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sp0o0kylights · 10 days ago

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“Alienate.” Flo mutters, the first thing Phil Callahan hears when he enters the station. “No, that's eight letters. Darn.”

“How’s the crossword, Miss Flo?” He asks, as he always asks, every morning.

It’s part of a little routine he’s established with their doting receptionist, partly out of boredom, mostly because she sometimes asks him for help.

If there’s one thing Phil enjoys doing, it’s helping.

(It’s why he became a cop, after all.)

“Hi, hun. I’m stuck.” Flo responds, staring down at the New York Times spread out before her.

It’s a quiet Friday morning and a quick glance at the open and dark-empty office of the Chief says the man’s not in yet, and so Callahan rounds the big wooden desk to stare at the puzzle over Flo’s shoulder.

“Which one?” He asks, seeing most of it’s already been filled out.

Flo jabs a finger at the offending clue, her nails painted a light pastel blue. “Pushed away through inattention.” She reads dutifully, then traces her finger to the blank section of the crossword, tapping at it. “Nine letter word.”

Phil cocks his head, thinks it through.

“It wasn’t alienate.” Flo says, non-helpfully.

“Ignored?” Phil tries.

“That’s seven letters.”

They both stare down at the puzzle, the black and white squares taunting them.

“Neglected.” Phil says suddenly, triumphant. “It has to be neglected--the word has to end with a D to make sense in the puzzle. See?”

One of two words that crosses over with their missing piece is ‘abandoned’, which fits nicely with the apparently gloomy theme of today’s crossword.

“Doesn’t work with the other word that goes through it though.” Flo points out, defeating the proud little glow that had been building in Phil’s head.

The other bisecting word is ‘isolated’, making him wonder if the puzzlemaker is in the middle of a rough divorce.

(Or maybe just a rough day, and he’s the one projecting…)

“Well, hell.” Phil grumbles, staring down at it.

“Try estranged!” Powell calls as he passes by with a mug full of coffee.

Flo carefully pencils in ‘estranged’ and makes a pleased noise when it fits.

“Thank you, hun!” She calls, and Phil huffs at himself for not seeing it, but also refuses to let Powell’s one upping ruin his day.

The man himself offers their receptionist a smile, before tossing a casual reprimand Phil’s way.

“Callahan, get to work, would you?”

“Yeah, yeah, smartypants.” He says, going to fetch his own cup of coffee. “Save the bitching for the Chief.”

Powell rolls his eyes at him, and Callahan makes a face back, and the two of them go on to have a very boring, small town cop sort of day--right until a legitimate call finally comes in.

Well.

Sort of.

“The Harrington residence is having a too-loud party again.” Hopper says, having finally shown up sometime between nine and noon. “Drunk teenagers are throwing up in people’s lawns.”

“It’s not even dark yet.” Powell mutters, staring at the clock as if he couldn’t imagine a party taking place before 8 pm.

“Teenagers don’t care about that shit, that’s why they’re getting the cops called on them.” Hopper snips back. He’d been in a mood all day, and not the fun, jolly kind.

“Come on Callahan, let’s go remind Harrington Jr. that it’s his daddy that owns this department, not him.”

“I wish you wouldn’t joke about that.” Phil says as he follows Hopper out the door, waving goodbye to Flo as he goes. “People are going to think you’re serious.”

(Sometimes, Phil thinks as he swings into the patrol truck, that Hopper is serious.

That they are being paid to look the other way.

Then he takes a sip of their god-awful coffee and hears Hopper’s ancient truck cough to life, and figures, if anyone was getting cash here, there would at least be evidence of it.)

xXx

Harrington Jr.’s party isn’t quite the chaotic disaster it was made out to be, though there are a handful of tipsy teenagers stumbling around the lawn.

“One of these idiots is going to drown in that damn pool someday.” Hopper complains through gritted teeth as he storms up the driveway, kids scrambling into action the second they spot him.

One loudly screams; “Cops!” and the rest of them scatter, running in so many directions it makes Phil’s head spin. He briefly moves as if to give chase before deciding there’s simply too many to bother.

(Knows that it’s unlikely they’ll arrest anyone but Harrington tonight, anyway.)

“If the right kid bites it, Dick Harrington might even have to come deal with it personally.” Over his shoulder Hopper tosses Phil a shark’s smile, barging up the porch to bang hard on one of the two front doors. “Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?”

“No, not really.” Phil says, because he’s thinking about dead teenagers in pools.

“Also I don’t think Richard likes to be called Dick.” He adds cautiously, just in case the man himself happens to be home.

It’s unlikely, doubly so given all the drunk minors, but that just means Phil isn’t surprised when it’s not the Vice President of Indiana Corporate Consulting, LLC that opens the door but his son, Steve.

“Officers.” The kid drawls, shirtless in swim trunks, not a single strand of his perfectly styled hair out of place. “What can I do for you?”

He leans casually in the doorway, as another kid screams out a warning inside.

“You can cut the shit.” Hopper says. “You know the drill. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Harrington does neither of those things, instead tilting his head and making a face like he just smelled something foul.

“I’m not drunk. And anyone who is drunk brought it without telling me. You should go arrest them.” Steve jams a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the rapidly emptying house.

Then he smirks at both of them, every inch the newly crowned King the kids insist on calling him.

“You think your old man is gonna believe that?” Hopper snarls, infuriated. He never was one that dealt well with teenagers. Or at least, these kinds (and that damn Munson kid, who just loved stealing everybodies lawn flamingos.)

“I think you’ll find ‘my old man’,” Steve mockinly mimics, “doesn’t care.”

“He will when the neighbors start calling.” Hopper tosses back as Phil pushes past Harrrington Jr. to begin the process of trying to wrangle drunk teenages. “That’s Janet Wilkinson’s prized hydrangeas Hagan’s been throwing up in. You wanna see what happens when she talks to your mother?”

“She has to get a hold of my mother to talk to her.” Steves snarks, instead of pulling out his usual charm. “Why do you think she called you instead?”

This isn’t Phil’s first call to the house, but it is the first time Harrington Jr. has been this combative. It’s new, but not exactly unexpected.

Not when Steve Harrington has been hurtling towards this ever since he started hosting parties.

“You think your parents won’t care when I call them?”

“Well they haven’t before, so--”

Phil rolls his eyes as the kid and Hopper trade more barbs, the adult’s growing sharper and sharper as Steve makes a couple of arguments about being held accountable for other people’s actions (and something else about unreasonably high standards and making his own bail.)

Let's them argue it out as he quickly realizes he will definitely not be catching teenagers, and pivots to scanning for too-drunk stragglers in need of help.

“Keep running your mouth, Harrington, and I’ll let you cool your heels overnight in a jail cell. That what you want?”

“You already did that, remember? Swore you’d never do it again because I was too annoying.”

“You can’t annoy me if I’m not the one there watching you--”

Phil tunes out the rising voices, his attention snagging on something else.

The Harringtons’ entryway was sparse, and the rooms beyond weren’t much better. The whole house had the sterile feel of a museum; untouched and unlived in.

Not even a swarm of teenagers had managed to leave much of a mark. Or at least, not in these few rooms, anyway.

Which is what makes the scraggly note stand out.

It’s taped to the wall right above the phone, but slightly askew, like it’d been thought of last-minute. A little crumpled, like someone half-heartedly tried to peel it off before giving up and pressing it back down.

‘Who puts a phone in the entryway?’ Phil wonders, but then, it is the Harrington’s.

Maybe they need it to find each other in this huge fucking house.

He leans in to read the note, spotting the bold letters at the bottom informing everyone the entire notepad had been custom ordered for RICHARD HARRINGTON, VP.

‘Darling,’ beautiful cursive starts, at odds with the footnote, ‘Sorry that we couldn’t get a hold of you. Your father had a business opportunity, you know how important those are. I’ll send you a postcard. Take care of the house, remember that Martha is coming on Wednesdays now to get the dry cleaning. Do something fun for your birthday!’

It’s signed XOXO, Muffin.

Muffin is, of course, Richard Harrington’s wife, and also a walking punchline. Or at least she is when people aren’t tripping over themselves to stay on her good side.

Weird that she signed it as such instead of with ‘Mom’, but then Muffin always has been a bit…much.

More importantly (besides the fact that they skipped out on their own kids birthday) is the date at the top, which says the note was left Tuesday, March 17th.

It’s currently the middle of May.

Flo’s crossword springs to mind, each guessed word clicking into place beside Steve’s own, still warm, spoken just moments ago.

Abandoned, and ‘She has to get a hold of my mother to talk to her.’

Ignored and ‘I think you’ll find my old man doesn’t care.’

A cold realization sweeps through Phil, as he recalls the things they’ve all heard other kids say about Steve.

No parents.

Big house.

Always down for a good time.

(‘Neglect is the failure to give somebody proper care or attention.’ Powell had argued on their lunch break, as Phil complained that ‘neglected’ fit the stupid crossword better than ‘estranged’ had.

“Estranged works because it’s when you’re not really talking to someone. Hence the pushing away part. They’re different. Similar! But different.”

“That’s dumb.” Phil argued back.

“You’re dumb.” Powell replied, then laughed when Phil gasped in mock offense. “It’s why you’re getting taken to the cleaners in your divorce!”

“Hey man, come on, too far!”

“Sorry, sorry--” )

All cop’s develop intuition, even the small town ones, and Phil’s kicks in as he stares at the note.

Neglected might be a hard sell for a fifteen year old that drives a BMW, but estranged definitely fits the bill.

(He’s pretty sure neglect does fit the fucking bill no matter how much money the kids parents have, but he’s been on the force long enough to know how these things go.)

He turns on his heel and marches over, sticking himself right in between his boss and the only remaining teenager.

“Where are your parents at, again?” He asks, right over whatever point Hopper was butchering.

“What?” Steve and Hopper both say, before giving the other a look for it.

“Do you know where your parents are at?” Phil asks again, switching up the wording a little just like they’d taught him in the academy.

“Uh…No?” Steve says, seeming too startled to lie. “You’d have to call dad’s receptionist.”

“Okay. And when are they coming back?”

This time Steve tosses a look at Hopper, like Phil’s the one being weird here.

“When they get back.” He says, and it’s like he’s trying to still sound tough, to put forth that King persona, but is fumbling a little now that it’s not Hopper who's asking the questions.

“So you have no idea, at all.” He clarifies, and feels his stomach sink a little.

“I mean, I could also call dad’s receptionist.” Steve says, like that makes it better.

“Whose in charge of you while they’re gone?” And yes he knows it’s a stupid question, knows that Steve is fifteen (he thinks, anyway) and is perfectly old enough

“...I am.” Steve says, right over Hopper’s annoyed; “What the hell, Callahan.”

“Chief, can I talk to you?” He says, turning to face his boss.

Hopper stares back at him in disbelief, before making a show of summoning the last of his patience with a loud sigh.

“You.” He points at Steve. “Sit. Stay.”

“Want me to shake too?” Harrington Jr calls out in an attempt to recover, but Phil’s got a hand on Hopper’s elbow and is dragging the older man away before he can get sucked back in.

“You better have found something good Callahan.” Hopper warns, as Phil snatches the note on the wall as they pass by.

“Hopper,” Phil says quietly, leaning in as he pulls Hopper all the way into the kitchen, kicking empty solo cups as he goes. “I don’t think his parents have been home in a while.”

He shoves the note in the Chief’s face.

“No shit, kid.” Hopper spits, and the nickname sits badly, now that Phil’s heard it spat at Steve the same way.

(Hopper doesn’t mean it, Phil knows he doesn’t.

Hopper’s the best boss Phil’s ever had. The guy’s just a little rough sometimes, gets lost in the little things and needs to be brought back down.

‘He’s got a lot going on, hun, but we’ll get him there.’ Flo says when he’s been really mean, and Phil knows they will, he’s seen it himself, but sometimes he wishes whatever the Chief was healing from would let him go a little faster.)

He grabs the note, eyes scanning over it, and Phil talks a little faster.

“No, I mean, look at the date, Chief. They’ve been gone for months.”

Hopper looks up from the note and gives him the world’s flattest state. “So?”

Phil gapes a little at him. “Isn’t that abandonment?”

In response, Hopper simply steps more into the kitchen, then throws open a door next to the stove. Reveals a huge, walk-in pantry, piled high with all kinds of food.

Stands next to it like it’s a party trick he just unveiled.

“Given the lights are on and that fancy little car of his seems to have gas, I’d say they’re providing for the kid just fine.” He says crossly.

Which isn’t wrong exactly, but it’s not right either.

“Yeah,” Phil protests, “but--”

“Trust me, things could be a lot worse.” Hopper cuts him off. “Save all the pity for someone who actually needs it, and not a kid whose parents’ lawyers will cut both our balls off for even suggesting they don’t care about their kid.”

“Harsh, Chief.” Phil mutters, stung. There’s a small, growing voice in his head that says Steve Harrington does kind of need someone.

That a kid, even one as old as Steve is, shouldn’t be left like this.

“Life’s harsh. Now unless you’re volunteering to watch the kid all night in a cell, I say we call the brat’s parents and this time, we’re gonna hit them with a citation when they get home. See if they ignore that.”

“Please do!” Steve calls loudly, from where he’s still seated on the couch. “It’ll be funny, trust me.”

Hopper goes to pinch the bridge of his nose, before glancing sideways at the island counter covered in solo cups and bottles.

Changes course to pluck an unopened whiskey bottle from the pile, tucking it under his arm.

Storms back out to whatever the Harrington’s call the room Steve’s in, pausing only to stop in front of him.

“Hey.” Steve says, spotting the bottle.

Hopper holds it out. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this yours?”

Steve’s mouth opens, before he catches Callahan’s shaking head. Thinks better of it, and slams it back closed.

Grumbles; “No, sir.”

“Oh it’s sir now, is it?” Hopper says with a snort. “Since you’re so good at eavesdropping, you already know what I’m going to do. Congratulations Harrington, you get out of jail tonight, but,”

He leans forward, putting himself almost nose to nose with the surely teenager, “I will be making sure that this time, your parents pay attention.”

Quick as a shot he’s up and out the door, slamming it close behind him like he forgot Phil was there.

“Good luck!” Steve shouts after him, but it’s clear even he thinks the Chief won their little sparring match.

“Have your parents really been gone since March?” Phil says when the coast is clear, and watches Steve blink at him like he hadn’t realized the younger officer was still there.

“Yeah.” Steve says with a shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Every kid’s dream.”

It’s not. Even Phil can tell from the way Steve’s face looks just then, that he knows it’s not.

He doesn’t know what exactly posses him, but the next words out of his mouth are; “You ever get too lonely here, you can stay with me.”

“What?” Steve says, eyes snapping right to Phil’s face like he misheard him.

He’s embarrassed for two entire seconds before deciding, fuck it.

He already offered, he’s not taking it back.

“It’s a big house, kid. You shouldn’t be alone for that long.” Phil thinks about his impending divorce. On the emptiness of the house, with his soon to be ex wife long gone. How that eats at him, sometimes. Adds; “No one should be.”

Harrington Jr. stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “Whatever.” He scoffs, but it’s not quite the waspish tone he’d used before.

“You ever need help either, you call me.” Phil says, because that seems important to say too.

He points up at one of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, impossibly high over both their heads. “Even if it’s just to hold a ladder to change one of those lightbulbs.”

Steve’s eyes go up with him then back down, like he’s still not sure this isn’t a joke being played on him.

“I mean it.” Phil says, right as one of the front doors whips back open. Reaches into the pocket of his uniform, and pulls out his card. “You need me, you call.”

“Callahan!” Hopper bellows, and Phil calls out a loud; “Coming!” before making eye contact with Steve once more.

“Take it.” He says, holding out the card, and hopes he sounds like a proper adult when he does.

(Phil often does not feel like an adult, least of which because he’s the youngest in the department by two decades, nevermind the failed marriage.)

“Okay.” Steve says dismissively, but he reaches out.

Takes the card.

It feels like a victory and Phil lets it be one as he leaves the Harrington residence and Steve behind with it. Feels the rot of that be soothed by the fact he at least did something.

(Also see’s Hopper didn’t wait for him, but is instead sitting in the driver’s seat of the truck.

Knows his boss is gonna be pissed at him, but faces the noose anyway.)

“Puppies are expensive.” The Chief tells him darkly, the second Phil opens the door. “And they shit all over the floor.”

“What?” He asks, not always used to his bosses nonsensical ramblings.

He eyes the thermos the Chief’s holding, and wonders if already dumped the whiskey he stole in it.

They all thought the Chief had been getting better, but maybe not…

“Puppies,” Hopper stressed, jamming the hand holding the thermos in Phil’s face (no liquor smell, thank God.) “who have very rich owners, are typically well cared for, even if their idea of care and your idea are different.”

Phil’s face contorts in confusion, eyes following Hopper’s finger pointed middle finger to the fading tail lights of Steve’s BMW.

It takes him a second, but he gets there.

“Steve isn’t a puppy.” He says instantly offended, because teenagers and puppies are very, very different, thanks, and yes okay, he knows it’s a metaphor, but it’s a stupid one.

“Acts like one.” Hopper says, before taking a noisy sip of the thermos.

“He really doesn’t?”

Phil wants to say he complains right back at his boss, but really it comes out as more of a question--because Steve Harrington has never acted like a dog. The kid’s not clingy, or whiny or even loud.

He’s a kid, sure, a teenager that’s obnoxious, but aren’t all teenagers that way, by default?

Phil’s mother certainly said so, though she’d been teasing about it.

(She also said something about how kids who can’t get what they need the right way, will revert to trying out the wrong ways instead.)

“Whatever. Just don’t come running to me when you get too close and Mommy and Daddy show up to remind you it’s none of your business.”

Hopper starts the cruiser, expecting that to be that.

And normally it would be. Phil would leave it alone, even if he disagreed, but today he finds he can’t.

Not when the words from Flo’s crossword are still haunting his head, ‘abandoned’ and ‘neglected’ and ‘pushed away’ lighting up like little warning signs, all pointing towards one very sad kid.

“If they come back.” He finds himself saying.

“Oh, they always come back.” Hopper snorts right back. “Just not when any of us ever want them too.”

Phil doesn’t like that answer, but this time he does leave it alone.

Figures the best he can do for Steve is what he already did. Let him know he saw him. Let him know he understood.

If Steve needs someone, he now knows Phil will come.

He won’t let anyone make him feel bad for offering that, either, because this is the exact thing he signed up to do, when he became a cop.

Even if Harrington never reaches out to him, at least Phil can say he did something. At least he can live with himself.

xXx

Weeks go by.

A month.

Two months and more.

By a year Phil has kind of forgotten about his promise to Steve Harrington, and by the time the Chief has gotten them all involved in some kind of--poisoned pumpkin patch problem, he’s too caught up in trying to figure out what the hell is going on in Hawkins to really think about it.

That is, until the kid himself shows up on his doorstep, with a black eye and a hand hugging his ribs.

Which would be concerning on its own, but it’s worse given that known lawn flamingo thief and constant pain in the police department’s ass, Eddie Munson, is right there with him.

“Hi Officer Callahan.” Munson says, and he, Phil quickly realizes, looks perfectly fine, despite clearly being the only reason Steve seven on his feet. “Uh…Harrington said I should take him here?”

He does not sound certain, and frankly, looks two seconds from bolting.

Given how much Steve is bleeding on him, Phil can’t blame him for it.

“What the hell.” He says, shocked and loose tongued for it. “Did you two get in a fight!?”

“No!” Munson yelps, then immediately stills when the act of it jostles Steve. “I found him like this. He was fucking trying to drive and was weaving all over the place--I got him to stop, and get in my van, but the only thing he’ll say is that I needed to bring him to you!”

Like it wasn’t bad enough the chief had been out of contact all night or that there had been weird people swarming all over town, nevermind all those damn phone calls about loose dogs and--

“You said.” Steve interrupts Phil’s spiraling thoughts, voice sounding oddly strangled, and he'd pay more attention to that if he wasn’t finding new and concerning injuries every second he looked.

“You said I could go to you, for help. If I needed it. Cause Hopper--Hopper’s busy,” Steve’s slurring, Phil realizes and oh god a lot of that blood is on his head, “An’ I didn’t want the kids to worry, but I think…i was wrong, I don’t--I think I’m…I don’t wanna be ‘lone--”

“Okay, okay.” Phil reaches out, tries to take Steve’s weight off of Munson. “Get in here. You too, Munson.”

Expects the latter to protest and is a little surprised to watch as the kid instead helps Steve hobble inside.

“Put him on the couch while I get my first aid kit.” Phil orders, trying not to panic and failing. He has first aid training--more than, actually, because he took it as an elective back when he thought he was going to go to medical school, but that was years ago and Steve looks like he went head first through a blender.

‘Stabilize him now, panic later.’ He orders himself, as Munson settles both of them down on the couch.

“Am I dying?” Steve asks vaguely, to Munson’s increasingly panicked face.

“Nope.” Phil says, voice as firm as he can make it. “Not today.”

He comes over, looking over Steve once again

“You staying Munson?” He asks, more an out for the kid than anything else.

Watches as the older teen clocks that for what it is.

See’s Steve unintentionally lean into his chest, breathing a little weird.

“No man, you’re going to need an extra hand.” Eddie says. “I’m staying right here.”

“Me too.” Steve slurs nonsensically.

“What the hell, me too.” Phil says, just to lighten the mood a little.

Then he drops to his knees and goes about stabilizing Steve.

(At some point Munson decides to help tell his latest flamingo heist story. Phil let him, even if no one had realized he’d pulled off another one again.

He got Steve to laugh, so Phil figures it was worth it, at least. )

Part Two

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berryz-writes · 7 months ago

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Maps

Azriel x reader

Summary: Azriels daughter finds his scars far more interesting than the map you're trying to show her, indirectly healing a part of Azriel he had left in the dark

Note: I had to make some last minute edits on my phone so the spacings and other things might be slightly off. OTHER THAN THAT, enjoy some more fluff <33

@azrielappreciationweek day 2

I spread the map of Prythian across the table, carefully smoothing out the edges so Alaiyah could see it. Her little hands gripped the tables edge as she leaned in, dark brown ringlets tumbling over her face, her dimples peeking out as she tried to focus.

Her hazel eyes—Azriel’s hazel eyes—peered down with intense focus, so much energy and curiosity in that tiny frame, and I felt my heart swell as I watched her.

“Look, Alaiyah,” I murmured, my finger tracing the spot where Velaris lay hidden in the mountains. “This is where we live. You remember the pretty lights at night, don’t you?” She tilted her head, scrunching her little nose in thought. For a moment, I thought she was captivated, her gaze roaming over the detailed lines of rivers and mountains. But then, she looked up at me, a spark in her eyes, a hint of mischief, and she shook her head, a dimple flashing in her cheek as she whispered, “Im going to daddy”

Before I could respond, she slipped down from her chair, her tiny bare feet padding softly across the floor to the bed where Azriel sat, watching us with that quiet, contemplative look of his. She clambered up with ease, settling herself into his lap with a confidence that had Azriel momentarily taken aback. His lips parted slightly, but he stayed still, watching her with that gentleness he only kept for her and me.

Alaiyah took his scarred, calloused hand between her own, her chubby fingers so tiny as they tried to span the length of his broad palm. Azriel’s whole body stilled as she traced each scar and line with careful fingers, her small brow furrowed as if this were a puzzle only she could solve.

“I like this map” she murmured with conviction, tracing a deep scar across the center of his palm. "This is the mountain" she said, tapping near his thumb, her voice soft but certain. “the river,” she added, running her finger along a thinner line on his wrist.

Azriel’s expression softened, as he allowed her to continue, his shadows curling closer around them as if forming a cocoon. He lowered his gaze, watching her with an intensity I hadn’t seen before—a quiet awe mixed with something raw and vulnerable.

Finally, Alaiyah looked up at him, a shy, dimpled smile lighting her face as she whispered, “This is my favorite place.” Azriel’s thumb brushed softly over her small hand, and he swallowed, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths, as he pressed a kiss to her one cheek, then another.

He raised his gaze to meet mine, his eyes holding an unspoken gratitude, a love so deep it felt as if he’d let his very soul be opened up and laid bare.

And as Alaiyah nestled herself closer to his chest, her small fingers tracing his skin with reverence, I knew she’d shown him something he never thought he could find— a peace, within himself.

Azriel’s gaze lifted to mine, his eyes catching and holding mine with a warmth that sent a flutter through my chest. Without a word, he extended a wing, unfolding it slowly, curving around to make space for me beside him and Alaiyah. I moved quietly across the room, settling down against him as his wing wrapped around us both, a sheltering cocoon of warmth and protection.

Alaiyah, noticing I had joined the daughter and father duo, turned and leaned against me, curling her tiny fingers around mine as she nestled between us.

After a moment of silence Azriel leaned down, his voice soft as he spoke again. “Did you know,” he said, glancing between us, “this is my favorite place too?” I felt his words settle over us, a quiet, unspoken promise woven into the gentle hold of his wings and the warmth of his arms. I leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Alaiyah's giggle broke through "Silly daddy. I'm not a place"

Gods did I love her, I thought as Azriel’s laughter washed over me. How I wished I could capture this moment forever.

Note: pretty sure all the fics I've planned for az are fluff 😭 who cares he deserves it

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel x y/n #azriel fic #azriel #azriel x you #Azriel #pro azriel #azriel appreciation week

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aakaneeee · 4 months ago

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Love is presented in many ways throughout Alien Stage: For Mizi and Sua, it's codependent, romantic to a worrying extent. For Ivan and Till, it's one sided, unrequited, and painful.

And for Hyuna and Luka, it's a curse.

Not only a curse, but one that haunts them. Jacob once told Hyuna to "Forgive yourself", which, to her, was misplaced. She could have forgiven herself. It was Luka who she couldn't forgive. But, in the end, she couldn't fulfill the legacy. She couldn't forgive herself for loving Luka. She couldn't forgive Luka for killing who she loved. And so, what did she do? She passed on the legacy.

The words "Forgive yourself" didn't help her. They built who she was, but in the worst possible way. She couldn't take his words, because she didn't consider herself the culprit, but the one she resented.

She told this curse, "Forgive yourself" again. She told them to Luka, sentence that almost sounded mocking on her lips. She couldn't have died before because she had to keep moving forward, but now, the pressure wasn't on her shoulders anymore.

She loves Luka, of course she does. But she cannot possibly forgive him. She knows he doesn't realize the suffering he inflicts. It's ironic, he's so unbearably smart, solving puzzles in a matter of seconds, but he doesn't know how to take in the real world, and the feelings of the ones around him, the most important 'puzzle' of them all. So, she gives him the biggest dilemma of his life. It's harsh, cruel, messed up in every sense. It's the puzzle she knew he could never solve, because she herself, who knew humanity, couldn't. Hyuna knew Luka loved her more than himself. And Hyuna cared for Hyunwoo more than for herself. Luka killed Hyunwoo, and so, Hyuna repaid him with the same coin, an eye for an eye. With an act that is the ultimate sacrifice, and the ultimate revenge.

As I have said, Hyuna knew the love he had for her, beyond the limits of his own body. She must've known how much her act would destroy his world: a fate worse than death. Her kind tone, telling him to take as much time as he needs to solve the newfound question she has proposed in such an ugly way, appears almost taunting.

And the way she holds him in her arms, purposefully close, and looks into his eyes, makes it just so much more painful. And yet, when she speaks her soul, passes everything she was carrying on her shoulders, over to him, her face is hidden away, buried in his shoulder. She's free. She finally had her revenge. She can forgive him, and then herself, even though the price was destroying him, without building him up again. Leaving him like pieces of a puzzle that never got solved. She's been cruelly betrayed, and she, even more cruelly, fed him his own medicine.

Hyuna is haunted by both Hyunwoo and Luka, similar to how Mizi is haunted by Sua. Hyunwoo brings the horror aspect: the bloodied blouse and head, while Luka has the smile that Sua has in the imaginations. The two people she loved most: the one who couldn't forgive her because she didn't get to apologize, and the one she didn't forgive. It's all so incredibly complex: she hates and loves, she resents and adores. Hyuna can't pick anymore. We're shown that she's such an active person, sociable, loving, having a whole group of humans just like her, and yet, we're told that she thinks all of them are selfish, even if they seem altruistic. She doesn't trust them, it seems it's a facade. In this, Luka and Hyuna are similar, but divided by the fact he wants to conceal his emotions, and she wants to make them more visible.

This page, specifically, made me click MiziSua and HyuLuka together. They look scarily alike. The same lovey-dovey expression, versus the distressed one of the lover, even the slight glow that Luka has is similar. I think this is meant to show that they still depend on each other, despite the fact that Hyuna seems to resent him so much.

Hyuna says Luka doesn't know the meaning of love. That the only thing he's ever shown, the only thing he genuinely knows, is suffering, and that his abilities basically stop at inflicting the same. (At least, emotional ones.) This is a parallel to Ivan, in my opinion, who didn't know love either, but he liked the idea of it. Instead, Luka loved with everything he had, even though he had no idea what it truly was. His love is obsessive, and somehow, so impossibly innocent at the same time. Because in a way, he's still a child. When he sees Hyuna, he becomes immature again, his facade of control dissipating into thin air. He mocked Mizi for her inability, but he's even worse.

According to his ear monitor, his heart was beating out of his chest. He could hear his own erratic heartbeat. It's painful, how happy he was, how excited, to be in her arms again. And yet, despite the love, the embrace was just as much of revenge.

Ever since Wiege, we've seen Luka smile so much. Just for him to never truly smile again.

I am a fan of the gentleness that Hyuna treats young Luka with. She seems awfully attached to the image of that innocence she knew. But it's not like Mizi's idea of Sua, the perfect one. It's an image she can't bear seeing again. "I couldn't stand seeing myself on those posters, because I knew exactly the face the you'd have. Yes, I bet you were smiling ear to ear." We've only seen him like this for the first time, but to her, it was so familiar, even years apart, she still knew.

Another thing I have noticed is that Hyunwoo's grave is right infront of a tree, almost separated from the others, just the way Luka was sitting before Hyuna found him. Now, this time, Hyunwoo lost Hyuna, and he's forever forced to be lonely in the garden he'll never grow out of.

Hyuna wanted to give Luka a rubik's cube he wouldn't be able to solve, something difficult. A rubik's cube can represent human nature, who Luka seems to have mastered completely. But Hyuna finally manages to postpone him: the puzzle is herself.

And in the end, after Hyuna's body goes limp, he finally manages to take her in his arms. He promised that there, she'd be safe, but he didn't manage to keep her that way. And suddenly, the words "My Savior" from Ruler of my Heart are awfully true.

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srslylini · 7 months ago

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what made season 1 so stunningly good was that every scene could be explained with stuff that happened on screen.

Why did Vi know where to find Vander after Silco took him? well of course because of Ekko who was established in the first few minutes of the first episode to be the character to be on look out.

Why did Powder follow the others to the abandoned building? why because she wanted to feel useful, she wanted for her stuff to work and she wanted to help. She wanted to not be the Jinx. This was all established through character moments that were natural and normal human interactions.

Why did Mel invest in Jayce? Why because first of all her own mother sent her away so seeing Jayce's mother stand up for her son must've hit her. And we see her talking about having to find new investments. Of course she would. He sounds interesting enough. Why not try it? If it doesn't work banishment is still on the table.

Why did Viktor help Jayce? Because he didn't want to stand in Heimerdingers shadow as just an assistant anymore. He was sick and knew the problems of the undercity first hand, he wanted to help. Of course he would, if there was a chance hextech could do it.

Why did Marcus continue to help Silco even after Graysons death? Why, because of his daughter or course. He could be threatened, molded and used. He wanted to establish big things, and was hasty in his youth, and we see 1. Silco exploit that and 2. Marcus regret that.

Why did a shimmer induced Huck help Caitlyn out? Why because as early as the very first episode in Vanders first speaking scene he gets help from Vander and well why wouldn't he then show that help for Vi, knowing he can?

literally every scene makes sense, everything can be explained with stuff that we SEE in the show. There isn't anything "off screen" or just not there.

Now tell me

Why did Caitlyn suddenly switch sides again in season 2 act 2? Why and how did Mel know that her brother wasn't actually her brother? Why did she know how to solve the puzzle? Why is Viktor suddenly floating in the universe? Why does Ambessa just ignore her daughter being abscent outside of that one throw away line? Why do Maddie, Loris and Isha exist? Every chatacter existed for a reason that wasn't just Plot even if they sometimes were just for Plot in season 1. But Maddie, Loris and even ISHA for gods sake, really are just Plot. Isha not as much as Maddie and Loris and thank god for that but still, her character, while I still hope it isn't true, existed to die and further Jinx's pain.

it's just so ugh

Edit: A lot (and I mean a LOT) of people have told me how Kino did make sense and I agree with that now. Though I stand firm with my opinion that we should've gotten to know him before so we could have figured it out even easier with Mel, there were actually signs I didn't notice myself before. Thank's for that.

Plus I will not back down on the fact that Mel just knowing the solution to the puzzle "makes sense cause sHe WaS ShOwn TO Be gOoD WiTh PuZZLes" is stupid. Yes, I know she is smart and good with that. But that's like a whole different thing. It's such a leap I don't know how some of you don't see it.

#arcane #arcane season 1 #arcane season 2 #arcane spoilers #Ekko #Jinx #Vi #Vander #Isha #caitlyn kiramman #thinking thoughts #just mad #oh well #mel medarda #jayce talis

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satosuguwifee · 5 months ago

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Under His Dominion — Sukuna Ryomen x F!reader

wc: 2487

Contents: Modern!au

Credits for the beautiful fanart: innaillus

Tokyo, Japan

Y/n was returning from yet another tiring day at work, her head pounding thanks to the shouting she received from her boss who didn't seem to recognize any of her efforts in any project or solutions she presented that could improve the company.

“I don't think this life is for me,” her voice is calm and thoughtful, but clearly carrying a weary tone with it. “Unfortunately I can't quit this job, after all, how would I pay my bills?”

A snort escapes her lips as her hand clutches the umbrella over her figure, as her boss's request to work overtime has caused her to miss the bus she uses to get to and from work. Soon, an echoing gunshot could be heard, and a chill ran through her stomach as the sound seemed very close.

'Just what I need…'

The woman thought as she walked faster along the wet sidewalk, which seemed to increase her panic, until she managed to turn around just in time in an alleyway when a flash was seen in the distance and the sound made her recognize that it had been another gunshot. You hid behind a dumpster, closing your umbrella and reducing any noise you made as the sound of gunfire and car tires dragging on the street grew louder.

Prayers came from her trembling lips, pleas not to be found came out shakily until the noises became more distant and disappeared into the city beyond.

Y/n waited a few minutes to be sure before emerging from her hiding place, relief etched on her face for mere seconds before her eyes caught sight of a tall figure at the end of the alley, staring at her menacingly and silently. In the dim light of the streetlamp, she could see wounds on his strong, tattooed arms where his blood dripped and fell to the wet ground.

“A brat like you shouldn't be in such a dangerous place.” he says, his voice hoarse and deep as he watches her with his one eye, blood-red glaring at her figure.

“Well, I didn't want to be…, but today the stars aren't in my favor. And apparently not in yours either.” She said, still watching him guardedly, but feeling an urge to help this stranger. Maybe she was crazy for good… “Let me help you.”

“You'd better not come any closer,” he says, still in a threatening pose as he glares at her. “I'm not the kind of guy you'd want to get close to.”

“I insist, I'd feel bad if by any chance your body was shown on the TV news.” she says stubbornly, taking steps towards him before crouching down in front of him and rummaging through her handbag for some gauze or bandages that she always carries in emergencies.

Y/n soon found a piece of gauze, using it to clean the wounds on his left arm and taking the opportunity to notice the tribal tattoo present, wondering if there was any meaning behind it or if he had just done it because he thought it was pretty. Her hands quickly wrapped a new piece of gauze around his bicep and then covered it with the adhesive plaster, smiling at her work.

Then she lifted up his shirt, her eyes widening as she saw the wound which, from the shape, she could deduce had been caused by a gunshot. Her mind connected the facts, perhaps he had been hit by a stray bullet in the midst of the previous battle between gangs that always took place there.

“Unfortunately, there's not much I can do about this one,” Y/n says, but at least she puts another piece of gauze over it so that the rainwater stops falling on the wound and reduces the chances of contamination. “You'd better get to the hospital before it gets any worse.”

Unbeknownst to her, the eye of the man she is caring for is on her figure, silently studying her. He thought about how naïve or even idiotic this creature seemed to be standing there, without even having a clue who he was. Do you do that with all the strangers you meet? He seemed puzzled by this.

He smoothed his own pink hair with his free hand, pushing back the strands that had stuck to his wet face while he had a small smirk on his lips. The man certainly hadn't expected such an encounter, but there was no way he was going to complain about being treated by this mysterious woman.

After that day, Y/n never even saw a trace of the pink-haired, ruby-eyed man, preferring to believe that he arrived safely at his house, the next morning even watching the newspaper to make sure he had a chance of being alive.

'At least I did my bit to try and help him.'

She thought as she grabbed herself a coffee, taking a sip of the hot, bitter liquid that would give her strength for the rest of the day she would have to face. Soon she was running around the company, carrying documents and more documents that needed her boss's signatures or to accompany him to his meetings as his secretary.

And it was in one of these meetings that Y/n got the biggest surprise of her monotonous day: the same guy she had helped a few days ago was there, sitting in the 'big boss' chair and looking at both her and her boss.

“I didn't expect you to show up here, Mr. Sukuna.” her boss says in surprise, then clears his throat and looks nervous for some reason. Well, he is very intimidating, both because he's tall, muscular and because he's wearing an eye patch to cover one of his eyes, which I'm sure he no longer has, given the large scar.

“I've just come back from my trip, you don't need to take over my position now that I'm no longer away.” His eyes move towards the secretary, analyzing her meticulously before a small smile forms at the corner of his lips. “You weren't here when I was away.”

“I've been working here for a few months, my name is Y/n L/n.” Well, obviously they hadn't even bumped into each other in that huge company, if they had, she would have recognized him immediately the night before.

Sukuna nodded at her, with the same smile and without looking away from her before turning his gaze to her boss and signaling him to leave, which was immediately obeyed.

“So you're one of my company's employees? I must say that's quite a pleasant surprise, Miss L/n.” He then leaned back in his leather chair, drumming his fingers against the wood of the table. “Since you're the one who accompanied my replacement, could you update me on the new data collected from the partner companies, hm?”

Y/n feels his cheeks flush at the menacing sweetness in her voice, but he quickly remembers that he's in his work environment and nods before walking over to him with the tablet held in his arms.

“With pleasure, Mr. Sukuna.”

At the end of her shift, Y/n was packing up her briefcase to finally go home while chatting with some of her coworkers when they all stopped talking when the 'big boss' stepped out of the elevator, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants and his gaze scanning the surroundings as if he were inspecting the place.

Then he stopped as soon as he saw her, walking towards her as if he were some kind of God before stopping in front of her, making it painfully obvious the huge difference in size between the two of them.

“Miss L/n, I'd like you to come with me for a moment.”

Soon all eyes were on both of them, and at that moment she could feel her whole body sweating with nervousness. Had she given him some wrong information? Had her superior made up lies about her to ruin her reputation? These were the questions running through her head as she followed him into the elevator, feeling the tension in that tiny cubicle and gently adjusting the collar of her white dress shirt.

Then, finally, they reached the building's parking lot, and she stopped in her tracks when he also stopped in front of a luxury car, pulling a cigar out of the inside pocket of his suit before lighting it and staring at her in tortured silence.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Y/n asked robotically, holding the strap of his briefcase in front of her stomach, resembling the pose of a stewardess and drawing a deep laugh from the older man.

“There's no need for such formality when it's just the two of us.” He pauses to take another drag and then blows out the smoke. “I want to thank you for yesterday, so please come to dinner with me.”

It was more of a demand than a request, and the woman swallowed as she hesitated for a few seconds whether or not to accept. Then she nods as she sees his intense gaze, which makes him nod in the direction of the car, making his message clear. Y/n then goes to the back of the car and waits for her boss's boss to get in. She just hopes it's not such a fancy place.

She definitely had to bite her tongue thoughtfully, because my God, the place they were in reeked of money! Okay, she's exaggerating a bit, but she'd never set foot in there with her retirement money! She even felt sorry for eating the food on her plate, it was all so luxurious.

“You can eat as much as you like, Miss L/n.” He demands, taking a sip of the wine in his glass and she quickly nods before cutting off a small portion to eat.

“W-wow, this is delicious.” She says impressed, quickly wiping her mouth with her napkin before placing it on the table as if she was afraid it would break. Well, she was practically all tense, as if any touch of hers could break everything from there. “But nothing beats the hot dog on the corner, that's for sure.” She whispered to herself before eating another piece, looking up at the 'big boss' who was watching her.

“Really? Well, why don't you show it to me sometime, hm?”

“Oh, I don't know if street food would appeal to your refined palate.”

“I'm always open to new options, Miss Y/n.” Sukuna cut her off with a smile before taking another sip of the red liquid as if putting an end to the discussion.

They then sat in a pleasant silence, with Y/n enjoying the food of royalty and Sukuna watching her in silence, discreetly admiring her small features, such as her inviting pink hair, eyes and lips, making him smile and take another sip of the drink in his hand.

After a pleasant hour, Sukuna guided his guest through the chic hall with his hand on her waist, feeling the soft, natural curve of her body against his slightly rough palm. He soon went to the reception desk and, instead of paying the bill, just showed his ID to the woman who quickly stiffened when she read the name on the document.

“Thank you for your visit Sir, have a good night.”

Y/n was confused by this, but didn't even have time to digest the information when she felt his hand firmly squeeze her waist as he led her into the parking lot, making her shiver.

And as quick as a wink, they were on the streets of Tokyo after she gave him her address. After all, she wouldn't deny him a ride because it was already very late and dangerous for her to catch a bus… She also had a love of life! Her eyes were fixed on the view, staring dreamily at the buildings and imagining herself in them, sipping a glass of champagne, wearing a black silk robe and being hugged by a hot husband behind her, which made her giggle to herself without realizing it.

However, she was snapped out of her fantasies when she felt a brush against her knee and realized it was Sukuna's hand as he shifted gears when he stopped at a red light.

“I run that restaurant.” he says, turning to her and seeing her confused look. ”I don't owe you any satisfaction, but you seemed intrigued at that moment by the waitress.”

'She was so easy to read?'

Y/n nods and clears her throat while trying to ignore the slight warmth his hand caused against her skin without even touching it. It was something electrifying, something inexplicable. But she didn't even have time to think about it because he soon put his hand back on the wheel when the traffic light turned green.

“Thank you for dinner and the ride, sir.” The woman thanked him as soon as he stopped the car in front of her house, smiling at him and then unbuckling herself. “See you tomorrow at work.”

As she was about to open the door, she shivered as she felt his hand on her shoulder, holding her for a moment. Just as she turned her face over her shoulder towards him, his thumb brushed gently against the apple of her cheek, holding it in place.

“I didn't do it for you to thank me, brat.”

He purrs softly, bringing his face a little closer to hers and gently brushing the tip of his nose against the other cheek, feeling something in himself with the faint sweet smell of her, how it was soft and suited her. Sukuna let out another low, deep laugh as he felt her body stiffen at his touch, at his power over her.

“Mr. Sukuna, I don't want to mix things up.” Suddenly she pulled away just as he was about to kiss those plump lips he'd been staring at all through dinner. “You're my superior, please. I'm sorry if you took this dinner as an opportunity, but it wasn't. Excuse me, please.”

Y/n then turned and opened the door, allowing Sukuna to smell her hair one last time before she practically ran out of her apartment. He stared unblinkingly at the route she had just taken, snorting softly and feeling his cock already semi-hard from the fantasies he had had about them in his car.

However, seeing that she wasn't a woman who opened her legs to just anyone, not even him, made him respect her a little before he made his way to his mansion, and he couldn't get her out of his mind.

Continue?

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dragoneyelashart · 26 days ago

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heat of the moment ୨ৎ

fluff/ implied smut୨ৎ firefighter! billie x detective! reader a/n: lowkey love this...

the first time you meet billie, she’s striding out of a smoke-filled apartment building like she owns the whole damn block. her helmet is tucked under one arm, dark curls damp with sweat and plastered to her forehead. there’s soot smudged across her cheek like war paint. she’s got a full-grown man slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and she looks more amused than exhausted. you’re not impressed.

not out loud, anyway. "nice entrance," you say dryly, not even glancing up from your notepad. "you planning to rescue the whole neighborhood or just trying to get your name in the papers again?" billie smirks as she lowers the man to the gurney, tossing a wink at the paramedic before turning to you. "detective," she says, her voice smooth and soaked in confidence. "didn’t know you were into uniforms. if i knew you’d be watching, i’d have worn my tighter tank."

you glance up, finally taking her in fully, arms like carved marble and a grin that screams trouble. "i didn’t realize cockiness was part of the standard issue," you reply, snapping your notebook shut. she chuckles. "only for the really talented ones." it’s not the first scene you’ve worked where billie’s shown up, all swagger and sarcasm, and somehow she always finds a way to get under your skin. you’re used to dealing with egos—detectives, politicians, and criminals alike—but billie’s a different breed. it’s not just that she’s arrogant. it’s that she’s good. annoyingly good. and she knows it. you glance over your notes, but you can feel her eyes on you. she’s not subtle. not even trying to be. there’s a confidence in the way she stands, hips cocked slightly, arms folded, like she’s dared the world to prove her wrong and walked away undefeated every time. her presence is loud, even when she’s quiet. "what caused it?" you ask, nodding toward the charred building. "faulty wiring in the kitchen," she says, tugging off her gloves. her biceps flex as she does, and you’re ashamed of the way your eyes flick there, just for a second. maybe two. "let me guess," you deadpan. "you spotted it mid-backflip through the flames?" billie grins like she’s won a round. "no flips today, detective. didn’t want to make the rest of my team feel bad." you exhale through your nose, biting back a smile. "you know, some of us have to work for a living." "you mean like profiling perps from behind a desk?" you step closer, leveling her with your best unimpressed glare. "you ever try solving a triple homicide while some jackass firefighter flirts with you mid-scene?" "no," billie says, her grin widening. "but i have rescued a very flustered detective from stepping in broken glass while she was too busy glaring." you glance down. shit. there it is. jagged shards glinting near your boots. "you're welcome," she adds smugly, and then she doesn’t move, just stands there with arms crossed, watching you like you’re the most interesting puzzle she’s seen all week. she tilts her head slightly, taking in the scene, then jerks her chin toward the building. "so, what’s your read on it?" you glance at her warily. "on what?" "this scene. the victim. your kind of mess." you narrow your eyes. "why the sudden interest in my work?" billie shrugs, but it’s all performance. she knows exactly what she’s doing. "call it curiosity. or maybe i just like hearing you talk when you're focused. your whole face changes." "nosy and observant. dangerous combination." "only when i care," she says, and it hits with more weight than you expect. she steps a little closer. "come on, detective. humor me. what’s that smart head of yours thinking?" you hesitate, then glance back at the scorched windows. the air still smells of smoke and something acrid, like burned plastic. "victim says he was cooking, left the stove unattended. but the burn pattern doesn’t match that. too quick, too focused." billie whistles low. "arson?" "maybe. or someone wanted him out of that apartment fast." "damn," she says, clearly impressed, then grins. "see? i knew talking to you would be more fun than paperwork." you glance at her again. she's smug, sure, but her eyes are sharp and fixed on you. you get the sense she doesn’t look at everyone like this, just you. and she wants more than just your theories. "you planning to help solve this case too, or just flirt with the lead investigator?" she grins, slow and deliberate. "why not both?"

you tell yourself it means nothing when you see billie again three days later. it’s at a city benefit dinner for first responders, of all things. you hate these events—the small talk, the politics, the schmoozing. you’re halfway through your drink when you spot her across the room. she’s in a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, collar popped just enough to be cocky. her hair is swept back, wild and clean, and she looks like she belongs on the cover of some magazine titled hot heroes who know it. she finds you in the crowd like she’s got radar. "detective y/l/n," she says, sliding up beside you. "looking sharp. who knew you cleaned up so well?" "billie," you reply, not missing a beat. "i see you own more than just suspenders and smirks." she laughs. "careful, you almost sound impressed." you take a sip of your drink. "don’t let it go to your head." "too late," she quips. "want to get out of here before someone asks us to donate money we don’t have?" you raise a brow. "is that a proposition, firefighter?" "only if you're into bad decisions and late-night diner food." you hesitate. not because you don’t want to go, but because you do. billie is a walking temptation wrapped in confidence and charm, and you’ve spent your entire career resisting distractions like her. but the heat between you simmers every time you’re in the same room. every word is a spark, and every glance threatens to become something more. "fine," you say, setting your drink down. "but i swear, if you try to carry me across any thresholds tonight, i’m arresting you." she grins. "deal. but only because you’re not wearing steel-toe boots tonight." she doesn’t move, though. instead, she tilts her head and gives you a look you’re starting to recognize—curious, a little smug, but with something sharper underneath. "you always this buttoned-up, detective?" she asks. "bet even your secrets wear a badge." you raise an eyebrow. "is that your way of asking about my tragic backstory?" "i’m just saying," she replies, leaning in slightly, "you strike me as someone who doesn’t let people in easy. but you let me buy you coffee. that’s gotta mean something." you scoff, but there’s a twitch at the corner of your lips you can’t quite hide. "maybe i just have a weakness for loud, nosy firefighters." "loud and nosy," she repeats with mock offense, hand on her chest. "careful, i might start thinking you like me." you stand, grabbing your coat. "come on, hero. let's see if your conversation skills are as strong as your ego." she hops off the barstool beside you. "that sounds like a challenge." "it is." she holds the door open for you, the cocky smirk never leaving her face. "good. i’m great at winning things i shouldn’t."

the diner is quiet, lit in soft neon. you sit across from her in a booth, sipping coffee and trading stories. she tells you about her first fire, about the time a cat scratched her so bad she needed stitches. you tell her about your weirdest case—a guy who tried to fake his own death using mannequin parts and a very confused goat. you laugh. she laughs. and then it gets quiet. she leans back, eyes scanning you like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. "you always this guarded, or am i special?" you shrug. "i like to know who i'm talking to." "you know i run into burning buildings, right? i'm not exactly mysterious." "no, you're not," you say softly. "but you're not exactly harmless either." she smiles, but it's a little softer now. "neither are you." the tension hangs between you, thick and magnetic. it’s not new, but here, outside the chaos, it feels closer. sharper. louder. "so," she says, her voice dipping low, teasing, "if i said i’ve been thinking about what you'd look like out of that coat since day one… would that be inappropriate?" you tilt your head. "very." "please don't arrest me, officer," she says, all smug mischief and resting comfortably against the vinyl booth like she owns it. you don’t miss a beat. "i’d like to see you in a pair of handcuffs, eilish." her brows lift, amused and intrigued. "kinky. you planning to book me, or just keep teasing me all night?" you lean in, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. "who says i haven’t already decided to make your night difficult?" her eyes flick to your lips. "because you haven’t walked away yet." you smirk. "maybe i’m waiting to see what other crimes you confess to." billie leans in, her voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle. "c’mon then, let’s test if those handcuffs of yours actually work, officer."

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beanarie · 1 month ago

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part 3 of buck takes a mental health break. things get kind of epistolary (ish) from here on out.

Los Olivos is... nice. Super nice. Buck has driven through a couple of times, but he's never stopped here. He squints at his phone, triple-checking the address, before he rings the bell.

The door opens, and it's like the sun came out. "Buckaroo!" Carla smiles big and wide. "You get in here right now." Her arms wrap around him as unabashedly as they always did. He gleans as much warmth and comfort as he can before she lets go to give him a once over. "Look at Mr. Universe! My goodness, so much more of you to love now. Come in, come in. I hope you're hungry. I've been cooking since late morning, but if you'd shown me a recent photo, I would've started yesterday."

He manages to put away most of the ribs she put in front of him, with her husband Elden polishing off the rest. After ignoring her protests and helping load the dishwasher, he takes in the photos taking up most of the wall space and several surfaces.

She chuckles at the one he stopped in front of. "That's from the wedding of, uh, you-know-who."

"It's a beautiful photo." Elden is wearing a suit a similar shade of blue to the one Buck wore to his and Abby's disastrous first date. If he closes his eyes, he can still hear Bobby's voice in his ear, giving last minute advice as he helped Buck with his tie.

That part of it was a good memory.

"You okay?" Carla asks.

Buck shakes himself, seeing a way out that's sure to be worth it if only to see her reaction. "Uh, hey. Do you remember how Abby had that ex that kind of smashed her heart into little pieces?"

"Oh, yeah. She was hung up to an embarrassing degree. Her mom used to talk about the guy, too. She loved him."

"I forgot about that," Buck says under his breath, suddenly thinking about Tommy hanging out with Abby's elderly mom, being mildly caustic at each other while playing scrabble or doing a puzzle.

"Why would you bring up whatshisn-?"

"Uh, Tommy."

She tilts her head, intrigued. "Good memory."

Later Buck is proud of himself for making sure she's sitting before he gives her the story. As it is she laughs so hard she almost falls off the couch.

"Your life, I swear," she says, wheezing. "I don't know why I'm even surprised."

Buck finds himself grinning along, wider than he has in a long time.

"You know, you lit up a little when you talked about him. You still like this guy?"

"Yeah," he says, only a little doubt in his mind. "I think so."

"He really thought you were in love with Eddie?" She has an incredible gobsmacked face. "Now, I adore that man, and the two of you would be pretty as hell." She winks and Buck snickers. "But he has a talent for making things hard, and you, Evan Buckley. You deserve something easy."

(Hen): Hey, Eddie told me what he said. Say the word, and Karen and I will get him ostracized from every parent group in the county.

(Buck): Don't do that.

(Buck): It affects Chris.

(Hen): Good point. We could do gyms. You have no idea how important gays are to that scene.

(Buck): I might not be Gay-gay but I have spent a little time in gyms. I know.

(Hen): Right, that's fair.

(Hen): You seemed like you were managing. I should've noticed you were making yourself smaller.

(Buck): Thanks, Hen.

(Hen): You're missed, just so you know. Not just during shifts. You'll always be one of ours, understand?

(Hen): Buck?

(Hen): Maybe you don't understand. That's on me. I'll do better in the future.

(Buck): I miss you, too. The lady who served me at this truck stop diner had glasses like yours.

(Hen): I hope you gave her a good compliment.

(Buck): Of course I did. And a big tip.

Oakland is next, Lucy doesn't have a spare room ("My partner's brother is staying with us for a while. He's a funny little shit. You'll probably be best friends.") but she does have a pullout couch, and when Buck lies at an angle, his feet don't dangle off the edge.

He and Lucy get just this side of absolutely trashed. When they've toasted to Cap's memory multiple times and the stories slow to a trickle, she grabs his phone. "I'm gonna find you a not-nice boy on grindr."

Buck sits back in his chair and gives a have at it gesture. He watches her, always so comfortable in her own skin. "When did you first, y'know, know?"

She doesn't hesitate for a second. "Eleven. Heather Edison. Sixth grade English. She read for Juliet in class and I wanted to be Romeo so bad."

"Who did you get instead?"

She makes a face. "Tybalt. Ugh."

"What's it like growing up knowing pretty much the whole time?"

"Well, I got a couple years on you. It was a lot of sussing people out and very carefully figuring out who was safe to share that part of myself with." She picks up her shoulders breezily. "Sometimes I was wrong. It happens."

"That sounds terrible. I'm sorry."

"Price of admission," she says. "Now, do you wanna stick with the Greek god aesthetic, or do you feel like broadening your horizons a little?"

Sheree, the girlfriend, brings him coffee the morning after.

"Do you miss it?" she asks. "The job? If you're anything like Lucy... She broke her wrist once and the whole time she couldn't be out there it was like she was locked in a glass case full of water."

The job is what killed him, Buck thinks idly. But even now, he recognizes that it's also what kept him going as long as he did. Buck sips at his coffee. "It's only been a few days," he says with a little teasing smile. "Right now it barely counts as time away."

(Eddie): Chris said it's my fault you left and then he stopped talking to me again

(Eddie): it's not really is it?

(Buck): I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that. It feels like no matter what I do it's wrong, so I'd rather not engage at all for a while.

His phone rings. Buck rejects the call, then pulls over and drinks half a water bottle.

(Buck): I know this was hard on you, but finding out after the fact was not worse than being there. It wasn't. Bobby's face that night will be with me on my deathbed. Maybe you'll always remember how Chris looked when you told him, but you get a lifetime of new memories to replace it with.

Buck plugs all that in from the notes app, then immediately has a thought.

(Buck): If you ever talk to me like that again I'll transfer for good.

Hands shaking, he turns off alerts from Eddie. Then he texts Chris a photo of himself and Carla at her house. The amount of exclamation points he gets in return chips away at the concrete block around his heart.

(Buck): Am I exhausting?

(Buck): Sorry. Hi how are you?

(Tommy): Too late, you already set the tone. Exhausting? You did tire me out on a regular basis

"Oh," Buck says to himself.

(Tommy): in the bedroom. But I'd never say you were exhausting, that's not how I think of you at all. I don't see how anyone could.

(Buck): Oh

(Tommy): Howie told me about your sabbatical. Where are you now?

(Buck): A couple hours outside Salt Lake City.

(Tommy): Exciting stuff. Don't let the mormons get you.

(Buck): Truck driver fell asleep and caused a pileup. That was pretty exciting.

(Tommy): Not for an old pro like you. Did you have to bust out your skills?

(Buck): For a bit. No fatalities, that was good. Mostly just concussions and whiplash.

(Tommy): Look at you, working on your vacation.

It's such a simple exchange, but the concrete block feels even weaker now. He remembers Bobby saying He's good for you, at a time that they later found out was him saying his goodbyes. That taints it, somewhat, but Buck can't get over that Bobby thought he'd be leaving Buck in a good place, with Tommy.

(Buck): Thank you, Tommy

(Tommy): For responding to your texts? It was a real hardship. I'll never get those 90 seconds back.

(Buck): For making me smile. You always do that.

(Tommy): You're pretty good at that yourself. Drive safe, Evan.

#bucktommy #tevan fic #my writing #things by beanarie

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