#unfortunately this does mean that I can and probably should finish the work tonight/tomorrow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t You (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part two of Bye Bye, Baby

I love how this mini-series was totally impromptu but happened so fast. Gotta love my brain!

Loosely based on “Don’t You” by Taylor Swift! xx.

Summary: Aaron wants to talk. Do you?

Warnings: ANGST

Word Count: 2k this time oop

Bye Bye, Baby (Part One) || That’s When (Part Three) || Hotch Masterlist

Hey/I knew I’d run into you somewhere/It’s been a while

The text message from Aaron has sat glaring at you on your phone screen for the past hour.

Hotch (BAU) Sorry for hitting you with my cart earlier.

You don’t know what to make of it. It’s obviously an attempt to start up a conversation after four years, but why? Why, after all this time, does he think this is okay?

It’s 1 a.m. when you call Dannie.

“I would tell you to go to sleep, but I just got in bed, so I can’t talk.”

You chuckle quietly. “Better than me. I’m still on the couch.”

Dannie exhales. “Did Jules stay up late again?”

“No, no, she… She passed out around nine.”

Dannie sighs. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I saw Aaron today,” you blurt, quietly, not wanting to risk Juliet hearing even a whisper of this.

“Aaron?” Dannie asks. “Like...Juliet’s dad, Aaron? That one?”

“Yep,” you mutter, rubbing your forehead. “The one and only.”

“Where?”

“The grocery store,” you say. “Our carts bumped into each other. I wasn’t watching where I was going, so it was definitely my fault, but he texted me a while ago apologizing for it.”

“Woah, he texted you?”

“Unfortunately,” you murmur, hating that you feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you texted him back?”

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“I understand,” Dannie sighs. “Maybe just say it’s okay? Leave it short.”

“Yeah,” you nod, sniffling, wiping a tear away. “God, I’ve been fine all evening and it just...hit me when I saw his text.”

“You had to keep it together for Jules,” Dannie reminds you. “What did she say about him?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say. “She really wanted cookies, so she was focused on getting vegetables for dinner so she could have them.”

Dannie laughs. “That sounds like her. Did she eat all her vegetables?”

“Even the broccoli,” you grin. “So she got an extra cookie.”

The two of you laugh lightly, letting the silence settle.

“What do I do if he wants to get to know her?” You break the silence with the one question that’s been on your mind all night. “I mean, he’s a profiler. There’s no way he doesn’t know she’s his.”

“Okay, first of all, she’s yours,” Dannie says firmly. “Second, it’s all up to you. And her. If she wants to get to know him, then ultimately it’s up to you to decide if that’s a good idea and where would be safest for it to happen, if you want it to.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t stress about it tonight,” she says quietly. “Text him back in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Want to surprise Jules with brunch tomorrow?”

You smile almost immediately. “Of course.”

+++

You wake from a restless sleep to Juliet climbing into bed with you.

“Good morning, munchkin,” you whisper, kissing her forehead. She’s still sleepy and will probably sleep for another hour in your arms, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

As expected, Juliet falls fast asleep with her head on your chest. While she’s snoring softly, you grab your phone and text Dannie about brunch. And that’s when you’re reminded of Aaron’s text.

Quickly, before you can think twice, you reply. It’s okay.

And you move on to text Dannie, letting her know you’re awake and so is Juliet. After making plans to meet for brunch in an hour and a half, you lightly shake Juliet awake.

“Psst, munchkin,” you murmur. “Wanna have brunch with Dannie?”

Juliet pops her head up almost instantly. “Really?”

“Really really,” you nod.

She grins wide and your chest aches for a moment. She’s always had his smile, but you never realized how much it’s his smile until today.

Juliet scrambles off your bed to get dressed, and you take a deep breath before getting up, too.

+++

The entire day passes without a reply from Aaron. You don’t know what to make of it, but you do your best to ignore it.

Thoughts of him keep you awake almost all night, so by the next morning, you’re dying to get your coffee before you walk into work.

You drop Juliet off at daycare, then park your car at work, with somehow enough time to spare to walk to your favorite coffee shop before clocking in.

You spot Aaron as soon as you walk in.

“You better not be following me around,” you mutter as you stand in line behind him.

He spins around, his face softening when he recognizes you. “Hi. I’m not trying to, I promise.”

You nod slowly.

Don’t you/Don’t you smile at me and ask me how I’ve been

“How are you?” He asks hesitantly, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Good,” you reply. “You?”

“Good,” he pauses. “Busy.”

“Me too.”

The awkward small talk is ended by the line moving forward, putting Aaron at the front. He orders his usual, and steps aside. You order your usual, with a pastry, too, as a sort of condolences gift to yourself for the bullshit you’re enduring.

When you step to the side to wait, Aaron tries again.

“Sorry again for hitting you in the store with my cart,” he says. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s okay,” you say, keeping your eyes away from his. “In your defense, I wasn’t paying attention either.”

He chuckles quietly and the sound sends a dagger right to your heart.

When his coffee is ready, he grabs it, and you internally beg him to leave without another word. But he doesn’t.

Sometimes I really wish I could hate you/I’ve tried, but that’s just something I can’t do

“This is probably too forward of me, but—”

Your coffee is up.

You step forward to grab it, and damn you, you look at him to ask him to continue.

“Can we talk?” Aaron finishes.

“Right now?” You question, following him to the door. He holds it open for you and you hate that you almost smile. “I have to get to work.”

“Me too,” he says, stopping on the sidewalk with you. “We could get dinner tonight.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” he nods. “No pressure. Just text me if you want to.”

“Okay,” you exhale shakily. “See you.”

You turn on your heel and nearly sprint down the sidewalk, chest heaving and tears welling in your eyes.

+++

“What do you want to do?” Dannie asks.

You met her for lunch to discuss your encounter with Aaron this morning, and so far you still don’t know what the hell you’re going to do.

“I want to tell him to leave me alone and never come near me again,” you blurt, but then you sigh. “I don’t mean that.”

Dannie smiles sadly. “I know.”

You don’t/You don’t know how much I feel I still love you

“I think I want to talk to him, but...I don’t know, I’m scared. I don’t think I can do a dinner. I’m sick to my stomach just thinking about this and I mean...I hate that I still love him. After all this I can’t even hate him.”

“It’s hard to hate someone you love.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Wanna help me text him?”

“Of course.”

After some trial and error, you and Dannie settle on this message.

Hey. I’d like to talk, but not dinner. What about a walk instead?

Aaron replies quickly.

Hotch (BAU) That’s perfect. Where is best?

+++

The park you chose is, regrettably, the one where you and Aaron had your first date.

In your defense, it’s closest and safest. And quiet.

Aaron doesn’t seem to mind the location, though, when he walks toward you. You’re sitting on a park bench, one that must be new because you don’t remember it.

As he gets closer, you see he has two cups of coffee in hand.

“I got your usual,” he says softly. “If you want.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking it from him, careful not to let your fingers touch.

Hesitantly, he sits next to you.

The two of you sit in silence for a while. You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and apparently, neither can he.

After too long, though, you break the silence. “Ready to walk?”

“Sure,” he replies, standing with you.

You venture down the trail, grateful that you changed into your sneakers before coming. It takes another few moments before the silence is broken -- by Aaron this time.

“Is she mine?”

You sigh heavily. You should’ve known he’d ask that first.

“Technically, Juliet is mine,” you reply. “But you are the father, if that’s what you’re asking.” You pause. “You’re the only one I was with, so there’s no doubt.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” he says quietly. You can tell he’s looking at you, but you don’t look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried,” you admit. “I called three times. I got your voicemail.”

Once: When you decided officially to keep the baby. You were three months pregnant. You had almost thought he picked up when the line clicked, and then you heard his voicemail. You hung up and took a bath instead, phone forgotten in the living room.

Twice: Dannie was beside you. You were seven months then. You had caved and asked if it was a boy or girl. After hearing it was a girl, a part of you desperately wanted to tell Aaron. You remembered him saying he always wanted a baby girl. Your heart still ached from when he broke it, but you wanted to tell him. You got his voicemail.

The third time: You had just given birth. You named her Juliet. You wanted to tell Aaron. You wanted to know if he should be on the birth certificate. You wanted to tell him you had a baby girl. When he didn’t answer, the nurse gave you a sad smile, and left the line blank. Dannie held Juliet for a while so you could cry.

“You never left a message,” he replies, sounding offended.

“Did you really want me to break the news in a voicemail?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “But you could’ve said it was something important. I would’ve returned your call.”

“I called three times,” you remind him. “You’re a fucking profiler, Aaron. You think three calls meant it was unimportant?” You pause, grounding yourself. “I figured you were out on a case. I don’t blame you for that. I understand, I’ve been there. But after calling three times and not getting a single reply, I figured it was useless. I didn’t have the time or energy to worry about it anymore. I had a newborn to take care of.”

He’s silent for a while.

“How is she?”

“She’s fine. She’s with her Godmother. Probably watching Frozen.”

“That’s good.”

You can’t do this anymore. “If that’s all you wanted to ask, then I need to get going. No offense, but I really don’t have the time for small talk.”

“I understand, but…” He stops walking, staring down at his feet before locking eyes with you. “Would you— Would you be willing to give me a second chance?”

Don’t you/Don’t you say that you miss me if you don’t want me again

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, angry tears pricking your eyes. “Why?”

“I’d like to be a part of Juliet’s life. And yours. If you’ll let me.”

“I’ll ask her,” you reply. “But you can be a part of her life without being a part of mine.”

“You know that’s not true,” he says. “You chose this park for a reason today.”

“No, I chose it because it’s close,” you hiss. “Don’t you dare profile me. Don’t you dare.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and for a second you think he might have tears in his eyes, too. “I’m sorry, you’re right, that was uncalled for.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I really do need to go.”

“Can I at least walk you to your car?”

After a moment of thought, you nod. “Sure.”

My heart knows what the truth is/I swore I wouldn’t do this

967 notes · View notes

captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years ago

Text

In Which I Project

Jon has some sort of neurodivercence and it is making work hard.

@janekfan

cw Jon is really really getting down on himself about what his brain is making hard, so cw for that and internalized ablism relating to things like rsd and executive dysfunction. Jon also takes this out on his coworkers, because that is how Jon can be. This chapter is a bit heavy with a hopeful end. If there is a chapter two, it will have a lot more fluff, promise. (The reason Jon doesn't have a diagnosis is because I am projecting and I am not 100% what all is going on in my brain, this is just my experience.) Also mentions of alcohol and food.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why is he like this? Why can’t he just fucking be a normal, functional person. Why does his brain behave like a backed up, broken drain. He can’t think today.

He’s been staring at his computer since 6:30 this morning. He’s been here eight hours. And it isn’t like he isn’t getting anything done. But it’s not what he meant to do.

He was going to check his email, record a statement, do some filing, check Martin’s work, then do some follow ups and check his email again before going home.

Well. He checked his email. Then he noticed a flaw in what he filed yesterday so he had to fix that. Then the loo was out of toilet tissue and he had to go chase down that, because the building’s maintenance tends to skip the Archives half the time. (Which is usually fine because it’s used by four fairly neat people, but doesn’t help when they run out of things). Then Elias had requested a meeting. And that sent Jon spiraling because he wasn’t supposed to have a meeting today. That was supposed to be tomorrow and while it’s nice that he doesn’t have to do that tomorrow it threw off his whole day and now he just feels like he’s going to cry or pass out or break his jaw by clenching it so hard.

He can’t do it.

He tries to make himself record a statement. He does.

But he can’t open the file.

He can’t.

He wants to scream in frustration. Which, of course, is when Martin walks in.

Jon doesn’t mean to yell. He really doesn’t. He doesn’t know where this vitriol comes from. Was he always like this? He doesn’t even remember what he says, just the acrid taste of bitter words on his tongue.

When Martin flees, he tries to open the file again but the color and whine of the lights breaks down on him and his dragging fatigue.

He tries to loosen his jaw. Wiggles it side to side. It pops, but ultimately goes back to tense. It’s starting to give him a headache.

He can’t do this. It’s barely lunch. He’s gotten nothing done.

He tries to open this statement.

He opens his email instead.

The library wants his books back.

He’s tired. He means to gather his books and bring them up, but he ends up cleaning his desk and making notes on half researched statements he forgot about yesterday.

That puts him off balance. He hates not finishing. It makes him feel on edge. Like the world is going to drop from below his feet at any moment. Like, in forgetting, the world has already dropped from beneath him, and he’s been walking on empty air and delusions. And if this has already happened, how can he be sure it didn’t happen before.

He finishes cleaning and files the loose statements away.

He finally remembers to drink some water.

He rubs his eyes against unshed tears and exhaustion. It’s too bright. Too loud.

He takes his books up to the library.

Hannah in the library tells him to remind Tim to return his books, she he does that.

Jon is. Edging towards …probably a nervous breakdown, if he’s honest with himself, by the time he stands before Tim’s desk.

And Tim isn’t going to relinquish his books without a fight.

“You can give Martin a rest or I’ll tell Hannah that you lost her books.” Tim crosses his arms.

It’s reasonable, Jon knows. He’s behaved childishly. This is more than warranted. But, unfortunately his brain isn’t working. He’s caught up in the disappointment in Tim’s tone, and again, the floor drops from beneath his feet. Stomach dropping. He tries to convince himself that, no, Tim doesn’t hate him. All he as to do is agree or apologize which he should do anyhow. But. But what comes out of his mouth is something along the lines of, “Tim, I’ll thank you not to try to run my department. This is hardly professional behavior. Who do you think Hannah is more likely to believe?”

This wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for the force and anger in his tone. Misplaced confusion and frustration and exhaustion.

He turns on his heel before Tim finds the words to argue.

This is it.

He’s ruined everything.

Tim will never talk to him again and Sasha won’t either because he was rude to Tim. And of course Tim’s mad at him because he was a prick to Martin.

It’s all his fault. He should have been able to stay on task. He’s an adult, damnit!

He finally opens the file but he hitches a sob before he can squeeze the introduction out of his tight jaw.

He can’t do this.

He can’t do this job.

He can’t sleep at night and work all day. Can’t even feed himself or get to the store once a week.

How the fuck did he make it through school. He’s a worthless mess.

Georgie knew it.

He wants to scream.

They’re talking about him. They must be. That shouldn’t matter to him. He’s their boss. Besides, he was right even if he was rude about it. Martin does make irritating mistakes. He could have been more professional about handling it, but he still had to say something. And Tim. Tim had no right to bargain that way. He has a responsibility to the library, and trying to use it as leverage against Jon is ridiculous.

But at the same time. There are the closest he has… had to friends. Tim was his friend. Right?

Had he made that up too? Has some memory of some earlier misdeed fallen out of the torn hole in the pocket of his memory where he looses things like hours, tasks, sleep, meals, meetings, half-finished statements on his desk.

Why is he like this?

He gets some more work done. But none of the stuff on his list.

He tries to make himself read the statement, again. But he doesn’t.

It’s late. He’s left with lingering taste of disappointment and discontent.

Today’s been a wash.

He looks angrily at his scribbled to do list on the neon sticky note, from the stack Tim gave him back in Research. Nothing’s been crossed off. Statement has been circled twice. He rubs at his eyes. Tries to wipe away the tension headache. Remembers to take a drink of water, finally. It’s been hours. It does help, a little, soothes some of the anxious desperation and crushing despair. He wonders how much of it would be soothed if he got himself a hot meal. How would it compare to the relief of finished that statement.

But…. he won’t be able to go home and sleep if he doesn’t finish, because he won’t be able to relax until he gets it done.

He allows himself 5 minutes to cry. He sets a timer.

It doesn’t help. Doesn’t even offer the release he’d been hoping for.

He dries his eyes with his sleeve.

He reads the statement. And scolds himself for taking all day to get to it. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t even that bad. It was a foolish statement that reeked of mischief and falsehood. And he wasted his whole day avoiding it.

He cries again, then. No timer.

He leaves his office. He’s finally done with the day. It’s edging on 21:00. He feels like shit. Of course he hadn’t brought a lunch, why would he have enough brain cells to do that? He did make a halfhearted attempt at breakfast. But that was a lot of hours ago, and he’d barely managed a few bites before his anxious stomach had stopped him. He doesn’t feel hungry now, but he knows he is by the shakiness if his limbs, the over-lightness in his head, the irritation at himself still thick in his veins.

He still has to get himself home.

Then he hears footsteps on the stairs. He thinks about going back to his office, but the idea of going back in there makes his head spin. He’s spent too long in his office. Christ, he just wants to sleep. Just wants to be in bed without having to get home and make dinner or order dinner or shower or get in bed. He just wants to be there. Just wants to be there and sleep of eternity. He angrily brushes away a stray tear.

Of course, it’s too late now to try to hide, and eh certainly can’t hide how rumpled and tear-stained he is. So he stands there dumbly, some archaic part of his brain reasoning that if he stays still, maybe no one will see him.

Tim sees him. Tim is laughing on his phone, pleasantly buzzed, and fumbling for the jacket he most likely forgot before going for drinks. At least it’s still fairly early. At least Tim still cares enough about his job to wrap it up at a decent hour. He spots Jon, and hesitates. Jon doesn’t look like he’s doing well. He trails off mid chuckle. “Sorry Sash, I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, yeah? Had fun tonight.”

What does he say to Jon, who’d been a right ass earlier. Jon, who is now teary and frozen, staring at him with exhaustion and mortification.

He makes a decision, making a conscious choice to make himself smaller and softer. “Hey, come back to mine, I’m going to buy you dinner. As my boss, you’re a prick, and I haven’t forgotten that. But as my friend, you need a curry. Maybe we can sort out my asshole boss and my upset friend at the same time, yeah?”

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #timothy stoker #my words #my fic #hurt/ comfort #cw food #cw alcohol #cw internalized ableism

45 notes · View notes

honeypirate · 4 years ago

Text

Just In Case

Part two

Pro hero Bakugou x fem pro hero reader

in my world Recovery Girl lives forever and trains another who can replace her when she retires who she passes the hero title of recovery girl too.

Anyway on to the story that’s probably not as good as I want but oh well.

Warning- angst. Death. Blood. Ya know the works.

Inspiration- Murder In the City // The Avett Brothers

You write a letter every day. A new one so it stays relevant. Every morning you took ten minutes to quickly write out a letter just in case anything bad happens while you’re at work.

You see, being a hero isnt all rainbows and butterflies and ranks. Sometimes it’s boring. But other times, it’s scary and horrifying. Those days where you barely make it out on top because the villains were crafty.

After one hard therapy session filled with worries and tears, your therapist suggested letters. At least one. To your husband. Just in case.

This morning wasn’t different than your last, you can hear your husband in his office across the hall, humming a song you listened to at dinner the previous night. He made your heart happy with everything he did, minus the way he left his used teeth floss sticks on the counter or the way he could be a little loud.

Every morning you write this letter, periodically meeting his eye through your open doors and he’d wink, making you laugh and stick your tongue out.

Today you watched as he moved, methodical, he’s done this every morning and it shows but he still takes care with every movement.

“Are you ready?” He says as he crosses the hallway “we’re needed in half an hour so we should go soon” you smile at him and somethjng settles in your stomach. Something heavy and uncomfortable. Something wrong.

“Yeah I’m almost done” you say and he watches as you fold your letter and place it in an envelope, writing his name followed by ‘just in case’ then sticking it in your top drawer.

The letters he’s been told about. The letters he supports. He’s actually been writing his own to you as well but you both agreed that you can’t read then unless it’s actually happening.

You try to not focus on the hard substance in your stomach or the way it seems to ache. It’s a bad feeling but sometimes your anxiety could cause them for no reason so you tried not to pay too much attention to it.

“Ready” you say softly, pulling down your hero mask to press your lips to his for a moment. He helps you readjust your mask with a pink flush in his cheeks. You’ve been married for years but making him blush is as easy as it was day one.

(Skippy skip)

The villains were smart, drawing all the heroes to different locations. You were climbing the stairs of an abandoned building, going to see if the intel about a bomb on the third floor was true, which unfortunately, it was.

Your hands hovered over the bomb, using your electric quirk to cancel out the wires and stop the timer. A scuffing sound catches your attention and you’re dodging a metal rod that was thrown at you to only be stabbed by one from a different direction.

The villain could control metal with his quirk, throwing the rod at you from one direction when he was coming from a different side. “Huh” you say softly as you look down at the rod through your stomach, the pain not even registering yet. “Poor unfortunate hero.” He lifts you by the metal rod and you scream, white hot pain shooting through you as it tears your abdomen as he slams you into the ground, pushing the rod further through you until it connects to the concrete floor.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay long. I have a hot date later” he says as he restarts the bomb, placing it farther from you so you couldn’t reach it with your powers, then he’s hopping from the third story window and waving at you with a smirk.

Your hand flies to your ear piece “There’s a bomb! Third floor tallest abandoned building in the-“ and that’s all you can get out before the bomb goes off and the building is collapsing.

The area was covered in dust and smoke, ash falling from the sky. You ripped your mask off trying to get more air into your lungs but it didn’t help that a giant piece of concrete was crushing your right arm and part of your ribs and chest, not to mention you’re still attached to the rod.

“Bakugou” you say through your headpiece, coughing up blood and ash “where are you?” He shouts back “the bomb” you muttered back and it sounded wheezy, you could hear the fluid in your lungs. You heard more explosions before he was appearing right beside you.

“Hey there hot stuff” you say and chuckle softly as he brushes the dust out of your hair “I’ll get you out of here. You’ll be okay” he’s saying but his eyes are filling with tears and his brows are knit. “It’ll be okay” you say but he does not look in your eyes. He’s still fretting, trying to think of how to save you.

“Bakugou.” You say in a commanding voice and he looks at you “you’ll be okay” you whisper, your blood covered lips smiling gently. You reach up with your left hand and cup his cheek, brushing away the hot tears that have started to fall. “You’ll be okay” you say again, your voice sounding weaker “no” he whispers “no. I’ll save you. You’ll be fine. I’ll get you help” kirishima is in your headpiece, telling you how he’s sent first responders your way but you can’t hear him.

Your voice is quiet, your hand going limp and falling from his cheek “You are the best part of me”

He doesn’t know where he’s going. He left the police station and was just walking. He couldn’t go home. Not when it was your home too. Not when he knows he’ll just be reminded of you and how you smiled at him this morning. How he woke up to you kissing his neck. How that will never happen again.

Walking into the office he didn’t bother with any of the lights. He puts in his alarm code and numbly makes his way to your office.

If you’re reading this. That means I’ve died.

Oh god I’ve always hated these letters. It’s so dramatic. I’m going to be okay. I have to be.

But just in case, since were up against major villains every day, I’ll write this letter. The 54th I’ve written so far.

Anyway I would regret not saying anything if it was my last day alive. I know I’m going to go home tonight and hold you, kiss you, and spend it like it was my last. This won’t be different than the last 53 letters I’ve shredded.

But. Life is short. It’s short and before you know it it can be snuffed out like a candle in the wind. So here we go.

If I get murdered in the city tomorrow, don’t go revenging in my name. A person dead from such is plenty, no need to go get locked away. I know you’ll blame yourself and get mad and swear revenge. Bakugou I love you. Let go of the hate and the rage. All I want is you to be happy and you to be okay.

But there’s no need to get over alarmed, I’m coming home I know it.

(His tears start to hit the paper, hot big tears blotting the ink and making it hard to see. )

So if tomorrow is my last day. Ill leave this letter in my desk.

Don’t bother with my belongings. Things never really mattered to me, you know that. Donate them. Burn then. Whatever you want.

Tell my sister that I love her. That I’m sorry if she ever doubted that.

I wonder what my parents will say. Probably that they were proud of me. Please let them know how much I loved them. How much I loved my childhood.

Now for you, my love, my sweetheart. The love of my life I’m sure of it. There was nothing worth sharing like the love that let us share our name. The love that let me share your name for these few years.

Thank you. For loving me. For supporting me. For choosing me every day. I’ve never doubted it once. I’ll always be with you, even if you can’t see me.

I'm watching you in your office right now, youre humming that song that played at the restaurant last night.

If I had never seen your face this world would have been such a very different place for me. It would be quieter and colorless. You have truly given me so much in this life that I can never hope to repay you.

You can never know which way your heart will go, but you are the compass leading mine. It will always point to you.

You’ve made me feel alive made me want to live so I could experience all my dreams coming true with you by my side.

I don’t know what else to add

Please, if you know anything, let it be that you were my greatest happiness in life.

I’ll always come home to you

I love you

-y/n

His hand is shaking as he finishes the letter.

He takes a sharp inhale and his knees give out, falling to the floor beside your desk with a soft gasp that turned into a sob as he broke down.

“You. You promised” he whispered between sobs, not even bothering to wipe away the tears as he hugs his arms around himself, hunching forward as his tears make soft patting sounds as the hit the hard wood floor.

He doesn’t know how Kirishima found him but when he runs through the office and sighs with relief when he finds him, he doesn’t move. He stays, broken on the floor, sobbing. Kiri doesn’t freeze, he’s there in a second, wrapping his arms around his best friend. Trying to give him a little comfort.

Kirishima's phone rings and Bakugou growls, taking it from his hand as kiri goes to silence it, pressing answer without looking to see who it is “what” he yells out, his nose stuffy and throat constricted showing how much he’s been sobbing.

Recovery Girls voice is stern through the receiver “You need to get down here right away. She’s alive.”

#bakugou katsuki fanfiction #bakugou angst #mha bakugou #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou x you #bakugou x fem!reader #bnha bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x reader #pro hero bakugou #my hero academia fanfiction #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n

78 notes · View notes

skzsauce01 · 4 years ago

Text

Magnets

Synopsis: Opposites attract. 1950s AU. Takes place before Love Letters but can be read as a stand alone.

Warning: smoking, misogyny, slut-shaming

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairing: fem cheerleader!reader x greaser!unspecified Stray Kids member; fem cheerleader!reader x football player!unspecified Stray Kids member

There’s something about summer that changes people. They loosen up, become even prettier, and come back to school with a sense of assuredness. Or at least you did last summer. You figured out what styles were in, learned how to do your hair, and started wearing cherry red lipstick. He couldn’t stop staring at you, especially when you smiled with your pearly white teeth.

“Stop that!” you laughed, swatting his arm. “I’m still me, just with better clothes now.”

“I’ve just never seen you like this. It’s so weird now without your overall dress things.”

You playfully shook your head, the ends of your curls bouncing from the movement. “Ugh, some best friend you are. Just tell me I look nice and leave it at that. Also, they’re called pinafores.”

He didn’t care what they were called, only that you traded them in for fuzzy sweaters and skirts that flared at the hips. You didn’t look like the girl who brought her stuffed animals with her everywhere anymore. You looked like you belonged on a movie screen.

So this year he resolves to make you feel the same way. While you stay home for the summer, he goes on a road trip with his family. He thinks about you the entire time, from a tiny diner in the middle of nowhere to a dock overlooking the ocean. When he gets back, he has for you five souvenir handkerchiefs, all from different states. All he can imagine is how flustered you will be by his sun-highlighted hair and new broad shoulders when you answer the front door.

Instead, you give him a quick smile and place the handkerchiefs onto an end table without even looking at them. You’re late for a movie with friends, you tell him, as you carefully smooth out the wrinkles in your skirt. When he offers to give you a ride, you shake your head and bid him goodbye. You practically push him back into his car.

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” he asks as he opens the driver’s seat. You didn’t say a single word about his summer transformation. “I don’t have any plans tonight, so it’s fine by me.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll see you at school then, okay? Tell your parents I said hi. Okay, bye.”

He reluctantly drives off but stops at the corner. In the rearview mirror, he catches you hurrying down the street to where a black convertible is parked. Even from this far away, he can tell it’s a greaser’s car.

What are you doing with a greaser?

As he stealthily follows you up to the mountain road nicknamed Lover’s Lane, he knows.

When school resumes again, you keep to your friends, not even trying to talk to him even though you’ve been friends since you were kids. He tries though. He even accepts the football coach’s offer to join the team because he knows you’ll be cheering at each game. But when he asks if you want to go to the diner after the football game, you look at him with confusion.

“You don’t even like football.”

“I joined the team this year. Coach thinks I can be a good quarterback. Might even go to state.” He rolls his shoulders back, showing off his new muscles in his tight shirt. You don’t even blink. “Aren’t you a cheerleader?” he teases. “Shouldn’t you know what the football team’s up to?”

“Me and the girls usually go out somewhere after, so I’ll probably be busy. Sorry.” You give him a small smile. “Anyway, I’ve got practice now. And I guess you do too.”

“Are you free on the weekend? We can get burgers or something.”

“I have to study and finish homework. There’s going to be a math test soon.”

“When are you free then?”

“I don't really know. I gotta go or else I’ll be late. See you tomorrow.”

Before you can run too far off, he asks, “Why are you avoiding me?”

You look taken aback momentarily, but then you sigh and furtively look around. You stay where you are, folding your arms across your chest. “Look, we’re in high school now. Things are different. If I’m around you all the time, people will think we’re dating. I mean, people have already asked me that. They’ve been asking since freshman year.”

“Is that such a bad thing? It’s not like you have a boyfriend or anything.”

You go still. He waits for you to confess that you actually do and that you’re sorry for hiding it from him, but you only shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t like you like that. I’m tired of giving them the wrong idea and being asked every day, so just… just don’t talk to me anymore, okay? We’re still friends.”

Friends. That’s all he will be to you, but the prospect of not even being in your life is even worse. “That’s so dumb! Forget everyone else.”

“You don't understand,” you say through gritted teeth. “They’re saying stuff about me, calling me a tease and a slu—” You break off there and cradle yourself, looking down at the floor. “Never mind, just…”

He balls and unballs his fists. He’d bet anything it’s that no-good greaser. “Who’s saying that? Give me a name, and I’ll take care of it.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You take a step back. “We can’t hang out or talk anymore, okay? I really need to go now. I’m late.”

He skips practice that day, choosing instead to head to the garage where the greasers usually hang. As expected, the greaser — your sleazeball of a boyfriend, he angrily thinks to himself — is in the middle of the group. All heads turn to look at him when he enters the room.

“Hey, look who’s here. Mr. Quarterback,” the sleaze drawls. He takes a drag from his cigarette, smirking all the while. “Hit your head too much or what? This isn’t the football field.”

“Get bent, you dog,” he spits out. “I know you said those things about Y/N. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

The greaser flinches. “Who?”

“She’s on the cheer team. Don’t play dumb.” He decides to leave out the part where you’re dating him; he’ll protect your secret at least. “You’ve been calling her a tease.”

“If people are saying it, it must be true,” snickers someone in a too-large jacket. “I mean, just look at her—”

“Shut up,” the greaser commands as he flicks cigarette ash towards his friend. “You’ve been giving me a headache with all your blabbing. As for you, Mr. Quarterback, you’re out of your mind if you think I care enough about someone like her to go around gossipping like some housewife. So, scram or I’ll make sure you’ll never play again.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe. Just get outta my garage.”

He does what he’s told, feeling humiliated as he walks back outside. The greaser didn’t sound like he was lying. In fact, he sounded like he was about to flip his lid when he found out.

A few days later, he finds out that the greaser did just that. The head cheerleader’s car is keyed and its tires slashed, and a baseball player comes to school with a broken arm. The rumors about you die down, and the new hot topic becomes the upcoming dance. You look more relaxed than he has seen you all month. Slowly, you begin taking the initiative to start conversations with him. No matter how many times he asks though, you always refuse to go to the diner or to the drive-in with him.

“You don’t have to feel bad for me,” you tell him as you look away from another cheerleader sharing a kiss with her boyfriend. “You should be going on actual dates with someone. Like, oh I don’t know, the girl who sits next to you in physics. She keeps making eyes at you during class. I swear, you’re the only one who can’t see how big of a crush she’s got on you.”

He shrugs. “She’s not really my type.”

“Then what’s your type?”

Preppy cheerleaders who love strawberry milkshakes and wear cherry lipstick. Girls who wore pinafores and carried a teddy bear around when they were five. Best friends who unfortunately only remain best friends.

“I don’t know,” he lamely replies.

“Go ask her out then. Maybe you’ll end up liking her.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You swat his arm with your textbook. “You’re such a square, you know that? C’mon. The bell’s gonna ring soon.”

While you head to the back where your desk is, he slides into his own assigned seat in the middle. The girl next to him says hello with a smile, and he gives her a small one in return. She nearly swoons. When class begins, he can feel her eyes darting back and forth between the board and him. You were right about him being oblivious. How did he not notice this before?

This week’s lesson is about magnets, and he’s hit with the hard realization why he can never be with you. No wonder you ended with a greaser. Opposites attract, and your boyfriend is about as opposite as can be compared to you. You’re the girl next door. Meanwhile, your greaser wears leather jackets, drag races in his souped-up convertible, and chain smokes cigarettes.

With his button downs and a promise of getting a letterman, he’s too much like you; that’s why you don’t want him. He can be in your orbit, trying his hardest to touch you, but you’ll always keep him at a distance.

When the bell rings, he turns to the girl sitting beside him. She pushes her thick glasses higher on her nose as she struggles to pick up all four of the books on her desk.

He places his hand on top of the pile. “Do you have a date to the dance next week?”

~ ad.gray

To all those sent in requests for our anniversary, we’re still working on them! There will be a later announcement post about it, so stay tuned. Thank you for your patience!

#stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids au #skz au #greaser au #20210722

48 notes · View notes

winter-fox-queen · 4 years ago

Text

Small Gambles

Ezra (Prospect) X I pronoun character

I wanted to get this done before tomorrow, my unread – oh Lord – attempt at my second Writer Wednesday.

I might come back and edit it tomorrow. It’s supposed to be stupid busy for me tomorrow so I might not have the brain for it, and I am so sorry.

Summary: Ezra gets his new arm from a black market fixer. I THINK it is a gender neutral reader…my writing tends to be from the female viewpoint so it is possible I messed up. But I tried to keep it neutral.

Warnings: Some violence. Some pain? Blood assumed. Ezra talking should come with a warning.

“It’ll hurt,” I say to him. “You should get this done by one if the top siders.”

Ezra, his name was, gave me a wry smile. “While I am aware that the pain will be exquisite, I am most certainly assured that getting back the use of my arm, be it a mechanical one, will be worth these moments of misery.” He paused, and said, oddly and without any embroidery, “Besides, it can’t hurt worse than when I had it cut off.”

“Kevva.” I whisper.

“Indeed.”

I’m on the third floor of a tenement in the Downsides. We’re on my balcony, looking out at the rain soaked streets. He asked to come out here “So I can day dream of petrichor and the soft lights of the stars while you work your magic” and after several moments of negotiations – where I let his words flow over me like a beautiful, over complicated waterfall, we struck a deal, and I pulled out the best black market arm his money could buy.

Actually, that’s a lie. The arm on my work table was actually a little better than his money could buy. But I liked his smile. I liked how he embroidered the air with his words and made the silence gentler. A person could sit and listen to that voice forever.

“First, the cap. That’s the part that will hurt.” I examined it carefully under the light. I suspected that this was not the first man this cap had been attached to, but you ask questions in the Downsides, and you die. “This will cover the stump…I mean…”

“You are a being of most direct and forthright language, which, despite my loquacious nature I do appreciate. It is kind of you to try to make a bad situation sound less dire, but it is not needed, I assure you.”

“Tell me how you lost your arm.” I start preparing the cap. The cap was (almost) the best I had, and the part I encouraged him to splurge on, because the arm attachment could be switched up.

There were two jars on my worktable. One of them was conduction gel which would basically melt the skin to the cap. The other had nanites who would much more gently and finely unite man and metal.

One had been paid for. One had not. Which one do you think I grabbed? I shoved the cap on, gave him a couple of shots to numb the pain and make the nanites work. He gasped softly, interrupting his story about someone named Cee.

“So, you know, you can get attachments to switch out that will make prospecting easier…”

“I am afraid that you have quite emptied my pockets, dear sparrow.” His voice sounded strained. I sat in front of him, put my hands on his knees.

“Look at me Ezra. So. You killed this girl’s father…”

“He was stealing my…”

“Oh, no, I get it. I’d have shot him, too.”

He gave me a look. “I have not always been a good man.”

I looked back at my workshop, crowded with junk parts, a bed in one corner. Rent overdue. “I’ve not always been good, either. I think you can’t be good and desperate at the same time.”

“Perhaps.” He managed to give me a smile, “Is that why there has been a – I do think it is a man – sitting on a motorcycle type conveyance, watching your domicile all this time? I thought at first he was here for me, but to be honest, I am not that well known around these parts and have not been here long enough to cause offense.”

My eyes flicked up, met his. I didn’t want to look. “Is his helmet silver, with a blue star? Doe he have a jacket with a star, too?”

“Indeed he does. May I take it that you are familiar with our watcher?”

“He thinks I cheated him. He used to bring me salvage. He brought me some bad parts and I refused to pay what he expected. And I told others,” I leaned forward, took his arm in my hands gently. The cap was almost set. “They refused to buy the parts. Some of them were…well. I recognized the logo. They came off soldiers. Upside guards. People who put tracking chips in everything. People you don’t want to catch the eye of. SO…he wants to hurt me. So far all he does is watch, but.”

“This is not the most secure of locales.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Please rest assured, I did not mean to apply otherwise. However. Everyone must fall into the sweet embrace of slumber sometime.”

I picked up the arm. It was a good model – strong. Made of metal that was light, but durable. “I wish I had a sleeve for it. Something that would make it look like…robotic.”

“I am not a man given to vanity, my pet.” He was staring out at the road, watchful but not looking directly at the man on the motorcycle.

I started attaching the fine connections. I did it with the arm on so I could do some of the work by feel…I could feel the thrum as each bit of the arm started to come online, the metal tendons and gears coming to life.

“Why does it feel so cold, up my shoulder and into my head?” He asked.

“Is your head starting to hurt yet?”

He shook it.

“It will. The nanites are making pathways, reconnecting your mind to your arm.”

“I did not pay for that.”

“No,” I say. “You didn’t.” Three more connections to go.

“And what am I to do, in exchange for your generosity?” There was a slight edge to his voice. The voice of the man who had shot a girl’s father, who had fought and gotten plenty of blood on his hands. It didn’t frighten me, though I suppose it should.

When you go, I want to say, Two things will happen. Either I will run, and manage to flee and find safe harbor. Or I will flee, and I will die, either by the hand of the man below, or by some other desperate Downsider who wants to sell my bits and pieces. I might as well give you the best I feel I can. Because I’m probably not going to live to serve another customer.

“You have not told me the whole tale, I believe.”

“No,” I say, and give into the temptation to rub his back gently, to trace the blonde gash of hair at his temple as I stand up. “I have not. But. I’m done. Let your arm rest best you can over night…that’s why I gave you the sling. If you can let it rest two days, you’d be even better off.” I grab some pills off a shelf. “Blue bottle. That’s more nanites. Your system is killing those little builders as we speak. There should be five pills…” I check, nod, “Take one a day. And practice using your arm in a few days. The more you practice, the better the connections will be. Take it slow and build up. The last three days of the pills are the most important.”

He took it without a word, strangely quiet. His eyes flickered to the now empty road.

“Red, for pain. Take when you must. And now…” I smiled a little. “How would you say it? I bid you a fond farewell, and safe travels as you leave my place and rejoin the great mortal coil?”

He smiled at me softly, and with great, great effort and probably greater pain, made his new arm take my fingers in his, and lift them to his lips. His good hand clenched into a fist as he shook with the effort. His new fingers were very, very cold…and his lips were soft and very warm. A coil of longing like a snake twined around my heart and squeezed painfully, fangs singing deep.

“Take care of yourself, Ezra.”

“And you.”

As the door closed, I grabbed my go bag. It was already mostly packed with things I would need, and I finished packing. I slipped my most expensive arm out from under my bed – it was state of the art and came with attachments. I also had some eyes and other smaller parts I threw into the bag with the last of my tools and nanite cream and pills. I didn’t intend on fitting the arm on anyone, but I could sell it. Maybe I can get off world. Maybe find my way to where the prospectors hang out when they look for jobs. Listen for a deep voice like brocaded velvet spin tales with seven words when one would do.

I ran down the stairs, out the back.

My watcher was waiting for me. I should have gone out the front. Now I was alone, in an alley, with someone who would enjoy hurting me.

“Trying to run out on us?”

“I owe your boss a lot of money…I was hoping to sell this…” I raised the case “And with the money I made tonight maybe make a payment. You know. Show my good intentions.”

He sneered at me, but I never knew what he meant to say because a silver arm wrapped around, silver fingers gripping his throat, crushing him. Ezra held him tight as he struggled, the new arm making little whining sounds of displeasure as he lowered the man to the ground.

“I told you not to use your arm!”

“I am afraid…” Ezra panted, “That it is not allowing me to let go of this unfortunate fool’s throat.” He gave me a slightly panicked look. Not because he (probably) killed someone, but because he lost control.

“I’ve got it.” I approached gingerly, pressing the arm in a few places to make it relax. “The cap’s messed up. I’m going to have to reset it…Ezra. Why did you come back?”

“I thought I could repay your generosity by making certain that you had at least one night of relative safety. If I had known you were about to flee…”

We rolled to body against the wall. I frisked it for useful items before covering it with trash.

“Your hands are shaking, dear doctor…I am afraid you will not be able to assist me in fixing the problems I so egregiously caused by using my new arm. May I propose that you take safe harbor with me? I have a small ship…she is not much but she will get us somewhere else. Anywhere is better than here, I do think you will agree, and there are many who would value your talents greatly.”

I finally ask one of the many, many questions I had been wanting to ask him, since he showed up at my door. “Ezra, do you always talk so much.”

He draws himself up a little. “I assure you, I can be silent when the need arises.”

“No. No.” I stand in front of him. “I want you to promise you’ll never stop.”

I struck him silent, again, I think, for just a moment and he just gives me that slight, curious smile. “I think I can promise that.” I liked that. I liked the idea of his words wrapping me in soft comfort.

“Then I gratefully accept your generous proposal.”

“Right this way,” he bowed.

I didn’t look back, as I followed Ezra down the alley and away from everything I’d known, and feared.

There was too much to look forward to.

#Ezra (Prospect)#Pedro Pascal #ezra x reader #fanfic #writer wednesday

42 notes · View notes

imissjoongsmullet · 5 years ago

Text

Something Better (1/2)

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Genre: fluff/angst (will lead to smut eventually because hi hello it’s me writing about Chan)

Summary: You and Chan have been best friends since before you can remember but now that you’re in college, things start to feel strange, especially with the way he acts when it comes to your boyfriend.

Read part 2

Warnings: part 1 of 2 (probably), cutesy friendship stuff, lots of stupid banter, bit of suggestive conversations, a good dash of angst, Changbin as your boyfriend (do you need a warning for that lol), oh and though this one is pretty clean, there will be smut in later chapters.

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: Ok so I’m going to try to keep this to 2 chapters but I can’t promise anything. Anyone who follows me knows I tend to get carried away it’s a thing... Also, yes, this is such a cliché trope but BOY DO I LOVE IT! Thanks again for the request. I had a great time writing this!

►

Five minutes to four. Almost there. The old man at the front of the auditorium had been droning on about the history of bleebidiblah wherever for the past two hours and you were very much ready for it all to end and for the weekend to begin. You heard a pencil drop beside you and turned to see your friend pick it back up and place it between his upper lip and nose.

“Looking great,” you whispered, fighting back a smile.

“I know,” he snickered, making the thing drop into his lap for the dozenth time that class.

Chan was kind of an idiot. But he was also kind of your best friend. You’d grown up in the same neighborhood and had been inseparable since kindergarten. He was the first person you’d went to when you’d found out Santa wasn’t real, the first person you’d ever sneaked out of the house to go to a party with and the first person you’d ever gotten blackout drunk with; not to mention he was the only one who knew about your irrational fear of oven toasters. He knew everything about you and you knew everything about him. You were a team, tied together so much so, that you’d even decided to follow each other to the same college.

“Hey,” he nudged your shoulder, “how about we go downtown tonight and celebrate the weekend? I heard it’s prolonged happy hour at GB’s.”

The twinkle in his eyes made you want to say yes; it was a very tempting offer. “Can’t,” you replied eventually, scrunching up your nose at him.

“Come on, why not?” said Chan, leaning in and shaking your thigh, “we can go to karaoke after and you can crash at my place. I bought so many Doritos and they’re not gonna eat themselves.”

You bit your lip. “I kind of promised Changbin I’d go over tonight.” You already knew what was coming.

“Again?” he exclaimed a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of some of the other students, “you stayed over like three times this week already.” He sagged in his chair, rolling his eyes at you.

“Don’t be a child,” you retorted shoving him lightly.

That put some of his smile back in place. “You know, I think this Changbin guy isn’t the one for you,” said Chan, pretending to look pensive, “he’s got shifty looking eyes… and his nose is too big.”

You couldn’t keep from chuckling. Dipping down in your chair out of sight of your teacher, you turned to your friend. “You’re so full of shit, what does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “maybe he’s having evil, shifty, big-nosed plans and you don’t even know it.”

“Your nose is big too, you know?” you said, pinching his nose.

He slapped your hand away and pinched you back, which made you cry out so loud the teacher went silent, eyes in your direction. Your cheeks flushed hot but just as you were about to apologize to the entire auditorium, the bell rang, pushing everyone around you into motion.

“Oops,” said Chan, eyes full of mischief as he rose from his chair along with everyone else.

You packed your things and followed him, kicking at his heels pettily.

“Seriously though, all the staying over,” Chan went on once you were out in the packed hallway, “sure he isn’t tiring you out?” The wicked grin on his face told you exactly what he meant.

“Chan, I swear if you don’t shut up,” you started but he interrupted fast.

“I just mean, you’re a studious girl,” he explained, grabbing your shoulders and rubbing them, “you can’t have a shifty-eyed boy like him distract you from your super important studies with sexy times.”

“And you taking me out to GB’s is helping me with my studies how exactly?”

“At least I’m not trying to put my dick in you every single night.”

“Chan!” you yelled out, looking around frantically at all the other students within earshot of your conversation.

“Aww,” Chan chuckled, hugging you closer, putting his lips near your ear, “you’re so cute when you’re all flustered.”

You were extremely happy he was behind you and couldn’t see the look on your face because you were even redder than before, staring eyes-wide into space. For as close and you and Chan were, you couldn’t help but feel shy whenever he mentioned sexual stuff around you. Not that you weren’t a sexual person; you just didn’t really know how to act around him when it came to those things. It didn’t help that you felt him all over you now, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand right up.

“Listen,” you said, shrugging out of his grip and trying to compose yourself, “how about we hang out tomorrow night? I’m sure the drinks will be just as toxic and delicious then.”

He came up next to you. “Fine, but you’re buying,” he said, “you’ve been leaving me lonely far too much. I demand compensation.”

You smiled and shook your head. “Fine.”

[I’ll be there in 10]

You hurriedly typed as you left Changbin’s place. You were meeting Chan for coffee. You were supposed to work on an assignment together that afternoon but you felt more than a little distracted after the previous night hadn’t ended up as fun as you’d hoped. You didn’t even really remember how it had started but you and Changbin had gotten into an argument that had lasted for most of the night. It wasn’t anything heartbreaking; it was just frustrating that your relationship wasn’t going the way you’d imagined it. And now you’d have to face Chan and pretend everything was okay because you were far too prideful to give him the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so’.

He was waiting at your typical spot in the back of the café, his notebook ready on the table. You were happily surprised to find him jotting things down as you walked up. When you sat down, however, you realized he’d just been doodling obscenities in the margins of his book.

“Good afternoon,” you said, closing his book and grabbing the coffee he’d ordered for you.

You felt his eyes on you as you sipped the burning hot drink. You were just waiting for it at this point.

“So,” he started, amusement dripping down his face, “how was last night?”

“Shut up,” you countered, opening up your own book and looking anywhere but at him.

You and Chan were used to working together. Chan always had problems focusing and you were always there to give him the kick in the ass he needed to get the work done. On the other hand, Chan was the one coming up with the most creative ideas for your projects so, despite your differences, you worked quite well off of each other.

For a while, things were fine: Chan was on his second coffee and the ideas flowed generously; you just had to write them down and turn them into usable content. Things were nice and light as they should be. You took a break and ordered waffles, enjoying them without any mention of Changbin; it was great. You talked about concerts you were excited to go to together in the coming months, showed each other movie trailers of stuff you really wanted to watch together and you laughed at the absolute dumbest things. You thought perhaps it was the caffeine that was making you both so silly.

Unfortunately, after that initial boost of energy, came the inevitable crash.

By the time Chan was picking at the ice at the bottom of his empty third coffee, things were started to shift. You were trying to finish up the assignment but it was clear Chan was starting to get burnt out. Gradually, conversation trickled away from the project at hand and into less productive territory.

“What is it you like about him?” he asked, staring zombie-like into his cup.

“Not now, Chan,” you sighed, eyes on your laptop screen. You felt his fingers at your side, poking lazily.

“No, come on,” he said, voice sleepy, “I wanna know.”

You stopped typing and took a deep breath.

“He’s—” you started, trying to think of something while your head replayed how you’d argued the night before.

Chan let out a chuckle. “Yeah, he sounds great.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you groaned, a little harsher than you’d meant it, “let’s just get this done.”

But Chan didn’t let up. Your inability to define your love for Changbin had apparently made him very eager to tease you and it was getting harder and harder to ignore him.

“I bet he sleeps with his socks on,” he said, sipping his empty drink loudly, “weirdo.”

“Chan please.”

“Tell me he doesn’t.”

“Chan.”

“He totally does, doesn’t he!”

“Chan I swear if you don’t shut up I’m gonna kick you where it really hurts!”

“Fine,” he said, still laughing, putting up his hands in defense, “jeez, I was just having fun.” Then he came closer and, entirely oblivious, wrapped his arms around you tight. “No more coffee for you, it makes you mean.” He gave your temple a quick kiss and, chuckling, got up from his seat.

“Gotta pee, this coffee is going right through me, be right back.”

It occurred to you, as you watched him walk off, how odd your relationship with Chan was. Or maybe Chan was just an odd person? Or maybe he was simply acting oddly recently? You tried to shrug off the confusing thoughts and instead opened up your phone. The last text from Changbin was right at the top. You clicked it and smiled, rereading the sweet message he’d sent you the day before. You should probably make up with him soon, you decided.

After another half hour of half-assed adjustments, you and Chan finally called it a day.

“If you could input your slides right after mine, I’ll do the touch ups and bring it all to class,” you said, staring at your laptop screen, “we should probably go over it together the day before though.”

Chan’s face was in his arms on the table, looking drowsy. “Yeah, sounds good,” he mumbled, “I’ll type them out by Monday, we’ve got most of the stuff down already, it shouldn’t be hard.”

“Good,” you nodded, finally letting yourself sit back and relax. You closed your eyes in a long yawn as you stretched out your arms. When you opened them again Chan was looking at you.

“Tired huh?” he said, his lips curling up into a knowing smirk.

You stared back at your friend blankly. “You know what? Yes, I am actually. I stayed up most of the night.”

His eyebrows rose up in surprise but he didn’t speak.

“And that’s all I’m gonna say on the matter so can we please wrap this up now?” you added, “I think I should go see Changbin later tonight cause— well, we just have some things to discuss.”

“Wait, hold up,” said Chan, straightening up beside you and, finally, all laughter was wiped from his face, “I thought we were going out tonight.”

The memory of your promise hit you, throwing a small dose of guilt over your head. “I’m sorry, Chan, really. I just got some things to do—”

“Some things to do?” he interrupted, now definitely irritated, “you’re gonna ditch your best friend for some mediocre sex?”

“Chan that’s not what this is,” you started but you knew you’d set him off and there was no going back.

“Whatever,” he snapped, “it’s fine I’ll call some people who actually wanna hang out—”

“Chan—” you tried, shocked at the rapidity with which his mood had switched.

“—instead of someone who’ll leave me for the first boy to give her the least bit of attention—”

“Hey!” you said, getting up from your seat, heating up from the sting of his words.

Chan got up as well, the look in his eyes pained. “I said it’s fine,” he repeated, placing some money on the table and walking out.

(part 2)

451 notes · View notes

nazyalenskyism · 4 years ago

Text

How You Get The Girl (Part 2)

Summary: Part 2 of a Zoyalai AU based on ‘How You Get the Girl.’ | Nikolai tries to win Zoya back, but she’s not going to forgive him so easily.

A/N: Zoya's reminded of all the good times she had with Nikolai, but is it enough? Thanks for reading, feedback is always really appreciated.

How You Get The Girl (Part 1) “Zoya, there’s someone here for you.”

“I’m busy,” Zoya replied distractedly, her eyes fixed on the monitor before her, “tell them I’m not here.”

“Zoya,” her new receptionist hesitated, “I tried, but he said, ‘tell Nazyalensky I know she can spare five minutes out of her busy schedule to meet with the CEO of Ravkan Industries,’ is he delusional, should I call security?” Zoya paused. Sending security to haul Nikolai out of the firm would be funny, but it would never happen. Unfortunately he probably knew the names of all of the security guards in her high rise office and sent them Christmas cards every year. Her fingers twitched around the pen she gripped in her hand, she only had another hour before she went home, and she’d taken the day off tomorrow so that she could spend it with Genya. Undoubtedly, Nikolai was here to try to weasel his way into her evening plans.

Well, Zoya mused, if I accept whatever outrageous proposal he has for tonight, at least I won’t have to pay for it. And, if Nikolai was serious about wanting to win her back he would try as hard as he could to do so (like he did with everything), so it would be safe to assume he would splurge on her. You don’t have to take him back, you can just make fun of him the whole night and get a free dinner out of it too. She sighed, knowing this night was already doomed to be a disaster. Whatever, disasters were always more fun to deal with when Nikolai was involved. She pressed the comms button on her desk, “send him in. Tell him he has five minutes before I call security on him. But first, put him on the DNA list.”

***

Nikolai grinned at Zoya’s new assistant who was clearly flustered by the situation, though she did an excellent job in appearing unphased. Zoya’s old assistant must have left while they were still in the ‘try-to-contact-me-and-I’ll-run-you-over' stage of the last few months, seeing how her new assistant, Leoni, didn't know who he was. “What’s the DNA list?” he asked, blinking confusedly when she whipped out her phone, clearly snapping a picture of him. “Are you going to pull out a few of my hairs? What would Nazyalensky even want them for?”

Leoni looked up, “ Miss Nazyalensky said that it’s classified information, sorry.”

Nikolai peered at her screen, she was making a poster with the image she’d just taken of him, captioned with, ‘CEO of Ravkan Industries.’ “My name is Nikolai, if that helps. Nikolai Lantsov.”

She waved him away, “you’re free to go in now. Have a nice day. Also, watch out, she’s very good at tearing men to shreds.”

Nikolai let out a laugh, “thank you, Miss Hilli, I’ll keep that in mind. I also happen to have it on good authority that she won’t tear me to shreds tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think she’s been expecting me for a while.”

“You’ll need a better line than that to win her over.”

Nikolai pressed his knuckles to the door, “it’s me.” He heard faint grumbling he assumed was Zoya cursing him out before the door opened automatically and he sauntered into the room. “I can’t believe you forgot to tell Leoni who I was, Nazyalensky. Can you imagine the blow to my ego when she didn’t recognize me?” He slipped into the chair across from her, attempting to snatch a piece of candy from the golden bowl on her desk.

“Hey!” she snapped, swatting his hand away without even looking up at him, “I’m sure your gigantic ego can handle it.” she continued flipping through the papers on her desk, highlighting things before turning back to her computer, never once looking at him. After 10 minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”

“You know that I know why you’re here. You just want a chance to say it out loud.”

“Right you are, Zoya dear! Tonight, you and I are spending the night out on the town.”

She looked at him pointedly, “and why would I agree to that?”

“Because we’re taking my car, and I’m paying for dinner.”

She arched a brow, “you’re driving? What, no chauffeur today?”

Grinning, Nikolai leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m certainly not getting into a car with you behind the wheel.”

“I’m a good driver!” she hissed, jabbing her pen in his direction.

“Mailboxes and terrified pedestrians beg to differ, dear.”

“Whatever,” she huffed, “you’re not much better.”

“You’re right about that, I’m infinitely better.”

“Aren’t you trying to get me to agree to go out with you? Insulting me isn’t the way to do it.”

“Come on Nazyalensky,” he smiled, “it can’t be more insufferable than going out with -- what’s his name, the guy who works across the hall -- the one I saw trying to get himself together enough to ask you out tonight? Mel? Mervin? Martin? Marcus?”

She made a face, “I think it’s Merle?”

“Exactly my point.”

Zoya twisted a tendril of hair around her finger, which she usually did when thinking. “Don’t mistake my amusement for something else. I haven’t forgiven you.”

“I didn't ask you to,” Nikolai replied softly, “I just asked for a chance. Please just let me take you out tonight Zoya. Please.” He never begged, it wasn’t in his nature, but he was willing to do whatever it took to make her look at him like she did before, like he hadn’t hurt her.

She exhaled, “fine, but this doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have to wait a while, I can’t leave until I finish going through this case, it’ll take me at least another hour, maybe two.”

“Take your time,” Nikolai said, taking out his laptop from his bag, pulling up his own work, “I can wait.”

***

Three hours later, it was 7 PM and Zoya had collapsed on the ground, now staring up at the ceiling from her plush rug, her case files a mess around her. Nikolai sat by the window, the light of the setting sun illuminating his features. He looks like a prince in an oil painting, she thought, and then figured that her lack of sleep plus her hunger must be making her delirious.

“Let’s get some dinner,” Nikolai announced, suddenly standing up.

“Lantsov, I’m too tired to go out.”

“Fantastic, we’ll order in then.”

“Fine, but only because I’m too tired to storm out of here and go home right now,” she grumbled, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes.

He let out a chuckle, picking up his phone, stopping in his tracks when Zoya’s fingers shot out, wrapping around his wrist. “Wait, where are you ordering from?”

“Tolya’s, of course,” Nikolai replied, his eyes trained on Zoya’s fingers still clutched at his wrist. She moved to pull her hand back, but he was quicker, resting his on top of hers for an extended moment, his eyes lingering on her face. She fought to keep any hint of feeling out of her features, but she knew the tops of her cheeks were pinking. How dare he affect her this way. It was the first time they’d touched this way in months and Zoya hated how her chest constricted the longer he looked at her, the longer that his fingers brought warmth to her. She pulled out of his grasp, trying to clear her mind, deciding to settle on scooping up case files from the ground so that she could free herself from his piercing gaze. Nikolai turned towards the window, the city lights masking his face from her as he ordered from their friend’s restaurant.

She had missed this, just a bit, she could admit that much to herself. She had missed Nikolai’s ability to make others feel at ease, to make them laugh, and trust him. To want to lay their faith in them. She had missed the press of his fingers and those intelligent hazel eyes that never missed a thing, that could read her like an open book. Those eyes that were now back on her, Nikolai’s hand warm in hers as she took his offering hand to pull her up.

“Tolya said he’d personally deliver the order to the lobby, is that okay?” She nodded dazedly in response, picking up her bag and heading following him out the door, halting by her receptionist’s desk. “Leoni,” Zoya said, feeling breathless as she ran a hand through her hair, “why are you still here? You know you don’t have to stay a minute past 6.”

“Oh,” Leoni said carefully, “I know, I was busy and forgot the time.”

Zoya frowned, moving around to Leoni’s side of the desk, “what were you working on? Everything but the Brekker case is closed and I just started it.”

“These biscuits are so tasty, Leoni. Are you sure it’s okay if I take the whole box?” the man who was mumbling through a cookie halted in his tracks as Zoya whirled on him incredulously.

“Adrik Zhabin, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I--”

“You know Zoya?” Leoni interjected.

“Well, funny story--”

“Does he know me? He’s my friend’s little brother! Are you,” she jabbed an accusatory finger at Adrik, “flirting with my receptionist?”

Adrik flushed as Leoni smiled at him affectionately, “no, I’m just driving her home.”

Zoya raised an eyebrow, “I have my eye on you Zhabin. You better just be ‘driving her home.’ Does your sister know about this?” She yanked her cellphone out of her purse, nearly dropping it when Nikolai placed his hand on top of hers.

“Nazyalensky, leave him alone.”

“But--”

“Zoya”

“Fine,” she huffed, putting her phone away, “Adrik, I’ve already lost one receptionist thanks to Mal Oretsev, you better watch yourself.”

“Yes ma’am,” Adrik said grumpily, avoiding eye contact with Nikolai as Leoni led him out the door, his hand tight in hers.

Nikolai waited until they were out of sight before turning to Zoya, “Can I walk you home, Nazyalensky?”

He got an eye roll in return, “if you want to waste your night, go ahead, but I’m planning on taking my share of dinner and going back to my place.”

“Fantastic .”

“Fantastic,” she muttered.

***

“I forgot how short you are without heels,” Nikolai teased as Zoya collapsed next to him on the picnic blanket, her glare bleary but cutting all the same. The sun was slowly setting, and the riverside was quiet, the only noise being the occasional conversations from those on the pathways. Dinner had been fairly quiet, they were too hungry to talk and Tolya’s food was far too good to not eat it quickly. Or at least that’s what she assumed Nikolai’s logic was, she knew her own reasons for refraining from chatting away with Nikolai, as easy as she knew the old habit would be to fall into.

“I’m six inches shorter than you, Nikolai, you’re not as tall as you think you are.”

“Anything shorter than me is short.”

“Ugh, I don’t care. I’m too tired and stuffed to deal with you,” she pushed his cheek away with her hand, closing her eyes as he laid down next to her, their hands nearly touching but not quite.

There was a long silence and for a moment Zoya thought Nikolai had fallen asleep, but then he spoke up, “do you remember how we used to come down here on the weekends?”

Zoya pushed down the urge to look over at him, “yes.”

“When you used to sit up here with your giant textbooks and chunky glasses.”

“My glasses were sleek and fashionable.”

“You remember 6 A.M. on Saturday mornings very differently than I do.”

She jammed her elbow into his side, his wheezing laugh making her shake her head. “With your back to back rowing and sailing practice, I had a lot of time to study.”

“Yeah, but you always found the time to cheer me on. Every time I looked up, you would be waving back. In the team rooms on campus, half of my pictures on the wall were ones you took after practice.” The pictures in frames, she knew were all the ones he had said he loved, where her bright lipstick stained his cheeks. It had been so easy to forget her hurt this afternoon as they worked quietly, side by side, when they joked as if nothing had happened, but this reminiscing was too much, it brought back all the wrong memories.

“Young Zoya had a habit of getting herself caught up in things that wasted her time when she shouldn’t have.” The words were harsh, they left a bitter taste in her mouth but she couldn’t hold them in. How many nights had she spent, curled up in bed, simply wanting answers as to why Nikolai had walked out of her life with no explanation. She hated to admit that she had been searching for love her whole life, love from a mother and mentor who saw her as nothing more than a means to their own ends. Love from a father who was too afraid to stand up for himself, for her. She had found it once, and she thought that with Nikolai she had found it again. How wrong she was.

“I know you don’t believe me, Zoya, but I never meant to hurt you.”

“You don’t know what I believe,” she whispered, horrified at how her eyes burned. She shut them tighter still, “I know that you left because you were trying to protect me. Because you thought it was your fault and you wanted to fix things, because you always want to fix things.” Nikolai was quiet and so she continued, six months of pent up words tumbling out. “You made me feel safe, you made me believe that you wouldn’t leave. I let myself fall for your charms again and again, I won’t let myself be fooled so easily again.” She felt tears leak from the corners of her eyes, even in this moment where all she wanted to do was yell at him, she felt safe enough to tell him the truth of how she felt. Damn him.

“I wasn’t trying to trick you, not you, never you.” Nikolai’s voice was thick and she knew that if she looked over at him, she would see tears in his eyes too.

“I tried so hard to hate you. I really did. But then you called every day, you sent me those letters, all the flowers, why couldn’t you just tell me the truth from the start? You know I would’ve understood. I would’ve helped.”

“I’ve told you how bad my family is, but they’re truly horrible. I couldn’t think of a way to fix the situation without ruining your life, if they knew you existed, they would’ve made it hell. I should’ve told you before I did any of it, but I was a coward. It was easier to leave first and explain later. I didn’t want to watch your heart break,” his voice broke on the last word and Zoya pressed her palm to her mouth, trying to push back a sob.

Nikolai’s hand brushed against hers on the picnic blanket and she grasped it tightly, needing something to hold onto as silent sobs racked her body. He didn’t try to reach out or comfort her, he knew she didn’t want that, that she didn’t need it. Despite all that, she let herself break in that moment, surrendering to an all too familiar comfort, the press of his hand against hers. Zoya took one deep breath, then another, until she felt grounded, swiping at the tears that still lingered on her cheeks. She stood up abruptly, gathering her things as quickly as she could, without looking back at him. Zoya needed to get out of here, her head was still swimming with a thousand emotions she couldn’t try to detangle, and she refused to fall into Nikolai’s arms again because she let her emotions get the best of her. He didn’t try to stop her.

#zoyalai fic #my writings #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoyalai #kos fic #row fic #gv #grishaverse fic #zoyalai au

22 notes · View notes

geralt-of-baevia · 5 years ago

Text

Happenstance

Summary: Henry is about to go to bed one night when he suddenly gets a text from a random number he doesn’t know. What happens when you accidentally text the star actor of The Witcher? Memes apparently. Lots and lots of memes.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC (Lizzy Moore)

Word count: 1.3K

Warnings: None...yet! Just some fluffy flirting. Well okay and lots of mention of his crotch? 😬😘

A/N: So I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my brain for a LONG time and finally pulled the trigger and wrote it! It’s in texting format, and I hope you like it! This is my first time posting fan fiction on here so I’m nervous and excited!

Beta: Thank you to @avengeful-bunny for being my AMAZING beta. I don’t know what I would do without you. 💛💛💛

Tagging: I’m going to tag all those whose work has inspired me to write and post my work! Much love to ALL of you! @littlefreya @dancingwendigo @mary-ann84 @yespolkadotkitty @viking-raider @cavillhoney

Part 1: Oops.

(405:) God, girl. You will not BELIEVE the day I had. I'm pretty sure I lost a pint of blood today from how many times I stabbed myself sewing.

(405:)

(Henry:) You should probably get a thimble for that.

(Henry:) Also, I do believe you have the wrong number. Considering you started the text off with 'girl' and I am quite the opposite. But even so, please spill the tea. I’m dying to know about this UNBELIEVABLE day you’ve had.

(Henry:)

(405:) Oh my god, MR. CAVILL I AM soooo SO SO SORRY. I must have accidentally clicked on your name and not my friend's name.

(405:) I feel really awkward having your number when you don’t have mine. Do you want me to delete it? Just to make sure this doesn’t happen again? Also so some random crew member doesn’t have your number?

(Henry:) Oh god, please call me Henry. There’s no need for such formalities. And it’s fine, there’s no need to delete it. Since you mentioned crew and sewing, I'm assuming you work for the costuming department?

(Henry:) Also, I have your number now, don't I? :P

(405:) By it’s fine do you mean this kind of fine?

(405:)

(Henry:) Oh no, it’s LITERALLY fine. I promise.

(Henry:)

(405:) But to answer your question, yes! I work for the costuming department. I’m newer, so I get to do the usual stuff. Mostly just lots of mending at the moment. And JUST TO BE CLEAR, I won't do anything to abuse this number since you're Henry Cavill.

(405:) And you’re Henry Cavill. Also you are my co-worker, my I’m assuming super rich, god tier co-worker that I’m not supposed to make eye contact with nevermind TEXT.

(Henry:)

(Henry:) But yes, my name is Henry. Please keep my number, we’re coworkers after all, it’s normal for coworkers to have each other’s numbers. Have we met on set before?

(405:) We have once or twice, just in passing mostly. Once I brought you clothes to your trailer.

(Henry:) Are you the one with the brown and pink hair?

(405:) That's me. :)

(Henry:) Don't tell me your name, I know what it is.

(405:) Are you sure about that? You don't seem too confident :P

(Henry:) I know it starts with an E. Is it Eloise? Eleanor? I know it was something old fashioned, too.

(405:) Man, you're so close. I mean, kind of. Think of historical dead English queens. Like, for example you were best friends with her dad. You were a fancy Duke who was good with the sword and ladies. Also, I’m sorry, aren’t you supposed to be a big nerd?

(Henry:) ELIZABETH!

(Henry:) And I am a HUGE nerd thank you very much.

(Elizabeth:) Yes, that's my name haha. Also, whoa whoa, settle down there cowboy.

(Elizabeth:) And it’s just Lizzy, with a Y. The thought of spelling it with an IE makes me cringe.

(Lizzy:)

(Henry:) Pretty much everyone? Who doesn't call you Lizzy?

(Lizzy:) My dad, my grandma, my teachers, my victims, my doctor, the one girl in high school who hated me.

(Henry:) Haha that's quite the list there Lizzy Borden. I think it’s your turn to settle down. :P

(Henry:) Well then Lizzy with a Y, it's nice to finally talk to you, even though it's over text.

(Henry:) So I have to ask, I take it they were cracking the whip pretty hard in wardrobe today?

(Lizzy:) You know, I was doing what I thought was a pretty damn good job of avoiding that subject.

(Henry:) Nope, you can't slip past me. This brain is like an iron trap.

(Lizzy:) If you MUST know...

(Henry:) I really do. I'm sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation.

(Henry:)

(Lizzy:) Okay well that just sounds sarcastic. I don't HAVE to tell you... :P

(Lizzy:) I'm kidding, kidding. Well, since you MUST know, I spent at least half of my day mending clothes, particularly the crotch of multiple pairs of your pants. Also a few pairs had the butt blown out.

(Henry:) The crotch?

(Lizzy:) Yes, the CROTCH OF YOUR PANTS HENRY. :P Honestly I'm used to it at this point though. It's not the first time, or I'm assuming the last, that I'll have to mend the crotch of your pants. It’s not your fault the studio wants you in tighter fitting clothes that can show off how muscular you are. It’s just my job to fix it. ;)

(Henry:) I guess I never really thought about who it was having to mend them when that happens.

(Lizzy:) And it’s not just your crotch area I mend, it’s your inseams as well. I think your thighs got a little bigger since the initial fitting. :P

(Lizzy:) And yes, us little people taking care of you famous movie stars, making sure you stay looking like the heartthrob you are. Since that is your job and all. :P

(Henry:) Hey now, I’m more than just a pretty face. You make me sound like a talentless hack. But thank you. For your sake I'll try and not blow out any more seams, especially the crotch.

(Lizzy:) You don't need to thank me, it's literally my job. ;)

(Lizzy:) I mean, if your muscles didn’t rip through clothing on a regular basis I’d be out of a job! How rude.

(Henry:) Well I mean in that case I COULD make it a habit. ;)

(Lizzy:) All I have to say is I’m SO glad we don’t have to worry about shirt buttons on you during this. I’ve seen the stress you put on buttons during press junkets. The anxiety I feel, Henry. So much anxiety.

(Lizzy:)

(Henry:) Yeah, those shirts never seem to fit my chest right. I taught myself how to sew buttons on my shirts so I could stop asking others to help.

(Lizzy:) Okay, the fact that you taught yourself how to sew on buttons because it’s a CONTINUING issue is both hilarious and adorable. :P

(Henry:)

(Henry:) So I’m curious about something, costume wise.

(Lizzy:) Yes? I’m sure I can answer, costume wise. ;)

(Henry:) How long does it take to sew together a shirt from scratch?

(Lizzy:) Well, it all depends on the type of shirt, and what it’s for. For the sake of film, there are so many steps. Design, pattern making, grading, construction, fitting. That’s just a fraction of it. It’s a very long process.

(Lizzy:) But if I was at home making a shirt for a friend, I could do it start to finish in a couple of hours. They're not hard. I can sew them together in my sleep.

(Henry:) A few HOURS? That's amazing.

(Lizzy:) Eh, it's what I went to school for. ;) It’s not that impressive to me.

(Henry:) Well, to me it is at least. ;)

(Lizzy:)

(Henry:)

(Henry:) Unfortunately, it's time for me to go to bed. I have an early call time in the morning.

(Lizzy:) You're going to bed at 6 in the evening? I’m assuming you have a super crazy call time? One time I had a call time of 1 am because there were things that had to be fixed by the time you and Anya got to set at 4 am. Although it does have it’s advantages. I get to have the first pick of craft services, and sunrises are always nice to watch.

(Lizzy:) But I’m sorry, that sucks. :(

(Henry:) Some days it does, especially when I can't seem to fall asleep. But today was exhausting so I don't think I'll have any issues tonight. Plus Kal has been extra cuddly tonight so I definitely won’t have any issues.

(Lizzy:) Well then, I guess this is where we say goodnight. I hope you sleep well. :)

(Henry:) Thank you. I hope you do, too. Hopefully tomorrow will involve less bleeding onto garments. ;P

(Lizzy:) Haha, I mean it really doesn’t matter. If anything it makes the garment just look THAT much more legit. I hope you have a good day on set tomorrow. :)

(Henry:) Thank you. It was really nice talking to you Lizzy. I hope we talk more again soon. :)

(Lizzy:) It was nice talking to you, too. And I would really like that. :)

(Lizzy:) Goodnight, Henry. :)

(Henry:) Goodnight Lizzy. Sleep well. :)

#henry cavill #geralt of rivia #the man from uncle #the witcher #tmfu #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fc #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill witcher #fanfic #henrycavillfanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henrycavillxreader

515 notes · View notes

cabinofimagines · 4 years ago

Text

In the end, cleaning wins.

Percy x gn!reader

Summary: Percy and Y/n are trying their best to be adults. Between work, school, being a demigod, and keeping up the apartment, something or someone was bound to snap.

A/N: Bro I’m always so bad at writing fight scenes since I’m such a peacekeeper lmao. I try to avoid conflict often so rip if this isn’t good.

-Day

_______________________________________

Being an adult is exhausting.

No seriously, it is. Percy hadn’t slept in over 26 hours at the fault of his new job at the aquarium. It held unusually odd hours, the only upside being a nice pay and working with sea creatures. He loved it, but the position and people he had to work with were obnoxious in many ways.

He stayed up all night trying to cram for a chem exam coming up, but he would’ve slept an hour at least if he’d known the bullshit coming his way. He left home yesterday morning for his bio lecture where he zoned out for 2 out of the 3 hours. Unfortunately, homework was assigned based on the day’s lecture. Amazing. Then, he was called into work directly after because the opening manager flaked out. Also amazing.

The school was across town from the aquarium so he figured he could catch some sleep on the subway, but before he even boarded, a group of dracaena ambushed him. He took off running, hoping that maybe he could lose them instead of having to fight. If he fought in this sluggish state then he’d probably screw up and shish kebab himself.

He could probably just run to the aquarium from here, take a few back alleys and shake off the slithering psychos. He turned to check if they were still following and to his surprise, they were right on his heels. Pretty fast for creatures with no legs. Or would having the ability to just… glide be faster? Like being on skateboard?

Now really wasn’t the time to be thinking of dracaena with skateboard bodies.

He turned sharply and took the fire escape three steps at a time. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he was fairly certain that in the prospect of jumping buildings, the person with legs had the upper hand. He could hear the dracaena hissing out things like “get back here, sssson of the sssssea god” or “come here, child”. How the Hades are they still behind him?

He saw the edge of the building approaching and realized that maybe it was a little too far of a jump. But he was already flying over the gap and praying that his ankles don’t snap like twigs when he lands.

Luckily, he made it. He hit the ledge with his chest, his arms pulling him up. He scrambled to his feet, ready to turn and fight if that jump didn’t shake them. Turns out that it did work, because he’d the pleasure of seeing the failed attempt of the hissing heathers falling one by one into the gap between the buildings. He heard them yelp out curses on the way down, but wasn’t sure if they combusted into dust or not.

He decided to roof hop for most of the way to work, one because it was a little faster this way and because he had less of a chance to run into bored monsters. Man, he was glad that he didn’t have a manager to answer to this time, they’d probably just be glad he showed up.

---

Percy prided himself on being a pretty chill person both at work and on the regular. However, there wasn’t a day that passed where he wondered if he should just hop in one of the tanks and pretend to be a fish. The sea otters seem pretty stress-free.

He was exhausted and running on energy drinks he’d bought from the gas station a little ways from work. What was supposed to be a 6-hour shift on his one day off turned into him working from 11:30 am to midnight after the evening manager decided to leave early. Percy was never one to complain when others went home before him, in fact, he usually chooses to go last unless he has homework due at 11:59. But when Cooper decided Percy could handle closing the aquarium by himself, he lost it.

He took the last bus home, thankfully, his trip home was quieter than his trip to work. He sat in the back, head tilted toward the window as he tried to calm the headache that tortured him. He was pretty sure that Y/n would be asleep by now, they had an early morning and he didn’t expect them to wait up for him… but tonight, he really hoped they did.

The promise that Y/n would be there, asleep or not, was comforting enough to him. He wanted nothing more than wordless cuddles and a deep sleep right now.

----

Walking through the building door he noticed the hall light was off– correction, it was blown. No biggie, Percy had found his way in the dark multiple times, but the stairs seemed to be a different story. He tried so hard to be quiet on the way upstairs, but he managed to trip over the ledge. He swore quietly, fumbling for the railing and hoping his neighbor was dead asleep.

Ronnie often threw fits over the amount of noise the couple made, even if it wasn’t much of a ruckus, Ronnie always claimed that his keen ears could hear everything. He still hadn’t forgiven Percy for the quip he made about maybe turning his hearing aids down, but he will. Hopefully.

Somehow he made it to the apartment door in one piece fumbling for his keys and unlocking the door. He took note of the darkened place and figured that maybe Y/n really did go to bed. It’s alright, Percy was ready to crash and catch a few hours of sleep.

But the lamp was on in their bedroom and the door was cracked open still, so… are you up?

Percy kicked off his shoes and dropped his book bag by the door, trudging over to the bedroom and nudging the door open. Sitting upright in the bed sat Y/n reading a book he’d bought for your birthday. Percy smiled, you looked so cute bundled up in his old uni t-shirt.

Your eyes shifted to him, crinkling with happiness, “You’re back?” You didn’t move though, clearly comfortable under the heavy duvet.

He nodded with a small smile, moving over to your side of the bed and placing a quick kiss on your forehead, “I’m gonna take a shower and grab something to eat, you go ahead and get some rest.”

After he turned to leave you heaved a sigh, not sure how to bring this up when he’s as tired as he is. Maybe this could wait until tomorrow? Then he’d be less tired and maybe… no, you already put this off long enough. He’ll be tired regardless of when it’s brought up, might as well get it over with.

So you sat there, not really even reading the words on the page anymore, your thoughts wandering from the universe the author had written about. It really shouldn’t have been this nerve-wracking. It’s a basic thing that needs to be done in every house and you were getting tired of doing it every single time.

Cabinets shutting brought your attention back to the present. Reluctantly, you pushed the duvet back and shuffled towards the kitchen, Percy eating a PB&J sandwich coming into view. He looked like a little kid, leaning against the counter in his black sweatpants and a graphic tee, munching on a small sandwich he made. You grinned and leaned beside him, ignoring the confused glances he gave.

“You miss me that much?” He joked, mouth full of food.

You snorted and looked down, something you tended to do when you got nervous. He seemed in a good mood despite whatever may had happened today, so it’s now or never.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” you mumbled, “And I know you’re tired but I feel like this is only going to get worse if we don’t talk about it now.”

Percy blinked and continued to eat, his silence a cue to continue. He didn’t really want to talk about anything right now, he just wanted to eat his sandwich and go to bed. But it seemed important so he figured he’d survive a little longer.

You studied your sock-clad feet closely, “I know we’re both really busy and it’s hard to find time for certain things like time with each other, time to study, or cleaning. But it’s something we have to find time for, y’know?”

Percy hummed, “I can ask off on Saturday if you want? We can spend the day together, we haven’t had a whole day in a while.”

You gave a small smile because while that is a concern, that’s not what you were talking about. You won’t say no though. You stole a glance at him, “I have missed being with you, I guess.”

“You guess?” Percy said a little louder, poking your stomach teasingly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You chuckled, swatting his hand away, “Be quiet! Ronnie will be at our door in a second, you know that.” Just do it, he’s in a good mood! “I was actually talking about the cleaning…”

At that, Percy took a look around. The dishes weren’t overflowing and the laundry wasn’t piling up, it didn’t look like something needed to be addressed. He finished the last of his sandwich, “Okay? What needs to be done?”

“Well between the two of us there is hardly any time to do anything else right? Well, it feels like I’m the only one taking care of the place-”

“But I do take care of the place,” He interrupted, “I pay the bills and I pick up after myself so-”

“But you don’t.” You spoke exasperated, “You don’t always pick up after yourself. Look, you left the bread and the PB&J out!” A fight isn’t what you wanted so you tried to approach it a different way. You took a deep breath, “...I understand you’re busy, I am too. I just want you to make a conscious effort to put things away where they belong.”

He scoffed, a disbelieving smile on his face, “I’m not a kid anymore, Y/n. I know how to clean up after myself, my mom made sure of that.”

“Then why don’t you? You used to be really good about helping me out–”

“I’m exhausted Y/n, what do you want me to do?!”

“Fucking help me, that’s what!”

It went quiet, staring the other down and wondering who would back down first. It was silly honestly, but you were tired of picking up the slack. The work in the apartment used to be equal but lately its looking a lot like you do 88% and Percy does 12%.

You relented, huffing and shaking your head, “Okay then.” You turned on your heel, going over to the front door and putting your shoes on along with a jacket. You needed to calm down, a little fresh air to maybe come up with a different way of approaching this.

The convenience store across the road might still be open. You could grab one of those bottled iced coffees for tomorrow morning, maybe a small snack too. Hopefully the small errand would be long enough for you to think of another approach. Maybe one where Percy was less of an ass, or less tired, whichever one really.

Percy followed you around to the door, his crossed arms dropping to his sides when he noticed what you were doing. He furrowed his brows, “Where are you going? It’s past midnight.”

“I’m well aware of the time, Perseus.” You hissed, “I’m going out to grab a few things.”

He shook his head, his black hair still wet from the shower, “You can wait until morning for that, come on!” he spoke lowly as he approached you, “let’s just get some rest...”

You pulled from his reach and twisted the door knob open, walking out without another word. You closed it behind you and padded over to the stairs, hopping down the unlit steps like you normally did.

Unluckily, your foot narrowly missed the next step and without the light to see where you could potentially catch yourself, you fell. Yep, you hit every step on the way down. If Ronnie hadn’t heard the argument you just had, he had to have heard your swears as your body fumbled down to the 1st floor.

Percy flung the door open, the light from your apartment lighting up the dark stairwell. His footsteps thundered down the stairs and there he sat in front of you, words flying out of his mouth so fast that you didn’t even know what he was saying. The fall caught you so off guard that you weren’t sure what was happening right now.

Ronnie threw his door open, profanities slipping out his mouth at the noise, “And this is why I never rent to young couples!” He shouted, but the threat of his words were tame without his dentures to help him spit it out. He turned his head to the bottom of the stairs where Percy leaned over your confused figure, fumbling over his words and oblivious to Ronnie.

“Well shit...” Ronnie muttered, backing back into his apartment quietly.

You snapped out of your daze, noticing how much your ankle actually hurt. Okay you’ve definitely dealt with worse, but the pain was still annoying. You started to push yourself off the steps and into a standing position, using the railing to steady yourself on your good foot.

Percy’s hands slid up your body, settling on your waist and attempting to help you back up the stairs. He kept his mouth shut on the way into the apartment, knowing that you’re probably even more irritated now.

Once you were sat comfortably on the couch, he rushed off to grab a bag of frozen peas to put on your ankle to stop the swelling. You did appreciate the thought, but you were not dealing with this any longer than you had to.

“Percy, there’s some ambrosia in my dresser, bottom drawer on the left.”

He blinked and wandered off to the bedroom, shuffling through your stuff before muttering, “It’s not even in here.” He spent a couple of more minutes looking around for the Ziploc bag you had, but clearly wasn’t really looking.

You hauled yourself off the couch, chuckling and shaking your head at his antics. Hobbling into the room you saw that he was looking in the night stand, not the dresser like you told him to. No wonder he couldn’t find it.

“Kelp head, I said the dresser not the night stand.” You laughed, limping over to the dresser and lcoating the bits of ambrosia. Percy was by your side in an instant, leading you back towards the bed and helping you situate yourself there comfortably. You said nothing as you opened the bag and nibbled on one of the pieces, a warm feeling washing over you.

You could feel the pain in your ankle easing off slowly and hopefully it would only be a little sore by morning. Percy took the bag from your hands and set it aside wordlessly, he muttered something about closing the front door before leaving the room.

You could tell he felt awkward about what just happened and he probably felt a little guilty about the argument you just had, even if it wasn’t all that serious. The two of you have had worse fights about worse things, but this is the first time in a while. It was bound to happen.

He came back in right as you shifted under the blankets, turning the light off and slipping underneath with you. He didn’t snuggle up to you right away, waiting to see if you were still pissed at him, but you didn’t make a move to kick him out the bed.

“I’m sorry for being such a dick, Y/n.” He whispered, “I didn’t know how much it bothered you and I’ll try to clean more often. I swear.”

Nothing was said, for a moment, Percy thought you’d fallen asleep, but you turned slowly to face him, eyes scanning his face in the dim light from the window. You brought a hand up to his face and traced his jawline gently, “That’s all I wanted you to do, stupid.”

He huffed and inched closer to nuzzle your nose with his, “And all it took was a sprained ankle for me to figure that out.”

You laughed and knocked your forehead against his, “It’s my fault for being so deadset on grabbing coffee for tomorrow morning. I should’ve just gone to bed.”

“Do you want coffee now? I can go grab it–”

“No, I’m not getting up tomorrow. Go to sleep, fish brain.”

#GOD I DO THIS TOO MUCH #I TAKE A SHORT FIC AND MAKE IT LONG #this is unnecessary #i cause myself pain of finding a plot #percy jackson #percy x reader #percy jackson imagines #Leo Valdez #frank zhang #nico di angelo x reader #leo valdez x reader #x reader #pjo #hoo #hoo x reader #pjo x reader

120 notes · View notes

howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years ago

Text

Winter Whumperland Day 8: Lucky

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 8. Set in a Modern AU, follows up on Day 7 'Delirium'. There was the chance meeting in that coffee shop, but it is one late evening in early June that Hiccup's life takes a sudden turn for the worse.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid, Snotlout, Toothless, Ryker, Viggo

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 4 464

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Obsessive whumper”

Whumpee: Hiccup (and Toothless in a way)

Author’s Notes: This was supposed to be up already, but I got very distracted by Attack on Titan. I finished my rewatch and I had 3 episodes of season 4 that I needed to catch up on and then I got very distracted by the reactors I follow that I know watch this show, too.

Constructive criticism is appreciated! Including on the tags!

Enjoy!

Ao3

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was the chance meeting in that coffee shop, but it is one late evening in early June that Hiccup's life takes a sudden turn for the worse.

It's late when he returns home from work. He's completely drained after being on his feet all day and when he steps in through the front door, what he longs for most is to kick off his shoes and prosthetic and crash onto the couch.

Someone has other ideas, as he can tell by the stomping footsteps coming up from behind him as he closes the front door.

They halt, one slipper tapping impatiently on the carpeted floor, and Hiccup knows he's in trouble. He slowly turns to see one furious Astrid Hofferson.

She'd come the second she heard the door open and she'd jumped off the couch to catch him and block his way to the living room. Her blonde hair is undone and lays comfortably on her shoulder.

"Uh, good evening? Milady?" He greets her hesitantly, deciding that a polite approach is probably a better idea than a sassy one.

"What took you so long? You were supposed to clock out two hours ago!" Astrid crosses her arms, a hip out, and awaits a good excuse. He hasn't even called her to let her know that he would be later or anything!

Hiccup puffs out a nervous breath as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to tell her. Upon seeing this, Astrid lets out an agitated sigh, reeling with her boyfriend's thoughtless decision-making.

"Viggo again?" She asks with a hard tone and he knows there is no denying it. Besides, she'd know if he was lying. So he nods honestly instead and she's already throwing her hands up.

"He came by at the coffee shop for a game of chess and I thought I'd entertain him for a little while!" Hiccup hurriedly replies, already imagining Astrid's disappointment in him.

"For two whole hours?!" Her voice raises, she's not too impressed.

"Ugh, yeah..."

"Hiccup, I can't believe you!" She expresses her disbelief before turning on her heels to return to the living room.

"He's obviously a lonely man, Astrid! He just wants some company and a listening ear once in a while!" He tries to reason with her as he follows her to the other room, where Snotlout is sitting on the couch.

Viggo just comes across as a lonely man to him. No partner, no kids, no friends outside of business, and a brother he rarely sees eye to eye with. It makes him want to take at least a few minutes out of his time to spend on him.

"Once in a while, he comes by almost every day, Hiccup! Today, he swallowed up two hours of your time! And after work, too!" Halting before the television, Astrid spins on her heels again to face Hiccup. "Hiccup Haddock, I know you're not a pushover, but somehow this guy gets you to let him walk all over you."

Snotlout should be annoyed that he can no longer watch the tv, the bickering couple interrupting his watch, but that matters little to him

"Heh, Viggo again, Hiccup?" He asks, finding amusement in that fact.

"You know, Hiccup, if you'd rather spend time with some lonely middle-aged dude then your own girlfriend, maybe you should go hook up with him. We'll question your kinks and tastes, though." He adds with a chuckle.

"Not funny, Snot." The couple tells him and Hiccup sighs afterward, awkwardly moving from one foot to another once more. He's tired and his leg hurts and he doesn't like fighting with Astrid. And to make matters worse, he has some news, too. It's not bad news, but he wonders if it'll be received well after Astrid's reaction.

She stands there, fuming, and she probably has plenty of reason to be. His not calling her to let her know where he's at, spending his after work hours with someone who is a virtual stranger to her, who is a creep in her eyes, pushing his own needs aside for someone who clearly has no eye out for his, ... Yup, plenty of reasons. And he might just be about to make it worse.

"Also... I won't be able to sleep here tonight." But it's better to just come out and sat it, so he tells her, his arms crossing.

"And why is that?" Astrid asks, not too pleased. It's Friday evening, she'd hoped to spend at least a little bit of time with him. You know, the time Viggo hasn't selfishly taken for himself yet.

"Well, Toothless came to find me again. I saw him sitting on the rooftop when I got back and... Well, see for yourself." Hiccup gestures towards a rather large window on one side of the room and Snotlout and Astrid look over to find the Night Fury there, watching them through the glass. He's sitting on the fire escape and looks very much like a cat expecting to be let in.

Finally seen, he yowls, wondering what's taking them so long. Hiccup has known all along that he's there, why is he making him wait?

"Oh, the neighbors are going to love this." Astrid groans, cringing at the sound. Snotlout covers his ears.

"Oh, I'm sure they will, which is why I'm dropping off my uniform and going back downstairs to meet him. I'll fly him back to the sanctuary and spent the night at my mom's because I'm-"

"Dead tired from all the work you've done? With a prosthetic?" Astrid cuts him off as she finishes his sentence for him. It's not like she thinks he can't do the same work someone else can, but Hiccup's reality is that standing on his feet all day will make him more exhausted than it would make an abled person. Astrid is aware of this, she just wishes Hiccup would be a little more self-aware from time to time.

Mouth still open, Hiccup stares at her for a moment.

"Uh, yeah, that. But anyway, I'll let you know in the morning if I'll be back tomorrow or Sunday evening." He lets her and Snotlout know before heading over to the bedroom he shares with Astrid.

He's been holding the uniform in his hands. It consists of a dark brown apron and a little hat that feels like paper, though they're all pretty sure it's not made out of paper. He hangs them both up on the coatrack hanging from their bedroom door.

When he comes back into the living room, Astrid is standing before him again.

"Okay, but I doubt he brought a saddle, so will you at least be careful?" She asks of him, still exasperated, but him spending time with Toothless is far better than the alternative, which is the middle-aged man seemingly clinging to a young adult. A young adult who isn't quite 20 yet, no less.

"Of course, Milady, when am I not?" Hiccup asks her with a smile, feeling like they are on slightly better terms now. He'll make it up to her somehow, he doesn't want her feeling like she comes second to some guy he's only known for a few weeks.

Sighing deeply, Astrid comes over and plants her lips on his for a kiss. They don't have any space in their home for a dragon as big as a Night Fury. So, unfortunately, she has no other choice but to let him go. Hiccup returns it wholeheartedly, heart skipping a beat in joy. When does she not make him happy?

When they pull away, Astrid pulls on his hoodie, straightening it out.

"Are you sure that's warm enough for the trip?" She asks him, knowing he gets cold easily. He's about the only person she knows who can still wear long sleeves in the summer. The amount of layers this man needs to get through the colder months is insane.

"I think I'll manage."

"That's not a good answer, Haddock, and you know that."

Snotlout groans in the background at seeing the affection, head rolling back, but they mostly ignore him. So he groans louder on purpose.

"How can I stand living with you two?" He questions when they look over, neither too happy with his interruption.

Toothless yowls again outside and someone shouts at "the big cat" to be quiet.

"Geez, impatient much?" Hiccup mutters under his breath and gestures to his dragon to get down from the fire escape. He should get going before Toothless gets them all kicked out of here.

"Again, be careful. And oh, don't forget to call when you arrive and tell your mom we said "hi"." Astrid quickly says as Hiccup heads for the door.

"I will! I'll see you guys later, Snotlout, Milady." At that last one, he shoots Astrid a quick smile.

Snotlout lets his head roll back again and-

"If you groan one more time, it's off to bed with you."

It takes a quick ride on the elevator down, but Hiccup is outside soon enough. It's summer and that means the air is cooler then it is during the day, but not quite cool enough. Even so, Hiccup pulls on his hoodie to cover as much of his collarbone and neck as it can before he looks up towards the top of the building.

"Bud?!" He calls out excitedly, expecting to be tackled by a dragon much bigger and much heavier than him in the next few seconds. He's bracing himself, it could come from any direction...

But instead, there is no response.

Strange.

"Bud!" Hiccup calls out again, didn't he hear him the first time? Dragons of his kind usually have a good hearing. Or he ignoring his calls? Making him wait because it's been so long since he's come by for a visit? He hates admitting it, but work has been kicking his ass. It's hard to do anything on most days and even during most weekends he finds himself in need of the mere two days of rest he can get.

"It's because you haven't worked a day in your life, son, you'll get used to it." Hiccup can hear his father say in his head and he can still feel the need to roll his eyes. He's worked! At the sanctuary and only what he was allowed to do, but he's done stuff before!

"Toothless?!" Moving from the sidewalk to between two parked cars to hopefully get a better view of the roof, Hiccup tries again, but gets no answer this time either. He was hoping to at least see some earfins pop up by now.

"Really, Toothless? Is this the time to play hide and seek?" Hiccup mutters to himself. He knows his dragon misses him terribly when they're not together, he misses him, too, but now's not the time. He's tired and he would like to fly back to the sanctuary already.

Checking the road behind him and finding the street empty for the moment, Hiccup cautiously takes another step or two back. In this part of the city, people usually don't drive as fast as they can in the busier parts. And at this hour, not too many cars come by either.

"Toothless, seriously?!" He calls up again, keeping a careful eye and ear out on either side of him. Don't tell him he's stuck on the fire escape again.

"Are you stuck?! Do I need to come get you?!" Hiccup asks, never losing sight of the street he's on. It's still quiet so far, no approaching lights, no roaring engines.

Finally, Toothless calls back to him and the call sounds far, so he must still be in the fire escape after all. Sighing, Hiccup figures he may as well look.

It's at that moment, probably by pure dumb luck, that a dark car with no plates and tinted windows comes speeding from around the corner.

Driving at speeds way, way above the limit, the car can't possibly be avoided. Hiccup sees it coming, has only seconds to stare into the blinding headlights as they come too fast, and there's nothing he can do but get hit.

The front of the vehicle hits his right side with full force first and he ends up on the hood for a brief moment. It all happens so fast, before long he rolls onto the pavement and is left to lie there on the ground. The collision broke some of his ribs, hurt his hip, dislocated his bad knee, bruised his wrists, scraped him all over, and he'll be a lucky man if that is all a hit from such speeds leaves him with.

Body hurting and unable to move, all Hiccup can do is groan. He can't get up like this. Who and why would just run him over like this? His head hurts, he must've knocked it on the ground.

After the hit, the car screeches to a halt and a man steps out. When he comes over, Hiccup can't see who it is, can barely turn his head to the approaching footsteps. When he tries, another pained groan leaves him. He can taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

Everything is too much for his aching head, too much to process. He's on the verge of passing out, it's becoming black before his eyes.

The man who mowed him down stands over him. Hiccup can't see his face, but if he could, he'd see the satisfied look of another job well done. He's grabbed by his arms and pulled towards the car. Hiccup cringes at the unnecessary additional abuse his body must endure.

"W-wait... What're you... Why?" He can't struggle against him, can't keep the man from dragging him towards the car, it's taking him everything not to pass out.

When they reach the car, the trunk is opened and Hiccup is picked up and unceremoniously dropped inside. His body is in agony and he would've shouted if his ribs allowed it, but his apparent kidnapper doesn't seem to care much. If anything, he huffs and the trunk closes, bathing Hiccup in darkness.

What just happened to him? For whatever reason, whether it be the shock or the pain, he still can't move.

While this is happening, Toothless is, indeed, stuck. A fire escape isn't meant for dragons, let alone a dragon his size, nothing in a city is. This is a place for humans, which is why he thought to drag Hiccup back home himself. He wasn't coming of his own volition, so Toothless had to come and see what was taking him so long. But when he gets up to meet with his friend, he finds his tail to be stuck in the railing.

It's a hindrance and it's more annoying than a real problem. He can solve this without needing Hiccup's help, he just needs to be careful not to damage the replacement tailfin he so carefully crafted for him.

Murring impatiently as he tries to find the right angle to do this from, Astrid and Snotlout are watching him from the window, both concerned. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Astrid mouth something and she's gesturing in a way that's supposed to be helping him, but he doesn't quite get it. He's only half-looking, too.

On the other side of the building, Hiccup is calling for him and Toothless calls back once to tell him he's still coming. He just needs to be a little more patient and then he'll be there.

But then he hears a screeching that sounds like a noise one of those large metal contraptions the humans ride on would make. It's an awful sound to his ears, but not as alarming as the noise of a heavy thing hitting something not even a quarter of that thing's weight. And all of that is followed by a noise of pain Toothless is all too familiar with.

Was that Hiccup? Is someone hurting him?

Toothless knows that he needs to see what's happening and he all but tears himself free, the carefully refined leather hooking onto something metal sticking out and ripping. He hurries up the rest of the fire escape up on the roof, climbing the outside expertly like only a cat of his size and strength can, he'll be able to see more from there.

A disability has only affected his speed and agility so much, Hiccup can largely be thanked for that. As someone who is missing a leg, he knows a thing or two about loss. He reaches the roof quickly and he thinks to check the front of the building first, where the noises came from. What he sees confuses him, however.

There's a human male taking his friend and putting him in the back of that metal deathtrap.

His knowledge of humans and their strange behaviors only goes so far and he doesn't know what the intention here is, just that he doesn't like it. This screams "bad" to him and he growls in anger, claws scraping on the bricked walls. Someone is taking his rider away.

The male then gets into the "car", as they're called, and he can hear it revving to life. That's when Toothless knows it's now or never.

He's a Night Fury, leaping off tall things isn't anything new to him, so he takes a chance. He doesn't yet realize that his prosthetic tailfin is torn and that it will hinder him greatly in his pursuit. He wants to land on the vehicle itself, scare the driver, rip him out, and then get Hiccup out. His mate and that small friend of his are in their communal den. If he's loud enough, he can get them to come down and see. In the meantime, he can make sure the bigger male can't touch the car again and that he's too incapacitated to get away, too.

That's the plan, thought up in a matter of a second or two and he commits to it, he takes the leap. Except with a rip in his tailfin and the car moving away at the same time, all Toothless manages to do is scratch up the back and take the rear bumper right off.

Inside the trunk, Hiccup is almost startled to full alertness with his dragon's claws scraping above him and taking a part of the vehicle with him. There's a man's muffled cursing and what a mouth he has on him.

It takes Toothless a second too long to realize that he's holding just a piece of the car instead of the whole thing.

Did he just fail? A Night Fury isn't supposed to fail, if anything, they're supposed to be the pride of dragons! And he just failed his human?

He looks behind him, sees the tear in the cloth Hiccup made for him. He's lost his advantage and now he can't fly after the car either! He wished he'd jumped on time instead of too late, wished he'd thought to jump in front of it, too! If he'd just aimed right, he would've landed on the car instead of just snatching the rear bumper.

All that's left for him now is to chase. He's still plenty fast on the ground, he can leap, he'll find some other way to stop the damn thing. A plasma blast will land him in serious trouble, but that's not even high on the number of things he's willing to do to get Hiccup back.

They're not far, he can still see them.

But then another car comes from around the corner. They aren't driving particularly fast, but finding a dragon in your path is a startling thing and Toothless is startled in return. They almost block his path, nearly driving into the car parked nearby. Then a second comes and a third and they all screech to a halt, honking and yelling in surprise. They do nothing but hinder him in a city that's already too loud and unwelcoming and chaotic for a dragon.

Toothless has to evade them, doing whatever he can to just not get accidentally hit as he chases after his friend. He jumps onto a parked car, trying to spot the one that took Hiccup.

It's nowhere to be found.

Hiccup can hear it as he slips away, the miserable cries of a dragon in distress with cars honking in the distance, both deafeningly loud.

"I'm here, Bud, I'm... I'm here..." His words of reassurance fade as he falls unconscious, losing the fight to stay awake.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pain. That's what Hiccup wakes up to hours later. An immeasurable amount of pain and the inability to breathe properly as his ribs are keeping him from it.

He groans miserably, feeling awful after someone came speeding down a relatively calm street to run him over. His head is a little slow in catching up on the events that landed him in this situation, but his body has a great memory. He hurts so much, there isn't a part of him that isn't in agony.

There are voices and an unfamiliar hand lays itself on his forehead. Is he in the hospital? Is there are a doctor or a nurse checking up on him? Oh, can they please give him something for the pain? He woke up only moments ago and he wants so desperately for it to end.

"You wanted him, now here he is." One of the voices breaks through the haze in his mind, the first words he's managing to register so far. Why does his head pound? Why is everything pounding?

He remembers headlights.

"And you felt like you had to run him over, did you?" Run over who? Can either of these two give him something to kill the pain? Or an explanation would be nice, too.

He groans louder, hoping to ask for help, but no coherent words leave him. That hand is in his hair now. Care is nice and all, but it would be much nicer if they could pick up on what he's trying to beg for here.

"You could've killed him on the spot! He might even still succumb to his injuries." No wait, that voice is familiar to him. The other one he doesn't recognize, but this one rings a vague bell. Hiccup has to open his eyes and take a look.

"Don't get my hopes up."

There are two men that he can see through a blurred vision and a dim light that's still a nightmare on his headache. He can't recognize one of them.

The other one, however...

"V...Vi... ggo?" Hiccup asks, voice hoarse. It's the first word that he manages to croak out. What's he doing in the hospital with him? Now that he thinks of it, where is Astrid? Snotlout? He can't remember if Fishlegs and the twins were home.

An image of Toothless flashes before his mind. He was there, wasn't he? Where is he now?

"you're awake, good, I was starting to worry," Viggo tells him, looking down at him with a look that isn't quite as caring as those words would suggest.

Hiccup blinks slowly in surprise.

"Where... What are you doing here? Where am I? Toothless is... What happened?" The questions are slow to leave him, but he's starting to catch up a little. He's not quite as awake as he needs to be yet. Why is this room so dim? Aren't hospital lights usually so annoyingly bright?

He wants to sit up or readjust somehow, feeling too uncomfortable with everything his body is going through. But though he tries, he only ends up worsening the pain in his right side tremendously. Whatever little progress he may have made is undone when he's forced to lie down again. His left knee hurts, did he dislocate it again?

This bed is so uncomfortable and lumpy, is this mattress even from this century anymore?

But the pain wakes him up at least and he can grasp the sort of troubling situation he's suddenly in a little more now.

This isn't the hospital.

He doesn't know what room he's in, but he can see that the little light bulb on the ceiling is bare and the only light source in this place, that the walls are brick, and the floor is made of concrete. If it weren't for the lack of storage space, he'd think that this is a basement, but that couldn't be it, right? He can't just be in someone's basement! He notices there's a ridiculously tiny bathroom off to the side, which at least looks clean.

What Hiccup's lying on is, indeed, a bed and his painful wrists are cuffed to the sides. If he wants to pull at them, he can try once or twice, but after that, they won't allow any more attempts.

Realization comes and panic sets in.

He's been kidnapped.

"Wh-what... What?!" He can't comprehend it, his thoughts and heart racing and struggling to keep up. Hyperventilating and very quickly unable to breathe at all, the rapid pace cannot mix with his broken ribs.

Did Viggo do this to him? Why would he do something like this?! Why would he hit him with a car and take him from his home?!

"Hiccup, calm yourself!" Viggo takes his shoulders and, honestly, how can he expect Hiccup not to freak out when he's been kidnapped?!

Oh Gods, Astrid was right. She was right, Viggo was bad from the start. And he's the idiot who walked right into another trap. Why does he keep getting himself into trouble like this?

Oh no, and what of his Bud? He definitely remembers his dragon being there when he was taken, what happened to him? What could've possibly happened to him?

"No... No! T-Tooth... Tooth?!" He doesn't have the air to ask, his lungs and his ribs in a fierce battle for whose needs need to be met first. They both burn.

"Hiccup, I implore you to calm!" Despite Viggo's best attempts, Hiccup doesn't listen to him, too much in a panic. If this goes on, he'll lose him before he can even start molding him to his perfect partner.

"That's never going to work, Viggo. You know there's only one solution to this." The other man, the stranger, states as he pushes him aside. A soaked cloth is pressed to Hiccup's nose and mouth, the sedative wetting it is breathed in immediately with his fast breathing and it takes its hold just as fast.

A different kind of haze settles in his mind, he's feeling woozy. It works quicker than he can realize he's being knocked out. He's going under, his breathing evening out, and his last thoughts wonders about his friends.

26 notes · View notes

one-boring-person · 5 years ago

Text

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned. (Part One)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: blood imagery, injury

Context: The reader is a vampire hunter who works for an institution that specialises in hunting supernatural beings, and has been deployed in Santa Carla. Over time, she met the boys and somehow befriended them, choosing not to hunt them at all, rather keep their territory clear of other vampires.

A/N: right, so this is an idea for a series I've had for a little while now, and I've been itching to get it down. It's a little bit different to what I usually write, and I swear it will get better than this first part, so bare with me. 💛💛💛❤

Masterlist

“I thought I told you boys to be careful tonight?” I exclaim as I emerge from behind the dune i was crouched by, carefully slotting my dart gun into the holster at my hip, concealing it with my jacket before gingerly sliding down the soft sand, taking in what was the scene of a beach party, but is now in fact the remains of a coven of vampires’ meal. Bottles lie, stranded, in the bloody sand, clothes and shoes strewn all over the place, a foul stench emanating from the bonfire in the centre, where there are already three bodies burning, the platinum blonde vampire, David, having already started disposing of the evidence.

“He caught us off guard!” Paul whines, the lanky blonde picking splinters of wooden shrapnel out of his abdomen, Marko and Dwayne kneeling beside him to help, hands slick with blood, both vampire and human.

“I did warn you he was in town.” I point out, going over to the limp hunter lying on the floor a little way away, pulling out a syringe of sedative from my pocket as I crouch down beside him, rolling him onto his front with one hand. From his place by the fire, David comes over, watching as I remove the dart from his back and inspect its contents, noting that it is only half empty, meaning the muscular man beneath me is not nearly as unconscious as I would like. Moving a lock of dirty blonde hair away from the pale neck exposed by his loose collar, I inject him with a larger dose of the same sedative, making sure that he is well and truly out of it before rolling him onto his back, looking into his haggard face.

Unsurprisingly, I don't recognise him, though I am well aware that I probably should, given that the logo embroidered into the shoulder of his jacket is identical to the one on my own, identifying him as a member of the same unit that I am in - the stark white cross and blood red rosary beads a dead giveaway. Chewing my lip, I consider what I should do with him, thinking through my usual options: leave him where he is so he can pick up his own pieces tomorrow, take him back to the ramshackle hut I live in so I can help him recover and make up some story, or let the boys take him, an option which I've never seriously thought about. A short groan from behind me snaps me from my thoughts, Paul's stomach evidently still not quite healed after his encounter with a shrapnel grenade, a personal favourite of many inexperienced Hunters, due to its efficiency in incapacitating vampires in a large radius. Unfortunately for him, the tall blonde managed to take the brunt of one, as the Hunter's aim is apparently as bad as his ability to protect himself against his own quarry - no one serious about taking down vampires should leave their neck as unprotected as he does.

"You want some help getting the rest of those out? It'll be difficult without tweezers." I call over to the three vampires on the floor, knowing that the splinters tend to lodge themselves quite deeply.

"We haven't really got all that long left before the sun comes out. Will he survive with them in all day?" David chips in before Paul can reply, eyeing his brother in concern.

"It really won't be very comfortable for him. He'll be in agony the entire time, but he'll survive. If you want, I can drive over to my place and grab what I need and meet you back at the cave?" I offer, well aware that having Paul in constant pain will be as tedious for the others as it is for the vampire himself, seeing as he has a tendency to whine.

Across from us, the vampire in question whimpers again, head falling back, lip clamped between his teeth, Dwayne moving carefully to pick him up, concern written across his face. Upon seeing this, David growls, sending a murderous look at the prone figure at my feet, fist clenching at his side as he fights the urge to exact revenge.

"If it's no trouble, (Y/n), that would be much appreciated." Dwayne accepts, smiling tensly at me as adjusts the weight in his arms.

"Ok, I'll be over in an hour. I have to get him," I point at the Hunter, "Home, so I'll be a little longer than normal. Make Paul as comfortable as possible whilst you wait."

The brunette nods at me before floating into the air, moving to fly in the direction of the cave they reside in, Marko soon following with a quick grin, the younger vampire clearly as worried as his brother, leaving David and I alone with the Hunter.

"What're you gonna do with him?" The vampire inquires, toeing at the Hunter's face with his boot, disgust evident in his tone.

"I'll send him back to New Orleans in the morning." I inform him, having made up my mind.

"New Orleans?"

"Yeah, it's where the SRS have their headquarters. If I send him back with an appropriate story, I'll be sorting two problems in one go." I explain to him, referring to the relentless curiosity that I've been faced with for the past year, when the SRS (Supernatural Riddance Soldiers) superiors noticed that I never seemed to come back, an odd occurrence for one of their most experienced soldiers. If I tell the Hunter that I'm sorting a vampire problem here, they'll leave me alone; what they don't need to know is that I've accidentally befriended the only real vampires in Santa Carla itself. If they found out, I'd be excommunicated and then hunted down as if I were a vampire myself: anyone who consorts with the damned is damned themselves.

"Makes sense, I guess. Want some help carrying him back?" David offers, watching as I prop the body up against my own, judging the weight against me before I decide on the best way of getting him to my home.

"Err, yeah, that'd be great, thanks." I respond, standing as he easily reaches down and picks the body up, the weight resting comfortably in his muscular arms.

Together, we walk back the way I came, picking up my skateboard (my only method of transport) on our way, following the road back to the rundown shack I call my home. When I was first deployed here, the SRS put me up in a crappy motel off the highway going into Santa Carla, but after the first week or so, I moved out and into this shed, seeing as my only transport from my original lodgings was a bus, the price of which was too much for me to continue using. Being an avid skater, I swiftly purchased a skateboard and have used that ever since; it was also how I first met Dwayne, having accidentally bumped into him at one of the many skateparks in and around the coastal town. Approaching the rickety structure now, I feel a little self conscious at my choice of home, aware that the walls are patched with random pieces of wood, the roof made of scraps of corrugated iron and that the door is nothing but a sheet of riveted metal that I slide in place in front of the gap in South facing wall. David says nothing, allowing me to pull the "door" aside before entering, dumping the body on the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Quietly, I grab a rope off of the messy table top and get to work tying the Hunter to a loop of iron set into the floor, a feature that was already here when I first moved in, tightening the knots significantly, given that every Hunter is trained in the art of escapism when they go through their initial training, meaning it is likely that the man on the floor may well be able to break free. When I'm finished, I rifle through the gear littering the many surfaces in the room, eventually finding my tweezers, lifting them for David to see as I approach him.

"Let's go." I say to him, giving the unconscious Hunter one last look as we step outside again, slipping the tweezers into my pocket, "How are we getting there?"

"Well," David smirks, shrugging to himself, "Either we can walk, or I can carry you."

"You can carry me?" I question, blushing slightly at the idea.

"You look light enough, and flying is faster anyway." He reasons, chuckling at the redness of my cheeks, something he can only see because of his enhanced vision.

"I guess we can try that? It means Paul doesn't have to wait as long..." I start only to be cut off when David suddenly has me in his arms, my own hands wrapping themselves around the back of his neck, a yelp escaping me at the proximity.

"You'd better hold on, kitten." The vampire teases, before taking off into the night sky.

Part Two

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)

96 notes · View notes

cali-holland · 5 years ago

Text

Golden Bullets, Ch. 3: All The Time in the World

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond!AU

Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007, was once the best MI6 agent around with the astounding reputation as a womanizer. Between illegal gold smuggling and black market trading of weapons, he finds himself deeper in his latest mission than intended, weaving himself into a web of the criminal organization, S.P.E.C.T.R.E.. At the center of it all is the one woman who’s never fallen for his charms- you, Agent 006, the best MI6 agent, the new assistant director of the program, and his new partner.

Word Count: 3000

Gif is not mine

Golden Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: violence (using toiletries as weapons bc why not), death, swearing, involuntary drug usage, drinking, vomiting (self-inflicted)

Featured Song: We Have All the Time in the World by Louis Armstrong from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

~ “We have all the time in the world, time enough for life to unfold all the precious things love has in store”

~~~

“That can’t be her real name.”

“Tom, I’m being serious.” Harrison said, but even he couldn’t disguise the amused grin on his face when describing the intoxicatingly beautiful woman that was Pussy Galore to the quartermaster.

“Sounds like a horny teenage boy named her, right?” You joked, sitting beside Harrison on the hotel room couch. The laptop was propped up on the coffee table so that you and Harrison could both video chat with Tom, discussing the previous night.

“Is that your bullet wound?” He asked as he stepped closer to the camera, as if that’d help him see your bandaged arm better. Following last night’s events, it was difficult for you to really move your arm fluidly, so you had opted to wear a tank top on your day “off”. You leaned in, carefully taking off the bandage to show the damaged skin and stitches.

“Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live.” You told him.

“Nice stitch work, 007. Practicing needlework in your spare time?” The quartermaster teased.

“Shove off.” Harrison rolled his eyes at his friend’s comment while you laughed, fixing the bandage, “Did you finish getting the specs on the flash drive?”

“I’m trying, but there seems to be an issue.” Tom stated, his eyes trailing over another computer screen. You looked down at the golden flash drive currently connected to the laptop. Sciarra was dead and all you had from last night was that one flash drive, you and Harrison both needed it to lead back to Goldfinger.

“You’re the greatest hacker of the century. What could possibly prevent you from getting past this flash drive’s security?” You asked.

“Thank you for the compliment, love, but I can’t hack it from here. It appears the security system on this drive is a replica of one I made, which should mean I can get into it from here, but it seems like I made it too sophisticated.” He paused, with a sigh, “I have a hunch about who could be behind this kind of security system.”

You looked between him and Harrison, both agents seemingly to wordlessly agree on who could be behind the drive. Knowing you’d want an answer, Harrison spoke up, “It’s Raoul Silva.”

“You mean the former agent turned cyberterrorist? I thought you killed him last year.” You said, and he gave you an odd look, “What? I told you I read your file, Osterfield.”

“I’m flattered you remember my cases.” He smirked, before Tom cleared his throat on the screen.

“As I was saying, I need to physically have the drive attached to my computer to get through its security and hopefully track Goldfinger. Silva was connected to numerous weapons dealers, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he helped Goldfinger set up security before he died.”

“So you can’t hack this?”

Tom looked at Harrison with furrowed eyebrows, questioning his friend. “Can’t hack this? Did you not listen to anything I just said? What exactly do you think my expertise is?”

“Sitting behind a computer screen.” He joked.

“Well, I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.” Tom said, and you laughed, nodding, fully aware of his skills, “Either way, I’ll meet you two in Montenegro to finish on the flash drive.”

“Montenegro?” You and Harrison both questioned.

“Right.” He laughed a little, realizing you two didn’t know about your next step of the mission, “M will call you two later tonight. I don’t know all the details, but I know you two are going to Montenegro, so I assume I’ll be meeting you there.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Montenegro.” Harrison smiled fondly.

“I’ll let you two go. M should be calling soon.” Tom said before ending the call. You let out a small sigh, leaning back on the couch comfortably.

“Have you ever been to Montenegro?”

“Once, but not on a mission.” You replied, not really wanting to discuss your past trip. Unfortunately for you, your partner was observant and caught onto that- and he was also a bit of an asshole, so he pressed the topic.

“You know, I tried reading the Montenegro part of your file, but almost everything was redacted because the clearance of that file is only you and M.” He stated, watching you carefully as you shifted uncomfortably, tightening your jaw.

“What about it?”

“Who did you kill in Montenegro that is so private only you and M can know?” He questioned, and you glared over at him.

Before you could reply, the laptop began to ring, signaling an incoming call from M. You sat up on the couch, answering it.

“Agent 006, 007.” She greeted with the normal stern look on her face.

“M.” You and Harrison both nodded in reply to her.

“Q tells me you two found a flash drive, one suspected to be linked to Goldfinger.” She started, “And that Sciarra is dead.”

“The sniper got to him before we could get him in the DB10.” Harrison explained, and you swallowed a lump in your throat as M’s cold eyes trailed over the bandage on your arm.

“I also heard the sniper shot 006.” She said, “Tomorrow, you two will leave for Montenegro. Agent 009 has been tracking a private banker who funds terrorists, Le Chiffre. Le Chiffre seems to be Goldfinger’s competition at the moment. 009 reported multiple murders of Le Chiffre’s men with golden bullets through their skulls, all of which are sniper shots.”

“Forgive me, M, but if Agent 009 is on the case, then why are we going after Le Chiffre as well?” Harrison asked, voicing the question that was also floating around in your head. Why would MI6 need three agents on a private banker case?

“Because last we heard from 009 himself, he was being followed by Le Chiffre, and last night, local police found him tortured to death. His balls were so beaten, they could barely identify him as a man anymore- one of Le Chiffre’s signature torture methods.” At her words, Harrison squirmed uncomfortably beside you, subconsciously resting a hand over his crotch protectively. “Since Sciarra is a dead end until Q cracks that flash drive, Le Chiffre is our next best lead to Goldfinger.”

“When do we leave tomorrow?” You spoke up.

“I am working with the Monaco police right now to acquire a private jet for the two of you. I will let you know in the morning. And, remember, this mission is not a personal one.” With that, she hung up the call and you shut off the laptop, getting up from the couch.

“What happened in Montenegro?” Harrison asked you, standing up from his spot on the couch. You didn’t reply as you pulled on a sweatshirt to hide your bandage. Wordlessly, you grabbed the ice bucket and left the hotel room.

You didn’t really need ice, but it wouldn’t hurt to ice your arm or tense muscles- besides, you needed to be away from your partner for a few minutes. Harrison was definitely getting more bearable, but you didn’t exactly want to tell him about Montenegro, not yet. When you came back from getting the bucket of ice, you saw a hotel room service busboy, standing outside of your door. Just before he knocked, you spoke up, “Is that for room 1964?”

“Yes.” The busboy replied almost nervously, holding up a bucket of champagne out to you.

“Thank you.” You smiled as you took the bucket from him, balancing it with your own ice bucket. He nodded, before disappearing down the hall. You laughed to yourself as you looked at the expensive bottle of champagne; leave it to Harrison to want to drink before leaving Monaco. Unlocking the hotel room door, you pushed it open, and Harrison looked up from his phone as he laid down on his bed.

“Champagne?” You offered, setting down the buckets on the coffee table.

“Why not celebrate Monaco?” He laughed. Both of you sat down on the couch, and he effortlessly popped open the champagne bottle. You held up two empty flute glasses for him to pour the champagne into.

“To Monaco.”

“To Monaco.” You clicked your glass against Harrison’s before both of you took sips of the smooth liquid.

“Does this taste odd to you?” Harrison asked, licking his lips from the very small amount of champagne that had actually made it in his mouth before he spit it back in.

“I’m not the person to ask. It’s been a while since I had nice champagne like this.” You laughed, taking another sip of the golden drink.

“It’s probably just too fancy for my tastebuds.” He chuckled, eyeing the glass.

“With all the martinis you drink, your tastebuds must be dead.” You teased, already starting to feel cloudy from the alcohol. You wondered how high the proof was, but that thought was gone as quickly as it came. “You drown yourself in martinis- shaken, not stirred.”

“Martinis are superior. You’d know that if you’d drown yourself in anything.” He quipped back.

“It’d take a while for me to drown in anything- I can hold my breath for six minutes.” You replied confidently, sipping some more of the champagne.

“I can only hold my breath for two. That’s impressive.” His eyes widened in surprise at the little fun fact.

“Most people can only hold them for two, but I was a swimmer growing up and I practiced holding my breath for long periods of time. I’ve got the best lungs on MI6.”

“And the best shot, too, the way I hear it.” Harrison laughed a little, before leaning in closer to you on the couch. Your face was close enough to his that you could feel his breath, and you felt yourself starting to, ironically, drown in his ocean blue eyes. With his voice low and just above a whisper, he asked, “How does someone get the reputation of a maneater?”

“How does someone get the reputation of a womanizer?” You replied, just as quietly. Pulling away from him, you took another long sip of your champagne, the once full glass now empty. The room fell silent before you solemnly spoke up, “I killed him.”

“Who?”

“My weakness.” You rolled up your tank top just enough to show the bullet wound scar on your hip. “I was in Montenegro on vacation with my last boyfriend. I spotted Le Chiffre at a casino, and I called M for permission to strike. When I returned to the hotel room, my boyfriend was there with Le Chiffre- he’d been working for him the whole time. I took a shot at him, but I missed, and he shot me. Then, I shot him again, but that time, I didn’t miss. The only reason Le Chiffre didn’t kill me was Agent 009. Le Chiffre ran, and 009 saved me.”

“So, Montenegro is-”

“Where I became the maneater.” You said. Harrison reached a hand out to touch the scar, but you slapped his hand away, fixing your shirt.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He replied, his voice filled with pity. You could tell he wasn’t just apologizing for overstepping and trying to touch the scar- no, he was apologizing for ever thinking less of you based on your reputation and he pitied you for your story, for all you had to go through to get that name. It was then that you realized he hadn’t really had much to drink of the champagne.

“Why’d you order this if you weren’t going to drink it?” You asked, and Harrison furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“What are you talking about?”

“The champagne. You ordered it when I got ice?”

“I didn’t order this.” The room fell silent, save for the clattering of your champagne flute against the floor from you dropping it.

“Neither of us ordered this?” You questioned, and he shook his head. Immediately, you got up and stumbled to the bathroom, only making Harrison more confused.

“What are you doing?” Harrison followed after you.

“I’m puking because I was just fucking drugged. No wonder I’m so goddamn talkative right now.” You stated, sitting down in front of the toilet. You looked over at him in the hallway, “Are you going to call Q and have him analyze the champagne or are you going to watch me vomit up whatever drug is in my body? You had less than me, so figure out what happened.”

“How the fuck did someone drug us?” He grumbled, closing the door and rushing back into the room. He pulled up the laptop and called the quartermaster.

“I was just about to call you.” Tom said with a laugh, but his smile dropped as he saw Harrison pouring some champagne into a testing vial.

“Find out what’s in this. We’ve been drugged.” He explained, placing the vile on one of Q’s special testing trays, equipped for analyzing substances through the computer. The computer couldn’t figure out exactly what the substance was, but Q, being the genius he is, could based on the computer’s analysis.

“How did two of Britain’s top agents get drugged with a bottle of champagne?” Q asked, typing away at his computer. Harrison grimaced, hearing the distinct sounds of you in the other room. “Is- Is Agent 006 vomiting?”

“Yes, she’s trying to clear out her system.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing that too?” He looked at his friend skeptically.

“I didn’t even have a full sip of the champagne and it’s been in my system long enough that it’s already effective. She drank an entire glass flute, so however potent this drug is, she had a lot of it.”

“Well, you two got lucky.” Tom breathed out, reviewing the results. “It was a harmless drug, it’s not poisonous or anything. It’s meant to disorient you, weaken your fighting, and make you more conversational. It’s used for interrogations.”

“So that means-“ Before Harrison could finish his thought process, there was a knock at the hotel room door. He quietly shut off the computer, ending the phone call swiftly, and grabbed the golden flash drive, pocketing the valuable object. Grabbing his gun and yours, he softly moved across the room to conceal himself behind the wall.

“Room service.” A voice behind the door called, and Harrison quietly cocked his gun while pocketing yours.

In less than a moment, the door burst, and he kept himself quiet against the wall, hoping the silence in the bathroom meant you knew what was happening out here. Based on the sound of feet, Harrison calculated there were three men in the room now. One stepped past the wall, gun raised as he surveyed the room. Harrison stepped forward, shooting the man dead immediately.

Meanwhile, your ears perked up as you heard multiple footsteps outside the door. Your head was spinning from the drug concoction and the fact that you forced yourself to throw up. It wasn’t until you heard the first gunshot that you knew it was bad.

“Harrison,” You mumbled, pulling yourself up from the floor. Looking around the bathroom, you cursed at the lack of sharp objects. Grabbing your tweezers from the counter, you supposed they’d have to do. You flung open the bathroom door, jabbing the tweezers into the neck of the man nearest you. You kicked the other man down, pressing onto his neck with your foot.

“You’re okay.” Harrison breathed out, coming to stand beside you after he shot the other man, the one with the tweezers in his neck, again.

“Still light headed.” You replied. The man below you moved and Harrison was quick to point his gun at him threateningly. You stepped back, allowing his steadier foot to replace yours.

“Who sent you?” He questioned.

“G-Goldfinger.” The man wheezed out.

“And was it Goldfinger who made you drug us? How did you find us?”

The man just laughed in response, and you heard the sounds of the police sirens flooding down the street.

“They heard the shots. We gotta go.” You said, and Harrison nodded. You quickly loaded the bags as your partner kept a watchful eye on the enemy. Knowing there was no way you and Harrison could escape if the police got involved, you two left the other man there, alive but weak.

“Next time, no champagne.” Harrison stated once the two of you were seated in the DB10. You sent a quick message to Moneypenny, who would send the word onto M that you and Harrison were en route in the DB10, no private jet necessary tomorrow. Considering how long the drive was, you knew it’d be enough time for you two to meet with Q in Montenegro and catch Le Chiffre.

“You’re going to drive us to Montenegro in this car, and I’m going to forget I ever told you anything about that god awful place.” You groaned, leaning your head against the window. “What did they drug us with?”

“Q says it’s a harmless interrogation drug.” He replied, flicking his eyes over to you, a new softness to them, “Get some rest, you’ve had a rough go.”

You turned to face ahead, trying to get yourself comfortable, and the car was silent for a moment, the only sound coming from the DB10 moving against the road and the quiet Duran Duran song playing over the speakers. You looked over at Harrison, who had his eyes trained on the road, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked, genuinely curious about the sudden appreciation.

“For saving me yesterday and patching me up.” You said softly, studying his face for a moment, before shifting to look ahead once more. “I’d do the same for you.”

“Let’s hope you’ll never have to.”

~~~

General Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland @where-art-thau-romeo

Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01 @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield fanfic #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield x y/n

105 notes · View notes

soriseerakyra · 5 years ago

Text

Flight of Fancy -5- (Black!Batmom)

“You know we haven’t gone on that date yet.”

Perhaps if this had been the first time that he had said something like that to you would have been surprised. However, it had already been three months since you had come to work for him. More than enough time to get used to his advances. Not that they were unwelcome in the first place.

“We did go on a date,” you comment feeling a smile across your face, gaze trained on the screen in front of you. You were waiting for his X-rays come in.

“That’s how I started working here, remember?”

“Mr. Wayne,” you say in mock irritation, hands on your hips. “No one is demanding you to be the first human test subject.”

“The only test subject, unless you’ve found some mice running around here that I don’t know about.”

“Just the ones native to the Gotham underground,” you quip back. “And besides, if you’re so worried about not being able to feel your arms in the morning, find me someone that has much less to lose than the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company.”

“And have someone try and plant a spy and figure out what we’re doing, not a chance.”

“You brought me here to make experimental tech, and it sounds like you’re saying that anything I make you want me to try it out on you first.”

“I don’t sell anything that I wouldn’t use on myself first,” he says with a shrug.

“A wholesome business practice,” you say looking at him skeptically.

“What can I say, I’m a decent guy.”

“If that’s what you call it,” you say with a smirk as you focus on the screen in front of you. A download prompt had just appeared on the screen, his scans had just arrived.

“You know you don’t have to be here today; the test is tomorrow. I’m just going to be calibrating the machine to focus on any areas that look weaker than the rest on your X-Rays.”

He had been planted in one of the chairs in your workshop since you had arrived this morning, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he was anxious about you seeing his X-Rays. That or he just wanted the chance to the pester you.

“And miss the chance to ask you to dinner, no way.”

Seemed like it was that latter.

“Maybe when this is done,” you say non-committally.

In truth, when you had agreed to date and work for him, you had meant it. And while you had been glad about the job, the space, the access, and the ability to limit that amount of people you encountered everyday had been wonderful; you had been hesitant to date him.

Not that you hadn’t wanted to, you looked forward to him coming down to visit you and the smiles he sent you were enough to send you to cloud nine. Still, you worried about what it would look like if you had agreed to go out with him. There was the age difference was bound to be an issue, but not the only one. Sure, the fact that you weren’t like the tall model thin girls that he usually dated, but there was alse the unfortunate reality of the scrutiny and vitriol that you would have to deal with because of your skin color. And to make matters worse, those worries came second to your other feeling, guilt.

You felt horribly guilty about what happened between you and Kenya. One of your oldest friends simply cut out of your life, like the two of you meant nothing to each other. While you would never feel bad about taking a job that would be, in the long run, better for you than any of the others had been, the way you left things off had been bad.

If you gave into Bruce, and dated him like he wanted, wouldn’t you just be proving Kenya’s point? She knew that he would be attracted to you, and she used that to her benefit and you were angry at her for it. And yet here you are, almost in the exact same postion that she had predicted that you be in, and yet you were fine with it. Perhaps agency was the issue, in this case you determined your fate while in the other, she held all the cards.

‘And I want to be in control for once,’ you think to yourself slightly bitter.

“That bad, huh?”

The questions startle you out of your thoughts and your left blinking, looking at your employer stupidly.

“Sorry?” You ask somewhat sheepishly.

“The scans,” he clarifies. “Sorry, just judging by the frown on your face I thought that the results came in.”

“Oh, right,” you say flashing him an apologetic smile. “I was lost in thought, sorry.”

Oh, and look, the X-Rays just downloaded from your computer, but that can’t be right.

“I think that they sent the wrong ones,” You mutter.

“Why do you say that?” He questions.

Your eyes flick over the screen of your computer, barely registering the fact that he had stood and was making his way over to your desk.

“Well, firstly, the folder says these are from six years ago,” you say looking at the date on the folder before opening one of the scans. “I really should be working with something more recent.”

“Hmm,” He’s standing behind you now looking at everything on your screen. “I have a feeling everything would be pretty much the same, just slightly worse.

“And second, holy shit,” you say, with wide eyes, gasping at the sight. “How are you standing right now?”

While you weren’t an expert at reading X-rays you knew enough to see the severe trauma that had been done to his body. And if you were right, judging by the callousing around his joints, this wasn’t the result of a horrible accident, but this was repeated trauma of years. And if these dates were right, there was not telling how bad a shape he was in currently.

“Is this a joke?” You ask spinning around in your chair to face him. “You’re about to keel over any second. Are these really yours? You don’t have to trick me if you want me to use the machine, I’ll do it if you want it that badly.”

He gives you a smile, “It’s not a trick, I’m pretty messed up.”

“What are you doing to yourself?” You question worriedly, your thoughts immediately going down a dark route.

“I like to mountain climb,” he says with a shrug, hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks, “I’m just not particularly good at it.”

“But this doesn-”

“Why are you so worried?” He questions with a smile. “This just means if you can fix this, you’re guaranteed to be a wealthy woman and a certified genius.”

“But-” you start anxiously.

“If it bothers you so much you should come with me to dinner tonight, you know just so you can be sure that I don’t pass out in the middle of the street.”

"Mr-"

“Bruce.”

“Bruce, sir, this is serious,” you say with slightly narrowed eyes. “You need to go to the doctor like now or something, I don’t know.”

“Let’s say it is serious,” he says the joking tone leaving his voice as he addresses your concern. “If I am about to ‘keel’ over like you say what could a doctor do for me at this point?”

“I- nothing,” you answer sadly.

“So what would be the point?” He asks.

“There wouldn’t be, I suppose,” you relent. “But you have to be and pain.”

“Luckily for me, I happen to know a genius that just so happens to have a device that could possibly make at least some of my problems go away.”

“Manageable,” you correct.

“Manageable,” he agrees.

Your eyes find themselves looking at the pale polished linoleum on the floor and your lip drawn in between your lips in uncertainty. On one hand, he was right, if everything went well tomorrow, you could really help him. On the other you were really thinking about calling Mr. Fox and having him help you drag the man to the hospital. Although would he really help you? If anyone knew Bruce it had to be him, right? So, there was a high probability that he already knew what kind of condition the man was in and thought the same way he did about it.

“Alright,” you say with a sigh. “But if this doesn’t work you have to find something that does.”

“I’m touched really-”

“Also, if you die, how will I get paid?”

He looks at you blankly for a moment as if trying to assess the seriousness of your comment, “You’re lucky I like you enough not to fire you.”

“You wouldn’t fire me until after we on a date.”

“What happened to the timid girl that I hired, I remember her being much more agreeable.”

“Well, when you have to beat an old man off with a stick every day, you tend not to feel as shy.”

“You’re killing me,” he says fight the smile from coming to his lips.

“Not as much as you’re killing yourself with your _‘mountain climbing’, _” you counter back arms crossing.

“I could take you, I think you might enjoy.”

“No thanks, I more of a dinner and a movie type of girl.”

“Good then I’ll pick you up tonight for dinner.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” you say with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t think we’ll have time for a movie though, since you know, tomorrow is a big day,” he says backing away from you and phonily checking his watch. "Hmm, maybe a party instead."

“Did you hear me? I didn’t say yes.”

“Though if we have a party I'll need a little more time to plan everything,” he says weighing the options with a furrowed brow.

“I can’t believe you,” you say feeling a relenting smile coming over your face. “Does the word 'no' even register in those ears of yours?”

He eyes you curiously for a moment, "I'm sorry I missed part of what you said. It must be my aging ears."

You can't stop the snort the nearly erupts out of you.

You meet his eyes once again, the casual intensity of his gaze made you flick your eyes away from his, but you manage a relenting nod at his suggestion. He made you nervous, the same way he did when the two of you first met. The thought of subjecting yourself to that torment, seemed like madness. You had been denying yourself something that you had wanted from the first time you met and now you were giving in. Was that really the smartest thing to do?

“Next Friday it is, then, ” he says with a smile.

“If it works,” you stipulate feeling a need to give yourself an out just in case you changed your mine.

“It will,” he promises, clearly having more confidence in your abilities than you did.

He tosses you a wave goodbye as he exits your isolated workshop.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself.

What had you gotten yourself into?

"What if I kill him, Mr. Fox?" You ask the older man who is standing next to your console, hands positioned authoritatively behind his back. The both of you were watching your subject from the observation room.

Bruce lay on a medical table in what was sure to be a freezing room, only in his boxers.

This was it, the moment that all three f you had been waiting for, although Bruce probably more so out of the lot of you.

You were worried, for many more reasons than just your experiment. It seems Mr. Wayne was more than a little secretive. And while you were aware of that when you took the job, some of his precautions were starting to seem more than a little bit ridiculous. Trying to make sure that you could mitigate whatever horrible side effects that could happen, you had suggested the hiring of a few nurses and maybe an actual doctor, to watch over him and his vitals while the experiment.

He had refused. Reiterating that he had complete faith in your expertise.

'Doesn't meant that I won't accidentally kill you,' you had thought to yourself when he had flashed that winning smile of his that made you agree to all of his requests.

"It would be a problem if he doesn't survive," the older man eventually responds to your question with a chuckle. "Try not to kill him."

You knew he was joking and that he was jut trying to keep you loose, but it only made your shoulders tighten with more anxiety. Why did neither of them seem to see this as the big deal that this actually was? Why didn't they take the possibility of the horrible pain he was about to endure seriously? Sure, he probably wouldn't die, but he could be seriously hurt, you could render him immobile or worse. Seeing the brusies and scars on his body when he began undressing made you think that he was in worse condition then you could actually fathom.

Whit a shuddering breath you try to calm yourself down. If they weren't going to worry then there was no reason that you should.

"This is going to hurt, okay?" You call to your patient lying on the table in the other room. You wondered how your voice sounded coming through that speaker. You imagine it was robotic and cold, making the message you delivered even harder to digest than it already was.

Despite that, however, he leans up and flashes you a smile through the observation window.

"I've been through worse," he says with a mischievous glint in his eye. He must have been horrible to look after when he was a child.

"So you people keep telling me," you mutter to yourself turning your attention back to the knobs and switches in front of you.

You take a moment to center yourself and confront the reality of what is happening. Hovering a few feet of the man who was helping to finance your dream, is your prototype. Well, it's more than that now isn't it? It means much more.

Eight stainless steel mechanical appendages hang limply over the table, suspended by a long arm that goes from the table to your console that holds the medication that you would be pumping into the billionaire in front of you.

The medication: A concotion of manufactured stem cells, cortisone, and other regenerative properties. You were sure that it would help some, you just weren't sure how much. Not only did the damage that he suffers seem to be exceedingly extensive, but there was always the chance that he would react negatively to the new chemicals and fluid running through his system. You weren't sure how well he would be able to function if something like that should happen. There was also the possibility of rapid degeneration of the new cells in his body, meaning that he would have to constantly have to experience the trauma of the procedure if he wanted to retain the same level of functionality after an extended period of time.

In the bright room of your lab is perhaps what scared you most about the upcoming procedure. Attached to the spider like legs of your machine were eight large sterile needles that would be digging themselves into the space between his joints, injecting him with the concoction. He kept saying that he would able to handle whatever pain that you subjected him to, but you weren't completely sure that he understood exactly what all that entailed.

There is a clock in front of you and you watch it carefully. As soon as it reached 11, you would start the experiment and you would know if the life you had so carefully built up for yourself would come crashing down or not.

The ticking of the clock hits your ears like a hammer, and you feel your throat tighten with anxiety.

“We are beginning,” you say announcing he start of the experiment.

Your mind is whirring at with all the possible outcomes, and you barley register Mr. Fox’s “good luck” and the fatherly squeeze that warms your shoulder.

With a heavy sigh you type in a few commands to the monitor in front of your and execute the experiment. As the machine begins to whir to life in front of you, you find yourself grateful that you had the wherewithal to automate the program, you have now idea if you would be able to even man the controls if it was something that you had to do manually.

It doesn’t time take long from the arms to take their positions and begin the procedure that you had only seen in your mind’s eye up until that point. They move to align at his ankles, his knees, hips, and shoulders. You see the fluid flow from the console, feeling the syringes that each was holding. The covers that were keeping the needles clean are shed and they glint in the harsh white light with their sterile glory.

‘This is it,’ you think to yourself, biting your lip in anticipation. It occurs to you that perhaps you should offer some words of encouragement to your patient. Your eyes flash to his face and his eyes are closed and his body is completely relaxed, almost like he is in some sort of meditative state, clearly, he is more ready for this than you gave him credit for.

There is a ten second countdown that flashes in the corner of your screen. The needles are all hovering above their chosen targets. The AI would handle everything else, all you had to do now is watch.

As the number’s count down the needles a lowered down until they press against his skin, forming an area of depression. There is a slight hesitation in the machine as it waits for the clock to reach zero. When it does reach that fateful number, you find yourself having to swallow a gag as the flesh across his body is pierced. To your surprise the man doesn’t let out a grunt or even flinch when the needles enter his flesh. Clearly, whatever ever he had been doing to get his body in such a disastrous shape prepared him from the pain of the procedure.

Still, though, this is only the beginning.

You see, the moment that needles hit the target not only on the screen though, but also through the slightly convulsive flinch that runs through his body. They had hit the joints that they were supposed to be targeting.

There is a feral groan that rips itself from his throat next, and you only have to through a passing glance at the screen in front of you to know that the they are now digging through the damaged areas of his joints to find the optimal place to start injecting the fluid.

You can see the pain that is beginning to etch itself on his face. You feel slightly guilty because a part of you wants to mute the sounds coming from the room as the groans begin flowing from his mouth. While you knew the had pain had to get worse in order for him to get better, knowing that you were the one that was causing him that level of discomfort hurt your heart. You wanted to make him, and others, feel better not cause them pain.

You stop yourself, however, when you see the flexing of his hands and his toes. His body clearly, trying to adjust and fight through the pain.

“I know this is hard Mr. Way-, Bruce,” you say, speaking to him through the intercom, “But you are going to have to do your best not to move so they can have the best chance at to inject the medicine where it needs to go.”

At your voice he freezes, almost like he has been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Like he just remembered that he wasn’t completely alone. His eyes, still closed, seem to tighten. His hands ball into fists and then they fall limp, the same with the rest of his body. He relaxes and all traces of pain seem to fade as if he was never troubled to begin with.

_‘His force of will is amazing,’ _you think to yourself, more than impressed watching his heart rate calm down from its stress speed.

There is a clicking sound as the machine arms have locked into place, they have found their targets and are ready to begin. There is another countdown as the medication is primed and warmed in the machine, the fluid spinning rapidly in the syringes.

“So Bruce,” you start, pausing to make sure that the man is cognizant enough to hear you. He may be so focused on blocking out the pain that he might not register what you are saying to him. Luckily, you see him move his head in your direction, giving you the cue that he as listening to what you are saying to them. “We are about to inject you with the medication, it shouldn’t hurt any more than anything you have experienced already, but it’s going to feel… weird.”

“_‘Weird’ _she says,” he says scoffing slightly.

You can’t help the small smile that comes over your face, relieved that he is aware enough to respond, no matter how sarcastic it was.

“We are beginning,” you say once more as the countdown reached zero once more.

It starts. The fluid begins to be pumped into the man’s system.

He’s quiet at first, the only sign that he is feeling what’s happening a slight groan leaving his lips. His feet start to flex again before him regain control of them and forces them relax. And though you can plainly see that he is trying to control his body as best as he can, there are some things that lie beyond his control.

You see it first in the hands, the fists that are so badly trying not to rip out the needles that are inside of him, are turning red. In fact, all of his skin is turning a deep shade of crimson. There is a sweaty sheen that begins to encase his body and his mouth opens as he begins to pant, the heat rolling over him becoming more than uncomfortable.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Mr. Fox asks you curiously, but there no traces of panic in his voice. You doubt that you would know if he felt uncomfortable until it's too late though.

“The medication needed to be primed and activated for it to work,” you explain. “In order it for it it to activate it needed to be heated up. He feels hot, because the liquid is hot, as it begins to settle he should begin to cool back down.”

You manage to stop yourself from adding an “I hope” to the end of your sentence. There was no reason to doubt yourself now, it’s too far in for you to do anything but to ride the up and downs of the procedure.

Despite the boost of self-confidence that you just tried to inject yourself with in order to come yourself down, it is quickly outweighed by the dread that rolls over as the instruments of your console begin to blink red in warning.

Everything happens so quickly, you're surprised that you were able to keep your head from popping off.

As the alerts flash on the screen, mostly stating that his temperature was reaching critical levels, the man undergoing the procedure begins to thrash and groan uncomfortably, his body rising and arching of the bed.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself as you are forced to activate emergency restraints. Two halves of a large silver ring announce themselves with an aggressive whirring and a clanking sound as the connect over top of Bruce’s body. Once they connect, they slowly begin to press down to lock him in place, he begins to shake.

Panic consumes you as your eyes flash between to the screen and back to the man. There isn’t much left that needs to pump in and yet he is in so much pain. Should you stop? Would he want you to stop? Is it right for you to stop? Your finger hovers over a button to terminate the procedure and you feel yourself gulp as the idea of pressing it bounces back and forth between your mind. It’s then that you feel the familiar hand on your shoulder, another fatherly grip there to reassure you.

“Almost done, now,” Lucius says with a hum. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn you saw a hint of worry flash in his eyes, but there is a confidence there that reassures you and you find yourself relaxing. You warned the man about what would happen, and he told you to continue. If he has that much faith in you, you should have faith in that he would be fine and pull through.

It’s an agonizing ten minutes, that feels like ten hours. The medicine emptied into him, the needles pause their movement, a pause given in an effort for the body to cool down and the patient to relax. He groans and twists as best he can for another five minutes, but soon, he falls quiet. His body falls still. The needles, pull back and the machine lifts back up moving back into a corner. The procedure had officially finished, and you’re pretty sure that you didn’t kill the billionaire that paid you to do it. You look at the monitor, his heartbeat is steady, and his temperature is slowly returning to normal.

“Bruce?” Your question was spoken through the intercom, he doesn’t respond and all you can see is the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

“I imagine he’s passed out,” Lucius says with a bit of a chuckle with his hand sliding into his pockets. His calm attitude makes you feel like that this is something that he’s dealt with before. What kind of people had you agreed to work for?

“I’ll come back in a few hours, I’m sure he’ll be awake then.”

“Wait your leaving?!” You balk at the older man looking at him with wide worried eyes. “What am I supposed to do about him? What if he’s got brain damage or he doesn’t wake up?”

The old man gives you a small knowing smile and it frankly pisses you off a little bit, why is it they have a habit of making your concerns seem trivial. “Trust me, he’ll be fine, he’s been through worse.”

“Been through worse than mountain climbing?” You question incredulously, arms crossing in irritation. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Mountain climbing, skydiving, base jumping,he’s adventurous”, he says making his way to elevate and summoning it. “Don’t worry, he’ll pull through. And I’m sure you’ll get a bonus for all your hard work.”

You're left alone both agitated and concerned, “Can’t get a bonus if he doesn’t wake up.”

You look back at the procedure room and feel guilt racking up in your chest. The medical instruments and restraints removed from the table, he looks like a cadaver. It didn’t help that the red flush is now gone from his body and he looks disturbingly pale under the harsh lights.

With careful steps, you rise from your desk and tiptoe over to the door separating you from him. With a sigh you resign yourself to the fact it’s your duty to care for him now. It really would have been so helpful if he had allowed you to hire a nurse or two.

You enter the room and immediately make your way to one of the cabinets to fetch a blanket to cover him. There would be no telling how long he'd sleep, but he didn’t have to be cold while he did it, conscious or not.

Draping his body in the blanket, you find yourself tucking him in like a mummy, the way that your mother used to when you complained about being cold. It always kept you warm, so it would do the same for him… right?

You feel a bit of relief wash over you when you look at his face. His pale visage was slowly starting to regain some color, the blue tips of his ears flushing pink as the body begins to acclimate his temperature once again.

For now, your experiment, it seems, is a success. You hadn’t killed your boss, hurray!

Looking at him he seems very much alive, although in a state that you had never seen him before. Unguarded. It’s a strange thing to see his face at rest. A part of you didn’t know it was possible. He usually kept a flirty smirk on his face, but the few times you had seen with anything but that look he had been sporting a heavy frown and furrowed brow. There was always something that seemed to nag you about him. While you enjoyed your time with him and loved your job, you were almost certain that the flirty banter and attitude he'd greet you with wasn't the real him. Perhaps that is why you denied his request for so long. If you had agreed to go out with him who would show up to that date? Bruce the flirt, or the man who let that angry frown form on his face when he thought no one was looking. You weren’t sure that you wanted much to do with either of those people.

Looking at him now though, he looked more real. You imagine it’s because when he’s like this he’s not in control and doesn’t have the ability to act in a way that he thinks he should.

Still, if he was awake, you would have liked that a whole lot more.

When he’s was as bundled up as you can possibly make him, you leave. Back to your observation room and sit and monitor his vitals and wait.

And Wait.

And…

Your neck hurts, it’s aching. Your thighs feel a little numb too, and your shoulders aren’t doing any better than the rest of you. Maybe if you roll around a bit you can get comfortable and go back to sleep.

Shifting your hip to the far side of your chair, you take some unwanted pressure off of your body and soon find yourself relaxing once again into a much needed slumber.

Well, you would have, but there is a deep chuckle bouncing around in your ears and you aren’t sure where it’s coming from.

Your eyes blink open slowly, they feel heavy and you knew you had been asleep for more than a few hours. Your vision is blurry at first, the shock of the white lights confusing their focus for a second and making you unsure of your surroundings. You were sure of one thing though, there was a tall figuring standing in front of you.

“Hello?” You question, voice heavy with sleep.

“Hello,” the deep voice almost coos at you amusedly.

You know that voice and that condensation.

“Bruce?!” You question sitting up straight in your chair, eyes suddenly as awake as the rest of you are.

There he is, standing tall and strong as if he hadn’t just gone through hell. There is a little bit of weary look about him, but he looks more than healthy. And judging by the smirk on the face, more than ready to get on your nerves.

“You’re okay,” you sigh out appraising him. Nothing looked broken or contorted, and he hadn’t grown and extra arm out his back.

“I think so,” he says, flexing his hands and rolling his wrists around. “A little sore, though.”

“You should feel like shit,” you say bluntly. “But in a few days, maybe a few hours even, you should start to notice a difference. And we should schedule a time for you to do follow up X-rays.”

He nods as if he’s listening to your advice, but you can tell he’s already fascinated with how his body feels. He rolls his shoulders back and you must stop yourself from staring at the tightening fabric of his back. He brings his hand up to his face and looks at the backs and the palms multiple times. You find yourself jumping slight surprise when quickly jab one of his arms out aggressively in what would have been a knockout punch if someone was on the other side. His mouth curls up as a satisfied smirk crosses his face.

“I think you just saved my life,” he says somewhat boyishly, a giddiness in his tone that you had never heard before. It leaves you slightly stunned.

“Were you trying to punch the mountains?” You ask slightly confused by the punch.

He gives you a deep, genuine belly laugh, and you feel a warmth spill over you when it happens. You’d like to hear him laugh like so much more.

He gathers himself with a calming sigh and gives you a rather affectionate look, “With this you’re going to change the world you know that?”

“Well, there are still a few kinks to work out,” you say, averting your eyes feeling heat scorch your cheeks.

“Don’t do that, you’re brilliant,” he reemphasizes earnestly. And you wish you could stop your heart from beating so fast, like a schoolgirl with her first crush. This time, though, you decide to take the compliment in full.

“Thanks.”

“I’m still throwing that party by the way.”

’Shit’

#bruce wayne #bruce x reader #bruce imagine #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman imagine #batman x reader #batmom #black!batmom #black!reader #black!batmom x batman

134 notes · View notes