · 5 years ago

Note

On the Street Corner Verse: Does Gold ever find them?

Short answer? Yes. 3200 word answer? Here as well.

Gold here shades more towards woobie!pre-curse Gold, though not entirely.

This jumps ahead of anything I’ve written in this verse by about 6 months.

A reminder: Neal, Emma, and Graham are homeless. Graham’s a prostitute (and breaks my heart) and there are references to abuse.

__________________

“There’s someone here looking for you.” It was always a good day when Belle was the one that greeted them in the diner. She let them stay as long as they wanted unless the place was crowded, and sometimes slipped them coupons Neal was pretty sure she printed out herself. She’s also given Emma a box of crackers to calm her stomach in the morning when she’d followed Emma into the bathroom and found out their secret.

“Looking for me?” Graham and Emma were following him in. There weren’t many others that would bother looking for him, and he didn’t owe anyone money. “Do they give you their name?”

“No, but I think…” Belle took a breath, using the menus she hadn’t given them yet to give herself a moment. “Is it possible your father is looking for you?”

“Killian is my stepdad.” Maybe the asshole had finally tracked him down, if only to make him pay for stealing the guitar. He tensed, but felt Emma and Graham at his back. Although Emma’s stomach hadn’t changed much he knew the baby was there too, almost touching him. “A little taller than me, Irish, the type of look a lot of women swoon over?”

“He’s not Irish, and he’s not as tall as you. In my heels we’re almost the same height. He had a poster with your picture on it, asked me if there was someplace I could hang it up. I didn’t tell him about you.” She looked over her shoulder to the far end of the diner where he must be sitting. “He looked tired. I talked him into having something to eat. Offered him coffee but he asked for tea.”

“Papa?” But it couldn’t be. He hadn’t seen his dad since he was seven. How could he possibly be here? And why?

“Want to head out?” Emma wrapped her hand around his wrist. “We don’t have to be here.”

“I don’t know. If it’s him…” He could feel Emma’s touch and Graham’s hand on his shoulder, but everything else was numb. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

“Emma, why don’t you and Neal take a walk. Give me ten minutes to find out what the bloke’s here for and if it’s safe to meet him.” Graham took a step forward and turned to face them both. Neal was reminded of a book he’d had as a child about knights; his papa had read it to him. He’d never thought about them still existing until he’d met Graham.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Okay Neal?” She was already tugging him toward the door. Neal allowed himself to be led; Emma and Graham would take care of him.

“You look lonely, pops.” Graham pulled on the mask he wore on his street corner, confident and cocky, and slid into the booth across from the man Belle had pointed out. The man looking for Neal, who wouldn’t get anywhere near him unless Graham was 113% certain he was safe.

“Pardon?” The man looked startled. He also didn’t look anything like the stepfather Neal had described. His hair was shot through with gray, his hands were in constant motion as he played with the fork in his hand, and there was a cane leaning against the inside wall of the booth.

“Lonely. You know, in need of company? You don’t have to spend the night alone, if you don’t want to.” He didn’t proposition people in the diner; this was their space, his and Neals’s and Emma’s. And he respected Belle. But it was the quickest way he knew to get a read on someone. He knew how to make it clear what he was offering without being too clear; it had only taken one undercover cop to learn just what he could and couldn’t say. “What do you say? Doesn’t look like the food interests you much.”

“Gods no. I would never.” He looked like he had been slapped, his cheeks turning pink and eyes wide. “I wasn’t really hungry but the waitress was so nice I didn’t want to say no. Are you hungry?”

“Why are you here if it’s not for the food?” He ignored the meal that was offered even though he hadn’t eaten since the night before, and had snuck part of his meal onto Emma’s plate.

“I’m looking for my boy. I’ve been looking almost half his life but his mother moved around a lot. By the time I caught up with her he’d run away. That was two years ago; since then I’ve had a private investigator looking for him. Last week there was a picture in the newspaper; it was fuzzy, but it looked like it might have been my boy playing guitar in the background.” The man fumbled with a folder he’d set down on the table, pulling out a piece of paper. It was Neal, without a doubt, though one of the pictures was of a child. “He’s around your age. My boy Neal Gold turns 18 in a few months. Maybe you’ve seen him?”

“Why do you care? He’s an adult in a few months, let him take care of himself. Besides if he’s been living out here you might not want what you find.” It felt cruel, like kicking a puppy dog. He could see the tears hovering in the man’s eyes. But who knew what he wanted, what he planned. Graham was well aware of the fact that the face one showed in public was rarely the one you let out in private.

“He’s my boy. It doesn’t matter how old he is or what’s happened to him, he’s my son and I love him. I want to know he’s safe. Maybe he doesn’t need me, maybe he hates me, but at least I can make sure he has anything he needs.” The man pushed the plate across the table. “Please, it shouldn’t go to waste. I’ve heard teenagers are always hungry.”

“I’m not a kid.” True, he’d only been out of his teens for a few months if you wanted to be technical, but he hadn’t been a kid for years. “Why would he hate you? What did you do?”

“I didn’t fight hard enough for him. I thought a boy needed his mother more than he might need me. But I met that man,” for the first time his face hardened, eyes narrowing and mouth open enough to show his teeth. Graham wondered if the man could be a threat after all. “The bastard that was allowed to live with my son. No real mother would have allowed that. I should have done something to stop it.”

“The bastard shouldn’t be allowed to live, period.” It was a mistake. Graham cursed the moment he said it because any chance for the man leaving had just ended. If Neal didn’t want to meet his father they would have to leave.

“You know my boy.” Both of his hands gripped the table, fingers turning white. “Please, just tell me he’s alright. He’s safe.”

“How do I know you’re not working with Killian Jones? You might just be a good actor.” Emma would know for sure if he was telling the truth, but she was with Neal and he didn’t want Neal here yet.

“The only time I met Jones I broke one of his ribs with my cane. I would have done more but getting arrested wouldn’t help me find my boy.” There was just a little feral glee in the man’s eyes. Yes, Graham decided, he could be dangerous. But Neal would be safe with him. And maybe Emma too. He could get both of them somewhere safe and warm. Neal could get Emma and the baby the care they needed. It was everything he wanted.

He was lying to himself, but they always came first. They had to. He’d been alone before, he could do it again.

“Okay.” He’d made up his mind. “Neal’s story is his own but I can tell you he’s here. You can meet him if it’s what he wants.”

“It’s what I want.” Neal was back, Emma at his side. From the look on his face Graham was pretty sure he’d heard at least part of their conversation.

“I didn’t fight hard enough for him.” It had been more than ten years since he’d heard his papa’s voice, but Neal knew him from the first word he heard. He’d spent so long thinking that he just didn’t care that he didn’t know how to take in the story he was hearing. His papa had looked for him?

“He hit Killian.” Emma kept her voice to a whisper so they weren’t noticed, but she was clearly pleased. “I might like him.”

“He’s been looking for me, Em. It never occurred to me that if I looked for him he might want me.” Neal leaned against the wall, just barely out of sight of the booth where his father was talking to Graham. “My mom said…”

“Your mom is a bitch and a liar,” Emma practically growled. “She didn’t deserve to be a mom.”

“You’re nothing like her.” A part of him still felt it was wrong not to defend his mom but he fought against it. She didn’t deserve any loyalty. Emma, hands on her stomach, did.

“I need to go vomit now, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.” She ran for the bathroom, fortunately only the first bout of nausea for the day. He knew better than to follow her.

“You can meet him if it’s what he wants.” Graham unknowingly gave him the perfect opening.

“It’s what I want.” He stepped up to the table, and it felt wrong to be so tall when his papa was sitting. When he’d been a child his dad had seemed a giant.

“Neal. My boy.” His voice cracked. It took him a moment to stand but once he did Neal found himself enveloped in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“Papa.” He held on just as tightly; the smell of being held by his papa was the same as he’d remembered.

“I’ll give you two a minute.” It was Graham trying to leave that ended the hug. Neal grabbed his arm.

“Stay. Please?”

“You’re fine. Really. I’m just going to check on Emma, okay?” Graham squeezed his forearm as he walked away. Since Emma needed Graham as much as he did, Neal let it go.

“He’s a good friend.” His papa watched Graham walk away. “He cares about you.”

“He’s Graham.” His best friend, his protector, his lover, his family. Not easy things to explain to anyone, let alone the father he hadn’t seen in a decade. “What happened to your leg, papa?”

“An accident, not long after you and your mother left. It doesn’t matter, though. How are you? Do you live around here? Do you need anything?” From the way he was leaning against the booth whatever had happened to his leg did matter, but Neal wasn’t going to push it.

“We live pretty close, me and Graham and Emma.” He wasn’t going to mention that their address was the wreckage of an old yellow Beetle under a bridge.

“Emma?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Emma slid into the booth, her eyes on the plate of food. “Anyone eating this?”

“You are,” Neal offered without thinking. “If you think you can keep it down.”

“I’m starving.” Emma took a couple of bites of egg, or at least the whites. She frowned at the yolk and pushed it to the edge of the plate.

“We could order more food. Anything you want. Do you drink tea? Or they might have milkshakes here; when you were a boy…”

“We’ll order when Graham gets back.” He could feel the nervous energy running through his papa, even though a few inches separated them. As if he was trying to find the magic words to get him to stay, scared that any moment might separate them. “Why don’t we sit?”

“Yeah, where is Graham by the way? I thought he’d be here.” Emma looked up from the toast she was slathering with jam.

“What do you mean? He went to check on you.” But he knew. Winded like someone had just punched him in the stomach he knew why Graham hadn’t returned. “Shit.”

“Neal?” His papa tried to offer him an arm in support, but Neal shook it off.

“I have to go. I’m not running, I want to see you, but I have to go now. Emma will show you where we live.” Every second he waited felt like he might be too late.

“I will?” Emma stared at him. They never showed anyone the bug.

“Trust me.” It was all the time he had. He ran for the back door; the ally would get him there quicker. It wasn’t far but every step against the cement felt like it was mocking him. What if he was already too late? He rounded the corner and it felt like the first time he had taken a breath since leaving the diner. Graham was still at the bug. He had a bag in hand, though, and Neal was certain it held everything Graham owned.

“Never in my life have I thought I might want to punch you, Graham, but I swear if you’re doing what I think you’re doing I will hit you as hard as I can and hope it knocks some sense into you.” His hands were in fists, but he wasn’t angry. He was scared shitless. “Tell me you’re not trying to leave.”

“He’s a good guy, Neal. He could take care of you and Emma. Emma’s going to need doctors and good food, and when the baby comes…”

“You think Emma and I would go anywhere without you? I thought we’d drilled it though your damn stubborn head that it’s the three of us. Hell, we don’t even know if the baby is yours or mine and it doesn’t matter. We’re a family.” He saw Graham wince and hated knowing that he’d caused pain. One time Graham hadn’t worn a condom and he hated himself for it. He’d vanished for three days after that, and they’d almost lost him then. They weren’t losing him now.

“This is your chance, Neal. You can’t throw it away. He wants you.”

“If he wants me then he gets all three of us. That’s the only way this happens.” He’d stay on the streets if that was the only way he got to keep them both.

“You think that’s going to fly? Hey dad, this is my girlfriend Emma and my boyfriend Graham. She’s pregnant and he’s a whore.” Graham had a couple of inches on Neal but despite the earlier warning he wasn’t expecting the punch. He crashed backwards into the bug.

“Don’t you fucking dare talk about yourself like that.” Those are words other people used. Words that Regina probably used on days when Graham came back looking drawn and refusing to talk. Words men used when they only drove around the corner before undoing their pants. Neal held his lover against the shell of the car and touched his face with a tenderness that was as far from a punch as it was possible to get. “You are worth a thousand times more than anyone that has ever touched you. The only thing that matters is that Emma and I love you and you love us.”

Neal pressed their lips together, tasting the blood that dripped from Graham’s nose. He hadn’t meant to hit that hard but the word Graham had tried to define himself with had felt like a knife. “My papa spent a decade looking for me. You think I’d do any less for you?”

“This is who I am. It’s where I belong.”

“You belong with me.” Neal kissed him again, harder this time, and took it as a good sign that Graham at least opened his mouth.

“You belong with us.” Emma had snuck up behind him, her eyes narrowing when she looked down at the bag at Graham’s feet. And if Emma was back then she hadn’t come alone. Neal turned around slowly, wiping Graham’s blood away from his skin.

“Papa.” His father was leaning hard on the cane Neal had seen earlier. The look on his face, jaw slack and eyes wide, Neal could only think to call horror. Neal raised his chin; he wasn’t ashamed of his relationship with Graham or Emma. If it bothered his papa then there might not be anything else to say. “Graham is…”

“You live here?” If he had been standing any father away Neal wouldn’t have been able to hear the words.

“Yeah.” The bug was behind him, the inside made up as their bed and most of their belongings where the engine would have been once upon a time. Next to him was the barrel they used for fires on cold nights. A pair of buckets and a folding chair circled a stump that was their dining room. It was a hell of a lot more than some people had, and was home for almost two years. “It was Graham’s place first but he took me in and then we took Emma in.”

“I…” His papa swayed; when he looked close to falling Neal rushed to his side.

“Are you okay?”

“How can you ask me that?” His hands were surprisingly strong when he pushed away, limping over to the stump that acted as their table and sitting down. “I should have looked harder. I should have hired more people. You should have had so much more.”

“You looked for me. Do you know what it mean that you didn’t stop looking?” No one looked for Emma. For Graham. For a dozen people he knew by name and a hundred he only knew by sight. “And if you’d found me sooner I wouldn’t have Emma and Graham. They’re my family, papa.”

“Aye, I can tell what they mean to you. And you, to them.” He looked over to where both of them stood for a moment, but quickly dropped his eyes. “I’m glad you’re not alone.”

“I missed you, papa.” His papa had spun him stories at bedtime, had bandaged his knees after falls and had held him when his dog had died and he’d cried every day. For the first seven and a half years of his life his papa was his strongest memory. And then he had been gone and it was just him and his mom, and then Killian came along.

“Me too.” He knelt before his father and they hugged. Neal knew this time the moisture on his face wasn’t Graham’s blood but his own tears, and maybe his papa’s.

“Hate to interrupt a reunion but if you two don’t mind taking a break for a few minutes and Graham’s done being stupid can we go back and get food? I’m starving.” Emma had her arm linked though Graham’s as if she could keep him from moving anywhere without consent.

“Breakfast would be good, wouldn’t it papa?” He knew he didn’t have to ask if Graham was hungry. Besides, he wasn’t planning on letting Graham out of his sight for a while.

“Anything you want, my boy.” His papa used the cane as leverage to stand up.

“We can talk about things.” Not the baby, though. Not yet. His papa needed to get used to the fact that he’d found his son and inherited the rest of the family before learning that he was going to be a grandfather.

“I’d like that.” They walked back to the diner together, all four of them.

#verse: street corner #swanfire hunter #my fic #joylee56 #graham humbert #neal cassidy #emma swan #belle french #mr. gold

14 notes · View notes

cheese-knife · 5 years ago

Text

A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing

Chapter One: The End.

Hello everyone! I know I’m not exactly know for writing fanfiction, but this is the newest project im working on. Its a bit strange, as it is a crossover between BNHA and The Wolf Among Us/ Fables Universe. But this AU is starting to dig a precious place in my heart, and I’d love it if you checked it out.

Rating: Teens and Up

Pairings: (Eventual) Bigby Wolf/Snow White

Read it on Ao3

The room was nothing special, a plain grey room built like a brick shithouse, meant to house and contain some of the most dangerous criminals in New York for questioning. The only things furnishing the room were two chairs, a table, and a single light without a cover. One of the walls had a rectangle of dark glass inlaid into the brick.

Bigby Wolf sat unnaturally still in the uncomfortable metal chair, greasy, unkempt hair hanging in a curtain around his head as he stared a hole into the table in front of him. His hands were latched to the table by heavy cuffs, kept well apart so there was no way he could rip the hand cuffs off without doing significant damage to himself. Even then, the small red lights blinking on the cuffs showed that they were actively suppressing his quirk so its not like he would get very far.

The door to the room opened with a slam as two stern looking officers entered the room, one carrying a significantly thick file folder under his arm. One stood at the door, and the one with the folder sat down across from Bigby at the table.

“Fifty-Six confirmed counts of murder.”

The folder was slammed down onto the table,

“Sixty-One counts of property destruction.”

Dozens of photos of the were laid out before the wolf, each a snapshot moment from his rampage.

“An an association with an unknown number of missing persons. Their bodies were never recovered.”

He didn’t move as the officer spoke. He didn’t even acknowledge that he was there.

“The list goes on and on. You know what this means, don’t you Mr. Wolf?”

Nothing. The three in the room sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes.

“Damnit-”

Bigby didn’t even flinch as the hand cracked across his face, hard enough to break the skin over his cheekbone. Definitely a strength quirk behind that.

“-You know what this means right?” The officer was in his face now. “We have enough shit on you to put you away for a *thousand* lifetimes, and to kill you a hundred times more. Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Bigby finally looked up, furious, wild yellow eyes digging into the frustrated lawman. In this moment, it was clear that he was more animal than man. He had the physicality of a caged feral animal.

In the years after his mother passed away, Bigby let himself slip into the pitfalls of his powerful quirk; in fact, he welcomed it. He welcomed the separation from the world and his humanity, fully embodying the once silly nickname his brothers used to tease him with. The Big Bad Wolf.

The trial went unsurprisingly smoothly. There was no question of what his verdict would be as he stood in front of the judge, still an overwhelming presence in the courtroom despite his restraints.

”Members of the Jury, in the case of Wolf vs. New York, what do you say?”

A small, timid woman stood and cleared her throat.

“Your honor, the members of this Jury finds the defendant wholly GUILTY of his crimes.”

The jury filed out of the courtroom as the judge dismissed them, all more than ready to leave the presence of the newly convicted felon. Bigby could smell the fear-tinged pride on each and every one of them.

The judge looked down on him.

“Bigby Wolf, it is the judgement and sentence of this court that the charged information is true, and the jury having found that the penalty shall be death. It is the order of this court that you shall suffer death, said penalty to be inflicted in Southport Correctional Facility in the manner prescribed by the law, the date later to be fixed by the Court in warrant of execution. You are remanded to the custody of the warden of Southport, it is so ordered. In witness whereof, I have hereon set my hand as Judge of this Superior Court, and I have caused the seal of this Court to be affixed thereto.”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

He could see the pure joy in the Judge’s eyes as he delivered the sentencing.

It was five years he spent in prison. Each one hammering in the point that the law was making a mockery of him. Everyday, the guards got a little worse, a little more teasing and pushed the limits of what they could do to him without him fighting back. The bastards got comfortable around him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

They treated him like a sad dog doing tricks just for the pleasure of a shitty treat, only to be denied even after groveling at their feet.

Five. Fucking. Years.

At this point he was just craving some sort of relief. He even welcomed death, and despite the judge’s promise all those five years ago, the court seemed determined to draw out his torment for as long as possible before sending him to the slaughterhouse.

Bigby blearily opened his eyes, never getting enough sleep these days, involuntarily flinching at the sharp sound of metal banging against metal. Though the cuff permanently clamped to his wrist prevented him from transforming, its not like they could cancel out his quirk entirely. Enhanced hearing had its downfalls, and every morning he woke up to the same three scents. Sweat, shit, and corruption.

But anyway, apparently he had a visitor. Which was strange, considering Bigby’s family was either gone, or dead, and he never made any friends. So who the fuck could possibly want to see him?

Only after having shackles firmly attached to his wrists and ankles, he was led into the surprisingly private- well, as private as you could get in a supermax prison- and was forced into a rusting metal chair in front of a booth comprised of two phones and bullet proof glass. And on the other side, politely escorted by guards to the seat in front of him, was a woman with skin like porcelain and hair blacker than coal; none other than the Princess Hero herself: Miss Snow Fucking White.

Real cute fucking name there, right?

She picked up the phone on her end, staring down Bigby with her calm, cold stare until he did the same.

“Mr. Wolf-“

“Listen, Miss White, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood to be berated by one of the top heroes in New York, so cut the shit and get outta here. Whatever you have to say, I’m not interested.” Bigby nothing but growled into his phone, nearly hanging up then and there and dragging is own ass back to his cell.

Miss White simply let him calm down, cleared her throat and continued.

“Mr. Wolf, I am here to inform you, in association with the Fables Hero Agency, that the state of New York is willing to grant you amnesty for your past crimes:”

That got Bigby’s attention. It wasn’t obvious, but there was a certain way his eyes widened just a touch, his body tensed and leaned just a hair in towards Snow that let her know that he was interested, very interested.

“Why should I trust you?” And. Twice as skeptical.

“Because, put plainly, I am your last chance at you living past 35. My agency has been interested in your case for a long time, and your time is running short. The court has scheduled a date for your execution, the end of this month. In 2 weeks exactly.”

Sounded good enough- except it didn’t. Bigby couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of him mouth, regretting them as soon as they hit the air. Why would he be actively trying to fuck up what’s already secured for him.

“Why the hell would you be interested in a serial killer with a knack for tearing people limb from limb?”

Snow leaned in towards the glass, hovering just a few inches from the glass.

“Because, you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

“Seven years ago, you broke into and killed six men in the basement of the Geppetto Casino, all wealthy and well know celebrities, CEOs and millionaires. These men were preparing to rape, torment, and humiliate the three women they were holding captive, including myself and my sister, before auctioning us off to the next highest biding sick perverted fuck.

But you showed up before any of that could happen. You gave those men what they deserved and you let us go without so much as a scratch before you nearly destroyed the whole building. The world mourned the death of those truly evil men, never acknowledging their heinous crimes, while insisting that you were the true monster. But I know the truth. At least in that moment, you were a hero.”

“...I’m not always like that, you know. I’ve killed innocent people.”

“We have one of the best investigative teams at the agency, I think we both know that isn’t entirely true. At points, yes. You were a villain through and through, but you’re not a bad person, Mr. Wolf.”

“Right... so where the hell do I sign up for this pardon thing?”

Snow produced a large envelope from a bag sitting at her feet and removed a few legal documents from it and handed them to a guard to present to Bigby.

“You should know that this doesn’t come without heavy restrictions. You’ll be under twenty-four observation, as well as required therapy, and extremely strict parol. You will also be required to study and work at the hero agency, and acquire a hero license at some point in the next 2 years. If you breech any terms of the contract, you’ll be arrested and sent back here to await execution again. But, if you manage to survive all of this, you’ll be relatively free within ten years. Reduced to five on good behavior.”

Bigby nodded, soaking up the information Snow was giving him while he looked over the several contracts placed in front of him. It was a lot of legal jargon, but it was easier to understand than he thought it would be. Well that, and he also spent the little free time he did have studying up on legal practices, curiosity pushing him to figure out just how fucked the system was right now.

“One problem, I can’t sign this. They don’t really let me use pens.”

Snow almost looked like she smiled at that. And it seems like she thought ahead, producing a pad of ink from the bag and passed it along to Bigby’s side of the glass.

“Don’t worry, your fingerprint makes a good replacement.”

There were ten pages in total, and each page was stamped with Bigby Wolf’s fingerprint black swirling ink. The pages were handed back to Miss White as she now truly smiled and looked at Bigby.

“I’ll need to send the paperwork in to be finalized, but you should be released within forty-eight hours, we’ll send a car to bring you to the agency do that you can see where you’ll be staying for the next few years. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Wolf.”

She returned her phone to its place and turned to leave, but he reached out and tapped loudly on the glass. Snow looked back and picked up her phone again.

“Bigby.”

“Mr. Wolf I-“

“Just call me Bigby.”

Next>

#the wolf among us #fables #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bigby wolf #snow white #snow white/bigby wolf #bigby x snow #A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing

9 notes · View notes

interminal · 5 years ago

Text

[ text from: JD: ] So where’s my fucking Colt?

It comes at an inopportune moment, but Jean has always had a way of finding the worst times to pester her about something unimportant. Mercedes is stealing her way in the opposite direction of the Yard, a thin folder under one arm. Records from the archive - and not of a particularly meaty case, but it’s the one she was after.

Pretty open-and-shut, considering they found the perpetrator at the scene, very much red handed. Not a drop of blood on him, though, despite his violent past.

Just kerosene.

She has the gun. Of course she does. It hadn’t been in her job description, but she wasn’t about to leave a loaded weapon covered in her boss’ finger prints at a crime scene, even if he had been the victim. Mercedes would wonder what the authorities made of the site if she cared - but she doesn’t care, so she doesn’t wonder.

The file is tossed onto the passenger seat, and once she’s checked that nobody’s coming after her, she follows it into the car. And, reluctantly, pulls her phone out of the inner breast pocket of her jacket.

[ text: ] what use could you possibly have for a gun [ text: ] thought you were turning over a new leaf [ text: ] nice to hear you’re still alive, btw

Three little dots wiggle at her from the bottom of the screen, heralding Jean’s incoming response, but she doesn’t stick around to read it. He’d only said five words, but she’s sufficiently well-acquainted with his bad moods to know one when she sees it, and she can tell by the briskness of his question that he’s not going to be reasonable.

Not that he ever is.

It’s only a short trip home, but the device buzzes 9 fucking times over the duration. Mercedes always has her phone on silent, but she’s beginning to consider turning off the vibrate function, too. It’s not like anyone needs to get in contact with her that isn’t her feral tomcat of an ex-employer, and she rarely wants to speak with him.

Important, but of little interest right now, the file is left on the table beside the door of her apartment, face up - there’s text on it; a date, an identifier of the crime, a name and badge number. Mercedes sinks into a chair (not the sofa, she still needs to get that replaced) and stares at her phone, exhausted.

[ text from: JD: ] Oh I wanted to mount it above the fucking hearth! [ text from: JD: ] I DON’T KNOW, MERC, WHAT USE COULD I POSSIBLY HAVE FOR A GUN [ text from: JD: ] Christ. I asked you a simple question. I wanted a “here, boss” or a “lost it like an idiot, boss”, not fucking snark [ text from: JD: ] New leaf or not - [ text from: JD: ] Which, by the way, I never claimed to be turning over. I don’t know where everyone’s getting this fucking buckwild idea that I’m miraculously a good person now? [ text from: JD: ] Is it because you forgot, because we were facing a Bigger Bad for a while? Did Layton make me look like a godsent angel in comparison to his slimy ass? [ text from: JD: ] - I still have ENEMIES, and those enemies still happen to want my ass dead. I’m not going out looking for trouble, I just want the option to defend myself. [ text from: JD: ] Plus, I’ve still got one last thread to tie off with its help. [ text from: JD: ] So please, please, if you would, tell me where the fuck you put my gun. I am beseeching you. I am fucking begging right now.

She really wishes she’d just blocked him once that whole thing had ended. He should have been cut out of his life the moment she dropped him on Teddy’s doorstep - and if he needed her this badly, he could contact her through Teddy - but no, she decided to gave him some leeway, and this is her thanks.

Anyone less familiar with Jean Descole’s Moods And Machinations would respond, add some tinder to the fire he’s currently nurturing, but Mercedes instead decides to let it burn out. If he wants his gun so badly, he can come back and ask again when he’s calmed down and remembered how to be a human being.

If that day ever comes.

#rake the sands until they surface ; blind their tiny eyes〚 DRABBLE. 〛#mercedes. [ guest ]

1 note · View note

seijuurouxryuu · 6 years ago

Text

We Are Not Meant To Be (But We Are)

Title: We're Not Meant To Be (But We Are) Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: T Pairing: Reborn/ Hibari Kyouya, Yamamoto Takeshi/ Sawada Tsunayoshi, (one-sided)Hibari Kyouya/ Yamamoto Takeshi, (one-sided) Reborn/ Sawada Tsunayoshi Event: @khrrarepairweek Prompt: Bodyguard/ Hitman AU | Kidnapping Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warning, Graphic Deciptions of Violence, mentioned of drugs

Day 6: Cloud Day

Hibari glared at him. "Quit it." He tried to turn around again but Reborn held him back. "Wait."

"What do you want?"

Reborn looked at him and sighed. "I know that you like Yamamoto."

AO3

Watching Yamamoto chattering and smiling brightly at Sawada annoyed Hibari a lot. Every day, he would hear the Rain laugh at whatever Sawada said, joking with him, holding him. Whenever he managed to see them together, he could see the affection from them, the sickening tenderness in their eyes for each other.

Hibari hated it.

His mouth would run dry, rage bubbling in him followed by cold shiver down his spine. He would unconsciously clench his jaw, curled his hands into fist, wanting nothing but to bite someone to death.

And yet, when he saw them so happy, he couldn't do anything. When he saw them together, contented, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't find any will to even try and break them up.

They deserve each other, fitted like puzzle pieces, complimenting each other in every step, every movement. They were meant to be.

And Hibari knew that.

So he turned around, looking away each time and leave. He left every time, but the cold loneliness in his heart did not. Never did, and perhaps never will.

"Yo, Hibari." He looked back from his perch on the window stilt, gazing far away, watching the foreign land that was never his home, to see Reborn by the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed. The hitman was holding a folder, which he suspected it to be his next mission.

He grunted at him and turned, facing the hitman fully. The now physically adult hitman seemed to be amused at that and sauntered into the skylark's room, handing him the folder. "Hunt. Yes?"

Hibari's eyes flitted over the words before he closed the folder. He stood up and headed out. "Let's go." Reborn rolled his eyes at that before following, easily falling into steps beside the younger man.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. None were their as they go on rampage, never holding back. Horrified scream rang out in the air as they slaughtered through the crowd, fire burning in the background. Multiple gunshots resonated in the air along with the screams, the smell of iron in the air increases.

The herbivores ran, and they both let them, concentrating on those who were still up and fighting- futilely- against them. They would let them run, let them have the small moment of hope, but they were not done with them. Hibari whirled around, his chain from his tonfa circling around him and took out some, clipped some. He brought his tonfa down and crushed the head of one man whose name and face he didn't bother knowing with one blow.

The blood splattered on his face didn't bother him, neither did it stop his killing frenzy. If anything, the feel, colour and smell of blood increased his thirst for more.

He ducked down low and did a 360, catching the one who tried to punch him with his thigh and pulled himself up as the man tried to claw him off. He smirked, lips pulled back to show his teeth and twisted the man's head off, pulling it out from the neck. He jumped away and landed gracefully on the red floor, flooded with blood. He threw the head up and down, ignoring how the flesh seemed to splatter all around.

He wondered if a certain Rain were to throw this head at someone, would it punch through, or would the head shatter first.

He scowled and threw away the head at that, annoyance bubbling in him. He flicked his tonfa and the chain swung, cutting down someone with the speed it was going before the chain shortened.

Reborn, a few feet away from him, roundhouse-kicked someone, throwing them back before he pulled another trigger at someone else. He could see through the corner of his eyes that Hibari was overpowering the crowd that decided to team up against him, could feel the shift in emotions in the man. He clicked off the empty magazine of his gun and swiftly snapped in a new one, kneecapping someone on their left leg. The pitiful man screamed, clutching onto his leg. Reborn had to give him his credit when he noticed that there was no way he could win against the two of them.

That no one can win against the Strongest Hitman in the World and Vongola's Strongest Guardian.

"P-please! M-my wife and kids! I-if you kill me, w-what would they do?!"

But still, stupid.

"That's overused." Reborn hummed, sauntering closer. He leaned on one leg, smirked as his dark eyes glinted. "Tell me something more interesting, and maybe I'll let you go, hm?" The man stuttered an affirmative hastily. "Great!" Reborn chirped cheerily. He tapped his chin as though he was contemplating. "Hmm, let see. Ah! Right!" He leaned down, looming.

"What's the drug that your boss decided to develop?"

The man hesitated for a moment. Reborn tutted and aimed at his right leg. "W-w-wait! I-I don't know!" He pulled the trigger as the man screamed, dropping onto the ground.

"P-p-please! I really don't know!" He shot at his torso, deliberately avoiding the lungs and heart. "Next will be your head if you don't tell the truth~" He sing-sang, shifting his aim to the head.

"E-Ecstasy!" The man blurted out. "I-it's a sort of ecstasy and aphrodisiac! I- I heard that whoever that takes it experience a sort of black out during the whole time yet still feel a high that felt like a dream! That's all I know! Honest!"

Reborn hummed. The man doesn't seemed to be lying. "T-there's information on the drug i-in the research room!"

"Oh?"

"Y-yeah! T-the research room is linked to boss's room." Reborn paused, reading the man, taking him off piece by piece in his head. The man was sweating profusely, but he wasn't lying. He had just spilled the Famiglia secret without any remorse. He smiled. "What's your name?"

"E-eh? Uhm- Giuseppe."

His smile stretched an inch. "Well, thank you for your information, Giuseppe. With this, I'll grant you the fastest way to die!"

"W-w-wait! You said you'd let me go if I tell you something!"

Reborn nodded. "Yep, I did. And you did told me something interesting. But," He drawled. "You just broke the Omerta. You would ended up being killed anyway. I'll do it for you instead. Consider this an honor."

He smirked and pulled the trigger with one last parting words, ignoring the loud protests. "Le mie condoglianze."

The bullet went through the head as it lolled back, lifeless. Reborn hummed and turned away, flicking the blood of his hand and gun. His eyes scanned the blood tainted room, fire burning down the curtains and some of the furniture. The fire was the least of Reborn's concern as his eyes locked on Hibari's bloodied figure.

He had already dealt with the rest of the enemies- no- victims, stomping on one's head until it reduced to nothing but bits and pieces of flesh and gore that clung onto his shoes. Instead of the pure glee of bloodlust he had earlier, it had shifted into thick annoyance and irritation, killing intent increased ten fold.

Reborn watched, let the younger man take everything out on the already dead body. He knew why he was like that after all. Recently, Hibari had been distant, far more distant that he usually was. Whenever he spotted Tsuna and Yamamoto together, he had this look on his face before he avoids them quietly. Whenever Reborn saw him looking at the couple, he would see the tension in the shoulders, the curl of his fist, the anger burning in those sliver eyes.

He knew what were those.

It was the sign of jealousy.

Hibari did a really good job at hiding them, but Reborn could tell.

Because he himself had that look whenever he saw how happy Tsuna was with the Rain before his attention was diverted.

He tilted his head slightly, face blank before he called out. "Oi, Hibari!" The skylark jerked once before stopping. He whirled around and locked eyes with the hitman, sliver-blue orbs burning in jealousy, in envy, in bitterness and in loneliness.

Reborn licked his lips at that.

He pointed up the stairs. "Let's go catch those people and grab the information."

Something flitted in Hibari's eyes before he moved. He wordlessly walked up to Reborn and they both climbed the stairs.

It was a one-sided slaughter fest. In an hour time, Reborn and Hibari had killed every single human being in the building, combing through until there was no one left but them. It was a bit fun, if Reborn had to say. To see and feel how feral and uncontrolled Hibari was. To share the excitement and adrenaline with Hibari. Reborn hadn't feel that thrill for a long time.

He loves it.

He doesn't forget though, that he still had to retrieve the information on the drugs. It was one of their main task other than, well, killing everyone. The information was needed to counter the drugs that had been sold and spread all over the country.

He stepped over the bodies and headed into the boss's room, followed closely by Hibari. Fiddling around and opening the secret door to the research room, they swiftly gathered the information and headed out. But before they stepped out of the building, Reborn pulled Hibari back and stole a kiss from him.

He managed to tangle his tongue with the other's once before he had to broke it off, licking off the blood from his lips where Hibari had bitten him.

"What do you think you are doing?" Hibari snarled.

"Kissing you." Reborn said nonchalantly.

Hibari glared at him. "Quit it." He tried to turn around again but Reborn held him back. "Wait."

"What do you want?"

Reborn looked at him and sighed. "I know that you like Yamamoto." Hibari swatted his hand away, eyes flashing. "Listen. I know you like him, but you and I both know that he isn't going to leave Tsuna. So give up.

"Give up, and let me hold you." Let me love you.

"... I thought you liked the small animal."

Reborn nodded, a wry smile on his face. "Well, as you had said, liked. He.. He and I are not meant to be. Not suitable." He shook his head. "But he doesn't matter. I still to like him, but not like that any longer. Not when you caught my eyes."

Hibari stared. "I'm willing to wait for you." Reborn continued. "I'm willing to wait until you'll take my hand, until you forget about Yamamoto."

"You know that that's impossible."

"It is not impossible."

Reborn took a step forward and grabbed Hibari's hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'll wait." For you are worth it.

For we're meant to be.

"For Primo's sake- must you guys kill all of them?!" Reborn took a sip at his espresso, twiddling his sideburn as he watched Tsuna groaning. "I should have known- I shouldn't have send the both of you together. What was I thinking- ouch!" The brunette pouted as he rubbed his forehead where Reborn had flicked.

"What was that for?"

"For ranting." Reborn poked the sore spot and rubbed harshly. "You of all people should know that they would ended up dead in the end when we send the evidences to Vindice. Might as well do it ourselves. It's more fun this way."

Tsuna huffed as Reborn grinned. "Not to mention, you're the one who told us to not hold back."

Tsuna's eyes darken slightly, his lips jutting out. "That's because they killed a few of ours with that stupid drug of theirs.."

Reborn smirked and leaned back. He looked smug, which made Tsuna sulk even more. The brunette sighed in exasperation. "... Well, good job. Thank you, Reborn."

The hitman said nothing and ruffled the soft, brown hair, eyes soft as Tsuna yelped.

"Hey- stop!"

The door slammed open. The two of them looked towards the door to see Hibari storming in. Tsuna blinked. "Oh, Hibari! Welcome back! How's-" Tsuna shrieked when the skylark grabbed the hitman's tie and tugged him down, crashing their lips together.

Reborn's hands immediately grabbed Hibari, a hand behind his head to pull him closer, deepening the kiss while another around his waist to keep him in place.

"W-wha- Do it outside!!" Tsuna yelled and they broke apart.

Hibari hissed while Reborn laughed at the brunette. The skylark huffed and tugged the man out, leaving the room.

Alright.

A/N= Hibari is absolutely the kind to do that-- yep-- uhum. Reborn is the same as well pppffftt--

Le mie condoglianze means my condolences in Italian. It's from google so I don't know if it's any accurate.

There's a stretch of time from the third and last part. They were given two week to deal with everything; they finished it the first week before Reborn and Hibari separated, the skylark having another set of minor mission. Reborn lingered around before heading back to Italy.

[I apologize from any grammar, spelling, etc. etc. mistakes]

#khrrarepairweek2018 #khrrarepairweek #Katekyo Hitman Reborn #KHR #Reborn #Hibari Kyouya #Reborn/Hibari Kyouya #Sawada Tsunayoshi #8027 #My Writings #Slight Gore?#One-sided R27 and 1880 #Reborn and Hibari goes hunting :D #mentioned of drugs #Yamamoto Takeshi

20 notes · View notes

diyunho · 7 years ago

Text

The Joker x Reader - “One of The Kind”

The Joker was getting ready to bust you out of Arkham when you disappeared without a trace. He searched like crazy but anytime there was a lead it ended up being another dead end. Where were you taken?! A person can’t just vanish into thin air! Were you still alive? Or not? So many questions and no answers. Finally after a year, The King of Gotham found out the whereabouts of his Queen. And the discovery would change things forever.

Frost was standing in front of The Joker’s office, not being able to gather the courage to knock at the door and report to his boss. The other henchmen were silent, each of them happy they are not in the delicate position of telling The Clown Prince of Crime about what months of research and unimaginable used resources have led to. Jonny Frost took another hesitant deep breath, squeezed the thick folder he was holding to his chest and decided to make his presence known:

“Sir, it’s me. Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” J’s voice gave permission and his trusted bodyguard entered the room, straining to keep it together: he knew it won’t be pretty.

After about 20 minutes, the goons waiting outside got the confirmation of the terrible aftermath: objects were being smashed and broken, The Joker was shouting a bunch of angry things, cussing up a storm, unable to contain himself. How could he anyway? The news was shocking. Unbearable. Agonizing. No hope, no way to fix it. At least you were still alive. Sort of…

*************

He stood outside the lab forever, not hearing the explosions, not smelling the gun powder in the air. Usually it would have given him such hype. But not that day.

His men were clearing out the underground facility belonging to “ GeeNome X- Genetic Research & Weaponry” and The Joker was deaf to all of it. No desire to move or to act. He was numb.

J could see inside the huge room through the two way mirror, glaring at the 10 monitors you were surrounded with, showing the same stuff:

Your picture, then a bunch of information typed under it with red letters:

Project Number: A526456KLP

Subject Name: Y/N

Transfer: Completed

Procedure: Irreversible

Enter Password: ___

The Joker felt he was suffocating; that feral creature in the middle of the room was his woman?! Twice as tall as him, looking out of this earth with four blue eyes, sharp claws and inward, long legs. A perfect symbiosis of strange, dark flesh, bone and metal.

The Joker’s fingers involuntarily moved on the keypad, typing in the password he paid a fortune to get from his inside contact: 17568. He was in a trance, speechless and not having a clue about what is going to happen next.

You heard the hissing sound of the opened doors and lift your huge head up, the four eyes blinking in the same time: your boyfriend stepped inside the lab you were kept in under maximum security for months, looking like he’s just seen a ghost.

You wish you were a ghost; it would have been easier.

When they transferred your conscience inside whatever the heel that was, you had no say in it or any way to fight the experiment. From the moment you were brought there from Arkham, your life has been nothing but a long string of tests, surgical procedures and biological weaponry assessments. The only thing that kept you going was the memory of The Joker and the hope he will save you. Once they took your mind away and you woke up inside the accursed weird shell, you didn’t wish that anymore. You actually prayed J will never find you. How could you be seen like that?!

You watch them cremate your mortal body; their way to show their power, the fact that you will never get it back and your old self is gone forever. You belonged to them now and that was the end of it.

You didn’t even try to escape; go where?… Do what?…

And yet, there you were: facing your boyfriend for the first time in so long, not even human anymore.

The Joker gulped, cautiously approaching, dragging his heavy boots on the immaculate white floor. He couldn’t help but stare and his woman gazed back from behind those scary eyes she had now.

The silence persisted in the air until J’s lips moved and he stammered:

“You…you’re…You’re taller, Pumpkin.”

“Hi baby,” you said but what came out was a bunch of gargled sounds, a mixture of rusty metal and screechy noise.

“Huh?” The Joker narrowed his eyes, displeased with the bizarre articulations coming from the beast.

You repeated the words and the result was unchanged: you couldn’t talk anymore, not in a way that you were understood. It was so frustrating you wanted to cry but you couldn’t even do that.

You felt ashamed and embarrassed; why was he even there, analyzing your shape and not really bothering to hide his astonishment?!

“Do you know who I am?”

You decided to nod a yes, rattling the chains you were confined with.

“I’ve been searching for a long time…” J bit his lower lip, halting in front of the creature.

Your four eyes turned yellow, a sign you were upset but he didn’t know that yet.

“I…I have to say that I’m intrigued. Something is different about you…Did you change your hair?”

Even if you gave him goose bumps, J reached his hand for you; everything inside told him to run but he didn’t.

That hideous mouth you had opened wide, unraveling the sharp, strong fangs and your chest went up and down fast when he barely touched your arm.

“Is that a smile? Because I can’t tell…Are you laughing?”

More grumbled sounds, unnerving and difficult to hear. But he still didn’t run.

“I’ll take it as a yes,” The Joker decided, struggling to keep his cool.

Screams in the distance, mayhem and things being blown up. It was time to flee.

“Wanna get out of here?”

The monster nodded in acceptance again and J took the phone out of his coat, dialing Frost’s number.

“Take everything you can, we need to find a solution.”

****************

First night you were back at the Penthouse, you felt awkward and out of place. The Joker went to sleep and you followed him in your former bedroom, having to bend a little bit in order to cross inside. Thank goodness everything was built with vaulted ceilings, that way you had plenty of space.

You watched him get on the bed, not daring to follow.

“What, are you gonna stay there all night?” he yawned. “Don’t worry, it won’t break. And it’s big, you’ll fit.”

But as your heavy steps came closer, you noticed his body stiffening and you didn’t blame him: you knew how scary you looked.

You huffed, backing out towards the far wall of the bedroom, sliding against the wall on the floor with a loud thud.

“I’ll just sit here,” you announced and he saw your glowing blue eyes turning yellow in the darkness again: a signal of your depressing mood, but at least you were home. The Joker couldn’t understand you, yet he wasn’t stupid: he realized his reaction made you aware you startled him. It took a lot of courage, but he gathered a few pillows and blankets and came over to your resting spot. He dropped them by you, stashing a bunch of cushions on top of your petrified legs and covered himself up with the blankets, not saying a word.

You couldn’t even breathe: feeling him close after such a long time reminded you how much you loved him. Even if you looked like a freak, emotions were unchanged inside the creature you hated: you were still you under that layer of hideous monstrosity. And maybe that’s why J didn’t run: because he knew also.

You didn’t move one single inch, unwilling to wake him up after he dozed off. His dreams were restless and he wiggled all night; but the creature was there to protect that last sparkle of humanity it buried months ago.

Each time the blankets slid off The Joker, you carefully tucked them around him so he won’t get cold. How you wanted to caress his hair but you were afraid the sharp claws would scratch his skin. You ended up barely touching his face with the back of your hand, swiftly taking it away when he mumbled something without waking up.

“I love you,” you whispered in the darkness and all that came out was a low growl.

****************

It wasn’t easy. Nothing was easy. Not anymore.

No matter how assiduous the search, no solution for the state you were in was seen on the horizon.

The Joker tried to make the best out of it and you knew why: because he was stubborn, wanting to prove he was unbreakable and that nothing fazed him. You admired that, you truly did. Yet you knew it would come to an end. Your boyfriend never liked to take on hopeless cases and this is what you were now: a hopeless case, an anomaly allowed to live simply because it was needed for secret experiments.

You went everywhere he went, just like you used to: transported in a truck, usually taken to the hideout in the Sherwood Forest since it was secluded and you could roam around free. Hundreds of acres of wilderness, perfect for a misfit to blend in and for J’s meetings. You knew he was also using the unique opportunity to solidify his reputation and fierce grip over the town he owned. And you didn’t care.

At first, J didn’t know what to do so he told you to sit on the couch inside the warehouse that was customized to sustain your weight. He tried to sit on your knees and hated it.

“Jesus, this metal is hard as hell,” The Joker crinkled his nose and hopped back down. You felt big and clumsy; what was he trying to accomplish?!

“Alright, Princess, sit on top of this thing,” he urged you and you obeyed, lifting yourself up to sit on the rim of the couch. The Joker placed himself between your feet, straitening his back.

“I think this looks imposing and awesome beyond any doubt! Everyone would be intimidated to see us like this, right?”

You lifted your shoulders up, telling him to quit calling you those pretty names; they didn’t suit you anymore. He frowned at the sound of your garbled voice, not comprehending what came out of your sinister mouth.

He would get so pissed if any of his business partners or henchmen stared at you more than necessary; he found it disrespectful towards his twisted Queen.

“Why are you looking at her like that, hm?” he would raise his voice and crack his neck.”Are you jealous you don’t have a woman like mine?!”

Apologies followed and sometimes they weren’t enough; his ill will and bitterness were fastly escalating and he wouldn’t calm down until he took it on those around him, including the creature.

He would yell horrible things and you calmly listened, until one day at the hideout when you got mad also, all four eyes turning red-a sign you were furious, as he learned from repeated experience.

You howled and screeched to the point where he had to cover his ears.

“Are we having a fight??!!! Because I can’t tell what you’re saying!!!!!” he screamed and you were so frustrated you lifted your right leg up and stomped one of the chairs at the dining table, shattering it to pieces.

“What are you doing???! You know this has sentimental value!!!” he got worked up even more since that dining set was stolen from Commissar Gordon’s home and was a symbol of his defiance upon the town he owned . You lifted your leg again, crushing another chair.

He gasped, irritated.

“Goddamned temper! Cut it out!!!! Do you hear me??!!”

You didn’t stop, breaking each valuable possession, at the end jumping on the table, and it gave in under your heaviness.

You barely had time to cover your head with the huge hands before he started shooting, unable to control his rage. He aimed for the softer parts of your body, unprotected by metal and bone, satisfied when he saw the black liquid oozing out of your wounds. Those unearthly, high pitched screams coming out of you made the windows crack; it hurt and you snarled, rushing towards him so you can tear him to pieces.

He stepped back, continuing to shoot until you clawed his hand, cutting it pretty bad. The Joker dropped the gun and you were getting ready to finish him when the sight of the red blood gushing out of his wounds halted your justified attack. The grimace of pain on his face made you realized you almost killed him: it scared you and he seemed taken aback by the whole thing too.

Your eyes turned to their usual blue color, softly cooing and grumbling while you cautiously took his hand, analyzing the damage. The Joker didn’t protest, he kept on staring at the monster in silence, feeling something strange building up inside his chest.

“It’s fine, they’ll patch me up,” he sulked, heading towards the exit. “I’ll send them to tend to your wounds too…”

When he came back, you weren’t there anymore.

He heard the branches snapping in the distance and trees falling to the ground and he ran outside, figuring out you were going away. Forever or to vent and then you’ll come back? J wanted to make sure and he started running after you.

It wasn’t hard to follow the trail of destruction, black blood from your wounds soiling the ground here and there. He finally saw you, trampling everything in your way.

“Y/N!!!! Y/N!!!! Stooop!!! Stop I said!!!”

You heard him and slowed down, waiting for him to come closer. He had to bend over his knees, inhaling much needed air after his run.

“Where…where are you going?” J panted, exhausted and out of breath.

“Go back!” you extended those eerie arms of yours, pointing back towards the hideout.

“You know I can’t understand you,” he fell on his knees, drained. “So I have no idea if we are fighting again. Where are you going ?” he insisted even if the answer wouldn’t make sense.

“Go back!” you showed him again. “I can’t be around you or anybody else. Go back!” the horrible noises made him shiver.

“Yeah, whatever!!!! I don’t know what the hell you’re saying, woman!!!”

“I AM NOT A WOMAN!!!!!!” and the sound was so loud and strong it hit him like a crushing wave.

“Huh?” he had to ask, clueless.

You pointed one of the claws towards you, repeating even if it was useless but he got the idea; it wasn’t that hard to guess.

“Well fuck, Pumpkin, what am I supposed to do?” he got up slowly, dusting his pants in a frenzy. ”What’s your great plan? To get lost in these woods?! Or are you coming back?”

You nodded a no and The Joker got flustered.

“Come on, don’t aggravate me more; let’s go back. You need bandages…” and he turned around, retracing his step towards the warehouse, hoping you’ll follow.

He kept on walking and not looking back, his heart beating faster when there was no sign you were following.

“Are you coming?!” he yelled once more and continued to strut, relieved when he heard the heavy steps behind him.

“Wise decision Doll,” J sneered, looking at you when you caught up with him and attempted to joke.

“I am always confused: which eyes am I supposed to look at? You have four and it’s misleading. Plus, you’re so ugly you should be thrilled I want you around.”

You elbowed him with enough strength to almost make him fall.

“This is just rude, taking advantage like that,” he sulked, regaining balance by grabbing your hand: his looked like a child’s against yours.

“Shut up,” the low gargle belched but of course he didn’t comprehend.

“Like I said, I never know what you say. So shut up!” “You shut up !” you squeezed his hand just a little bit, careful not to cut him with the sharp claws.

“What did I just say?! I can’t understand you, Y/N!”

The creature huffed, breathing louder through its nose.

A twisted Queen with her crazy King.

No hope. No future. But still … somehow together.