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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

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Father of Mine – 1/2

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: With the tragic passing of her mother, Y/N learns to the truth of who her father is.

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: Family death, cancer, absent father, cremation

A/N: The reader is described as tall in this fic. Bruce Wayne is 6′2 and I’m tall, so I’m indulging myself with no apologies. Read it or don’t.

“Do you want to say anything before we…” the operator asked her.

“No,” Y/N answered quickly.

“Oh, my assistant forgot to give you this,” the operator gave her a shy smile as he handed her a small cardboard box.

She opened it to find all of her mother’s jewelry that had been on her body at the funeral.

“Thank you,” Y/N told him.

“Ready?” The operator asked.

He had been so kind throughout the whole process. It was obvious he was used to people breaking down and being extremely emotional.

But Y/N had been stoic, almost concerningly so.

Though he wasn’t one to judge. Everyone grieved differently.

With the pull of a handle, Y/N watched her mother’s body going into the chamber.

“It will be a few hours,” the operator told her.

He meant it will it will take a few hours for her mother’s body to burn to ash. Then they would hand her a tacky vase with her remains.

Y/N just nodded. “I’ll go for a walk.”

As soon as she was outside, Y/N called her mother’s executor.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I was just about to call you.”

“I’m at the crematory,” she told him. “I figured we should discuss the bills that still need to be paid for.”

“Yes, of course. As I mentioned to you before, your mother’s life insurance covers quite a lot of it…” his words died out.

“But it’s still not enough,” Y/N finished for him. “I’ll get the money.”

She wasn’t exactly rich, but she also wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck. But people never realized how much money it cost for loved ones to die. It was honestly ridiculous.

“You might want to consider taking out a loan,” he tried to suggest gently.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Another thing, Ms. Y/L/N. There was an envelope with a name on it. And your mother left instructions on delivering the envelope to them.”

She stopped her pacing.

“What name is on the envelope?” Y/N asked.

There was a pause.

“Bruce Wayne.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed.

Of course she knew who Bruce Wayne was – everyone in Gotham did, as well as most of the country. He was a billionaire playboy, only making headlines when he was a mess. But every once in awhile his philanthropy would sneak in there. Y/N always assumed those were only to help recover his image and not because he was a good person.

“You still there?” The executor asked.

“Yeah. I’m just a bit confused. But please pass it along to him, if that’s what my mom wanted.”

“I can’t. The instructions specifically say for you to deliver the envelop to him in person.”

“In person?” Y/N groaned in annoyance as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why did all of this have to be so god damn complicated?

“Yes. Her instructions are…oddly specific."

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll pick up everything from your office before the work day ends.”

——————

Y/N stared at the envelop that she’d tossed on her coffee table as she sipped a rather large glass of red wine.

She was wracking her brain trying to think of a time when her mom mentioned knowing Bruce Wayne. But Y/N would’ve remembered her mom saying his name – even in passing. It’s not a name that one can drop casually.

Y/N pulled up her phone and googled him. But she looked at his history. Yes, he was from Gotham, as was her mom, but so were 10 million other people.

But then Y/N’s scrolling paused when she realized they went to the same high school: Gotham Academy. Not only that, they graduated in the same year.

‘Were they friends?’ Y/N wondered.

But just classmates or friends still didn’t seem to warrant a handwritten letter to be delivered after one’s death.

Y/N didn’t open the envelope.

Her mother’s instructions specifically told her not to. And if she put in that much of an effort to get this done after her death, Y/N wasn’t going to ignore such a request.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.

“Fuck,” Y/N sighed before throwing back the rest of her wine.

——————

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t grant you access to the building without your name being in the system by the company you’re visiting,” the building receptionist told her for the third time.

“I understand. But I called his office 30 fucking times and they refuse to put me through to him or get me an appointment,” Y/N practically growled.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I already called their office to say you were here and they didn’t recognize your name. I can’t let you through to the elevators.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to the security guard who stood a few feet away. He was eyeing her now that there was clearly an argument going on.

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes. She had a good foot on him – even without her heels on. And he looked like he couldn’t run a 50 yard dash without passing out or vomiting. If he thought he was going to physically stop her, he had another thing coming.

“Listen, I am not some crazy fucking stalker. My mom knew Bruce Wayne and in her will she asked me to deliver this to him,” Y/N’s voice lowered and became disturbingly calm. “I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down,” the security guard finally stepped forward.

“Oh, fuck off,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the rent-a-cop.

“Ma’am, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” he continued.

“Call me ma’am one more fucking time…” Y/N growled.

But the security guard was taking a step to her.

“Excuse me. What seems to be the problem here?” A voice suddenly interrupted.

Everyone turned to see a young man – younger than Y/N – glaring at the security guard just as he was about to grab Y/N.

“M-Mr. Drake, we were just escorting this young woman from the premises,” the guard stuttered out.

Everyone at the building knew every member of the Wayne family. But unlike his siblings, Tim Drake was at the office almost every day. As one should be when they’re the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company.

“For what reason?” Tim Drake asked.

“She insists on seeing Mr. Wayne. But she doesn’t have an appointment. For security reasons, I cannot let her through, obviously, unless the company she is visiting has put her into their system and the building’s system,” the receptionist explained nervously.

Y/N frowned as if she was bored of the whole thing.

Tim stepped forward. “May I ask what your business with Bruce Wayne is?”

Now that he was closer, Y/N noticed how exhausted he looked. He was handsome still, of course. But she wondered when he last got a good night’s sleep. He was shorter than her, probably standing at 5’5. And she still believed he was younger than her, which was wild seeing as he was already the CEO and couldn’t be older than 24.

Y/N sighed before she grabbed the envelope from her black leather satchel, and showed that Bruce Wayne’s name was handwritten on it.

“My mother wished me to personally deliver this to him.”

Tim tilted his head slightly. “Why isn’t she doing it?”

“Because she’s dead,” she shot back without emotion.

But Tim’s face became sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve assumed…”

“It’s fine,” Y/N quickly cut him off before he could continue.

She was so tired of being on the receiving end of people’s sympathy. It didn’t help. And the words stopped holding any meaning to her.

“But I’m sorry. Bruce isn’t in today. And he probably won’t be coming to the office for the rest of the week.”

“Oh,” was all she responded with.

Of course Bruce Wayne didn’t come to work. Why would he?

This was a stupid idea. And now she had made a scene because of it.

“But if you give me your information, I will personally let him know that you are trying to reach him.”

“Really?” Y/N asked in shock.

Tim smiled at her surprise. “Of course.”

“Here’s my card,” she quickly grabbed one from her wallet and then a pen. “All my info is on that.” She wrote something on the back. “And that’s my mom’s name.”

He took it from her and nodded. “What was your mother’s relationship with Bruce?”

Y/N shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure it out. Apparently they graduated in the same high school class. But that’s all I was able to find.”

He nodded.

“Thank you…Mr. Drake. For your help. Really,” she urged.

“Please, it’s just Tim.” Then he glared at the receptionist and security guard. “For you it is, at least.”

“Thank you again,” Y/N felt like saying it 30 more times still wouldn’t be enough.

“You don’t have to thank me. Someone will be in touch. Have a good day, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Y/N,” she corrected with a smile before she nodded and started backing away.

He smiled at her correction and gave a final nod.

——————

Y/N didn’t expect to hear from anyone for at least a week.

If the Wayne family was one thing, it was busy.

They probably had parties to go to, meetings to attend, private jets taking them around the world whenever they wished.

Why would they ever prioritize a meeting with her, a stranger?

So imagine her surprise when she received a call from an unrecognized number the same day she gave Tim Drake her card.

“Hello?” She answered.

Usually she would let any unknown number go to voicemail.

“Hello,” a British voice answered. “Am I speaking with Ms. Y/F/N Y/L/N?”

“This is she,” Y/N sat up straighter on her couch.

“This is Alfred Pennyworth. I work for Master Wayne and manage all his personal appointments. I was told by Master Tim that you wished to meet with him?”

“Uhhh. Yes. Yes, I do. Is that…is that possible?”

“Would you be able to stop by Wayne Manor on Friday afternoon?”

Y/N already knew she had nothing going on that would stop her from getting this done. But she still paused to pretend to think about it.

“Yes, Friday afternoon should be fine. Are you sure he doesn’t just want me to stop by Wayne Enterprises?”

It felt oddly intimate to stop by Wayne Manor. Wouldn’t they want to meet her in a more secure location like a corporate building with security that already hated her?

“He is quite certain. Should I send a car for you Ms. Y/L/N?”

A car?

Y/N felt even more out of her depth now.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary. I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Thanks,” she answered before hanging up and realizing that probably wasn’t the proper response to such a polite goodbye.

——————

“I haven’t heard that name since high school,” Bruce had muttered as he stared at the business card for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Yes, and the end of your relationship did not end on the best of terms,” Alfred commented.

Y/M’s/N Y/L/N had been Bruce’s high school sweetheart.

An she had seen the last moments of Bruce’s normal life.

Upon graduation, Bruce decided to leave Gotham and that’s how his second life was founded. The two of them broke up before the summer after graduation had even ended.

Well, “Breakup” was a strong word.

Bruce stopped answering her calls.

She was his first love and he continued to love her.

But once Bruce realized where his life was going and who he wanted to be, he knew he couldn’t drag her into it. She deserved better.

And Bruce was a coward about relationships then. Maybe he still was.

“I am certain you did a thorough background check on her already,” Alfred commented with a smirk.

Bruce took in a breath before listing off all of her accomplishments. “Y/F/N Y/L/N. Graduated number one in her class at Gotham Academy. She was the star of the track team, breaking the regional record for fastest time in 100m, 200m, and 400m races. Also captain of her soccer team. Attended NYU’s photography program before dropping out after a year. Now she’s a professional photography. Her work’s been featured in Vogue, New York Times, National Geographic…amongst others.”

“Rather an impressive woman,” Alfred said.

Bruce nodded.

“I should get the tea and coffee ready for her arrival.” And with that, Alfred left Bruce in the drawing room.

30 minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Bruce glanced down at his watch: she was right on time.

He heard Alfred saying his pleasantries before he heard the clicking of her heels as she rounded the corner to enter the room he was waiting in.

For being a famous photographer, she could’ve been a runway model with her height and the way she walked into the room, completely owning it. She wore four-inch heels, only adding to her natural tallness. And her bright, red coat only added to her presence.

For a split second, Bruce was convinced that he was looking at an Amazon. Diana immediately flashed into his mind for a split second. Perhaps that was what Y/M’s/N needed help with: to get her daughter to her real people. But how would she have known Bruce Wayne had such connections? Unless she knew Batman’s true identity…

As soon as Y/N spotted him in the room, he rose from his seat.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Bruce greeted.

He took a step forward and held out his hand.

“You guys really love the formalities.” She said it with a dark evenness, but it was clearly a joke. “Y/N is fine, Mr. Wayne,” she added as she shook his hand.

“In that case, it’s Bruce,” he countered with a soft smirk.

There was something so familiar about her. But Bruce knew they’d never met.

“Thank you for seeing me. I don’t want to waste anymore of your time,” Y/N quickly got to it. She opened her purse to grab the envelope.

“My mom wanted you to have this. And she wanted to make sure I was the one to give it to you,” Y/N explained as she offered it to him.

Bruce took it carefully, but didn’t open it. “Yes, I heard about her passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said hurriedly, making it obvious to Bruce that she did not want nor need his condolences.

Bruce nodded slowly.

There was a pause.

“Do you know what it says?” He asked her lightly.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t supposed to read it.”

“I see.”

“I should really be going. I have a flight to catch later tonight.” Most people that visited Wayne Manor wished to stay there forever. Or their curiosity got the best of them and their eyes took in every little detail.

But Y/N looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. And she wanted to get out as soon as she possibly could.

“Thank you again for seeing me,” she rushed out.

Without waiting for his answer, Y/N turned and started walking out of the room.

But she only got a few steps before she stopped.

Bruce watched her shoulders tense and her body move as she was clearly taking in deep breath.

Slowly, Y/N turned around to face him.

“Were you friends?”

Bruce gave her a watery smile. “She was my girlfriend in high school.”

Y/N seemed annoyed by that answer. “She never mentioned you. Not once.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed at that and his eyes zoned out as if he was revising the past in his mind. “I’m not entirely surprised. Things didn’t really end well between us.”

She nodded slowly. “Goodbye, Mr. Wayne.”

And Y/N turned and strutted out of the room without looking back.

As soon as Bruce heard her cab drive away, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out a letter.

He barely noticed that Dick had walked into the room. “May I ask…Who was the extremely attractive and tall woman that just walked out?”

But Bruce didn’t hear him as his eyes raced across the letter. His heart sped as he continued reading.

“Bruce?” Dick asked after being ignored. “Is she your next conquest or what?”

It wasn’t until Bruce was done reading the letter for the third time that he finally looked up and acknowledged Dick.

Alfred had also walked into the room, unbeknownst to Bruce.

“You OK?” Dick asked, now concerned with how silent Bruce had become.

“Master Wayne?” Alfred also urged.

“That was…my daughter,” Bruce finally muttered.

Dick blinked before his eyes grew wide in shock.

Alfred seemed less surprised, almost as if he had already put that together.

“Excuse me,” Bruce told them and exited the room.

———

Dick and Alfred must’ve warned the rest of the family not to bother Bruce in the cave. Usually he would’ve been disturbed by now.

Bruce had been at the computer for hours.

Alfred was the first person to come down, carrying a tray with dinner and tea.

The butler wasn’t surprised to find Y/N’s face all over the screens.

If Bruce had left any available information hidden before inviting Y/N to the manor, it was all out there now. Bruce knew everything about Y/F/N Y/L/N that was public knowledge – probably even some things that were not.

“You know, you did not seem all that surprised,” Bruce said to Alfred as he put the tray of food down next to him.

“Seemed rather obvious, didn’t it?”

Bruce quickly turned to look at him. “It did?”

Alfred smirked. “Her eyes,” was all he said.

“The color?”

Alfred shook his head. “As soon as she walked into the manor, they were reading me.” He tilted his head in Bruce’s direction. “Observation. Perception. Attention to detail...That is all you, Master Wayne.”

“The way she held herself,” Alfred continued, "Shoulders held back, head high, walking with purpose. No hesitation.”

“Also me?” Bruce asked.

Alfred simply nodded.

“I don’t think she liked me very much,” Bruce sighed.

He didn’t know how he felt about that yet.

“A lot of people think you don’t like them when you first meet them,” Alfred countered. “Because I don’t trust them yet.”

Alfred raised his brows and silently ask him, ‘Don’t you see my point?’

Bruce rubbed his face and reached for the tea on the tray, ignoring all the food.

“I don’t know why you’re so entertained by this, Alfred.”

“Yes, I was entertained. I just saw a younger, female version of you, Master Wayne.”

“I abandoned her,” Bruce shot.

“You didn’t know she existed,” Alfred corrected.

“And why do you think that is?”

Alfred’s face dropped a little bit when he noticed the envelope discarded on the far end of Bruce’s desktop.

He looked down at the ground as he asked, “Might I ask what the letter said?”

Bruce glared at the letter as if touching it would burn him.

But after a moment, he grabbed it and quickly handed it to Alfred.

Bruce,

If this letter has finally reached you, it is because I have passed.

I must admit that I wrote this letter mostly in the event that I leave my daughter before she is an adult. But once Y/N turned 18, I decided to still pass this along to you.

There is no easy way to tell you this, so I will get to the point.

The young woman who delivered this letter to you is your daughter, Bruce.

Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.

When I found out I was pregnant with her, I was only 18. We had just graduated high school. You had started traveling. You called less and less. And you grew more distant – physically and emotionally. Eventually, you stopped answering my calls altogether. I left you a voicemail, only saying that I so desperately needed to talk to you, that I needed you.

But you never called me back.

With no words at all, you made it very clear that you no longer wanted anything to do with me.

But there I was, a teenager who was pregnant with our child.

I would be lying if I said I never considered terminating my pregnancy. I was scared and you broke my heart. All I wanted to do was erase you from my life.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Once I decided what my future was going to be, I also decided that I did not want you to have any part in it.

I knew even if you pretended to play the doting father and the committed partner, you would grow tired of us eventually. You would resent me and our child for bringing you down. And you would brush us aside for yourself.

I realized I would rather Y/N have no father at all than one who would only disappoint her over and over again.

To this day, I truly believe I did the right thing for all three of us.

There are not enough words to explain the complicated woman that Y/N grew up to be. But I will try my best. I think I owe you that at least.

Or maybe you have no interest.

I don’t know how she became so much like you, even when I never so much as showed her a picture of you or uttered your name.

She enjoys being alone – almost to her own detriment. I constantly catch her repressing her feelings, always staying strong for everyone else. It reminds me of you. She’s assertive and confident, never letting anything stand in the way of what she wants. Sometimes I don’t think she’s scared of anything. It worries me, just like it worried me when I thought the same of you.

I truly don’t know what you will do with this information.

But…if you have any desire to form some sort of relationship with her, then you should know this: she will not make it easy for you. She will push you away. And she might even hate you. I raised her to never need a man in her life, and she’ll make sure you know that.

I don’t expect anything from you. I never did.

But I would just like to know there might be someone who will be there for her should she need them.

Goodbye, Bruce.

Alfred slowly handed the letter back to Bruce when he was finished.

“I pushed her away because I knew what I was about to become,” Bruce explained darkly. “And I didn’t want her anywhere near it. She would’ve been in danger.”

“Y/N, as well,” Alfred added.

“But had I known…if I just listened to her–”

“Master Wayne, I thought we had agreed to never linger on the ‘what ifs.’”

That sure silenced Bruce.

“Now, what do you plan on doing, Master Wayne?”

———

Y/N frowned when her phone started vibrating and she recognized the name of her mom’s executor on her phone screen.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, how are you?”

“Fine. How are you?” She was quick, wanting to get this over with. Surely, he had bad news. Another medical bill came in or some other expense that slipped by them.

“Good, good. Just curious…have you placed any payments to our various claims?”

“Uhhh…no. But I’m working on it.”

Y/N hadn’t expected to get a call nagging about paying bills.

“No, no, no. You misunderstand. They’ve all been paid,” the executor explained.

Y/N sat up straighter in her chair. “What? That’s not possible.”

“An anonymous donor. They somehow got record of all your outstanding payments and covered all of them.”

Y/N was stunned to silence.

“Ms. Y/L/N…this is a good thing.”

She blinked and shook her head. “Right. Yes, of course. I just…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank this guardian angel of yours.”

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

Part 2

Let me know what you think!!!

#bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #bruce wayne reader insert #batfam #batman #batman x daughter!reader #dad!bruce wayne #dad!batman #batman family #batman universe #batman angst #bruce wayne angst #alfred pennyworth #father!bruce wayne #father!batman

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cleoirvine · 3 years

Text

Random Headcanons: Captains Addition

Just some quick hc's I was thinking about the other day. I will absolutely make more if anyone wants them:)

Daichi:

I picture Daichi to be someone who is genuinely protective when in a relationship

The type of person to text you good morning on his way to school/ good night as he’s about to go to bed

If he’s at your house studying with you and you fall asleep he will put your phone on the charger so it doesn’t die

Walks you to class and carries your bag on top of his own

Definitely the type to put a hand on the small of your back when you’re walking in tight or crowded places

I don’t see him as someone who is especially physical in public, like I think he keeps his pda to a minimum

But he’s still a teenage boy so all things considered I do think he would get *clingy* from time to time

If he stays after school to practice and he can’t walk home with you/catch the train he will ask you to text him when you get home just to make sure you arrived safely

He has the best communication skills out of all the captains, and he is incredibly patient, so if he gets frustrated or angry I think his first plan of action would be to talk things out and see where it goes from there

Dates with him are usually pretty casual, but what you don’t see is him panicking the day before he invites you because he wants everything to be perfect

Like I hc him as someone who won’t show it, but he plans everything down to the last detail to make sure everything is in order before he leaves his house to meet you

Probably picks up flowers for you because his mom said something about how romantic that would be

Is much more responsible than the average high school student and will always remind you to eat, take your vitamins, get enough sleep, etc

Buys you orange juice and slips a vitamin c tablet into it before giving it to you

Volleyball is a priority for him, but his team and the relationships he makes are what matter the most. At the end of the day, I think he realizes that you win some and you lose some, and he would rather be in your arms while thinking of those losses, than moping around on his own.

He seeks comfort in the most odd ways, like lifting your hand and placing it on top of his head

Or sticking his hands in the front pockets of your sweatshirts

Overall I think Daichi is a sweetheart, and that would show through while dating

Oikawa:

Bruhhhh this boy is so mf whiney

Like he will complain about everything that is surface level, but if something is truly bothering him he will keep it pent up

Part of the reason why his past relationships didn’t work is because he didn’t know how to balance volleyball and an s/o and always prioritized one (ahem, volleyball) over the other

So if he asks you out or vice versa, you need to be ready to give him unconditional support

Regardless, Oikawa is someone who is caring by instinct. I think that after becoming captain, be began to realize that it was better to lead his team on equal footing, so he took notice of any and everything

He applies this technique while dating, and sometimes has to remember that you’re not a volleyball opponent, you’re his s/o

He strikes me as the type of person to hold the door for you and then right as you’re about to reach the handle, will let it slam closed in your face while laughing from behind the glass

If you’re shorter than him, he will make fun of your height

If you’re taller than him, he will make fun of your height

You don’t win either way

I think he likes receiving confessions on the outside, but deep down he knows that these girls don’t really want anything special from him, and that bothers him to an extent

He’s still a teenage boy with a massive ego though, and while confessions may be one way to stroke it, I think he would want something genuine and passionate

I think he would also be the type of person to walk you home and then realize half a mile in that he got the both of you lost cause he was rambling about aliens or something

Definitely listens to true crime/supernatural podcasts

Probably has a Buzzfeed Unsolved addiction and watches Shane and Ryan in between study breaks

He is someone who has a lot of drive, and would want someone who is equally if not more hardworking than him

Would ask you to baby sit with him

Unlike Daichi you’re gonna be the one plugging his phone in at night so it doesn’t die

Will fall asleep on top of you if you don’t move every once in awhile, so be prepared to hold it if you’ve gotta use the bathroom

Kuroo:

Kuroo is a menace in the best way possible

He is so sly and he loves to tease you to the point where it can be almost unbearable

But he definitely knows where and when to draw the line, and on the off chance he does cross it, he apologizes almost immediately

I think Kuroo in a relationship would be really playful and laid back

He’s not someone who takes things too seriously, and is extremely intuitive and knows how to match other people's vibes/wave lengths

But when you first start dating it’s going to be awkward asf let's be real

He probably trys to warm up to you with some chemistry pick up line that flies right over your head

And while you sit there and laugh awkwardly while you question everything you’ve been taught in school up until now

Kuroo is attempting to recover from such a disastrous fail

But if you do understand the pun, and shoot him one back that is equally as intelligent, he will get all red in the face and will hide his blushing cheeks behind his hands

Either way, he’s going to be flustered

Kuroo is someone who can pick up on other people's emotions pretty well, and is quite observant, which comes in handy when dating

Will ask you what’s wrong before you even realize you’re upset

Brings you little cartons of milk or coffee and drops them off on your desk before school if he thinks you’ll be tired when you arrive

Despite his boisterous attitude, Kuroo is like *smart smart* ok he knows his stuff

He probably doesn’t even study he most likely just pays attention in school and takes really good notes and then right before a quiz he looks them over once

He makes up songs in his head to help him memorize important information, whether for school or for volleyball

Will 100% attempt to introduce you to Kenma

But if the blonde doesn’t like you then he will drop you

Jokes jokes (kind of) but I think it’s important for Kuroo that his best friend kind of likes you, or else it would be really awkward among the three of you

He will carry a hair tie on his wrist for you if you need it

If you’re bigger than him he will steal your sweatshirts, regardless of what’s on it.

I can imagine him studying with you one night and leaving with a hoodie, and rolling up to practice with like Sailor Moon plastered on the front of it

Really gives zero fucks

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo headcanons #daichi sawamura #daichi headcanon #oikawa tooru #oikawa headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader

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writingfeatherduster · 3 years

Text

A Warm Feeling

Chapter Two: Exhaustion

Summary: Sans is tired to the point of feeling ill. Once again, Grillby helps.

Warnings for this chapter: Nightmares, sleep deprivation, anxiety, almost 4000 words I had to loosely edit to fit a satisfying Tumblr format that surely got a little jumbled in the copy-paste process

Chapter One

Read this on Archive of Our Own or Wattpad!

“SANS! TIME TO GET UP, LAZYBONES! I’M MAKING BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI AND IF IT’S COLD BY THE TIME YOU GET DOWN HERE I’M NOT REHEATING IT FOR YOU!”

Sans’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Papyrus’s voice. He groaned, rolling over onto his side. It was the day after Grillby had walked him home, and he had just started to fall asleep. Leftover anxiety from his nightmare had kept him up all night, his mind tormenting him with ‘what ifs’ and memories of unpleasant past runs. Nightmares and anxiety weren’t uncommon for Sans, but it had been awhile since it was that bad. He wanted to just close his eyes and ignore his brother, but then again, warm breakfast spaghetti was much better than cold spaghetti.

Sans sat up and stretched in a vain attempt to relieve the aching in his bones, grabbing his hoodie and throwing it on before he made his way downstairs. “Alright, alright,” he mumbled, “I’m up. Geez Paps, no need to get so rattled up.”

Papyrus groaned from the kitchen. “That was a stretch even for you!”

“Hey, I just woke up. It’s the best I got.” Sans chuckled and made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of plates.

If Papyrus had pupils, his expression said that he’d be rolling his eyes. He focussed back on stirring his spaghetti sauce, letting his exasperation go for a moment. “So,” he said, “After work, I’m going to Undyne’s house to train, but I won’t be coming home. Dr. Alphys is letting Undyne borrow something called ‘anime’. Apparently it’s some kind of documentary about humans? Undyne wants me to spend the night to watch it with her and to teach me about human fighting! It may not be MTT TV, but it sounds educational!”

Something in Sans’s soul shivered at the idea of Papyrus being out of his sight the entire day. He really didn’t want to be alone in the house, and having his brother nearby helped him feel a bit more secure when his anxiety was running high. He wanted to ask Papyrus to stay home, but… how could he? Papyrus sounded really excited, and Sans felt stupid for being so clingy. “Sounds great, Paps,” Sans managed to mumble, grabbing forks and putting them on the table. Did they go on the right or the left of the plate? Eh, he couldn’t remember. He’d just put them at the top of the plate instead. Good enough.

Papyrus seemed to sense Sans's hesitation, voice taking on a tone of worry. "If… if that's not 'great', brother, I can ask Undyne if we could reschedule. I know you haven't been sleeping well, and that you get lonely when I'm not here…"

"Nah, Paps, it's fine," Sans attempted to reassure him. When Papyrus continued to look unconvinced, the shorter skeleton pulled on the best nonchalant smile he could manage. When Papyrus still looked unconvinced, he chuckled nervously. "Something in your expression tells me you're not going to take 'I'm fine' for an answer." He let the smile fade with a sigh, posture sagging. God, trying to appear fine as usual for even a minute had been exhausting. "Fine," he admitted, "I'm not doing great, but it's not a big deal, Paps. Definitely not a big enough deal for you to start cancelling plans."

"AHA!" Papyrus cried, brandishing a wooden spoon at Sans. "So you ADMIT that there is, in fact, a deal!"

"Sure," Sans chuckled, "I got plenty of deals. I'm selling wood carvings at three G a piece." Papyrus would've arched an eyebrow if he'd had one.

"Sans, you don't make wood carvings."

"That's why they're so cheap."

The taller skeleton groaned, nearly forgetting to take his sauce off the stove. "It doesn't work like- ugh, nevermind! I can see you don't want to talk about it. However," he continued, straightening up a bit to make a 'grand declaration', "If you need me for any reason, you need only call upon me, and I will return home!"

Sans smiled at his brother, his nerves briefly put at ease by Papyrus's antics. Yeah, Paps would only be a call away, right? Besides, Sans could handle a little nightmare or two on his own. He'd been fine. Everything would be fine.

Still, as the skeletons chatted over breakfast, Sans couldn't help the feeling of uneasy anticipation that followed him up. He could make it through one anxious evening on his own… right?

Sans wandered up to his post in the forest, grabbing a bottle of ketchup he’d left behind before going back around to the front and sitting down. He let his head fall back against the wood with a soft thunk. His bones ached in protest as he settled into the snow, causing him to groan. Usually he would just take a shortcut to his post from Snowdin, but he’d learned his lesson about a dozen resets ago. Shortcuts while tired? Never ended well. So, he’d had to walk all the way out to his post in the woods. He was pretty sure the walk had spent the last of the energy he had left. He would usually go all the way to the door in the woods, but even the thought of that little extra distance made him want to throw up. Or cry. Maybe both. It was just one of those days.

He took a swig from the ketchup bottle and kept his eyes on the snow-covered road, ignoring how the light reflecting off of it gave him a headache. He resolved to just keep an eye out for Frisk from his new favorite seat. It had been four days, so they could come out of the Ruins at any moment. Seriously, what was taking them so long? Sans almost wanted to just blast through the door and go find out himself. Eh, maybe on the next run. Wouldn’t that be a shock for Frisk? To see Sans in the Ruins? If he took a shortcut, maybe he could even get to them before Toriel.

Sans closed his eye sockets as he let his thoughts wander, sighing. He was actually starting to feel really comfortable. The snow was cold, yeah, but it took him way longer to get uncomfortably cold than other monsters, because of the whole ‘no skin’ thing. It must have snowed early that morning, because the top layer of powder was light and fluffy, supporting Sans’s back a bit more as he sank into it.

A tap on Sans’s shoulder caught his attention and he slowly opened his eyes. When he did, his whole body tensed.

Frisk.

The human child’s hands were covered in dust, and they were smirking as they tapped Sans awake with the tip of their toy knife. They raised it, and the skeleton didn’t even have a chance to react before-

Sans jolted awake with a shout, eye flaring blue as he gripped his chest, trying to steady his breathing as he oriented himself. He must have dozed off at some point without realizing. Shit. What if Frisk really had snuck up on him? What if Frisk snuck past him? He quickly straightened up and looked down the road. Thankfully, the snow leading down towards the door to the Ruins was untouched, bearing no human footprints, or any footprints at all. The fact that Sans wasn’t buried in snow proved that there hadn’t been any recent snowfall to cover up footprints, either. Frisk was still in the Ruins. For now, everyone in Snowdin was okay.

It occurred to Sans just how cold he’d gotten, a shiver running through him. Jeez, how long was he sitting in the snow? He really needed to start wearing a watch or something. His internal clock wasn’t super reliable when he was so tired his hands were shaking. Ignoring the protests of his joints, the skeleton got to his feet. He had to lean against his sentry post for a moment as a wave of dizziness came over him. Now that Sans had gotten a brief moment of rest, his body seemed determined to make him go back to sleep. At all costs. That couldn’t be good.

Sans turned and looked back the way he came. It was going to be a long walk home, and the longer he stayed up, the worse he felt. He could sleep at his station like he used to, sure, but after laying in the snow for who knows how long the cold was starting to get to him. He could wait until Papyrus came to check on him and ask his brother for help, but then Papyrus was sure to go home with him and fret. Frisk could show up at any moment… but what could Sans even do in this state? He probably couldn’t even stick to his usual routine, swaying tiredly on his feet as he contemplated his next move. Looking back down the road at the glistening snow, Sans made his choice. He was going home. Now. He’d get some rest before going to his Waterfall post. Then Papyrus wouldn’t suspect a thing, and Sans could recover a bit before Paps went to Undyne’s. After all, there was no way Sans was going to sleep with Papyrus gone.

Cutting through the woods to avoid most of the other sentry posts and puzzles, Sans made his way back towards Snowdin, stumbling a bit as he did. After a close call where he nearly lost his balance on the narrow wood bridge leading towards town, he was starting to think that he was developing a crush on his mattress. He did his best to look at least semi-alert as he walked through town, waving to others who acknowledged him as they went about their day.

As he passed Grillby’s, Sans slowed to a stop, looking up at the sign and briefly thinking about the night before. Come to think of it, he’d gotten a good few hours of sleep while he was sitting at Grillby’s bar. It wasn’t enough, considering those few hours probably accounted for most of the sleep Sans had gotten in the past four days, but he couldn’t imagine how much worse he would be feeling right then without it. Not only that, but Grillby had let Sans stay late, allowing the skeleton to have that much-needed rest without being disturbed. Grillby probably didn’t know how much that meant to him. Sans made a mental note to thank the bartender again later, not sure if he had given him a proper ‘thank you’ yet.

The door opening pulled Sans from his thoughts. Speak- or think- of the devil. Grillby had stepped outside, walking over to Sans with a slight frown. “Sans? Are you alright? You’ve been standing outside for a good ten minutes.”

Really? That long? Sans had been sure he only paused for a moment. “Yeah, I’m alright,” the skeleton mumbled, “Just lost in thought I guess.”

“Well,” Grillby said with a lingering hint of worry, “Why don’t you go ahead and come inside? I was about to break for lunch, myself, and I wouldn’t mind a bit of company.”

It took Sans a moment to catch up with what the bartender said, but when he did, he chuckled. “This isn’t a trick to make me rack up a larger tab, is it?”

Grillby couldn’t help the way the corners of his mouth twitched upward slightly at the comment. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll take care of that yourself later. This one is on the house.”

Grillby led the way into the bar. It was pretty slow, the only patrons being the usuals that hung around taking up seats pretty much from open to close. Sans moved to go sit at his usual barstool, but was pleasantly surprised when Grillby put a hand on his shoulder and guided him past the bar and into the kitchen. The kitchen was surprisingly small and very clean. “Nice setup you got here, Grilbz,” Sans commented lightly. “I honestly kinda expected a fancier lineup, with how busy you get some nights. Color me impressed.”

If Sans didn’t know any better, he’d say Grillby was blushing. The bartender adjusted his glasses a bit, clearing his throat. “W-well, I light to keep a tight ship, and it’s just me back here. Anyway, there’s a couple of chairs and a small table in the back right corner, over there. I’ll cook us up some lunch, you make yourself comfortable,” Grillby said invitingly.

Sans didn’t have to be told twice. He made himself comfortable in a folding chair as he watched Grillby cook, sighing as his sore legs got some relief. The kitchen was comfortably warm, and Sans found himself in danger of falling asleep again, fighting to keep his eyes open.

Grillby glanced up at the skeleton, then looked back down at the stove, where he was toasting the bun for Sans’s burger. He carefully broke the silence, softly asking, “Did you get any sleep last night? You look exhausted.”

Sans shrugged, finding himself being surprisingly candid with Grillby. “A little. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Grillby finished putting together the burger and grabbed a bottle of ketchup, walking over to Sans and putting both in front of him. “Perhaps you should stay here while I call your brother…”

“No!” Sans sat up straighter, then took a deep breath to calm himself down. “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to worry him. He’s got plans tonight, and you know how he is. He’ll cancel to fret over me the second he thinks something is wrong.” He looked down at the plate and mumbled a, “Thanks, by the way,” before picking up the burger and biting into it. The warmth from the food seemed to spread through him, making him relax back into his chair again. Was it bad that all it took was a burger to put him at ease for a moment? He swallowed and sighed contently, then noticed that Grillby was watching him. “Really, Grillbz, I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

Grillby debated with himself for a moment, then decided to let it go. “Alright, if you say so.” The timer on the fryer went off and he got up, taking out the fries and tossing them in salt before dumping them into a basket. To Sans’s surprise, Grillby got another basket out and lined it with paper, preparing a small salad for himself.

“Uh, Grillby?” Sans prompted with amusement, “Doesn’t a basket of fries cancel out like, all the health benefits of eating a salad?”

Grillby rolled his eyes. “For your information, I just happen to like salads. I prefer to have a light lunch, anyway.” He went over to the table and sat across from Sans. “Health has nothing to do with it. Besides, you’re one to talk. How many of my burgers do you eat a week? Excuse me, I meant a day?”

Sans set the already half-eaten burger down, putting his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay! Don’t go turning into Papyrus on me. My bro already gives me an earful about my eating habits, and I don’t even have ears.”

Grillby chuckled, starting to pick at his fries. “Well, just tell me that it’s because you like my cooking, and I’ll let it slide.”

Sans lowered his hands with a smirk. “Okay. It’s because I like your cooking. You make a mean burger, Grillbz, and I mean it.”

Okay, that time Grillby definitely blushed. “I-i- oh, um, thank you,” the bartender stammered, caught off guard. He didn’t think Sans would actually say it!

The skeleton laughed, wiping his hands on his shorts as he leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t felt this relaxed all day. It was… nice. “Thanks for this, Grillby. Sure beats eating lunch alone at home.” He picked up the ketchup bottle and took a long drink, setting the bottle down when he was done and leaning back in his chair. He was warm, he was fed… and he felt safe. Tucked in the corner of the quiet kitchen, Sans felt completely hidden from the world. He let his eyes drift closed, taking a deep breath…

And barely a moment later, he had finally fallen asleep.

Later that day, Sans stirred slightly, barely aware as someone draped something soft over him and lifted him out of the chair he’d fallen asleep in. He wanted to protest being carried, but instead he found himself curling into the chest of whoever was holding him, mumbling something incoherent that vaguely resembled the word ‘warm’. Whoever it was chuckled, a deep vibration in their chest that comforted the skeleton somehow. Sans sighed as he resigned himself to his new position, settling into the person’s arms…

The next thing he could remember was cold. He shivered slightly and the person carrying him paused to adjust the soft material Sans was wrapped in to cover him better. The snow crunched under their feet as they walked, and Sans could have sworn, for just a moment, that they were humming.

A sudden shift in angle caused Sans to squint his eyes open, confused. He was… in his bedroom, laying on his mattress. The only light in the room was the warm glow coming from the figure that was tucking a blanket over him. “Grillbz…?”

Grillby smiled down gently at Sans. “It’s alright,” he reassured, “Just go back to sleep.”

That was all the encouragement Sans needed.

When Sans woke up, light was filtering in through his window. A glance at his phone- when had he plugged that in?- informed him that it was a little past nine in the morning. By his standards, he was up early. By Papyrus’s standards, he’d slept in. He was definitely late for work.

Sans sat up and stretched, back and shoulders popping as everything shifted back into place. Something fell off his shoulders and he glanced down. That… wasn’t his blanket. Blinking in confusion, Sans picked up the warm black jacket he’d been wrapped in, confused. Come to think of it, how did he even get home? He had to admit, most of the day before had been a blur. He’d been exhausted out of his mind, after all. The last thing he could remember was eating lunch with Grillby.

Now that he was paying full attention to his situation, Sans realized that he felt surprisingly well rested. He hadn’t been disturbed by nightmares or resurfacing memories all night. When was the last time that had happened? His morning was just getting stranger and stranger, though not exactly in a bad way. Of course, now that he was sitting up, his bladder made its complaints known and he was forced to get out of bed. He could solve the jacket mystery later. For now, he supposed he should get his day started.

One trip to the bathroom and a shower later, and Sans was feeling more alert than he had in… he didn’t even know how long. The skeleton threw on some gym shorts and a t-shirt, heading back towards his room. That’s when Sans finally noticed him.

Glancing down into the living room, Sans did a double take. Grillby was laying on his side on the couch, glasses askew. There was a book sitting open on the floor, indicating that the bartender had fallen asleep reading. Grillby had not only taken Sans home, but had stayed with him, trying to stay awake in case his friend had another nightmare.

As Sans realized what had happened, he felt himself grow warm with embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to worry his friend, much less make him feel the need to stay the night! Despite that, Sans was actually kind of touched. No, he was definitely touched. Slipping back into his room, he grabbed the blue blanket off his mattress, quietly taking it downstairs and draping it over the sleeping fire monster. He made his way into the kitchen, thinking. He wasn’t a great cook, but hey, he could get some coffee started and at least try to operate the toaster.

Sans was just pulling the fifth and sixth pieces of burnt toast (seriously, how could anyone make a toaster this complicated) when he heard a yawn coming from the living room, followed by sleepy grumbling. He poured a cup of (thankfully not burned) coffee and headed that way, smiling a bit when he saw Grillby sitting up on the couch. “Hey. The librarians are going to get onto you if you keep leaving books laying on the floor. The pages get bent that way.”

Grillby sighed and rolled his eyes. “Good morning to you too,” he mumbled gruffly. “Did you sleep well?”

Okay, Sans should not have shivered when Grillby said that, but he certainly didn’t expect Grillby’s voice to be gravelly in that way when he woke up. It made the skeleton think of a campfire, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “U-um, pretty good,” Sans managed. He held the cup of coffee out, which Grillby accepted gratefully.

The two sat in silence for a moment, neither of them sure what to say. Finally, Grillby spoke up. “Are you feeling any better? You looked like you felt awful yesterday.”

Sans chuckled. “Honestly? I didn’t even know how bad I felt until I woke up feeling better this morning. Thanks for bringing me home. Again.” He glanced at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you stay up late with me?” he asked shyly. “You really didn’t have to. But, um, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Grillby said simply. “I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. I know that you can’t sleep without Papyrus home when you’re feeling anxious. Besides… I… well, I wanted to stay. I was worried.” He blushed and sipped on his coffee, not meeting Sans’s eyes.

“Worried?” Sans looked up at Grillby. This guy was just full of surprises lately, huh? “Aww, Grillbz,” Sans chuckled, unable to help teasing. “That was really sweet of you. I guess you can say you had a burning desire to help me?”

Grillby groaned. “Not before I’ve finished my coffee, Sans.”

You could have read this a day early! Stay updated on the latest chapters by viewing on Archive of Our Own or Wattpad. Also, if you've gotten this far, consider reblogging or just leaving a comment so other people can see this (and so I can stay motivated to keep writing). Thank you, and I hope you've enjoyed the story so far!

#undertale #sans #papyrus #grillby #sansby #sans x grillby #undertale fic #fanfic #my writing #dustywrites #how do you tag stuff #undertale a warm feeling #dusty fic

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flowerfan2 · 4 years

Text

The One That Remains

Johnlock, 2k, A03

Summary: Sherlock wakes up in hospital confused... but it all turns out even better than he could have dreamed.

Sherlock’s head feels heavy, and is throbbing dreadfully. There are voices nearby – he can tell they are trying to speak softly, but each sound crashes into him like storm-churned waves against a cliff. His mind is filled with fog and he can’t make sense of what he hears. Regretfully, he lets himself slip back into unconsciousness.

When he wakes again, the pain has faded to a manageable ache. He holds still, not wanting to aggravate his head again, and tries to take stock. In hospital, obviously, but with a minimum of support. He carefully shifts his toes and fingers, and, reassured that nothing catastrophic seems to have taken place, opens his eyes.

“Ah, there you are.” He hears John’s voice as his face comes blearily into focus. “Gave me quite a scare this time, love.” There’s a hand grasping tightly to his, and Sherlock quickly closes his eyes again.

Clearly he has underestimated his condition. John is stubbornly loyal, and surprisingly forgiving, but he doesn’t call Sherlock love, and they don’t hold hands. Not even in hospital, not even when their world seems to be ending. He can count the times they’ve hugged on one hand (and could do so even with the loss of a few fingers). John may be getting over the grief of Mary’s betrayal, and has tentatively agreed to move back in to Baker Street, but things between them are decidedly not at the hand-holding stage, and never will be. John has made that abundantly clear on multiple occasions.

“That’s all right, then,” John says, in apparent reaction to Sherlock’s refusal to open his eyes. “Sleep as long as you want. You’re going to be fine, don’t worry.” Sherlock feels John’s fingers gently push his hair off his forehead, and it’s all he can do not to fling that taunting appendage away. “I’m here, it’s okay. You’re safe. You can rest.”

He flees into his mind palace, searching for an explanation for John’s behavior. He quickly eliminates injury to himself – that’s happened dozens of times, and never resulted in physical affection along these lines, in fact it’s much more likely to elicit a reprimand. He’s considering whether John could also have been injured in whatever case resulted in Sherlock’s own hospitalization, but he can’t imagine what would cause John to act in this manner other than some type of love potion and he’s not so far gone that he’s willing to acknowledge the possibility of such nonsense.

No, the only explanation that seems even remotely fitting is that Sherlock is caught in a dream, a dream where his deepest, most secret desires are permitted to see the light of day. A dream where John loves Sherlock.

Sherlock is considering whether he can convince his brain to stay in this dream for at least a short time, enough to measure the length of each of John’s fingers against his own, and possibly hear a few more endearments uttered in John’s quiet just-for-Sherlock voice, when his musings are interrupted by a much less welcome visitor.

“Brother mine, I know you’re not asleep.”

Sherlock hears John chuckle, and then withdraw his fingers from Sherlock’s. Sherlock tenses, forces himself not to grab at John’s hand, but he tells himself he has only dreamed it anyway and tames his unacceptable response. It can’t hurt to lose something you never really had.

John and Mycroft exchange meaningless words, something inane about poor quality coffee, and then Sherlock is alone with Mycroft.

He revises his conclusion. This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare, and not even a very interesting one.

“Come now, brother. Open your eyes.”

Sherlock huffs and looks up at Mycroft. Pristine suit, clean shaven, eyes no more tired than usual. Sherlock is clearly not in any unusual danger, nor is the rest of the world.

“When will I wake?” he asks, realizing as he does that his dream Mycroft isn’t likely to know the answer any more accurately than Sherlock himself does.

Mycroft smirks. “You’re wide awake now, Sherlock.”

“I’m not.” Sherlock petulantly flops over on his side, facing away from Mycroft. If dream Mycroft isn’t going to help, he might as well go away and let dream John return. Dream John is lovely. Dream John should stay forever.

“You’ve been drugged. It’s altered you a bit but it will wear off completely soon. Shouldn’t have any lasting effects.”

“Go away.”

“I told John I’d stay until he returned, and I will do so.”

Sherlock twists and looks at Mycroft over his shoulder. “He’s coming back?”

A fond look washes over Mycroft’s face, and that more than anything convinces Sherlock that he’s dreaming. Mycroft’s face is not designed to look fond. It’s not in his programming. “Of course he’s coming back.”

Sherlock presses his face into his pillow and pouts. Mycroft is keeping something from him, but Sherlock can’t weasel it out of him in his present condition. Sherlock needs more data, wants to spring from the bed and examine the situation from every angle, but he’s bone crushingly tired and can’t seem to summon the necessary energy to do it. Maybe John will return, and Sherlock can rest with dream John holding his hand until he has recovered enough to break out of this confusion and return to reality.

John does return, bringing the aroma of coffee into the room. As Mycroft is still present, John comes around to Sherlock’s other side and draws a chair close. Sherlock squints an eye open, and sees John gazing right back at him. He quickly shuts his misbehaving eye. It won’t do to reveal too much, not without more information.

“It’s all right,” John says, his breath fluttering close against Sherlock’s face. A stale almond croissant, apparently, was consumed along with the coffee. Sherlock tosses away this unhelpful deduction and focuses on the much, much more interesting feeling of John’s hand stroking along his forehead and carding through his hair. “You’re okay. It’s just me, love.”

There it is again, that word, it doesn’t make any sense. It’s not for him, it can’t be, it never has been before. Sherlock doesn’t argue, though, he’ll take it, gratefully. John strokes his hand along Sherlock’s forehead again, and despite himself, Sherlock pushes ever so sneakily into John’s soothing touch. He’s rewarded with a soft sound and the feel of damp lips against his cheek, and he wonders if he can dream this dream forever, because it’s the best dream he’s ever had.

But John sits up, saying goodbye to Mycroft as his brother (finally) takes his leave. Now John’s hand is threading through Sherlock’s again, which is acceptable as it is John’s other hand this time, and it gives Sherlock the opportunity to gather further data, to compare this hand with the one previously examined, to shift each of his fingers carefully against the skin of John’s fingers: shorter than his own, nails neatly trimmed, callouses where expected…

Sherlock’s breath catches in his chest, and he freezes. If John notices he doesn’t say anything, just continues to hold Sherlock’s hand as a nurse engages him in vacuous small talk about the weather. But Sherlock has encountered something which sends his dream crashing down around him, which shatters his fantasy so completely that he might as well send John back to Mary and go home to Baker Street, alone and miserable as always. But wait- that’s wrong, John isn’t with Mary any more, Mary is dead, Sherlock knows this, he was just thinking about how John was putting the entire Mary debacle behind him… it occurs to him, like a beam through the fog of his mind, that whatever happened to him must have affected his memory.

Sherlock must have allowed his confusion to show on his face, because John has noticed this time (he does observe, occasionally), and is speaking in his worried doctor voice. But it’s not the same as it used to be, there’s something else going on, sentiment coloring his words. Sherlock can’t stand this, he isn’t able to deduce anything correctly in this state, it’s unacceptable and intolerable and it’s scaring him.

“Sherlock? You okay?”

Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut, and a tear slides down his cheek. Well done, he thinks to himself. Now he’ll definitely believe you’re asleep.

“Hey, it’s okay.” John wipes the tear away with a fingertip. “Don’t cry, love. It’s really okay. Trust me. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s okay.”

Still an idiot, Sherlock thinks. That statement makes no sense. There are any number of things he can be thinking that are decidedly not okay.

“The drugs will wear off soon, Sherlock. You got a low dose, you’ll make a full recovery. Molly went over your results from the last victims, and she’s sure of it.”

Sherlock doesn’t know what Molly Hooper has to do with any of this.

“Come on, relax. Take some deep breaths for me.” John is running his hand over Sherlock’s head again, and Sherlock can feel the offending item hard against his skin. Deep breaths aren’t going to help this situation.

“Tell me what’s wrong, love. Just tell me, let me help.”

That word cuts through him, and Sherlock can no longer control himself. “You’re married,” he spits out, anger and confusion coloring his voice. “Go home to her. Stop torturing me.” He knows it doesn’t make any sense, he knows Mary is gone. But then why is John wearing a ring?

John’s hand pauses in its journey across Sherlock’s forehead, and cups his cheek. “Sherlock, open your eyes.”

Sherlock shakes his head.

“Please,” John says softly, without even a hint of his Captain Watson voice, and Sherlock, helpless against this, complies.

John’s face is so dear, even with a few extra lines he doesn’t quite remember, and his eyes are shining bright as they meet Sherlock’s own.

“I am married,” he says quietly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Very happily married.” John shifts and pulls something out of his pants pocket and takes Sherlock’s hand in his own. “And so are you.”

Sherlock gasps as John holds up a ring for him to see, and then slips it on to Sherlock’s finger.

“This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming,” Sherlock insists, but John just gazes at him sweetly and presses a coffee-scented kiss to his cheek.

“Wait – stop it – John – this isn’t-”

“It’s okay, love. Just rest easy. You’ll remember soon.”

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock wonders if he is having a panic attack – can you have a panic attack in your dream? If you stop breathing in a dream, what happens then? Do you snap out of the dream when you die? He realizes he’s basing this particular concern on that infernal dreamsharing movie John made him watch, and drags his focus back to John. John, who is shuffling his chair even closer to Sherlock’s bed and leaning down until he’s practically embracing Sherlock.

“I wasn’t supposed to say anything until the drugs wore off, it just agitates the victims to realize that their memory is impaired. I should have realized you’d figure it out, though. My brilliant madman.” John is snuggling against Sherlock, and Sherlock can feel the rise and fall of John’s chest against his own.

“Breath with me. Come on. Humor me.”

Sherlock does, his nose practically touching John’s cheek, warm air exchanged between them as Sherlock matches his exhalations to John’s. When the room stops spinning, he pulls his left hand out of John’s grasp, and looks at the ring John placed on his finger. He slides it off, blinking at the familiarity of the sensation, and sees the inscription. The one which remains.

“You had a hard time believing this the first time around, too,” John says. “We each inscribed the other’s rings. Want to see mine?” John tugs his own ring off and shows it to Sherlock. Inside is written conductor of light.

“This is a very detailed dream,” Sherlock says, returning John’s ring to him, and letting John put his own back on his finger again. It settles easily, as if Sherlock’s hand adjusted to its shape long ago.

“A good one?” John asks, his eyes searching Sherlock’s face.

“The very best,” Sherlock says seriously. He doesn’t know what to think as John snuggles – snuggles – back down against him, one arm going around his shoulders as Sherlock lies there dumbfounded. Could John be right? Could they be married? How had Sherlock possibly pulled that off, how had he convinced John Watson to trust him with his heart? It is both too incredible to believe, and at the same time… eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth.

“All right then,” John says, tracing a finger along Sherlock’s collarbone. “Rest a bit. It’ll all come back to you soon, I promise.”

Sherlock lets himself drift off, safe and warm in a way that is perplexingly familiar. When he wakes a few hours later, his husband curled up against him, Sherlock knows this isn’t a dream. It’s his life, his treasured, improbable life, and it’s better than any dream he possibly could have imagined.

#johnlock #sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #johnlock fic

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

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Do you accept requests for Merasmus? If you do, can I get some fluffy domestic Merasmus headcanons? If you don't take requests for him that's okay too❤️❤️

Of course I do! Merasmus is one of my favorite characters! Let’s see...domestic...

Buying the cottage:

Merasmus is prone to depression, especially during times of meticulous, unchanging routine.

So, of course, he looks to get away for a while.

He finds a beautiful villa, but it’s suddenly closed for repairs the day before he leaves.

Not wanting waste his vacation, he decides to just pick a random cottage near the same town.

He arrives, and, unsurprisingly, finds it a mess - cobwebs, dust, and several rat traps that still have decaying bodies of mice.

Merasmus decides that this simply won’t do.

He puts down his suitcase on the table - the least dirty surface - and begins writing a shopping list with his owl feather quill (owl for business, bluebird for personal, cardinal for love and poems)

He sends his shopping list and a few gold coins to the nearest shop via hawk.

The hawk is soon back with the supplies, as well as a wide-eyed, silver-haired young man.

“I’m sorry, sir, I just had to see this for myself! I needed to know the face to this beautiful bird!”

Merasmus is taken aback, but still keeps his manners.

“Well, you have seen it. Merasmus hopes you are not too disappointed.”

“Oh no, of course not! In fact, I’m even more intrigued.”

The man’s name ends up being Flint, and he’s the grocer of the village.

He says if Merasmus needs anything, to send the hawk with a list.

Merasmus just brushes him off and keeps cleaning

Renovations:

Merasmus notices that there’s more wrong than just dust - a lot of utilities are broken, the wood is decaying, and half of the windows are broken.

Luckily, when you have magic, you can simply will tools to do what you need.

After getting some supplies - and a good luck note from Flint - Merasmus begins renovation.

He repairs the windows, which are the easiest, and then starts on the bedroom. Imagine a dungeon, but cozier.

Now, the thing about magic is that even if you’re not physically lifting a finger, it takes a lot of energy.

Merasmus keeps the tools working for about a week, all day and all night. He figures that a simple animation spell won’t do much harm if left working.

By the time next Monday rolls around, the house is refurbished and the spell is retracted, but Merasmus can barely get out of bed. His sleep is not restful, and every movement is a Herculean task.

However, Merasmus is not one for what he calls “laziness.” He still needs to paint the outside of the house.

He tried to animate a few paint brushes, but ends up passing out from exhaustion.

Merasmus wakes up in his own bed and with Flint in the doorway.

“It seems you bit off a little more than you could chew.”

Merasmus gets up, feeling a little better since he actually slept.

“How did you...where...?”

“Your hawk flew to my shop without a list and wouldn’t stop squawking until I followed them. I could scarcely believe it was the same house, you’ve done so much...no wonder you’re tired!”

Flint offered his services, and Merasmus wasn’t in a position to refuse. The shopkeeper ended up painting his entire house in the span of a few days.

When Merasmus felt better, he offered to pay Flint for his services, but he refused.

“Call it a friend doing a friend a favor!”

The garden:

Once the house was completed, Merasmus felt a little empty.

He didn’t feel like being stared at, so he mostly just walked around the house, making sure everything was in check.

One day, a packet of seeds came through his mail slot.

It had a note from Flint attached to it.

“I have heard that the more you tend to your plants, the more you tend to your soul. That may or may not be true, but I know one thing: your soul needs some tending to. Why don’t you give it a try?”

Merasmus lasted about a day being stubborn. However, his boredom was much stronger than his pride.

He planted the seeds in his backyard, though he wasn’t exactly sure what they grew.

Within minutes, they began to poke out of the soil.

Just around then, Flint came by.

“Ah, aren’t they beautiful? Even when they haven’t any blooms, they just...glisten, don’t they?”

Merasmus was a bit surprised.

“They’re growing rather fast.”

“Oh, it’s just all the good, nutritious soil they’re in! Put any seed in some good soil and they’ll be off to the races.”

Somehow, Merasmus wasn’t convinced.

The plants continued to grow until, one morning, they bloomed into beautiful rainbow flowers. They shimmered in the light, making little rainbows in the air as the morning dew fell off of them.

Even as he just stood there looking at them, Merasmus felt his heart swell.

Flint swung by yet again, as if on cue.

“Aren’t they gorgeous? Oh, they’ve been my favorite flowers ever since I was a kid. My mother proposed to my father with one of those flowers.”

Merasmus couldn’t help but agree on their stunning beauty.

He now waters them every day with a green watering can. When he was recovering from his exhaustion, it gave him something to look forward to every day.

The reveal:

Merasmus was trying to bake his own bread when he heard his door slam.

He peeked around the corner to see Flint absolutely fuming - cursing, stomping his feet, yelling at an imaginary foe.

Merasmus was shocked...but not because of Flint’s change in humor.

A small, thick storm cloud - a literal cloud - hung over Flint’s head, crackling with small bouts of lightning.

Flint turned around suddenly, almost bumping right into Merasmus. He cried out, sputtering for an explanation.

“Oh...I...was so angry I thought...I had walked into my house. Deepest apologies, Mu.”

Merasmus blinked, then started to laugh. Flint’s cloud began to form again with new vigor before he bit it back.

“And what exactly is so funny?!”

“Merasmus should have known! Silver hair, odd plants, glowing features...you’re a wizard as well!”

“‘As well?’ You mean...”

“Merasmus doesn’t wear a skull on his head for decoration!”

Flint seems both relieved and embarrassed.

He explained that his father had died a few years ago, and his mother’s health was declining - his mother was a Storm-Sweller, and they live considerably shorter lives than wizards - so he moved here and started a shop.

When his mother died, he didn’t have it in him to leave.

The reason he was so angry was because it was Mother’s Day a few days ago, and someone had let their child trample and break everything on his mother’s ofrenda (a Spanish/Mexican shrine or offering to those that have passed; it is usually only made during Dia De Los Muertos, but wizards of Spanish descent tend to set them up more frequently due to how much they value and how many connections they have with the spirit world).

Flint tried to get him to stop, but the mother got in his face and said that the whole thing was a tripping hazard anyway, and that her little boy was doing him a favor.

He had to bite his tongue, but anger was rumbling within him for the rest of the day.

When he could finally release all his fury, he hadn’t realized he was in Merasmus’s house.

Merasmus brushed off Flint’s apology and said he had every right to feel angry.

“If Merasmus was there, he would have cursed them to eternal damnation!”

Merasmus offered a piece of lumpy dough, which Flint gratefully pounded and squeezed until his storm cloud subsided.

“Would you like me to show you how to actually make bread?”

“Please.”

A stronger bond:

Merasmus and Flint became best friends over the following weeks.

Flint taught Merasmus how to garden, cook, and do other pleasant activities, and Merasmus gave the wizarding experience the man never had.

Merasmus became more and more cheerful, and did not think of his vacation time drawing short.

But, finally, it was time to leave.

Every time Merasmus tried to pack, it was all he could do to not burst into tears.

Finally, he made up his mind.

“Flint. Before Merasmus came here, he was miserable. His life was only filled with boring, soul-sucking tasks. Merasmus’s house reflects that. He cannot return there without my heart breaking. But there is so much to be found here...more than Merasmus could find in any magical realm. Merasmus must, for his health, stay here.”

Merasmus still lives there to this day, but occasionally goes on business excursions to find lost relics. Once Flint learns enough spells, he will accompany him.

Ooooh, I want this to be a common thing. That’s my problem - I make characters that are meant fit one story and I like them so much I want to keep them.

#tf2 #tf2 headcanon #tf2 headcanons #tf2 ask blog #tf2 merasmus #tf2 fic

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onechicago-upsteadrhekker · 4 years

Text

I’m alive!! And I’m here with another prompt fic that @randers198 requested. If you have requested a fic, I promise they are in progress!! I’m not writing them in any particular order. Just when inspiration strikes and I get an idea so that’s why it may seem like it’s taking so long. Also, I’ve been bombarded with school for the past couple of months so I haven’t really been writing much. Also, my one-shots (all my fics really) get a little long *insert facepalm* but I do hope it’s worth it!

I’m hoping to get back into the swing of posting more regularly! Things seem to be slowing down for the moment so I’m gonna try to take advantage of that and write a bunch!

Also, with season 8 coming soon (insert excited screaming), I am hoping back into the deep-dive, hard-core, fangirling, shipping train that is upstead! I can’t freaking wait!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyways, enough of my rambling! Here’s #62 “What the hell is your problem!?”

*title comes from sleeping at last’s song ‘two’ (you may have picked up that I have a slight obsession with sleeping at last)

sweetheart, you look a little tired

Jay almost always woke up before her. She had never known him to sleep soundly past six and on weekdays he was usually up at five or even earlier sometimes.

It was a habit that had been ingrained into him during his time in the military and one she didn’t think he’d ever really outgrow.

Sometimes, he would get up when he woke and start his day by running or working out (he had tried to get her up too but it failed more often than it succeeded--she was more of a six-thirty am runner). He would get a shower, be dressed and have a coffee pot full of coffee waiting for her all by the time she forced herself to roll out of bed and come downstairs.

But more and more often, Jay had been staying in bed after he woke, preferring to hold her till she woke up. Hailey was fine with this arrangement, liking the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her and knowing that when she turned over, she would be met with bright green eyes and a smattering of red freckles.

So this morning when she woke, feeling cold and empty and alone she felt a little disoriented because she hadn’t woken without him at least somewhere in their bedroom in quite sometime.

She knew even before she opened her eyes he wasn’t there but she moved her legs and threw an arm in the direction of his side anyway, hoping to feel his warm body next to hers.

Hailey sat up, looking to her left with a frown at the tangled sheets but no Jay. She scooted over and found that his side was cold which meant he had been gone for a while but his phone was still on the nightstand and his clothes from the previous day were still thrown over the chair in their room.

He wouldn’t have gone anywhere without his phone and he was notorious for leaving his clothes strewn about on the floor unless she told him otherwise so she didn’t think he had gone somewhere and come back.

She hopped out of the bed, calling his name softly as she poked her head in their closet and ventured into their bathroom just in case he was taking a shower or something but he wasn’t there. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand and saw it was actually later than she thought. She must have forgotten to set her alarm last night--they had gotten in pretty late from a raid.

Brushing through her hair with her fingers, she pulled it up into a ponytail with the hair tie on her wrist as she walked downstairs upon not finding Jay in any of the rooms upstairs, “Babe? You down here?”

Hailey peeked into the living room and saw that there were blankets on the couch but still no Jay. She bit her lip, starting to get a little concerned when she walked into the kitchen to find him sitting at the island. His elbow was resting on the counter, propping his head up on his hand and he was looking off into space, bleary eyed.

“Jay, honey,” Hailey spoke softly, padding further into the room, being careful not to accidentally scare him.

It took a few seconds but eventually he blinked, focusing on her figure standing in front of him.

She put a hesitant hand on his chest, “Jay? Are you okay?”

He recovered quickly from whatever stupor she found him in, shrugging off her hand and stretching nonchalantly before pecking her cheek. She watched him grab his coffee cup off the counter as he slid off his chair, forcing her to step back. He moved to the sink and poured the still half-full cup of coffee down the drain, stetting the mug down.

He nodded to the coffee pot, “I made coffee.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hailey prompted, crossing her arms. He turned around and she ran a meticulous eye over his appearance, biting her lip in concern.

He was wearing sweat pants and a form-fitting t-shirt which wasn’t all that unusual except he preferred to sleep in boxers and even then, he never slept with a shirt on but the couch looked slept on. His hair was sticking up slightly and he looked tired, his eyes faintly red.

Jay tilted his head in confusion, yawning, “What question?”

She raised an eyebrow, “I asked if you were okay. And I was calling your name earlier. Did you not hear me?”

“Oh,” He scratched the back of his neck, “I uh--Just a little out of it this morning I guess, with the raid and all. I’m just tired.”

Hailey furrowed her eyebrows; she wasn’t quite sure she believed that, “Was it just the raid?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead, “Okay, maybe I had a nightmare earlier this morning.”

She huffed in exasperation, giving him a look, “How many times have we talked about this? Wake me up. I’m right here.”

He smiled and he looked back to his normal self if not a little tired, “I know, I know but since we got in late last night I wanted you to get as much rest as possible. I was fine, I promise. Nothing I couldn’t handle on my own.”

He checked his watch, “We need to get ready or we’ll be late for work.”

She was still standing in her spot in the kitchen with her arms crossed when he came over to give her another peck on the cheek before retreating upstairs.

Slowly turning towards the direction Jay went, she narrowed her eyes in suspicion and concern. She was pretty good at spotting when he’d had a nightmare. She usually woke up when he was having it but she hadn’t this morning and when she’d found him in the kitchen with that spaced out look on his face, he had acted odd. Different.

She wasn’t sure what it was but there was definitely something going on and she was going to figure it out.

The morning passed relatively smoothly and she kept an eye on him but she couldn’t detect anything really wrong. He seemed a little quiet and maybe a little more subdued when discussing things with the unit but that wasn’t anything to be worried over. He just seemed tired but then he’d sort of snapped at Adam and retreated down the stairs to grab some paperwork they needed.

It had clearly taken Adam aback and he turned in her direction but she responded with a shake of her head, telling him without words to let it go because she wasn’t sure what was going on and she wasn’t sure if she should push it just yet. Not unless whatever this was got in the way of the job.

Adam seemed to get her message and didn’t say anything about it. The day continued and she could tell he was trying to cover whatever it was that put him in this mood and he did an admirable job but she knew him. She could see through his act.

It wasn’t till Voight sent them to a scene did she feel the need to intervene and force Jay to tell her what was wrong.

Hailey eyed him carefully, watching as he jumped out of the truck. He hadn’t said anything the whole ride and while that wasn’t entirely unusual, there was still this broodiness she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

They approached the scene, a patrol officer guarding the crime tape that had already been set up. Hailey glanced at Jay and when it was clear he didn’t intend to say anything she addressed the cop as Jay started to duck under the tape.

“We’re Intelligence.” The cop nodded and Hailey followed Jay in ducking under the tape, jogging to catch up to where he was starting to crouch down beside the body.

She stood beside him watching as he pulled the tarp covering the victim back to examine the bullet hole right over his heart. There were no signs of a struggle and it looked like the bullet had hit him point-blank in close range.

Hailey glanced at Jay who was still squatting, looking at the body but he seemed a little out of it. She furrowed her brows, “Jay? What do you think?”

He glanced at her then, shrugging his shoulders and standing up, “Don’t know yet.”

Jay turned and walked to a couple of patrol officers who were standing off to the side. Hailey frowned at his short answer, taking a couple of hurried strides to catch up to him again.

“You were first on the scene?” Jay’s tone was short and to the point and he almost sounded irritated. He was never one for much small talk when working a scene but he never sounded like he didn’t want to be there which was the vibe Hailey was starting to get.

She didn’t say anything though, instead she watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye, on high alert for whatever was bugging him.

“Yes sir,” The patrol officers turned to them, their postures straightening and their eyes widening. They also looked a little pale and fidgety which meant that they were probably, most definitely rookies and Jay was in a mood. Just great.

Jay pulled out a pocket-sized notebook to jot down information, glancing up at the two rookies that stood nervously in front of them, “Any witnesses?”

The two officers glanced at each other before the taller one piped up, “Yes sir, there was a lady on the scene when we arrived.”

Hailey frowned, glancing quickly around, looking for said lady and she saw Jay do the same. He turned back to the officers, a hard look on his face, “And where is this lady? We need to speak with her.”

“Um,” The shorter one swallowed, “After we initially spoke with her she said she needed to go pick her kids up from school so we got her information and we uh,” Both officers visibly gulped at the growing anger coming off of Jay and Hailey herself was a little taken aback at how aggravated he looked, “We got her information and let her go.”

“I’m sorry, you let her go?” Jay’s jaw clenched, “You don’t have the authority to let witnesses go. This is a murder case and you might have just let the killer walk free. She might be headed to Canada for all we know! Of all the idiot things two patrol officers could do this is about biggest.”

Hailey’s eyes were wide; Jay didn’t get riled up very often and when he did, it was most likely because someone deserved it. The officers had made Intelligence job harder and Jay was right, they should have kept the witnesses till she and Jay showed up but the rookies didn’t deserve this kind of treatment.

Jay was practically oozing irritation and he was rubbing the back of his neck like it was stiff. Hailey grabbed his elbow to drag him off to the side. This had gone too far; whatever it was that was putting him into this mood needed to stop.

“Jay,” She hissed, flinging a quick glance back towards the patrol officers who still looked a little shell-shocked, “That was uncalled for. Yeah, they made a mistake but you didn’t have to yell at them like that. They’re still inexperienced and they aren’t going to learn anything if you keep telling them all the things they did wrong. You know better than that, Jay. You know what’s like to be in their shoes.”

Hailey let out a huff, rubbing her forehead in thought watching as Jay didn’t say anything. He just had this funny expression on his face, “What the hell is your problem!? I mean, it’s not just this. You have been acting strangely all day, first this morning and then you’ve been in this funk, snapping at everybody. And now this? This isn’t like you and this isn’t from a nightmare.”

Jay didn’t say anything, just standing in front of her and Hailey got a good look at him. She cataloged everything from the way he was standing to his facial expression, trying to figure out what it was he wasn’t telling her about and then it finally clicked.

There was finally a little crack in the mask he’d been wearing all day and she could see how utterly miserable he looked, his forehead scrunching together like he had a headache and it hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Jay, are you sick?” Her face held a mixture exasperation and concern, “You don’t feel well, do you?”

Her hand immediately went to his forehead, “Honey, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything!?”

How did she not notice this? She’d been watching him carefully all morning but it had never occurred to her that he might not feel well and now that she thought about it, he had felt a little warm when she’d brushed up against him in the bullpen earlier today and just now when she’d grabbed his elbow.

Jay shrugged, but even that looked painful to him now that he wasn’t trying to hide his illness from her, “It wasn’t that bad at first.”

Hailey’s eyebrows furrowed, her hand moving to rest on his neck, “At first? Meaning it’s worse now?”

He grimaced at his slip-up but didn’t try to refute her. She sighed, removing her hand from his neck and Jay missed the coolness and comfort of her hand immediately.

She reached into her back pocket, pulling out her phone, scrolling through her contacts then raising it to her ear. Jay frowned, “What are you doing?”

Hailey gave him a look that brokered no argument, “I’m calling Voight to tell him we’re going home.”

“What!? No,” He protested weakly, “I’m fine.”

She gave him another look, angling the phone slightly away from her mouth, “We’re going home and that’s final. You have a fever.”

Voight must have picked up because Hailey quickly moved the phone back to it’s proper position, “Hi Sarge. Yeah, we’re at the scene but you’re going to have to send Adam and Kim because Jay’s sick. I’m pretty sure he’s got a fever.”

There was a pause and he watched Hailey nod, “Yeah, apparently since this morning.” Another pause, “I was planning on it if it’s not too much of a problem.”

Hailey chuckled at something their boss said before saying goodbye and hanging up, sliding her phone back into her back jean pocket. She turned back towards Jay, holding her hand out, “Give me the keys. I’m driving.”

She could tell he wanted to fight her but he must have thought better of it because he nodded his head and reached into his pocket for the truck keys. Once he handed them off, she was making her way to where Jay had pulled the truck up to the scene, Jay trailing behind her looking like a miserable little boy who didn’t feel well and had gotten in trouble on top of it.

Hailey smiled to herself as she got into the driver’s side. He was her little boy and it was her job to take care of him even when he was stubborn and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once he climbed in, Hailey started the truck and headed towards their house. It was quiet and Hailey kept sneaking glances at her husband and she couldn’t believe he had hid how badly he was feeling because he actually looked pretty terrible.

Now that his guard was down, she could see how tired he really was and there were two red spots that had shown up on his cheekbones. He looked feverish and miserable as he laid his head against the window, his eyes closed. And he looked a little pale too.

Hailey pulled into the driveway, taking the key out of the ignition and unbuckling her seat belt. She opened her door, looking over at Jay who had fallen asleep. He must have really been sick to fall asleep in the middle of the day in a car.

She reached over, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder so she didn’t scare him, “Jay, honey,” She spoke softly, “We’re home.”

He shifted, his eyes opening blearily. She rubbed his arm, “Let’s get you inside. You’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

Once he was mostly awake and sitting up, she hopped out, shutting her door to come around to his side. He opened his own door and he was moving slowly like he was in pain and Hailey was starting to worry that this was more than a simple fever.

She followed his slow steps up to their front door and she quickly nudged her way in front of him so she could unlock the door for him. Once the door was open, she followed Jay to their living room and watched as he gingerly sat on the couch, his hand going to rest over his eyes.

She sat beside him, her hand going back to his forehead and she could have sworn it felt hotter than it did a few minutes ago.

Hailey frowned again, “Jay, tell me what hurts. I think you have a pretty high fever. What are your symptoms? And be honest with me.”

Jay removed his hand, letting his head loll in her direction. He cast her a bleary, sad gaze and Hailey felt her heart break at how pitiful he looked as she carded her fingers through his short hair.

“My head hurts,” He admitted. When he didn’t say anything else, she prompted, “And?”

He threw another glance in her direction and she knew how much he hated admitting that he wasn’t feeling well.

“And my body aches.”

Hailey bit her lip, “I think you have the flu, Jay.” She did another feel of his forehead and he leaned further into her, “I’ve heard it’s pretty bad this year.”

Jay gave a low groan, breathing out, “I can believe it.”

Even though she felt bad for him, Hailey couldn’t help the small smirk that came across her face, “Well, if someone would’ve gotten their flu shot this year, they wouldn’t sick.”

He looked up at her from where he was resting his head on her chest with puppy dog eyes and an adorable pout, “Don’t make fun. I don’t feel good.”

She gave him an exaggerated sympathetic look, brushing his hair back lovingly, “Oh my poor baby.”

Hailey bent down to give him a swift kiss on the top of his head before removing herself out from under him. She helped him lay down on the couch, pushing a pillow under his head and taking off his shoes, “I’m going to go take stock of all the medicine we have in the bathroom and then call Will to see what I should give you.”

“Hailey,” Jay whined, his eyes following her as she walked around the couch and into the kitchen, disappearing out of his sight.

“You’re taking meds. No if, ands or buts about it,” She called back to him as Jay grumbled loud enough to be heard.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

All day, Hailey answered every beck and call he had made, always with loving touch and soft kiss on his forehead.

After getting flu information from Will, they’d determined the correct medication for him to take and she’d run out to the closest pharmacy. She came back with his favorite type of juice from when he was little and a golf documentary she’d just happened to see.

After some initial grumbling on Jay’s part, he finally decided to drop his ‘tough guy’ act and give into the care Hailey was trying to provide him with for which she was grateful for. Mostly because she wasn’t having to force feed him his medicine anymore.

It was still a pain to get him to take the medicine she was giving him but at least he wasn’t outright trying to refuse her. The complaining was still in full effect though especially because the medicine Will had told her to get wasn’t in pill form.

But then she reminded him that she could always to take him to get shots instead and he usually stopped being grouchy and grudgingly swallowed the liquid Hailey was holding out in a tiny measuring cup.

She would refill his cup with juice or water, bringing it to him on the couch as she tided up the house, taking advantage of the unexpected time off to tackle chores. Always asking him if he needed anything and occasionally sitting with him for a half-hour or so to give him the comfort she could see he wanted.

And right now she was in the kitchen, making his favorite soup. He would never admit it but Jay secretly relished this time.

He didn’t much care for being sick but he loved it when Hailey played nurse. She reminded him of his own mom when he got sick as a child but more than that it proved how great of a mom Hailey would be some day.

He didn’t get to see this side of his wife very often. Playing the role of domestic housewife, picking up and taking care of him and while he wouldn’t ever want her to give up the things that made her a freakin’ bad-ass detective, he enjoyed seeing this softer side of her.

Hailey, the wife. Not Hailey, the cop. Watching the things only he saw.

She didn’t dote often but when she did, he would take it. Even if that meant feeling like crap.

“Hey honey,” Hailey came into the room with a bowl of soup in her hand and his medicine in the other, “You feel up to eating something?”

He sat up, trying not to wince from his sore muscles, “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to eat all of it. I just want something in your stomach other than juice and medicine,” She deposited the half-full bowl of soup into his hands before pouring the proper dosage of medicine in the small measuring cup for him, “And speaking of, it’s time for another dose of your medicine.”

Jay took a bite of soup, watching Hailey warily as she held out the cup full of purple liquid and grimaced at her stern look. He sighed and put down the soup.

He had learned quickly that it didn’t go well if he tried to refuse so he decided he’d better just get it over with and take the stuff. He was still looking at Hailey with a sulky look as he obediently drank the disgusting medicine before making a ‘yuck’ face.

She took the cup from him and handed him his juice to wash it down with, giving him a satisfied smile.

“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” He knew she was teasing him and he gave her a grumpy face. She chuckled, kissing him on the forehead, “You enjoy your soup. I’m going to go wash the dishes.” Hailey gave him a mothering look, “Call if you need something.”

Shaking her head, Hailey walked back into the kitchen to clean up. She put the medicine on the end of one of her counters before going over to dish out the rest of the soup into storage containers to put into the fridge.

She was glad that they were heading into the weekend, giving her more flexibility to look after Jay. Unless there was a major case that came up then she would be able to finish up the paperwork from the past week at home.

Hailey planned to keep Jay on the couch, resting and taking his medication the entire weekend so that hopefully by Monday he would be well enough to go into work. If that meant babying him for a couple days then so be it because he was a nightmare when everyone was at work but him.

He was constantly calling all of them to ask for updates on whatever case they were working on because he was bored.

And while Hailey had never really known him to get sick like this, she knew what he was like when he got injured so she figured it would be similar.

In the whole time Hailey had known Jay, he had maybe gotten a couple of colds and never during their married life so this was a somewhat different experience for her. She was more used to gauze and PT exercises. Not soup and liquid medicine.

But fortunately, or unfortunately, she was a pro at getting Jay to take medicine because he gave her a hard time even with pills which made no sense to her but he always tried to convince her he didn’t like how narcotics made him feel and any antibiotics he was prescribed was making his immune system weak.

He was just stubborn. But she could be stubborn too.

She supposed she would be thankful for the experience when they had kids of their own who inherited their father’s stubbornness.

Lord help her when that happened.

Hailey rinsed a dish, thinking of Jay in the other room and the events of the day.

He had gone from moody and trying to cover up his sickness to a needy little boy who wouldn’t take his medicine, moping around her.

Jay always tried to put up a tough guy act and it usually worked but not with her. Once he had been convinced to give it up, he was the most high-maintenance man she knew. She knew how clingy he could get when he was injured and it seemed to be even more so when he was sick because he had been calling her into the living room to ask for company all throughout the day.

She almost laughed out loud at how domesticated they had been today. She almost felt like she was playing house but it was real. She really had a husband who needed her from time to time, picking up after him and making him a homemade dinner. Something they didn’t usually have time for.

And while she wouldn’t trade her high-action life for anything, she secretly loved when these slow days came. Which usually meant Jay was injured but in this case he was sick and she couldn’t deny the satisfaction she got from taking care of him. Of doing the mundane things that came with a house and a husband.

Not that she’d ever admit it but standing there doing the dishes, listening to the Black hawks game Jay had turned on, knowing that he was in there, laying on their couch, well-taken care of made her heart swell in a way she didn’t ever think she’d ever get to experience.

The feeling of a safe, happy home and a bright future full of love.

Even if that meant taking care of a grumpy Jay from time to time.

Was that ending to cheesy for you... I’m so terrible at endings but hopefully it wrapped the story up in some sort of profound, cohesive way. This started out as a small little sick fic but turned into a mammoth of a thing and honestly I wasn’t really sure what I was writing... I just knew I wanted Hailey to pick up on Jay’s not feeling well at work hence the prompt. Hopefully you enjoyed it and I’m trying my best to get through all these prompts but seeing as how I’m incapable of writing things under a thousand words, it takes a little while. I’m also trying my best to work on Dancing in the Minefields if any of you are following that...I know you guys deserve the next chapter but I’ve sort of lost steam on it and I’m trying to find the grove again. But in other news I have a couple of big fics coming your way and they are in progress but I’ve decided I’m not going to post them until it’s totally completed so I don’t leave you hanging!!

Anyway, let me know how you liked this prompt fic and I’ll see you next time!

#Chicago PD #jay halstead #hailey upton #jay halstead x hailey upton #upstead #married!upstead #fluff #stubborn but clingy #Hailey is such a good wifey #couple goals #prompt fic #prompt

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erandir · 3 years

Text

Fic: Tender

Finished and fixed up this old unfinished ficlet for @14daysdalovers

Prompt: A Tender Caress Pairing: Rowan Tabris/Zevran Arainai (pre-relationship) Rating: T Wordcount: 2016 Summary: Rowan returns from the Deep Roads in desperate need of some TLC and a nap. Zevran provides. Or: The boys caught feelings but are too dumb to realize it.

----------

There was absolutely no sense of time in the Deep Roads. Somehow Oghren seemed to have some concept of the passage of days. As much as days had existed in Orzammar, at least, which was only in a very vague sense. But for Rowan, it had all become one endless expanse of time. A sort of eternal, infuriating twilight. All he knew was that by the time Orzammar was back in sight he was tired, aching, and he never wanted to see the Deep Roads again for as long as he lived.

They staggered out into the marketplace to the great surprise of everyone present, including the guards at the door that had all but sealed them in. Rowan hadn’t looked in a mirror for the Maker only knew how long, but if his companions were anything to judge by - Oghren, Shale, and Morrigan - he probably looked like he’d bathed fully clothed in a pool of mud, blood, and ichor. Actually, that wasn’t far from the truth.

Probably he should have gone straight to the Assembly, but he thought that if he had to deal with dwarven nobility right now on top of everything else he wouldn’t be able to restrain the urge to murder everyone in the room. And that wasn’t conducive to army recruitment. But word of their return somehow crossed the city faster than they did themselves, because as he approached the inn Alistair was coming out to meet them.

“You’re back!” Alistair enthused, then he paused when their appearance finally registered. “You look terrible. Did you find Branka at least?”

“Oh boy did we,” Rowan said. That was going to take some explanation that he did not have the energy for at the moment. He clapped a hand on Alistair’s shoulder, and then pushed past him into the inn. “I’ll tell you all about it, but first I need a bath and the strongest drink this place has.”

The drink came first. Something thick and brown that smelled strongly of dirt and burned like fire going down his throat. It sent him into a short coughing fit, which was eased by a friendly pat on the back and a familiar accented voice commenting, “The strength of the drink here is really its only good quality.”

Zevran was a sight for sore eyes. A very handsome sight for Rowan’s very tired and sore eyes. And one look at Rowan’s haggard face prompted Zevran to signal the bartender for another round.

“Thanks,” Rowan said, voice coming out in something of a rasp as his throat attempted to recover from the first drink. The second went down no easier, but he preferred that at the moment.

“You looked as though you needed it,” Zevran replied.

“How long were we down there?” Rowan asked. Oghren had guessed at the number of days, but without Orzammar’s clocks even he hadn’t been certain. And Rowan wasn’t sure he trusted the dwarf’s judgement fully.

“More than two weeks,” Zevran replied.

“Fuck,” Rowan breathed. That long? Or only that long? The expedition had felt both shorter and longer at the same time. He’d never expected it to take so long, either.

Zevran hummed a sound of agreement. “I will not lie, some of us were beginning to wonder if you would ever return.”

Of those that had been left behind, Alistair and Leliana didn’t seem the type to despair, Wynne was probably pragmatic enough to know a lost cause when she saw one, but was two weeks long enough? That left only Zevran and the dog. “Some of us?”

Zevran favored him with a wan smile. Caught. “I’m very glad to be wrong, in this instance.”

“Glad you were, too,” Rowan agreed. He didn’t want to die in a hellhole like that, and shuddered at the idea that someday he might have no other choice. No, he didn’t want to think about that right now. He wanted another drink, but more than that he wanted to be clean. He pushed himself away from the bar, “I need a bath.”

He didn’t miss the way Zevran eyed him up and down, but without the usual heat behind his gaze. “You do,” he agreed, but not unkindly. “I think it will take some effort to clean up this mess, perhaps you would like some help?”

Rowan was surprised by the offer. He was filthy, and far too exhausted to do anything other than clean up and fall asleep. But he was exhausted, and Zevran had offered. “I wouldn’t say no.”

—————

Orzammar did not have baths large enough for Rowan to fit in comfortably. Still he sunk as deep into the water as he could, letting the warm water seep into the sore muscles of his arms and back. He must have looked slightly ridiculous when Zevran waltzed into the room. Only his head and knees above the water, pale skin mottled with bruises visible now that all the blood and filth was washing off.

Griffin trotted at Zevran’s side, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth and stubby tail wagging. He’d practically bowled Rowan over when he first arrived back at the room, but thankfully the Mabari’s excitement to have his master back had lessened in the past hour.

“I’ve finally located something that claims to be soap,” Zevran announced triumphantly.

Rowan managed an actual smile, though a small one. “Let’s have it, then,” he said, pushing himself into a proper seated position again and holding out a hand.

Zevran produced an oblong lump of off-white lye soap. It wasn’t the prettiest thing in the world, but it would serve. As soon as the soap was in his hands, Rowan lathered up and began scrubbing at his hair, which hadn’t been free of its ponytail for at least two weeks. Almost immediately his fingers became caught in knots and mats that tugged painfully at his scalp. “Ow, shit,” he hissed, pulling his hands away delicately. “I might need a haircut.”

“No!” Zevran gasped in dismay. He knelt beside the bathtub and finally had a good look at the state of Rowan’s hair, then sighed sadly. “Ah, you have not been taking care of your lovely curls.”

“I was rather preoccupied,” Rowan told him.

Zevran hummed softly, a sound equal parts agreement and consideration. “We may be able to save it,” he said, “But it will take some work. I’ll leave the decision with you.”

Rowan considered it. He’d had short hair before, in fact the only reason it was so long now was that he couldn’t be bothered to trim it while on the road. So he wasn’t emotionally attached to it or anything. But Zevran seemed fond of his copper ringlets when he let them down, and he’d grown rather fond of the compliments they earned him. “We can try,” he agreed eventually. “After I’ve bathed.”

“That seems wise,” Zevran agreed. “I’ll fetch my comb, and when you are clean, we will see if we can rescue your hair.”

Rowan only nodded and went back to washing himself as Zevran left once more. By the time the Crow returned he had finished scrubbing down most of his body and the bath water had turned dull reddish brown. He was still tired and sore, but he felt more alive than he had in days. He had just finished dressing when Zevran returned with more than just a comb in hand. He brandished also a brush and a pair of scissors, “In case we are not successful.”

They settled cross-legged on the bed, Zevran behind him working the knots from his hair. It didn’t hurt as much as Rowan had expected. The assassin’s hands were surprisingly gentle, and the light tug on his scalp was somehow almost comforting.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because Rowan was next aware of waking up on the too-hard, too-short dwarven bed, blankets tangled around his legs, and the light of only a single candle to illuminate the room. He couldn’t tell what time it was, and he was really beginning to hate the way every hour bled together down here. How could the dwarves stand it?

Zevran was gone. That wasn’t a surprise. They never slept together unless they had slept together. But Rowan surprised himself by feeling disappointed. Last night - was it night? - had been unexpectedly nice, even though they had been as chaste as Chantry sisters. It had been a long time since Rowan had allowed himself to let his guard down and be that vulnerable around anyone.

It was because of the Deep Roads, he told himself as he climbed out of bed. He’d been alone in the dark for too long, starved of touch and friendship and safety.

Griffin was asleep on the floor beside the bed. Properly passed out, paws twitching as he chased squirrels in his dreams. Rowan’s stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in far too long - he’d given up on guessing at the passage of time - and he stepped carefully over the dog’s bulk.

That’s when he noticed his armor. Before his bath, Rowan had left the leathers in a disheveled heap at the foot of the bed to be dealt with when he had the energy to do so. He knew they shouldn’t be left too long caked in filth or else risk damaging the leather irreparably, but they’d kept for 2 weeks, they would keep one day more. But now when he went to fetch his boots and something more substantial than his underclothes to get breakfast in, he discovered the armor had been moved.

Each piece had been laid out across the room’s low stone table, and some of it had been cleaned already. His sword and offhand dagger were sitting atop their scabbards polished and, a quick test with his thumb confirmed, sharpened. The worst of the filth on his armor had been wiped off, with attention to the joints and rivets that risked rusting or weakening, but the leather itself was still in need of a good oiling before he had to face anyone important. His boots had been cleaned of caked on mud and then polished to a shine that almost disguised how old and beat up they were.

That sight alone was enough to tell Rowan who had gone to all this effort for him. Zevran. But why? This must have taken him hours, which gave Rowan and indication of how long he'd been asleep, but why would he go out of his way like this. A little bit of tidying up he might understand, but this was beyond that. And this was on top of everything Zevran had done for him before Rowan passed out. Passed out while having his hair brushed like a child. He would have expected Zevran to be annoyed, not to have tucked him into bed like an invalid and then spent the next few hours making sure his gear was in proper working order.

It didn't make any sense.

They'd slept together, yes, plenty of times. They were friends outside the bedroom, too. He even trusted Zevran with his life in a fight. But to have someone else take care of his weapons and armor was oddly intimate.

Everything about the night before had been oddly intimate, he realized. Now that his brain was awake and properly rested he realized that Zevran’s behavior of the night before had been unusual. There was no way he could have expected Rowan capable of anything other than passing out immediately after getting clean. So it definitely hadn’t been innuendo when he’d offered his assistance. He’d just genuinely wanted to help? That seemed so out of character.

Rowan’s stomach chose that moment to remind him loudly of how empty it was. He shook thoughts of Zevran out of his head and reached for his boots. There would be plenty of time to puzzle out the Crow’s motives when he had food in his stomach and the political mess was finally dealt with. For now, he had work to do.

#14 days of dragon age lovers prompts event #14daysdalovers #zevran arainai #Zevran/Warden #zevran/tabris #rowan tabris #warden tabris

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agentkatie · 4 years

Note

Cullen/Shepard coffee shop AU?

This prompt is *squints at drafts* 84 years old, but after joking about it for so long I’ve finally written it! Enjoy!

The whole thing is below the cut, or alternatively you can read it all over on AO3.

5,394 words, in which Cullen repeatedly orders coffee despite Shepard’s flagrant misspelling of his name. Rated M for Shepard’s singular ability to lower the tone.

- - - - -

Cullen squinted at the blackboard behind the counter, struggling to make sense of the menu. When the Iron Bull had suggested grabbing coffee outside of the office Cullen had been hesitant, keen to continue his work at his desk, but for the sake of getting to know his new colleagues he had relented. He now regretted that decision. The artisan coffee shop across the street was too small and too loud, the haze of chatter making it difficult for him to think and the rich aromas invading his senses, and he longed to be back at his desk with a simple, pronounceable cup of tea.

“Great, she’s got her Antivan flatbread in again,” Bull said, inspecting the glass cabinet full of cakes and muffins with great interest. “Made your mind up yet?”

Cullen glanced at the indecipherable list of coffees once more before shrugging his shoulders. “I think I shall just have something back at the office.”

“Something wrong?”

“No,” Cullen said. “My choice in coffee is just generally less…”

Bull smirked at him. “Interesting?”

“Pretentious.”

“Hi!”

The sudden bright voice behind him made him jump, and his heart sank as he swivelled around to find one of the shop’s employees behind him: a small redhead in a coffee-stained apron and a name badge which simply read Shepard. Her eyes bore into him, one eyebrow arched as she regarded him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement, and in any other circumstance he might have been impressed by her ability to intimidate with just a look; as it was, he only hoped she wasn’t about to put salt in his coffee.

“Shepard’s House of Pretentious Coffee,” she said, stepping behind the counter and fixing him with a smile which didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How may I help?”

“Ah — forgive me,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt the telltale prickle of embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “I did not intend—”

“Of course not; that would have been rude.” She turned to Bull, her smile softening into a more genuine one. “Hey, Bull. Who’s your friend?”

“Shep, this is Cullen,” Bull grinned back at her, clearly amused by the situation. “He’s our new city editor. Cullen, Shepard.”

“And what can I get you?”

Cullen took one final look at the menu above her head before resigning himself to being undoubtedly her most boring customer all day. “One black coffee, please. To go.”

“Sure. Any specifics?”

“How specific can you get with a black coffee?”

He meant it as a genuine question but it came out derisive and flippant, and she shot Bull a look of clear chastisement for daring to bring such a philistine into the shop. “One black coffee, then. Bull? The usual?”

Bull nodded. “And some of that flatbread.”

They moved to the side as a new stream of customers entered, most of whom he recognised from the office, and though Bull chatted idly to him Cullen found his attention instead drawn to Shepard. She set about brewing their coffee quickly and efficiently, humming a half-tune to herself as she worked, the broad smile and easy manner she offered each new customer far warmer than it had been towards him — and he fleetingly wished he hadn’t been so him, so that he might have seen that smile properly for himself. Still, she was pleasant enough when she handed their drinks over, and his coffee tasted good, the perfect mix of bitter and sharp; he almost considered ordering a cake to go with it, but restrained himself, figuring he’d annoyed the woman enough already.

It wasn’t until he was outside and walking back towards their offices that he glanced at the side of his cup, and saw the name she’d scrawled there.

“I think I upset her.”

“Who, Shep?“ Bull asked, taking a sip of his coffee. Cullen nodded. “Nah. She’s got thick skin.”

“She wrote ‘Colon’ on my cup.”

Bull snorted with amusement as Cullen held out his cup as proof. “Well, she also likes a bit of conflict.”

Cullen groaned as the prickle of embarrassment rushed back to him, this time for the impression he’d created with his new colleague. “Maker’s breath,” he said, taking a long gulp of his drink in the hope it would hide the colour his cheeks were turning.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bull told him, chuckling as he clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s plenty of coffee in the staff room.”

—

Cullen’s mornings started earlier than most. He left his flat each day before the trickle of commuters could give rise to the full stream, the tubes quiet save for the rattle of the rails, just he and a handful of bleary-eyed businesspeople committed to such a routine. He’d intended to head straight to the office as usual, giving him a few solid hours to work before the noise and bustle descended, but as he passed the little coffee shop on the final stretch he felt compelled to go inside.

Because Shepard’s was the name of the shop. He groaned as his eyes landed on the name, not having realised he’d insulted the owner the previous day and feeling even more foolish for it. It would only be a matter of time before he’d be cajoled into going again, either by Bull or someone else in the office, and so he figured he might as well get it out of the way — and, he hoped, if he apologised now maybe it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable later.

And besides, he could do with a cup of coffee.

Despite the early hour he wasn’t alone in the shop, though it was far calmer, the muted conversations of tired workers cut across by the clanging of spoons against mugs. Shepard however appeared fresh faced, seemingly deep in thought as she arranged the day’s pastries in the cabinet.

He hadn’t noticed on their first meeting just how pretty she was. Now, as he hesitated by the cash register and hoped she’d spot him there, it was hard to think of anything else — hard not to be taken in by her wide brown eyes, and the crimson hair carefully weaved into a braid, and the charming splash of freckles across her cheeks. He supposed he’d been too distracted by his own tactlessness before to pay such things any mind, but he wasn’t sure being distracted in this way was better.

At length she glanced in his direction, her look of surprise quickly shifting to a more neutral one. “Hi,” she said, giving him a wan smile as she moved behind the counter. “Black coffee again?”

“You remembered.”

Her smile widened a fraction. “It’s not a hard one.”

He cringed internally as she started on his order, because of course she remembered the man who’d insulted her business and his boring black coffee. “I wanted to apologise for what I said yesterday,” he blurted out. “I was being…”

“Pompous?” she suggested. “Ignorant? A pain in the ass?”

He frowned at her, his remorse flickering. “Are you like this to all your customers?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised anyone comes back.” She smiled at him again, but it was a different one this time, a mischievous grin which invited him in as a co-conspirator, and he just couldn’t help but return it. “Don’t worry about it; I’ll take it as a challenge. I’ll have you ordering little cinnamon sticks in your coffee before the year is out.”

He scoffed before he could catch the impulse. “I highly doubt that.”

“Are you like this to everyone in the service industry?”

He was about to apologise for a second time, cursing himself for his immediate return to boorishness — but then he caught the mirth in her eyes, and how she’d reflected his question back at him, and he hoped he could say something she’d appreciate more. “Yes. I’m surprised anywhere lets me in.”

She grinned again, with a soft laugh this time, her demeanour relaxing further as she returned her attention to his drink. “So — city editor, huh? Where did you work before?”

He was briefly surprised that she’d remembered such a trivial detail, but recovered himself quickly. “Uh— freelance, mainly. I’ve been looking for a permanent post for some time.”

“That’s a step up.”

“I know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fortunately Mr Trevelyan was willing to give me a chance.”

“Marcus is a good guy,” she said, an unmistakable fondness in her tone now. “You know, for a twelve year old who’s somehow running an entire newspaper.”

“I am sure he’s older than he looks,” Cullen chuckled. “How do you know him?”

“Your building is half my customer base,” she said with a shrug. “If your paper ever goes out of business then so will I. Pastry?”

“Uh— yes. Maybe.” He didn’t want a pastry, for he rarely ever ate breakfast, but he answered without thinking, struck by a ridiculous urge to keep talking to her. “I suppose that’s also how you know the Iron Bull?” he asked as he inspected the selection she’d laid out in the cabinet.

“No, actually. We go to the same gym. He’s my boxing partner.”

He looked up at her, eyeing her critically now, unsure how or why a woman a head shorter than him had teamed up with a Qunari who towered over them both. “That seems a little… mismatched.”

“You don’t think I can take him?” she said, arching an eyebrow at him as though daring him to contradict her. He held his hands up in surrender, not wanting to return to her bad books — or find out whether she could take him too.

“I just meant you are clearly in different weight categories.”

“You sound just like our instructor. He’s also a pain in the ass.”

He let out a snort of laughter, an unexpected and completely undignified sound he would have been embarrassed about if only she hadn’t smiled in return, and why he was amused by this woman’s oddly cheerful insults was beyond him. “Oi! Jar!” a voice interrupted them, and he pulled his attention away from Shepard to find an elf with a haphazard haircut roughly pushing a tray of mugs onto the counter. “Twice. Don’t think I didn’t hear you before.”

“Ass doesn’t count.”

“Does too. And does three.” Shepard cursed again as she pulled a handful of coins from her pocket, shoving them into a half-filled jar on the counter labelled tips/swears. “Four,” the elf told her, and with a groan she threw another coin in. “And when you’re done flirting, you said you’d help with the tables.”

“I forgot you ran the place,” Shepard grumbled, but the elf merely blew a raspberry at her before returning to her work. “Give me a shout when you’ve picked,” she told him. “The cannoli are great.”

She left him then, alone save for the strange fluttering in his chest which had erupted at the word flirting, and it became painfully obvious why he was browsing pastries and laughing so obnoxiously. He had a crush on her. How utterly predictable.

And she’d written Colon on his cup again.

—

He returned several times a week after that, either by himself in the mornings or with a colleague who’d pestered him into lunch, though in truth he didn’t need much persuading — for the coffee was good, and Shepard’s warm smile each time she greeted him was better. It was a frivolous, pointless crush, yet one he was content to indulge in, taking pleasure from their small snippets of conversation each day without expecting anything more. She continued to get his name wrong, and he wasn’t sure whether she actually thought his name was Colon or if she was just trying to wind him up; he’d almost corrected her, once, before her fingers had brushed his as she’d handed him his drink, and his ability to form sentences had fallen straight from his mind.

The elf, Sera, he suspected knew of his infatuation, for each time he entered the shop she rolled her eyes and muttered something he couldn’t quite catch to Shepard, and it might have scared him off if Shepard didn’t seem to brush off whatever she’d said with ease. The rest of her staff were nicer to him, though variable in their ability to manage the place; the queues were twice as long when an elf from Antiva was serving, and it was rowdier when the man everyone addressed as ‘Hawke’ was around, and the Krogan she’d employed for the grand total of a week had turned the area behind the counter into a war zone. Yet he found himself growing to like the chaos of the place, sometimes even staying to drink his coffee inside — and the fact that Shepard would chat longer with him when he did so was only part of the reason for that.

A month had gone by at his new job before he knew it, and Bull insisted on going out for lunch to mark the occasion; Cullen agreed with very little protest, knowing by now that lunch only ever referred to one place. Shepard’s was busier than usual, and it took several minutes for them to reach the front of the queue, though Shepard herself looked unfazed by the bustle, greeting them both with the same, beautiful smile she always wore.

“Back already?” she said to Cullen, who’d already picked up a coffee that morning. “It must be my lucky day.” She often spoke to him like this, with casual comments somewhere between mockery and flirtation, and she meant nothing by them but his stomach still did a ridiculous flip in response every time. “You boys staying in?”

“Yeah,” Bull said. “Usual for me, Shep. And—”

“The flatbread; I know. How about you? Same again?”

Cullen hesitated, torn between his stubbornness and the curiosity he’d been surprised to discover in himself, before resigning himself to the choice he’d been considering for a week. Even though he knew he’d get teased for it. “Actually, I was— I thought I might like to try something else.”

Shepard’s face lit up as she broke into the broadest grin he’d ever seen her wear, leaning on the counter and propping her chin on her hands. “I knew I’d get you,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him. “Go on then. What’ll it be?”

“I— uh—” he floundered, having planned up to this part but never being able to settle on a choice in his mind. “What would you recommend?”

“I don’t think you and me have the same taste, Mr One Black Coffee,” she told him, which was a better name than Colon but which still made heat prickle at the back of his neck. “But if it were me, I’d go for a caramel macchiato.”

“Ah. That may be a little…” he trailed off before he said the word ‘sickly’, but the roll of her eyes told him she knew where his sentence had been going.

“I’ll make you a vanilla latte, then. That’s pretty much you in drink form.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why do I feel like you’re insulting me through the medium of coffee?”

She gasped, putting her hand over her chest in mock hurt. “How could you think I would do such a thing? To my valued customers?” He was on the verge of pointing out her persistent misspelling of his name, but then she winked at him and he all but forgot what his name was; instead he descended into awkward silence as she made their drinks, all the while growing increasingly annoyed at Bull’s easy banter with her.

The pair made their way over to a free table by the window, and it was only when they were seated that Cullen registered Bull’s smug expression. “What?”

“You’re into her.”

“Wha— no,” Cullen said. “Why would you think— I barely know her, and she doesn’t— I wouldn’t even—”

“Sure,” Bull cut off his increasingly inarticulate protests with a knowing smile. “Nice sprinkles.” He said it as though agreeing to chocolate sprinkles was an egregious declaration of love, and Cullen glared at his coffee, mentally making a note never to accept Bull’s offer of lunch again. “She’s single, by the way. And fun. You should ask her out.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Do you harass all of your colleagues like this?” Bull merely scoffed, leaning back in his chair as he began to eat his flatbread, and Cullen knew for his own sake he should drop the subject but there was still one thing on his mind. “She keeps spelling my name… poorly,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing as he said it. “Could tell her that I’m not actually named after the large intestine?”

“Nah,” he grinned at him. “You’ll have to tell her that yourself.”

“Maker’s breath.”

He took a sip of his coffee, surprised first by its sweetness and second by the fact he didn’t hate it, and his gaze involuntarily drifted back to Shepard; she’d started serving someone else but caught his eyes even so, her expression curious as she mouthed good? at him.

Good, he mouthed back, which was perhaps overstating it, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.

Good, she repeated, her smile lighting up her features once more, and his heart fluttered in his chest in response.

Maker, but it was a beautiful smile.

He shook his head to clear it from the absurd hopes which itched at the corners of his mind, taking another sip of his drink and determinedly avoiding Bull’s gaze. Perhaps it was time for him to start making coffee at home.

—

Cullen’s resolve to visit Shepard’s less lasted until 7 a.m. the following morning. During the final stretch of his commute he found his feet leading him into her shop of their own volition, and he would have been annoyed with himself if only he hadn’t been greeted with that smile.

“Morning!” Shepard called out as he entered. “So, have I converted you? Another latte?”

He’d made it halfway through his latte before it became too sweet for him, but he finished it regardless, not wanting to leave a half-finished mug behind. Still, he didn’t like her quite enough to keep ordering it. “Ah— no,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for the time being.”

“Really? Are you really going to break my heart like that?” He simultaneously wished she’d say more and less things like that, equally flustered and captivated by her casual flirtation, and it was that exact reason why he ought to spend less time around her. “Go on then, enlighten me: what didn’t you like about it?”

“I— will you be offended?”

“Depends if it’s the coffee or how I made it.”

“Well, I— the vanilla was a bit strong. And there was too much milk; I could barely taste the coffee.”

“So you actually like black coffee?” she asked. “Rather than you have no fu—uh, no clue what the others are?”

He chuckled at her last-minute recovery, eyeing the tip-slash-swear jar which grew fuller with each passing day. He couldn’t be certain what or who contributed the most to it, but from Hawke and Sera’s constant screeches of ‘jar!’ across the shop floor he had a fairly good idea. “It may be a bit of both,” he admitted.

She considered him for a long moment, seemingly deep in thought with her lips pursed and brow slightly furrowed, and he feared she was about to denounce him as a lost cause. “Alright,” she said just as the silence began to grow uncomfortable. “I know what we’ll do. I’ll give you your black coffee, but I get to experiment with different beans.”

“I like the ones you’ve been using.”

“Oh really?” she arched an eyebrow at him. “Which ones are they?”

“I…” he trailed off immediately, because of course he had no idea about the beans — and she knew it too, the corner of her mouth quirking up in amusement as he struggled not to seem a total fool. “The ones on the left?” he guessed, glancing at the large jars behind her.

“Nice try,” she told him. “I’ll figure out your roast first, then I’ll move onto the blends. But you’ll have to pay attention to what they actually taste like.”

“This sounds a lot like homework. I don’t think I signed up for this.”

“Well, too bad — I’m bored, and you’re cute when you make your little frowny face into your drink.” He somehow managed to choke on the air he was breathing, letting out an inelegant splutter as she broke into an impish grin, and he was now certain she was saying these things to solely to fluster him; he did his best to glare at her, yet that only seemed to spur him on. “That’s the one. Absolutely adorable.”

“Maker’s breath,” he grumbled, sure his whole face was bright red by this point. “I am going to stop coming here.”

“No you aren’t.”

He was going to protest, but he noticed for the first time a hint of blush creeping up her neck, and the way she idly fiddled with a loose strand of her hair — and, for a brief moment, he wondered if maybe her flirtation wasn’t malevolent after all. “No,” he agreed. “I’m not.”

She held his gaze for a fraction too long before breaking it, turning from him as she began to prepare his order, and for one flash of insanity he considered taking Bull’s advice after all. An offer of food outside her place of work was hardly a great commitment, and if the worst came to it he’d just have to avoid her, or perhaps relocate—

“So, how’s work coming along?”

She spoke before him, addressing him over her shoulder in her usual easy tone as she continued to work, and he winced internally as his chance firmly passed him by. But perhaps that was for the best. “Uh— good. Thank you.”

“I read your article the other day. About the new housing policies in Lowtown.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised — and more than a little pleased — that she’d gone to the effort. “What did you think?”

“I think you could’ve thrown in a few jokes.”

“It is a notoriously humorous subject.”

She chuckled, a soft sound that shot a renewed burst of affection through his chest, and how was it possible that he could be so enthralled by simply a laugh? “I actually found it interesting,” she told him. “And it was nice to hear about something good happening. Even if it sounds like it’ll take ages.” She turned back to him as she snapped the lid on his cup, scrawling his name — incorrectly, as always — on the side before he could make any sort of correction. “You’ve got a light roast today. It might not be… coffee-y enough for you, but you have to start somewhere.”

He smirked, unable to resist teasing her just this once. “Is that the technical term?”

“It’s the term I use for the dumbasses who can’t decipher the menu.”

His smirk widened. “Jar.”

She swore again, far more colourfully this time, thrusting a handful of coins into the pot before handing over his drink. He handed over his money in turn, but he hesitated on the spot before leaving, struck once more by that ridiculous urge to keep talking to her. “Thank you,” he said. “I — uh — I shall let know what I think the next time I come in.”

It sounded weak even to his ears, but to his surprise she didn’t seem to mind. “Don’t leave me waiting too long,” she told him, fixing him with a devastating smile.

He had to leave then, because if he stayed she was going to see him turn bright red again, and as he stepped into the sun and glanced at her scrawl on his cup he realised two things. First, that if she’d read his article, then she knew very well how to spell Cullen. And second, that he was completely and hopelessly enamoured with her.

—

The light roast was, as Shepard had predicted, not to Cullen’s taste, but he found the medium far more appealing; emboldened by her success she began experimenting with different blends, and Cullen looked forward to discovering what she had to offer each day. And he looked forward to seeing her, too. She laughed with him over the concoctions he’d hated, and teased him whenever he gave a particularly inept description of a blend, and she smiled at him, as always, with a sincere see you soon when he left.

He wasn’t foolish enough to presume that she treated him alone like this, or that it was anything other than a way for her to pass the time — and he knew, deep down, that how he felt would only cause him heartache in the end. Because it wasn’t just her smile, or laugh, or her beautiful, endless eyes; it was her, her very energy drawing him in with each word and action, and now he’d seen her he couldn’t bear to look away. And so he continued, with vague reassurances to himself that it remained simply a crush, despite knowing that to long be untrue.

He tried his best to avoid lunch with Bull, for he was invariably insufferable each time they set foot in Shepard’s, but there were some days he couldn’t escape it. On this particular one he’d roped Mr Trevelyan into his persuasion; not wanting to disappoint him, he dutifully followed them across the street and into the shop, hoping that Bull wouldn’t mock him too much in front of their boss.

Mercifully, Bull’s attention was distracted by the distinct lack of flatbreads on display, giving Cullen room to discuss his current projects with Trevelyan as he tried not to look at Shepard too often. Which, of course, he failed in. She’d styled her hair differently for once, her crimson hair free from its usual braid and instead piled into a messy bun, and whenever she turned the loose strands at her neck shone copper in the sunlight, drawing his attention back to her each time.

He really should have turned down lunch.

“Hey, Shep,” Bull greeted her as they reached the counter. “Where’s—”

“Don’t start with me,” she warned him, which was not her usual way of greeting her customers, but Cullen sensed she’d had this discussion with Bull more than once before. “I told you I’m not getting it anymore.”

“But—”

“Bull, no-one else buys that bread. You’ll just have to have a panini like everybody else.”

Bull made a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat, frowning at her selection of sandwiches as he muttered something vaguely insulting about customer service. “I got in something new for you,” she turned her attention to Cullen. “It’s a bit nuttier than the blends you’ve been having; I think you’ll like it.”

He was sure she hadn’t bought in anything specifically for him, but it made warmth bloom in his chest all the same, and he didn’t even try to prevent the undoubtedly dopey smile which broke across his face. “I would like that.”

“I see how it is,” Bull grumbled. “You get him fancy beans and my flatbread pays the price.”

“Yeah, well — he’s prettier than you are.” He didn’t even have time to react before she turned next to Trevelyan, which in a way was good, because he had no idea how to respond without stuttering like a fool. “Marcus?”

“Well, I like everything,” Trevelyan told her, offering her an amiable smile which she returned instantly.

“And that’s why you’re my favourite,” she replied, and Cullen tried his very best not to be irrationally jealous. “The usual, and…?”

“And…” he paused to consider the options in front of him. “The tuna melt, please.”

They waited patiently for their orders, Shepard chatting easily with them as they did, and when she handed Cullen his drink he rushed to hide the name she’d written on it from Trevelyan. Bull, however, seemed intent on ruining everyone’s day now his had been, and grinned malevolently at Cullen.

“Why are you holding your cup like that?”

Cullen glared at him as he took — what he intended to be — a nonchalant a sip of his drink. “I am not holding my cup like anything.”

“Yeah you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“What are you— oh,” Trevelyan laughed, craning his neck to see the side of the cup Cullen was desperately trying to hide from him. “Shepard, you’ve—”

If he hadn’t been his boss, Cullen might have kicked him to shut him up, but it was Bull who put a hand on his shoulder to silence him. “Hold it. Cullen’ll tell her.”

“Tell me what?”

“Nothing,” was Cullen’s knee-jerk reply, but he regretted it instantly, knowing that he’d gone far too long without correcting her — and that if he didn’t do it now then his boss would likely never respect him. “It’s just— it’s Cullen. My name.”

“I know,” Shepard told him. “That’s what I’ve been writing. Colon.”

“Cullen.”

“Colon.”

“Cullen.”

“Callum?”

Bull, whose shoulders had been shaking with silent laughter beside him, finally spoke at that, his voice full of barely-concealed glee. “Give it up, Shep. You lost.”

“You cheated,” she glared at him. “I’m not paying up.”

“I won’t make you pay if you get me my flatbread back.”

“Oh I’ll bring it back, but you’ll be fucking barred when I do.”

“Jar!” Hawke called out, pushing said jar towards her without even looking up from the drink he was making, and with two further curses Shepard threw a handful of coins in it.

“What’s going on here?” Cullen asked, realisation dawning on him as he took in Shepard’s decidedly shifty expression. “Did you bet that I wouldn’t—” he began, but his answer was clear in the way she looked everywhere except at him, and he felt as vindicated as he did embarrassed. “I knew you were doing this deliberately!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she held her hands up in surrender. “I run a terribly unprofessional establishment, although you probably should have realised that by now. Your coffee’s on me by way of apology.”

“Make it dinner, and I might consider forgiving you.”

He had absolutely no idea where that came from, the words leaving his mouth before he’d even started to think them, and he winced as the laughter in her eyes fell away. “I— forgive me,” he said, hurrying to backpedal before she banned him from her shop along with Bull. “That is— I shouldn’t— uh…”

But there was no outrage in her expression, only delight, and that faint blush he’d seen but a handful of times, and as his words faltered under her stare she filled the silence as always. “I close up at seven,” she told him. “I like that sushi place with the big fish tank.”

He blinked, once, as her words sank in, and he coughed to clear his suddenly-dry throat before replying. “I shall see you here at seven, then,” he told her in as level a voice as he could manage.

“See you then,” she grinned. “Cullen.”

He nodded to her and his colleagues before turning on his heel, keen to leave before she came to her senses, his heart beating a frantic tune as he strode back towards his office. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d done it, but somehow what he’d hoped for hadn’t been as impossible as he’d believed — and he might have thought he’d imagined it all, if it wasn’t for the cup of coffee grasped tightly in his hand.

He had a date with Shepard. And now he just had to figure out which sushi place she’d been talking about.

—

“So,” Bull said as the three of them watched Cullen march out of the shop. “I guess he’s not having lunch with us.”

“I guess not,” Marcus agreed. “That escalated… bizarrely.”

“Yeah,” Shepard said, unable to contain her grin at the sight of him hurrying away — and she hated that Bull had won their bet, but at least she didn’t have to hold back now. She couldn’t very well have called him Colon on a date. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna fuck him.”

[Fic Masterpost]

#cullen x shepard #cullen x oc #coffee shop au #dragon age #mass effect #crossover #my writing #mollie shepard #this fic is essentially #cullen: the pretty lady sure is nice for helping me with the coffee #shepard ordering new beans at 2am: i better get laid out of this #Anonymous #oh wow so formatting on tumblr is an absolute nightmare huh

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aj-writes-here · 4 years

Note

im very thirsty for levi XD. may i request a face sitting scenario with him? or hcs, whichever you have time for. maybe he's a lil tired but still wants to please his s/o and his s/o wants a little action so he's like tapping his lips and saying 'come here brat.' (probably ends up teasing his s/o either way)

Hi! We’re all thirsty for him, I feel you girl This is the first time I write a facesitting scenario, so I hope is not that bad! Also, It turned out a little bit shorter that my other works, hope it is ok and that you like it. I took a small liberty with Levi but you’ll see that when you read it, now if you excuse me I’ll go and drink a glass of holy water

Pleasing You [NSFW]

If there were bad days, this one was the worse by far. It seemed that the cadets forgot everything that they have learned so far, because training sucked. How they were planning to save humanity if they could barely hold themselves with the ODM. If that wasn't enough, Levi had to go through that mountain of paperwork before he could finish for the day.

After dinner, everyone went to their respective rooms. Including Levi.

He walked tiredly to his room, he opened the door to fin y/n already there.

She smiled when she saw him walked in, and she hugged him wrapping his arms around his neck.

''You look particularly handsome today, did you know that?'' y/n said with a playful smile, kissing his neck and feeling drunk by his scent.

''Did you eat aphrodisiacs for dinner?'' Levi asked with a monotonous voice, raising an eyebrow at her attentions, but he was enjoying them.

''Probably'' her answer was short. Feeling his hands on her back she looked at him, his eyebags were darker than the usual ''But I think it will be better if we sleep'' she noticed he was tired, her playful smile turning into a cute one.

''Brave for you to believe that I will sleep'' It was true, his insomnia was not looking any better, and the truth was, how could he say no to his girlfriend? Levi looked at her with thoughtful eyes and he patted his lips for a second. ''Come here, brat''

He grabbed her hand and moved both of them to the bedroom, removing his cravat with his free hand and once he was close to the bed he left it on the nightstand.

y/n eyes were filled with curiosity, she could never identify what was going to be his next move, and now was one of those moments.

They stood in front of each other, Levi raised her chin so his grey eyes could meet hers. He was not the one to start a kiss, but this time he did, and both of his hands slid into her shirt fiding out she was wearing no bra. Levi lifted her shirt and got rid of it, and just some seconds after she started to unbutton his shirt, exposing his toned figure and exploring it with her hands and taking it off after a few seconds.

y/n bit his bottom lip after sliding her tongue inside his mouth, Levi answered reciprocally to her attentions, his avid hands unzipped her pant and pulled it down until her middle thigh so y/n could get rid of it using her feet. His middle finger touched her over her panties feeling how wet she was already, and he even expressed a lazy and small smile. They were still kissing, slow but intense, taking all the time they wanted.

y/n hands went to his lower back playing with the edge of his pants, moving them to the front, she was able to unbutton his pants and take the zipper down, but when her hands were sliding inside his voice stopped her.

''Hands off'' Levi said with a demanding voice as he sat on the bed ''And take those damn panties off too''

Being that said he laid his back on the bed. She did as he say, and after his eyes roamed her body up and down she sat on his hips. Levi grabbed her by her thigs and moved her up, feeling her wetness over his torso.

''Levi... What are you doing?'' She asked in amaze, it was not usual for Levi to take control in that way, but she was not going to lie. She was enjoying it.

''Please you. Tch, I'm not always a tease.'' He said as if he were offended. ''Knees on each side of my head'' Levi demanded again.

Hesitant about what to do exactly, she trusted in his command and set her knees on each side of his head. It was the first time they were doing something like that, but the truth is that it was exciting. y/n blushed when she looked down at Levi and his eyes were stuck on her wetness.

He pulled her down close to his face, licking between her folds. y/n gasped at the feeling of his tongue, but that only encouraged him to go faster. She gripped on the headboard to not lose the balance and to have something to hold on tight. Levi sucked her clit, it was a mixture between roughness and kindness, knowing exactly how to make her squirm in pleasure.

His hands grabbed her thigs hard, leaving white marks where his fingers were. It was not on his plans getting hard, but he did. How could he not? The entire context was driving him crazy, and his hardened length was proof of it. He kept working with his mouth, now using his tongue on her entrance, moving it in and out as his nose was rubbing her clit. y/n had the idea of looking over her shoulder, and when she did she was capable of lifting an eyebrow among the pleasure when she saw the bulge in his boxers. Smiling to herself, she moved just a bit so she could grab him in her hand, squeezing it in a teasing way. Levi let out a groan which caused vibrations on her, and at that point, he didn't even care about his chin covered with her wetness.

Instinctively he bucked his hips out and y/n laughed victoriously, however, her laugh became a loud moan when he slid one finger inside her, switching between his attentions if it wasn't his finger it was his tongue and vice versa. He didn't know when but his dick was already trapped inside her hand, her back was a bit arched so she could reach for his length at the same time he was eating her out, and it worked.

He moved his hand back to her ass, slapping it and earning another moan from her. His fingers dug on her skin, he could get rough sometimes and he couldn't help it. He separated from her core so he could breathe better for a few seconds but he was back slipping his tongue all over her wet folds in less time than she thought. As she started moving his hand faster also did her hips, being hard to control what she was feeling. But Levi stopped her when he held her still and increased the rhythm of his tongue and lips.

y/n felt his dick twitching in her hand, and she smiled to herself once more time, moaning right after she felt his tongue flicking on her clit and then again two of his fingers sliding inside her. Y/n arousal was about to tear her apart, and so did Levi. A groan escaped from his mouth at the same time he moved his hips against her hand, the feeling of her inner walls clenching around his fingers and the moan that deliberately left her mouth were the trigger to his release, feeling his own cum falling on his stomach. y/n closed her eyes and threw her head back when her orgasm took over her body, and she could swear she was seeing stars.

Once she recovered, she moved down and straddle his hips while Levi looked down at the mess he had made.

''Tch, fucking filthy'' He said looking the remains of his release covering part of his torso, but y/n interrupted him with a shameless kiss, tasting herself.

''Relax for a while, Mr. Clean Freak''' The smile on her face said it all, he was tired yet he had pleased her, in a way that she didn't expect but that overcame her expectations. ''How about I give you a massage while we shower''

''Sounds perfect, brat'' Levi answered looking at her, smiling at her. It was rare seeing him smile, but it was something that happened when they were together. He pecked her lips and watched her stood up making her way to the bathroom.

The day that was about to come surely was going to be a stressing as the one they had just overcome, but that night, the massages under hot water were going to make the morning better, making them face that new day with a positive attitude. Or at least they were going to try.

#attack on titan #attack on titan imagine #levi ackerman #levi ackerman imagines

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hanawrites404 · 4 years

Text

Twice My Age

Show : Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Jojo No Kimou Na Bouken

Pairing : Noriko (female Noriaki)/Jotaro Kujo

Warnings : Age-gap romance and sex along with swearing.

Characters : Jotaro Kujo, Noriko (female Noriaki), Jolyne Cujoh

Timeline : Pre-Stone Ocean

This story is based on this song :

This story is also based on the author's headcanon when she had finished reading Stone Ocean and was recovering her brain cells.

Third Person POV

It was a normal afternoon at Florida. Today was Friday, which meant the last day of the working week. Students at the school were frustratingly tapping the heels of their feet on the floor waiting for the school bell to ring and mark the end of the tiring session.

The teacher obviously minded his own business and lectured the pupils without averting his gaze from the blackboard. He kept ignoring the sounds of whispers and paper-tearing and snickers of the children, until for once he recognised one of the students who was continuously talking in his class, and decided to take some action.

"Ms. Cujoh" the teacher called out harshly as he teared his gaze from the blackboard and stared at the student.

The talkative student looked at the teacher and went silent. She had a piece of folded paper in her hand, her arm stretched out to the student for whom it was meant for. She retrieved her hand back and answered the teacher who was glaring lasers at her through his glasses.

"Yes Mr. Anderson??". "First, please stand up while you speak to a teacher" Mr. Anderson pushed his glasses up. The student sighed and stood up, putting away the paper she had in her pocket.

"Would you please answer the question which is on the board??". Ms. Cujoh read the question. She then rolled her eyes and read the question the teacher had written in white.

Prove that Cos2x = Cos^2x - Sin^2x

"What the??" The teenager reacted.

Mr. Anderson's gaze never left Ms. Cujoh. He was observing every move of her of how she was looking around the classroom, silently asking for help and her friends were giving her a shrug or a thumbs-down.

"Ms. Cujoh. We don't have all day"

After that, she knew that she would have to answer the question by herself.

"I-It's simple Mr. Anderson. Multiply both the sides by zero, and there you go. LHS = RHS".

The students roared with laughter at the teenager's statement. Mr. Anderson was actually expecting such kind of an answer from the rowdy teenager.

"Silence everyone" the teacher stomped his ruler on the table and the room became quiet. But it didn't last for long as the bell finally rung, meaning that it was time for dispersal.

The students quickly packed their bags by shoving their books and stationery inside and exited the classroom, scrambling on their feet. The whole classroom became empty, leaving the astute teenager and the stoic teacher alone.

The silence in the room grew kind of tense. So the girl started to pack her bag and leave the class. Until.......

"Jolyne". The teenager looked at the teacher. She really wanted to leave the vacated classroom and go home. Also she had successfully survived today's class. Now what was the problem??

"Your behaviour is getting worse day by day. And I'm afraid that you might need some extra tutelage for your discipline and your academics yet again".

The teenager rolled her eyes once again. She then placed one of her hands on her hip and looked at the teacher with disinterest.

"Give me a break Mr. Anderson. My answer was correct". "You can argue with the ones who will correct your answer sheet Ms. Cujoh. I'm definitely not the right person to go against with your illogical statement".

Jolyne held her fist tightly. She really wants to punch her teacher square in the face and make sure to get the glass shards of his glasses cut his eyes. But she decided to bottle her anger for now.

"Your discipline is very concerning. Also you are not taking your studies seriously. Even the previous teachers whom I had appointed to improve your etiquettes returned home with a broken nose and teeth" he said to himself.

Jolyne smirked to herself with pride.

"So I have decided to change my plans" he spoke.

"Ha!! So you finally understand, Mr. Anderson" she then crosses her arms and sits on the table while putting her leg on the other. "You will never be able to transform me into nerds like you want to. I'm what I want to be and I don't give a fuck to anyone who wants me to change".

"We will see about that" he then pushes his glasses. "Huh??" Jolyne raises her eyebrow at him. What was this thick-skulled teacher really planning to do to her??

"If it's another teacher, then do keep some extra bandages for the injuries, because I'll not go easy on them" she then cracks her knuckles.

"Now that's where I stop you Ms. Cujoh".

Jolyne then glared at the teacher.

"I'm not going to appoint a teacher to straighten you up. This time, it's a student of your age. Your own classmate".

Jolyne was slightly taken aback. A student?? Of her age?? And the student of her own classroom?? But she barely knew anyone who was good at both discipline and studies. The only persons she was aware of were mostly the divas, the jocks and the bullies.

"W-Who is this student you are talking about??" Jolyne asked. "You will meet her outside the school premises. She is actually one of my best students and has been topping her class for the past 3 years" Jolyne witnessed a sense of pride in Mr. Anderson's tone.

Jolyne became a bit nervous. Who was this nerd whom she hadn't even notice that she was in her school and her class?? And also, a girl??!!

"You might be wondering--'why a girl??' It's because I really want you to get along with her and learn whatever she teaches, and her being the same gender as you would be a good boost".

Jolyne then sniggered and got up from the table. "Just because she is a girl and is of my age, doesn't mean that I can't afford a bruise or two on her".

"I had already warned her about your..........tendency and she is perfectly fine with it. So do whatever you want to do to her, she will be alright with it as she was the one who chose to take the risk and tutor you".

What a daring one for a nerd......Jolyne thought.

Mr. Anderson then looked at his wrist watch. He then spoke "It's getting late. You may leave now".

"Oh thank you, Mr. Anderson" she said in a very sarcastic manner and she even bowed to add to her mockery as she left the class.

"And another thing Ms. Cujoh". Jolyne then looked behind at her teacher lethargically. Can the teacher just leave her already before she actually punches him??

"If you hadn't been the daughter of Dr. Kujo, I would have already expelled you. But I'm still giving you a chance because I'm sure that you too can be as disciplinary as your father".

"Alright first of all, Dad was a delinquent when he was my age. And second of all, he would have already punched your face and shove your stupid glasses into your mouth just to make you shut up if he was at my place" and she then goes away without saying anything else or looking back.

Mr. Anderson sighed as he stacked the sheets and registers he had to take home and correct. After he was done, he looked at the empty classroom once more, especially at the seat where the spiteful teenager sat.

"Hopefully you know what you are doing, Noriko.........."

*One minute time skip, brought to you by Binod*

"Stupid Anderson, he just doesn't know how to mind his own fucking business!!!!" Jolyne angrily stomped out of the premises. She then turned around to look at the clock which was installed on the school building.

It's 5 already. I need to return home fast. Dad is coming home earlier than his usual time so I better reach home before him..........

"Umm....Jolyne Cujoh??".

"What?!!" She turned to the voice. Jolyne relaxed her eyes a bit when she saw who was the owner of the voice.

It was a girl wearing the same uniform as her. The only difference was that she was comparatively shorter than Jolyne and was fairer than her.

She had her red hair down which was a bit longer than shoulder length and purple eyes, one red wavy bang was framing her pretty face and her lips were a glossy, cherry red.

"Do I know you??" Jolyne raised her eyebrow at the unknown girl.

"Not yet, but you will. My name is Noriko. I'm the one who is supposed to mentor you" she then goes closer to her and offers her hand to shake. "It would be a pleasure to get to know you better".

Jolyne observed the girl's hand. She had her nails perfectly trimmed but there was no polish on them. Jolyne then looked at her face and asked.

"Japanese??" She asked. "Yeah" Noriko replied. Jolyne then smirks and shakes her hand firmly.

"Then we will get along pretty well" she said. Noriko then smiles and brushes her bang behind her ear with the other hand. "I'm glad you think so" she replied.

Both of the girls let go of their hands and then they walk home beside each other.

"By the way, why did you say that we will get along well, judging by my nationality??" Noriko asked the taller girl.

"You see, I'm a Japanese myself".

"You are??" Noriko asked, a bit surprised.

"Yeah. I know. I may not look like that but yes, Japanese is one of my nationality" Jolyne replied.

Noriko then snickered and asked "Just how many nationalities do you have??". "Well, my mother is from Florida and my father is Japanese, Italian and British" Jolyne calculated.

"Wow, so many citizenships" she commented. "Haha, it's not that cool as it sounds like. Trust me" Jolyne joked. Noriko chuckled and slapped the taller girl's shoulder lightly which made Jolyne chuckle.

"So Noriko??". "Yes??". "Why did you choose to mentor me?? You do know that I have a certain.........reputation at school".

"I am aware of everything you do in school. Mr. Anderson has updated me everything on you".

"*Ugh* That fucker. What is he, a spy?? Did he only find me to spy on?? And not the ones who actually harass girls or bully lowerclassmen behind the school??"

"Actually, I should be the one at whom you should be angry at". "Huh??" Jolyne looked at her.

"Wait, don't tell me--". "Yes. I was the one who told him to note everything you do".

"*Ugh* Noriko~!! I didn't expect this from you~" Jolyne whined. "Sorry, but this was the only way to plan on how to get you into discipline just like how Mr. Anderson want it". "Fuck that teacher!!!" She then kicks a stray rock on the road which goes very far.

"You seem to be very strong". "Heh, thanks. It's not much, but I can surely lift a heavy table pretty easily". "I'll take a note of that. It might come handy to me when I need to move a table" she chuckled. Jolyne then laughs and Noriko too joins her.

After their laughter died, Noriko spoke.

"You are really fun to be with". "Thanks. I had assumed that you were going to be just like Anderson but you are one lively person" Jolyne said.

"Oh really?? Thank you. Actually, no one has said that to me before" she then brushed another strand of her hair behind her ear.

"What do you mean??" Jolyne asked. "I don't really have friends. Only a few classmates talk to me but only when they need my assistance".

"Huh?? How is that even possible?? You are such an amazing person. Also, you are very pretty. You should have at least a boyfriend with you".

"I don't have a boyfriend". "Oh......a girlfriend perhaps??". "No.....". "Oh, you love a trans??". "What?? No. I'm not interested in anyone for now". "Ahhh....I see".

"Say, do you have a boyfriend??". "My status is also as same as you. Even I'm not really interested in getting into relationships. It will just..........get in my way, that's why". "I understand. Love is.......a very new subject for me" Noriko said.

"Yeah.....me too.....Hell, I don't even know why Dad fell for Mom in the first place just to leave her after that" Jolyne stated. "Huh?? What do you mean??" Noriko looked at Jolyne.

"My parents got a divorce after I was born. And according to the laws, both of my parents have the rights on me. So I visit one of them after every alternate month. This month I'm staying with my father" Jolyne explained.

"I see. Your father is Dr. Jotaro Kujo right??". "Yes, the famous marine biologist. The one who wrote thesis on starfish and other marine creatures. How interesting" Jolyne said, adding a dramatic sarcasm to it.

"Honestly, I'm a big fan of him" Noriko added, a light blush on her cheeks. "What?? Seriously??" Jolyne gaped.

"Yes. I have read every report and thesis he has ever written. The way how he observes and analyses the creatures is just wonderful. I bet that he is going to be the one who will discover a new species of marine life which humanity has never seen before" she spoke with amazement.

"Ha!!! You are flattering him now. My Dad is nothing like how you think of him" Jolyne argued. "Oh really??" Noriko raised her eyebrow.

"Yes. I know he is smart and all but he is not Einstein-level" Jolyne answered. "I never compared him with Einstein, Jolyne. It's just that I really think of him very fondly, and I admire him a lot" Noriko said.

"Yeah yeah, but don't fall in love with him. He might break your heart" she joked. Noriko blushed pink. It's good that Jolyne didn't notice it, otherwise it would have been very awkward.

"Well, here we are. My Dad's house" Jolyne stopped and showed Noriko her house.

"Wow, it looks very big" Noriko looked all over the lavish bungalow.

"Heh, these are the perks of being a Joestar" she said. "Joestar?? What do you mean??" Noriko asked. "You first come inside and then I'll tell you" and so Jolyne and Noriko entered the luxurious house. Both of them removed their shoes and Noriko looked around the house with an agape mouth and wide eyes.

"Wow......this looks so much better from the inside. Just how rich are you people??" Noriko commented and asked Jolyne.

"Well, there was a guy named Robert Speedwagon who was friends with my great-great-grandfather. He then became rich after finding many oil ores out of nowhere. After he died, all of his luxuries went to my great-grandfather and that's how all of our expenses are taken care of" Jolyne explained.

"That's amazing. You guys are literally royals" Noriko commented. "Yeah. And also my great-great-grandfather was a noble in England, so he was rich even before the Speedwagon guy came" she added.

"I see" Noriko then sat on one of the loveseats. "Being a Joestar must be very lucky right??" Noriko asked. "If you think like that, you are gravely mistaken" Jolyne told her.

"What?? Really?? I can't believe this. But you guys have everything!!!.............I guess everything has it's pros and cons" Noriko told herself.

Jolyne was about to speak more, but then the bell of the house rang.

"That must be Dad. You stay here Noriko. I'll be right back" and then she goes to check the door. Since Noriko had nothing to do for now, she looks at her skirt and straightens it up a bit.

Jolyne on the other hand opens the door and sees her father standing outside, just as she expected.

"Hello Dad" Jolyne greeted. "Hello Jolyne, how was school??" Dr. Kujo entered the house and Jolyne stepped away to give him some space.

"Meh, it was fine. Mr. Anderson barked at me as usual" Jolyne told him. Mr. Kujo sniggered a bit.

"He doesn't seem to stop critisizing you, does he??". "Of course not. I bet he won't even shut up even after he is an old man and cannot even lift his hand to push his oversized glasses up" she mocked.

Dr. Kujo smiled a fraction as he removed his shoes and his coat. While he was putting his shoes on the rack, he noticed another pair of school shoes which were similar to that of Jolyne's.

"Jolyne, have you brought a classmate here?" Dr. Kujo asked.

"Uhh yeah. She is actually my mentor who is supposed to tutor me, starting from today. I hope you don't mind if she stays here".

"No, not at all" The professor replied. He then hung his coat up and headed to the living room, her daughter following her.

As soon as Mr. Kujo entered the room, he spotted the red-haired girl. She looked awfully familiar to him which made the professor stop on his tracks.

"Dad, what's wrong??" Jolyne spoke from behind her father.

"Noriaki........" He whispered.

"Noriaki?? No Dad, her name is Noriko"

Jolyne corrected.

Even her name is similar to his...........

Mr. Kujo continued to stare at the red head who was scribbling something in the notepad on her lap with a pencil.

That red hair, those amethyst eyes, and how she was concentrating on her work, everything Mr. Kujo had seen already a long time before. It all felt like Deja Vu to him. And he clearly remembers the person whom this girl reminds him of. He was his highschool lover after all.

"Noriko-chan" Jolyne calls her. Noriko looks up from her notepad to her friend.

"Here is my father, who is also your 'sole idol'. And Dad, this is Noriko, my friend" Jolyne introduced them to one another.

(Part 2)

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jotakak #jotaro x kakyoin #noriaki kakyoin #jotaro kujo #jolyne cujoh #jjba genderbend #female kakyoin #Spotify #what I wrote

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blindtaleteller · 4 years

Text

GROUNDED: Favorite (ouch) exerpts : Ch. 5 - Youth

“ Something, happened. “

“ Question is what.. “ from Clint was in business mode and leaned in closer behind him to try and keep it between them. Not that it would last long, with the crowd. “ ..isn’t that his doctor? The one that met us at the bridge? “ That, took Tony’s eyes further back down the great hall; and her appearance drew his brows together on his own face. Skirts up in her hands and running; straight for Thor when she saw him. Completely unlike Eir. Distraught. Almost a little panicked and, nearly out of breath: as though she had run all the way from Loki’s halls. “ Uhm.. maybe we should head over. “ from Natasha as the noise of the crowd picked up from that end. Sending the creeping feeling that much more securely up his spine.

“ ...yeah. “ wasn’t even fully out of his mouth before Thor and not just one; but every honor guard in the room started making the way she’d come at a similar run: and Eir raised her hand spotting them “ Anthony! “ she had to breathe, between after the run. “ It’s Loki! “ putting a stop on his heart and a thundering explosion of conversation to a start around him. He was moving without the need for another word. “Just him! We’re trying but.. “ and he was past her, making a full sprint for his Jaded Hall. He knew she was trying to be right behind him after that. Heard the sound of her footsteps as heavy on the tiles as his were, but faltering a bit.. Likely from the tire of the run just prior.

His head was in the worst possible places when he came down it. Passing not just his usual guard but the presence of most of Odin’s personal guard as well. Buzzing by twice the extra faces, spears and shields. The door to Lolo’s bedroom feeling too far away as he saw through the doors that had been left open and almost into the one beyond it, where one guard was leaning, trying to get a view of whatever was in there.

He had to slow down once he got to the sitting room door, he knew: if he wasn’t going to bowl past it and into the bed or anyone else inside. As it was, he very nearly ran straight into Iona; spooking her a little out of a look to somber for him to like it at all. “ How is he? “ the first thing breathed hard out of his mouth from the run. Tony knew it sounded more demand than question, and took a few more breaths before taking her shoulders, forcing himself to be gentle with the freckled brunette and starting to move her aside. “ I’m sorry.. Sorry, Iona. Just.. I can’t take this roller coaster right now okay? Just tell me. “ He could hear other footsteps, a little slower, a little less quick, from the hall. A glance: Eir had fallen behind. “ Ser, I.. you must be quiet, please.. “

That didn’t help, and she snatched his arms; careful but firm. Caught his eyes from the turn they were making into that bedroom. “ He sleeps. “ okay and that calmed him for a moment until she said “ Again. “ in that particular way. With that particular look. “ My lady will.. Ser. Go in. My lady will explain what she can, when she joins you. “

He felt like the floor was crumbling out from under him. More so as he turned that way, and she the other; probably with the intent to meet Eir there in the foyer. It was quiet, but and as he came in, he could hear Thor’s tones. His eyes were stuck on that bed though. On the man who, had just the day before yesterday been smiling at and joking with him. He had, still looked frail in his sleep. Frail, but well; yes, beautiful. Still did right then. If not for the differences in stillness he’d come to recognize and even fear a little he might have expected him to just turn his head and yawn before sitting up. Dark hair against ivory pillows, against the near shade of his skin. The weight he’d lost though it didn’t seem as much when he was animated? That much more noticeable. “ ...you must have known how he would react, father; why? Why would press this, now ; when you know he is not fully recovered? Eir, and Iona, and every healer from the waters had warned us. You knew-- “

“ I thought I might reach through to him with reason. “ Fingers laid out over the quilt on either side. The monitor slipped back into place at the end of one. “ That perhaps, he might see the futility of such attachments, where they lie now. “ Futility..? “ That he would take even into better consideration his own health, for that matter. Take the offer; to mend his place here, with us. “ The place you sent him out from not even in chains, but with chains in him? “ With his family; his own people. I was wrong. “

“ Didn’t stop though, did you. “ was the sentence that made it out of his mouth. “ You pressed. Kept pressing. Didn’t you? Because the king’s got to have his way; whether it hurts or kills the people around him in the worst of ways; isn’t that right? “ His eyes tore up the space between where he was on that bed, and where Thor and his father stood, nearer the window. Thor… actually surprised him a little in that he had a hold of his father’s coat at the front, was letting go of the bunching, white knuckled grip when he did. “ He said something once, about the last time you lost your temper at him; really lost it. It hit me just now; that’s what the feeling is I get from you. That’s what feels so wrong, about you. That he felt that every word and look told him things he should’ve seen coming a few ages later. That he was happy and found it elsewhere, so you would not be until that happiness was in ashes if it wasn’t in your hands. “

“ Stark, you do not know what-- “

“ Thor, leave us. “ cut thunder britches short. “ And take the guard with you. To the hall proper. “ allowed no interruption in the staring contest they were having, or for argument. “ I needs have words , with young Anthony. Tell others; until such a time as the King leaves his son’s hall: none but Eir and her apprentice are to set foot within. “

“ Father, Tony does not-- “

“ Do I: make myself, clear? “ was almost growled at him, breaking briefly from his daggered gaze at Tony to ask Thor as a warning. “ Or, is there need to call Rorkin into these rooms to take you in hand: rather than vice versa? “

And that was that. Just the slightest hesitation, and Thor was on his way out without another word; the weight of his admonishment and more dragging behind him. Kicked puppy, just didn’t cover it. “ Close the doors, on your way out. “ just as stony, though; as the old goat started to consider a seat on the windowsill, he did have the forethought to gentle it a bit. “ I’ve no want for our conversation to become a public affair. “

The door shut. Tony heard a conversation. Eir. Asking the big guy to go out with Iona,find their friends. To take them aside and explain what had happened. Odin met his eyes with the one he had left. Up through his brow and all but expressionless. He wondered briefly, if he could see the seething cold hate that was splintering up in him; while they waited for the blast radius to clear. There wasn’t another word for it. And he was tempted; really, terribly, frighteningly tempted: to forget about the repulsors. Jolt forward. And shove the twisted old bastard back first out the open window behind him with his own two hands.

He had to look away, just thinking it. If he did that; he couldn’t say who he was with certainty if, he did. And if he couldn’t.. He didn’t know who Lolo would wake to; but it wouldn’t be the same. For that, for him and for everyone else who mattered in his life.. The satisfaction wouldn’t be had. Focus on the man he’d come here for. Kept, coming here for.

He was alive. There was that. But they’d had that conversation too, him and Eir. The possibilities and examples of how long, he could be like this. “ You just.. Couldn’t leave it be. Could you? “ snapped out the moment he heard the deeper in double click.The outermost door closing behind Odin’s blooded son.

“ You don’t know him as I do. Nor will you ever, truly. He may, recover.. largely in part because of you. Especially you; Anthony. “ Tony thought he heard a sound at the door, but ignored it in favor of trying not, to give into the back and forth pulse of rage. “ But in the end; if I let him go: if he lived out this fantasy, what then? “

“ How we’re connected, is more than a fantasy. And you know it. If it weren’t; you wouldn’t be nearly as threatened by how close we are now. “

“ You’re right. “ Pulled Tony’s head back a little, maybe more so for the repeat in a much more gentle tone. “ You are, right. “ surprised him, just a little. But he was weary enough of Odin by now not to let his guard down. And the firmness in his words was back, though the softer tones were weaving into them with what Odin said next. “ A very smart man.. and yet you miss the point. You are what.. forty? Fifty at most? Charging, towards the beginning of the end of your prime. While, at thirty or forty times your years; Loki, has barely begun the first steps into his. “

“ Thirty five point seven, actually. “ raised the old man’s brow. “ Times, my age. So. This is where it came from. “

“ I beg your pardon? “ It wasn’t funny, how the old man had just; pulled that almost-fistfight right back up in Tony’s mind, clear as day. Fresh as if it had been yesterday.

“ When we came to collect your other kid? His girlfriend, and you know: stop the-- “ a hand waved off towards the ceiling. “ --elves? I got stuck sitting in on a very similar argument between brothers. I didn’t agree with it then. Broke my heart hearing it, actually. Here he was, this guy; alive as he was, all the joy --even as twisted-sweet as it’d turned out-- all , the joy to give when he.. doesn’t even try? And you what? Thumped into his head the idea that .. because some lives are shorter than yours, he should ignore them? Not cherish what he gets while he’s got it? “

And okay. All right, so that rage was.. Flipping into something else. And even though he had finally caught his breath after that dead run: it felt like it was still coming up short. “ How dare you. “ He opened his mouth, and Tony had to drive it in again. “ How, fucking dare you ; sir. “

“ You would rather that light were snuffed out watching you die? “ did, put a little skip to his thoughts. “ Mm. Yes. That. Even if you do not, die in battle; what. You would have him watch you wither, and age, and fall into weakness before death? “ He had nothing to that. How could he still have nothing for that? “ And, you know him yes? His passion. His greed too I think, keeping hold of everything he decides is his. Tell me, Anthony.. what would he turn to, before allowing that to happen? “

And … wasn’t that a thought. But worse was that he was able to pick out the immediate next in Tony’s. “ I think young man, that even those outside might be able to guess that the better question would be; what wouldn’t he , do? “

“ Nothing. “ Nothing, except: looking over at him right then? He couldn’t buy it. “ There’s not a damned thing, he wouldn’t do to keep what’s his, on his own. Not when it comes to what matters ; but? “ Odin’s eye almost narrowed on him. He took a deep breath, and just .. let it go. Looked right back. Made sure he saw it. “ He’s not on his own. Not any more. “

Eir chose that silent challenging moment to come in; closing the door quietly behind her. “ I suppose, not. Lady Eir. “

And Tony needed to know, in the interim. “ How’s he doing? “

But the thing was; she didn’t answer. At all. His eyes had shifted back to Loki; when Odin had addressed her. The quiet though; pulled his head her way at a slow tug. More for the warning bells going off. Most men in a relationship know the kind. Well probably at least some women too, he thought. The ones where, you can’t see it; but feel the risings of a person’s temper so sharply once it’s in the room that, you just know when you look, that at least half of actual hell is about to break loose, and you’re pretty much dead if you get in it’s way? Yeah. That kind of warning bell.

And when he did look? If he thought the stare-down between him and the old goat had been bad? Nah, no comparison..

And that, was when Tony realized he was pretty much still in the ‘dead zone.’ And almost immediately took a step back, and then to the side. Because and hells if he didn’t have the experience; it was the nice, classy, and kind ones that saved it all up for a proper nuclear explosion when they got really pissed.

“ Well? How is, he? “ was, not what he was expecting the same. Especially not from Loki’s physician? “ The boy can see for himself. “

“ Mm! I have eyes in my head as well. I know very well how I left this room; and this was not, out of all things what I expected to return to. “ only sort of confused Stark a little more...

Read All of Chapter Five on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158483/chapters/64297735

#thinking about this one today #tony mad #Mixology #Lokiverse #GROUNDED #tony stark #frostiron #loki #loki x tony #tony x loki #frostiron fanfiction #pansexual characters #bisexual characters #angst

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love-killed-the-superstar · 4 years

Text

heres day 5!! more cassunzel angst! and now... i sleep

CASSUNZEL WEEK DAY 5 - HEARTBREAK

Cass can’t sleep.

It’s not like she isn’t used to sleeping in unfamiliar places. These past three years she’s slept in barn lofts, under bridges, in caves and up trees and even in shitty, overpriced taverns with bedbugs. She’s slept through rain and snow and even a sandstorm, once; so why is it that she’s been unable to sleep since arriving in Corona, as she lies in what could only be described as the world’s comfiest bed?

Well, sharing it with Rapunzel and Eugene could be the reason. And not so much because either of them snore, or toss and turn, or murmur in their sleep; that much she can handle, after the year they spent on the road, with little to no privacy between them all. She’s shared a bed with Rapunzel a few times now and slept soundly, although the first time it happened her heart thudded away rapidly the entire night, being so close in proximity.

Maybe it’s because the sheets are too silky, the mattress too soft? Maybe it’s the quiet of the room, where every rustle of sheets feels like a roar in her ears? She’s so used to the sounds of nature, after all, or the drunken cheer of fellow travellers, or the gentle breathing of Fidella and the scratching of Owl’s talons as he watches over her dutifully. She’s a drifter now, and maybe palace life and the luxuries it brings just… doesn’t suit her anymore. It never did feel right, but now it’s more alien than ever.

Fuck, who is she trying to kid? This isn’t about the bed, or the company she keeps. It’s everything else around her that’s keeping her awake; things she can’t escape from whenever she returns.

As quietly as she can, she rises from the bed and creeps over to the large window leading out to Rapunzel’s balcony. She slips through easily enough, though not without a loud creak that causes Eugene to stir; he blinks blearily, yawns, and rolls over, his back to the window. Thankfully.

The change in temperature is stark, and she allows the cold night air to wash over her with a sigh of relief. Out of that room, back into nature again, she’s finally able to just breathe. Corona is mostly dark; a few stray lamps send the courtyard awash with a dim russet glow, but otherwise she is pleasantly plunged into darkness. Across the water, there are flickering lights from Old Corona. The sight, while a little comforting in its familiarity, brings no real catharsis to her. Instead, it just makes her think.

She shouldn’t have come back.

It’s her own fault, of course, for not writing ahead of time to let them know of her imminent return. It’s so stupid, to think that Rapunzel and Eugene will always be able to drop everything when she swings by, and she’s taken it for granted. Usually when she comes back Rapunzel will take the whole day off to catch up, hear out her latest stories, fill her head up with all that has been going on in Corona without her. They’ll spend a few days riding the horses out, swimming in the lagoon if the weather permits it, having private candlelit dinners and stargazing each night. Now that she’s more involved in royal duties, Cass visiting gives her an excuse to take a few days off and recover from the stresses of everyday life too.

This visit has been different. For a start, Cass somehow forgot that coming back this time of year meant her visit would coincide with the goodwill festival. Idiot. Rapunzel has been rushing around constantly since her arrival yesterday, just trying to keep everything ticking along smoothly in the lead up to the event. Cassandra offered to help pretty much the moment she’d left Fidella in the palace stables, but Rapunzel assured her everything was handled, leaving her to catch some down time on her own.

They’ve only managed to catch up twice since then, each day over dinner, and one of those was accompanied by the king and queen. She certainly isn’t… opposed to dining with them, as awkward as the conversation may be given they have very little common ground to talk about. But when that eats into precious little time she has to spend with the woman she loves, it pisses her off.

Eugene is busy too. Cassandra never thought she’d see the day where she grew frustrated by his improved work ethic, but he’s been so busy organising security, as well as some ridiculous new flag-wielding march for the soldiers that he’s introduced to the festivities in the last year or so, there’s been no room to tag along after him either. She watched today, for an hour or two, as they fruitlessly waved those dumb fucking flags around, but where’s the fun if she doesn’t even get to poke fun at them with Eugene’s rapport? Even Lance has been busy, preparing to run some sort of food stall with the help of Kiera and Catalina. In the end she spent the day with her father, catching up on life and riding out to a local fishing spot to drink ale and pass the time together. It’s by no means a disaster of a day, but… damn, it felt empty.

She feels empty.

It’s not like Cass didn’t notice the stares as she moved from place to place, or the whispers, just quiet enough that it’s left to her own imagination to work out the things that the people of Corona still whisper about her. Didn’t Rapunzel tell her once that things would get better over time, if she just left room for everyone to forgive and forget? And if active atonement is the way forward, how can she offer that if there’s no breathing room in Rapunzel’s rigid festival agenda for her?

Her eyes sting, and she reaches to clutch a fistful of her night shirt. The lights across the water begin to blur together, her breath comes shorter, and her throat… it aches, a cry just on the tip of her tongue.

For all that she’s convinced herself that she doesn’t need Corona anymore, that it only serves as an anchor she’s pulled back to from time to time, and solely for the purpose of visiting Rapunzel… maybe it’s Corona that’s run out of use for her. It’s… not the kindest thought she’s had today.

There’s a loud creak as the window behind her opens out. Cass can’t bring herself to turn around, even as she hears a voice call her name gently. If she tries to respond, she knows her voice will be thick with grief, so she doesn’t make a sound.

“It’s pretty cold out here,” Rapunzel continues quietly. There’s a click as the window shuts, and Rapunzel pads over to join her at the edge of the balcony. “Have you been out here long?”

Cass shakes her head and takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady her voice as best she can. “Only for a few minutes.”

“Liar. Your hands are freezing.” Rapunzel reaches for one, holding it to her mouth and breathing to warm it up. The sudden rush of heat sends a violent tremble through Cassandra’s body and she pulls her hand away quickly, gripping the flat surface of the rail as her vision swims. “Hey, Cass. Talk to me? I… I know things have been busy around here and we haven’t really spoken much. But I can lend an ear now.”

“Raps, no. You’re exhausted from organising the festival, you – y-you should-”

Damn it, her words are starting to crack. She squeezes her eyes shut and takes another deep breath. The ache in her throat is back again; it’s a dam holding back her cries, and it’s frustrating as fuck. Would it kill her not to agonise over things that don’t matter? It’s like every time she comes back her brain is scrambling to find some new reason to sabotage her visit, a new thing to fixate on that eventually leads back to this tired thought pattern – that she’s a horrible person and everyone has finally given up waiting for her to get better.

Cassandra reaches to touch the base of her throat, where it hurts the most, and whispers, “You should go back to bed.”

She’s met with silence for a few moments, as Rapunzel carefully chooses her next words.

“You know, Cass, it's almost been a year already.”

“What? A year since what?”

Rapunzel leans forward, her face swimming into view, before saying gently, “Since the last time you cried with me.”

A hot blush bleeds through to her cheeks, and Cass stares hard at the floor. “I'm – I don't...”

“You don't have to justify or explain it. But I'm glad you let me near you when you're feeling like this, Cass. Instead of keeping it to yourself, I mean.”

“Raps...” Cassandra lowers her head. The tears keep coming, and she tries in vain just to plug them completely. She takes a few steps away from the edge, staring hard at the floor, and clutches at her throat a little harder. The pinching of her flesh is a welcome distraction from the pain inside. “I just – I just wonder if me coming back here was a big mistake? Maybe I should have stayed away.”

“What?” In a flash Rapunzel is on her knees before her, looking up at her with big, confused eyes. “Why? Why would you think that?”

“I... I messed up so bad, Raps. I know it's in the past, but people still talk about it. People still see me as the girl who's one meltdown away from destroying the kingdom. And they're right to, aren't they? They know the only person that can rein me in is you and – and you have more responsibilities these days, so of course you can't just drop everything for me, I would never ask you to do that. But Rapunzel, it's so much harder than I thought it would be just to exist in Corona by myself.”

The crying is starting to ebb back into her voice again and she squeezes her eyes shut tight so she won't have to see the way Rapunzel's own face crumples, as it always does when Cass finally bears the full brunt of her ugly emotions out in the open.

“Oh, Cassandra...” The softness, the care Rapunzel handles her with is beyond what Cass deserves after all this time. The road was supposed to have hardened her, but Corona unravels that process so easily it just makes her want to scream. Still, when she feels Rapunzel stand upright, scooping Cass into a hug that is steady and grounding, she gives into the grief and finally lets herself cry on Rapunzel's shoulder again, just like every other time she comes home.

…

Soon enough the crying has come and gone, as quickly as a flash flood, leaving the two of them sore-eyed and fatigued. At some point they gravitated back to the edge of the balcony, hoisting themselves to sit with their feet dangling. The night goes on, unwavering, and they talk things out as they always do when things get too heavy for them to ignore.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Raps,” Cass confesses, staring up at the moon. “I mean, it’s been years. I enjoy life on the road, but… I still don’t understand destiny, or what it feels like or how to find it. Everything I ever knew about it turned out to be wrong, and now – well. I’m back here with nothing to show.”

“Well, that’s not quite true, is it?” Rapunzel reaches over to trace a finger over a long cut that extends from the base of her wrist til midway up her arm. “You have some new scars. Each with their own terrifying story, I’m sure.”

“I slipped and cut it on a rock while I was climbing down by a waterfall,” Cass deadpans. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Raps. There’s no big picture here. No overarching point to anything I’m doing, it’s all just… stupid, small, unrelated incidents. That’s my life.”

Rapunzel huffs, offended on her behalf. “Well, I think it’s wrong to consider yourself a failure just because there’s no linear path to your life right now! Maybe there never will be, I don’t know, but thinking this way only seems to be hurting you. Not all destinies are clear-cut.”

“I just… I want you to be able to look at me and be proud of the things I’ve done,” Cassandra murmurs, shivering in the cold night air. She hugs herself for warmth, and Rapunzel scoots in a little closer and drapes an arm around her to share that precious bit of body heat. “And right now, I just feel a bit aimless and like my life is going nowhere and now I don’t feel needed here, either.”

“Cass, if you really want me to keep you busy for the next few days, I can find some odd jobs for you,” Rapunzel says, shaking her head in exasperation. “But please, don’t ever think that I don’t need you. Do you think I would worry over you like this if I didn’t?”

“Maybe not.” Cass sighs heavily and leans into Rapunzel. “...Can I be really insecure for a moment?”

Rapunzel nods.

“I know I went out into the world with so much confidence, but it’s going on three years now and lately I just – I mean. Damn it. D’you think… maybe, do you think that you can still be proud of me, even though I keep losing my direction?”

“Oh, Cass.” Rapunzel leans over and presses a kiss to Cassandra’s hair, pulling her tight against her for warmth. They rock a little in the awkward embrace. “I will always, always be proud of you, no matter what you do, just by being here and being yourself. All right? But – but I’m not the one you should be asking this question to, you know. You’re more incredible than I can even put into words, but do you recognise that in yourself?”

“I do,” Cassandra promises, shutting her eyes and allowing herself to slacken in Rapunzel’s arms. “Of course I do. I just… need an off day every once in a while where I can pawn my self-worth onto you.”

Rapunzel laughs softly. “Good. Then, listen to me. For as long as the world keeps turning, I will never give up on you. I’ll never stop believing in you, or loving you. And if you want my expert advice, being as well-versed in destiny as I am, it seems to sneak up on you when you aren’t looking for it. Maybe let it sweep you up, instead of getting so stuck in your own head.”

“You make an excellent point. Or maybe I’m just getting tired, it’s hard to tell.” Cass pulls back a little and kisses Rapunzel slowly, her fingers getting a little tangled in her hair as she deepens the kiss. A few minutes pass where nothing needs saying at all; but an icy wind blows through, breaking them apart as they both shudder from the cold.

“Think maybe it’s time to go back inside?” Rapunzel asks, red-faced and starry-eyed. Cass nods breathlessly, scooping Rapunzel in her arms and setting her safely down on the other side of the balcony.

“I do. Hey, uh… Raps?”

Rapunzel, hand outstretched to pull Cass to her feet, tilts her head. “Yeah?”

“...I love you.”

A warm smile melting onto her face, Rapunzel tugs her back towards the window. “I love you too. Enough that I’ll let you be the little spoon tonight.”

“Oh, score. Hope this doesn’t make Fitzherbert too jealous.”

“He can have me any other time of year,” Rapunzel says cheerfully, leaning in to peck Cass lightly on the lips before ushering her through the window. “Now, get comfy.”

Cass drags her tired bones to the bed, sinking into the mattress like a stone through still water as Rapunzel latches the windows shut. Her eyes grow heavy, and as cold, comforting arms wrap securely around her, she drops out like a light.

#cassunzel week #cassunzel week 2020 #cassunzel #tangled the series #tts #writing

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