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notanotherockstar · 3 years

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‘The Whole World Is a Stage’

(Headcannons of dating Neil Perry)

Warnings: slight smut ig, dps spoilers, Knox Overstreet’s endless pursuit of Chris Noel, Neil being absolutely adorable.

You met Neil when he came to audition for the part of ‘Puck’ in a Midsummer Nights Dream.

You had joined the production to help with the sets, props, costumes, etc. and were just about to leave when you see him recite his lines for the audition.

To say that you were instantly enamoured would be putting it lightly.

You introduce yourself to Neil just as he’s about to leave and compliment him on his acting skills.

And the boy is a stuttering fool when you do so because, going to an all boys school and having incredibly strict parents, he’s not used to interacting with girls let alone having very pretty girls come up to him and tell him that his acting is good.

He thanks you but tells you that he isn’t sure if he’ll get the part since it’s his first time acting professionally— unless the silly little plays he used to put up for his parents in his living room when he was a child count.

You laugh at first, thinking he’s joking.

But then you notice the ‘shit did I say something wrong’ expression on his face and you understand that he is not only very serious but also very nervous.

So, you assure him, telling him that, “I was there for all the auditions and yours was by far the best. They would have to be idiots to not cast you.”

Neil is blushing like crazy at the compliment.

He’s blushing even harder when you ask him if he wants to grab a cup of coffee or something from the diner nearby.

He wants to say yes but then remembers that he needs to be back at Welton before dinner so that no one realises that he’s been gone.

“It’s alright,” you tell him, “I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other— I’m working on the set and all of that stuff.”

This marks the beginning of a short yet lovely relationship.

You’re the first one he comes to when he finds out he’s got the part of Puck.

That’s when you two go out on your first date.

It’s nothing much just the two of you and a little picnic by the river with food you stole from your kitchen.

You two stay there still twilight when Neil realises that he needs to head back to school.

Neil helps you clean up because he’s a gentleman.

Just before he can leave you pull him into a kiss that leaves Neil weak in his knees and his cheeks brining red.

“See you tomorrow then?” You ask.

“Y-yeah, yeah.” He stutters and nodds making you giggle.

When he reaches Welton he’s completely lovesick.

The rest of the dead poets boys groan because having to deal with a lovesick Knox was bad enough but now they had to deal with a lovesick Neil too.

He tells them all about you.

He talks about you so much it’s kinda annoying.

Todd has to cover his ears with his pillow in the night for two reasons:

To block out Neil’s chatter about you before they can go to sleep, and;

To block out Neil’s moaning in the middle of the night that wakes him up no matter how deep his sleep is.

Needless to say that after all the talk the boys are very eager to meet you.

But Neil doesn’t want to introduce you to the boys, mostly because he’s afraid you’ll end up preferring Charlie or Knox over him.

So he refuses to bring you along to any of the Dead Poets Society meetings, no matter how much they insist.

Sick and tired of all the secrecy one day the boys decide sneak out to Henly Hall while Neil was at rehearsals.

They ask around backstage till they’re directed to you where you were painting a backdrop.

They introduce themselves as Neil’s friends and you surprise them by very accurately guessing who’s who since Neil had told you a lot about them too.

You and the boys hit it off right away.

Joking around with Charlie, Meeks and Pitts.

Discussing literature and art with Todd.

Discussing your friend, Chris with Knox which ends up with the you agreeing to become his wingman and talk him up to Chris since you’re not a fan of her current boyfriend.

Cameron isn’t there because he’s afraid he’ll get into trouble if the teachers find out they snuck out— not that anyone minds.

When Neil visits you after rehearsal he feel like he’s going to faint at the sight of you, Charlie, Todd, Knox, Pitts and Meeks covered in paint and laughing your asses off.

You immediately run over to Neil and kiss him, trying your hardest not to get paint all over his clothes before scolding him to not introducing you to his friends earlier.

There’s a very awkward chuckle from Neil which is followed by, “I was just waiting for the right moment.”

Charlie is stopped from making a sex joke by Knox placing his hand over the boys mouth.

That is followed by the boys informing Neil that you’ll be attending the next Dead Poets Society meeting.

Neil is speechless— on one hand he’s happy that you’re getting along so well with his closest friends, but on the other hand he wishes he had more time with you to himself before you could meet them.

Anyways, a few nights later, Neil shows up at your house around midnight and takes you to the cave where the Poets meet.

You’re excited to see them all, of course, especially Todd because he’s adorable and just needs to be hugged.

Neil starts the meeting by reciting Thoreau.

True to mr. Keating’s words you do very much swoon as you watch him recite the verse.

Joking around with the Dead Poets as you all take turns to recite poetry from the book Keating gave Neil.

Flirting endlessly with Charlie throughout the night.

Cue jealous Neil.

And you don’t even notice.

You’re too busy giggling as Charlie as he plays endless melodies on his saxophone.

Now, I kinda imagine Neil as getting all upset when he gets jealous

Because, let’s be honest, with parents like his own there is absolutely no way he doesn’t have self esteem issues.

So, anyways, you��re babbling on about how great the night was when you notice Neil kinda looking at the floor like a puppy who has been kicked.

You ask him whats wrong but he shrugs it off, requesting you to go on about your time with the rest of the Dead Poets.

You don’t back off however, insisting that Neil tells you what’s bothering you.

So, he spills the beans.

He’s surprised to find you laughing once he’s done.

“Neil, Charlie’s fun but we’re only friends,” you tell him when he asks you why you’re laughing. “I love you. And only you. Besides, I’m pretty sure I cannot be around Charlie for more than an hour without throwing up- he wears way too much cologne for his own good.”

Soon Neil’s laughing too.

The two of you are just laughing and giggling and messing around with each other till you reach your house.

You two stare at each other for a few seconds- neither of you actually wanting this night to end.

So you invite Neil inside.

“Aren’t your parents asleep?” Neil asks, completely oblivious to your ulterior motives.

“Yup.”

It takes Neil a few seconds but once he does you’re dragging him inside for, in the words of one brilliant miss Amy Santiago, “a cray-cray night of funky fun.”

Neil’s gone when you wake up the next morning leaving behind nothing except the smell of his cologne and a note telling you that he loves you too and that he’ll see you in the evening for rehearsal.

It’s pure bliss from there on.

Sneaking kisses before he has to go on stage.

Picnic dates.

Movie and museum dates.

Library dates.

Sex every free moment you two got.

And by the time the day of the performance came around everyone knew about Neil and you.

Most of them *cough cough* your parents *cough cough* thought you were adorable.

The others *cough cough* the director, the cast and crew of the play *cough cough* just wished the two of you would stop making out and being all lovey dovey everywhere.

You give Neil a good luck kiss on the lips before he could go out on stage and promise that you will watch from the wings.

And you do. You watch and you cheer louder than the Dead Poets in the audience.

You leap into Neil’s arms once the play is finished, kissing him all over his face while he giggles.

“You were so good,” you tell him. “You were so, so good!”

“I was, wasn’t I?” Neil asked with a wide grin spread across his face. “I was really, really good!”

You’re about to say something when a teacher comes up to Neil and tells him that his father is looking for him.

“Everything okay?” You ask him as you watch his expression fall at the mention of his father.

“Yeah,” he nods and places his hand on yours before pushing it off his cheek. Neil bent forward and placed one last, soft kiss against your lips. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” you tell him and watch him walk away.

You stand completely still for a few minutes before deciding to follow Neil.

You walk out of the theatre just in time to see Neil being forced into a car by a man you presumed to be his father and the car then drive away into the darkness.

You ask Charlie what just happened with Neil but he seems to be more or less as clueless as you are.

So, you end up going back home, the worst thoughts about what could have happened to Neil popping into your head when you try to go to sleep.

Then the next day, just when you’re about to leave for school your mother tells you that there’s a call for you.

You immediately rush over hoping it’s Neil.

Thankfully, it is.

He tells you that he his father pulled him out of Welton and enrolled him into military school.

You’re crying, of course, weeping happy tears because you’re just so happy that’s he’s well and alright.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack you know that?” You tell him amidst tears as you run your hand through your (y/h/c) locks.

“(Y/N) I—“ Neil’s cut off by the sound of his father yelling in the background. “I’ll call you back later.”

“You better,” you sniffle and wipe your tears against the sleeve of your shirt. “Neil?”

“(Y/N)?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#dead poets society #Neil Perry #Dead Poets Society x reader #Neil Perry x reader #dead poets society imagines #Neil Perry imagines

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eideticmemory · 3 years

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the day | matthew gray gubler

In which Matthew is a pisces and you’re a writer.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff that I cannot believe I actually wrote. Featuring ‘Lover, you should’ve come over’ by Jeff Buckley, if you wanted to listen while reading.

Matthew never wears his airpods.

They sit there, charging on his desk, all day long, all week long. He doesn’t wear his airpods. You know that, it is a fact. They’re trinkets, decoration, a little bit of a flex, but, Matthew never wears his airpods.

So, the question is: Why the hell has he had them in all week? Every hour, of every day — those little, white airpods hung from his ears like an aura of isolation.

It must be revenge, you thought. It must be his way of coping with the ridiculous amount of time you spend in his office. Alone, putting pen to paper. Initially, he’d peek his head in every once in a while, after you’d been of a bit of a writer’s bender, just to remind you that he loved you. That he was proud of you.

Yet, when it’s your wedding vows sitting on the desk, waiting to be written — when you need him to come in, give you that sweet smile and tell you how much he adores you . . . he’s wearing his airpods.

Matthew never wears his airpods. Your fiancé nevers wears his airpods. And for such a small thing, it’s starting to freak you out. Because one week before your wedding is not the time to do this. Not the time for distance, and insecurity. Not the time for Matthew to be walking around the house, constantly, wearing those fucking airpods.

He coasted his way past the office doors, your eyes following his figure like a light. You trained in on his ears, the white specks clear and visible as he walked right by you. Once he was out of your sight, you released a frustrated huff and set your pen down atop your note pad, put your face in your hands.

You sighed, spoke in a sad and quiet voice, “Matthew Gray . . . what the hell are you doing?”

You didn’t see him at all the day before your wedding. He facetimed you that night to say goodnight, that he loved you, and he would see you Saturday. His voice was so soft, so genuine, so full of love. And all you could focus on was the airpods hanging from his ears.

“I’m ready to marry you, Matthew Gray,” you said. “Are you ready to marry me?”

His face transitioned to a gentle, ever so slightly confused, expression, and he replied, “Believe me . . . I’ve ever been more ready for anything in my life.”

You smiled, “Then I will see you at altar.”

He grinned, “See you at the altar.”

You had stars in your hair. Little clips in the side of your head that made your eyes sparkle. As you were dressed and assisted throughout the big day, you held a crumbled, jumbled, scratched up piece of paper in your hand. It wasn’t perfect, hell, you weren’t even sure it was good. But it was honest, and it was loving, and it took you months to write. Your biggest project yet, if you must say so yourself.

At last call, you were alone, staring at the words as if you didn’t already know each one by heart.

“[y/n],” your friend called. “You ready?”

And, not for the first time, you crumbled the paper up between your fists. Crushed it, smushed it. Threw it to the ground, looked yourself up and down in the mirror. Glitzy, glammy, gorgeous. Dressed in ivory — not white, wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.

You exhaled, whispered, “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Your hands shook. From the start to the finish of the aisle. You sought comfort in Matthew, never taking your eyes off him. But damn, if he doesn’t look so good that it’s nerve racking. He held your small hands in his palm, told you that you looked beautiful, with tears threatening to roll down his face, already.

He’d insisted not too long ago that you be the first to read your vows. Just the thought made you tremble, anxious at the vulnerability, and the hundreds of eyes and ear waiting to hear what you’ve got. Matthew noticed this, and put his hands on around your forearms.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey . . . just talk to me.”

You did. You held his eyes on yours, you recited your poetry, you silenced the entire building. Only pausing to inhale shaky breaths, and to wipe the tears from his face.

“And I love you,” you choked on your words. “And I thank you, so much, for showing me what true love is, Matthew Gray. Thank you for being . . . the absolute love of my life.”

Matthew could only reply would a somber laugh, wiping away the excess tears from his face. “Whew . . .” he breathed out. “Wow . . . how the hell am I supposed to follow that?”

The space erupted in soft laughter.

Your own laughter included.

The two of you were formally introduced as Mister and Misses Gubler, surrounded by a wave of applause within the reception hall. Matthew raised your bound hands into the air, proud, joyful. He had you, he finally fucking had you. Until death do you part.

He left you centered in the middle of the dance floor, illuminated by the soft light, as he made his way upon the stage, located right in front of you.

“Hi, everyone,” he waved. “I’m Matthew Gubler, I’m [y/n]’s husband —“

You laughed along with everyone else, who hooted and hollered at his declaration.

“Thank you, thank you . . .” he smiled. “Thank you all for being here, for supporting [y/n] and I, it means so much.”

You tilted your head at him, his focus finally being directed at you once again. “[y/n] . . . my love . . . I’ve waited forever for this day. Forever. And if you will do me the honors, I’d like nothing more than to dance with you . . . to have our first dance as husband and wife to — to a song that I first heard when I was fifteen. To a song that . . . I’ve been listening to ever since we first met three years ago, a song that . . . has been on repeat in my head in preparation for this moment, right here, right now.”

As you held your hand out for him, gentle guitar flowed from the speaker, though it wasn’t any riff that you recognized. Matthew joined you in the center of the dance floor, pulling you close as you whispered, “Matthew Gray . . . what are you up to?”

“I’m dancing with you . . .” he smiled, setting his hands tightly on your waist, your arms draped over his shoulders. “I’m serenading you.”

Looking out the door,

I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners.

“Parading in a wake of sad relations, as their shoes fill up with water,” Matthew sang, gently.

“Oh, he’s singer, too,” you giggled.

He chuckled, “Shut up — Maybe I'm too young, to keep good love from going wrong. But tonight, you're on my mind so, you'll never know . . .”

Broken down and hungry for your love,

With no way to feed it

Where are you tonight?

Child, you know how much I need it.

“Too young to hold on, and too old to just break free and run,” setting your head on his shoulder, you let him sing in your ear. “Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun , much too blind to see the damage he's done. Oh, sometimes a man must awake to find that, really, he has no one.”

So I'll wait for you, and I'll burn,

Will I ever see your sweet return,

Or, will I ever learn?

Lover, you should've come over,

'Cause it's not too late.

Matthew’s grip tightened around your waist, his long arms engulfing you in an effort to get closer to you, closer than humanly possible.

Lonely is the room the bed is made,

The open window lets the rain in,

Burning in the corner is the only one,

“Who dreams he had you with him . . .” slowly, your husband, your husband, looked in your eyes, “My body turns, and yearns for a sleep, that won't ever come.”

“It's never over,” he sang to you. “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder . . .” following the words with a small kiss to the top of your shoulder. As if in immediate response to the words, and the physical touch, tears began to pour down your face.

“It's never over, all my riches for her smiles,

when I slept so soft against her.”

“It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter.”

“It's never over,” and these lyrics, he sang with your face in his hands and his lips touching to your forehead. “She’s the tear that hangs inside my soul forever.”

You sobbed, pulled him closed, nuzzled your face into his neck, held on for dear life to the back of his head.

But maybe I'm just too young,

To keep good love from going wrong.

Oh lover, you should've come over.

I feel too young to hold on,

I'm much too old to break free and run.

Too deaf, dumb, and blind,

To see the damage I've done.

Sweet lover, you should've come over.

“Oh, lover, I've waited for you,” when he said this, it wasn’t a melody. It was spoken, softly, soulfully.

“Lover, lover, lover, lover, love, love, love, lover, you should've come over . . . ‘cause it's not too late . . .”

Every word.

No stumbles, no stutters, no faltering.

Matthew never wears his airpods.

But when he does, it’s for a good reason.

#mine #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg fluff

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shutupanddance · 3 years

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Sam Seaborne dating a member of the Secret Service would include...

• First of all, he thinks that you are the coolest. thing. ever.

• You are one of the Secret Service members who was selected to travel with the president, so needless to say, you know how to kick butt.

• C.J. was always your secret fangirl, but after your help at Roslyn, Sam can't believe that you do this stuff as your JOB.

• He's always asking about specific martial arts and moves. "Do you know how to snap someone's neck?" And of course he wants to know what you'd do if the White House was infiltrated, or if someone pulled a gun on a staff member. He's just so curious and you're almost relieved when he gets distracted by something else because he can ask questions for HOURS.

• The advantage of working for the same boss is that you go most places together. Sam is usually with the president because he's the main speech writer, and of course you're needed for protection, so you've spent a lot of date nights on Air Force One.

• I mean, let's be real, most dates are on the fly. Sam gets so focused on his work that you have to catch him by surprise when you get the chance. Maybe it's in the middle of a bill being passed, or some international crisis, but the second there's a break, you've got takeout ordered and find a way to corner him in an empty office (last time you tried to have dinner in his, Toby kept throwing the rubber ball at the adjoining window, despite Sam mentioning that he was on a date). When you're busy on an assignment, or because the President is being stubborn and won't go to bed, Sam likes to enter the Oval Office with the excuse that he needs to talk to the President, but he really just wants to see you. After the first three times, the President is sick of it and turns to you. "Just take the night off. Please. I think he's running out of reasons to get in here and I don't want him to resort to giving me weather or stock market updates."

• Because you visit Sam's office so often, you know most of the assistants. And they are HUGE fans of yours, mostly because when you're around, Sam will rant to you instead of them. You hold weekend self defense lessons for them sometimes in the Secret Service gym, and everyone brings snacks. When Sam finds out, he thinks it's amazing, and keeps trying to convince you to let him watch. You insist that it's ladies only. HOWEVER, when one of your friends in the Secret Service gets sick and can't help you with the lessons, you need a volunteer to do demonstrations with. You mention it to Ginger, Sam overhears, and bugs you for days about letting him help you. You eventually relent, mostly because you can't say "no" to those blue eyes. During the first demonstration of the weekend lesson, you throw him to the ground. He stays down on the ground, the assistants giggle, and you hear a weak voice say "I regret this decision."

• Sam loves to recite speeches to you. It helps his creative process, to read it to you. Usually, you don't have to give input because talking it through helps him fix any problems, but when you do offer advice, he listens very intently. Your opinion carries a lot of weight.

• Alternatively, he loves hearing you read. He loves listening to poetry, novels, essays, even the Constitution. He just loves hearing you read. Lazy days (during the rare instances you both have time off) are spent with his head in your lap, your hand in his hair, and a book in your hand.

• Sam has a healthy fear of you --- he knows you can hold your own. But, if anyone every insults you or makes a rude comment, you can hear an angry "HEY!" from across the room. He's there in seconds and he's there to beat down whoever tried to hurt you.

• A lot of people underestimate your political knowledge since you're in the Secret Service. Once, while hanging out with the senior staff, you gave some input and Josh made a comment saying you didn't know anything about the situation. Sam was L.I.V.I.D. It didn't matter that Josh was his best friend, he defended you with INTENSITY. Of course, once Josh got to know you more, the two of you became friends. You're probably the only people keeping Sam grounded.

• Sam doesn't always express his emotions outright (he kinda sucks at saying what he's feeling unless you ask him directly), but when he does, it is so genuine and sweet that you want to melt. Sometimes you find little scribbles among his notes that are about you and your relationship. Like: "I can't think of any word to describe her but ethereal. She can't be from this world." He's only ever written essays and speeches for the most part, but now he finds that he can't help but write little blurbs about you. He never mentions it, but you treasure them when you find them.

• He knows you have to be professional while on duty, but he can't stop flirting with you. He'll pretend he's never met you before, try some slick pick-up line, stand a little too close, the whole routine. You are the classic "she IS the job" kind of person, so your responses are mostly "Thank you, Mr. Seaborne." "Alright, Mr. Seaborne." But you cannot stop smiling.

To summarize, the man can't get enough of you.

#sam seaborn #the west wing #sam seaborne #sam seaborne x reader #sam seaborne imagine #the west wing fanfiction #reader insert #sam seaborn x reader #sam seaborn imagine #masterlist

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dirtycccat · 3 years

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things that remind you of them w the demon bros+ (un)dateables

highkey tw for some unhealthy behaviors and uhhhhh maybe sensitive stuff idk just keep that in mind

lucifer

an impromptu orchestra concert in an abandoned church. a forgotten off key piano found at the back of an antique shop. tradition worth more than luxury.

the crackling of fire. glittering glasses of wine. changing a vinyl with naked hands, brushing the dust off its hard body. a cold hand touching the back of your neck in passing. whispered words of affection in the ear of your sleeping beloved.

running on air. falling with your lungs full of fire. trying to rebel against fate, against the inevitable moment the ground will break your bones for trying to cheat the laws of nature and its gods.

the heavy weight of perfection bending you backwards. counting down the moments until it will finally break you. measuring your worth in work, in being good at, in being useful, in being needed.

sticking up with family, with rules, with loyalty despite your own desires. acting like you’re the first but always putting yourself second.

being afraid to dare to be selfish and to love. being scared of your own devouring passions. waiting for your beloved to take the first step and running the whole way to finally meet them.

mammon

the fluttering of wings in the silence of a white september afternoon. a sea of crows watching your every move from atop a nearby building. finding a black feather on the ground and keeping it in your pocket for good luck.

the friction between leather seats and leather jackets. heavy cologne mixed with the scent of sweat and leather. the purr of a motor. finding a half empty pack of cigarettes in the pocket of your old jacket.

winning second place so many times you’ve given up on first. still dreaming of clawing your way onto the top of the podium sometimes.

the heavy burden of capitalism of having your worth monetized. having to constantly show the word you’re worth something. selling your soul for value.

wanting everything you could never have before. overspending, oversharing, overwhelming. being too much but also never enough.

finally being someone’s number one. strong arms holding you while you cry. a reassuring presence, a constant in your life

leviathan

imposter syndrome. feeling like you’ll never fit in, like you’ll never be good enough.

replacing real life with dreams. looking at life from the outside. living inside your head.

playing games until 3 am on a school/work night. letting your passions consume you. still feeling guilty of not doing anything measured in money or public approval. calling all your hobbies guilty pleasures because you still care about what others think despite appearances.

finding comfort in the solace of the ocean. sitting at the bottom of the pool holding in your breath and your tears. crying in the shower. letting the water wash you clean and reborn.

letting someone in. being accepted for what you are and the little you can offer. vast depths hidden by shallow waters.

satan

rage. pure unfiltered rage. the desire to stand up to authority figures. clenched fists, heavy calming breaths, tightly closed eyes. tears of anger, of not being right, of never being good enough or smart enough.

subtle jabs. heavy sarcasm. veiled ironies. cruel eyes and bloody smiles.

putting your nose in a cat’s fur and smelling home. holding a small being full of love and feeling fulfilled. finally feeling like you want to protect and not just destroy.

having to put a book down after reading a certain line that perfectly described that unknown feeling you’ve had all your life. rereading the same line again and again and feeling the knot in your heart and stomach loosening. knowledge as power turned into knowledge as a way of truly becoming yourself turned into a shelter of understanding guarding you from the anger.

swearing in other languages under your breath. reciting poetry aloud by candlelight while drunk on wine and desire. heavy whispers full of hot meanings in the ear of your lover during dinner in languages spoken only by you two.

finally getting the happy ending you’ve always read about. finding your anchor. being a better you for your beloved. improving and helping each other with their shortcomings. balancing each other.

asmodeus

perfectly done make up that had you wake up 2 hours earlier than the others. using concealer to hide a pimple or any imperfection. pants too tight to walk in. the sound of heels in an empty hallway.

caressing your desire while taking a hot bath. focusing on carnal needs, on your senses, on what you feel, on the present. drunk kisses. flirting with strangers at moonlit bars. red lipstick stains on blushing necks.

drinking a glass too many despite the warning in your head. drinking to forget yourself. drinking to escape your fears, your inhibitions, your shortcomings. drinking to become the perfect you the others always expect to see you as. but also drinking to be selfish and feel good for yourself and yourself only.

the sad knowledge you’ll never be the best ever again. being compared to others and ending up comparing yourself to them. knowing your worst enemy is yourself, but trying to hide that fact with mean jokes and confident airs. feeling afraid of being known, but even more afraid of having no one knowing the real you.

beauty at a price. happiness sold for beauty. cruel beauty that devours its worshippers.

the reassuring hands of a stranger holding your hair as you let it all out, the alcohol and the guilt. crying with your head on the cool toilet porcelain after you came home from a party that you thought would help you escape.

help and love coming from where you least expect it. noticing the little things. noticing the person behind the character.

beelzebub

an unknown hunger gnawing at your insides. trying to fill the empty inside but always choosing the wrong meal.

feeling satisfied after a good meal on a good day, feeling bursting on a bad one. devouring until you can’t. still feeling empty, still needing to fill yourself up but knowing it is useless.

feeling breathless and weightless after a run. being high on adrenaline and feeling like you can do anything. the smell of a sweaty used gym and leather boxing gloves.

falling in love so slow and easy it feels like a meeting in the middle of an already drawn path.

belphegor

living just to pass the time. living for others. living but forgetting how to live. being told to do better, to be better, to just get up and do something.

sleeping in. falling asleep at 6 am after a night of insomnia. hearing the world wake outside when inside you’re just going to bed.

strong emotions with no release. feeling full without escape. dark humor. saying too much, revealing too much, being to much so you hide.

getting away with shit because you’re the smallest and feeling no guilt.

the feel of fresh bedsheets. being covered in a blanket just right. feeling warm and protected in the comfort of your room.

love that comes like a question and an answer. love that feels heavy despite it’s light.

diavolo

a commanding tone bringing silence to a room. respect earned justifying the respect you were born with.

luck of birth. being born with a silver spoon. being sheltered, being always different, being untouched by the world outside and its people.

being born with a burden. accepting your prescribed fate. believing in legends and asking yourself if you’re the hero or the villain of your own story. realizing that life is more complicated than fairytales.

abandoned castles. ivy walls and moss floor. a lit figure at the window of an empty mansion. the creaking of old staircases at night when you’re home alone. feeling like you’re from another time.

a strong hand squeezing your thigh under the table. the reassuring warmth of your lover’s presence in a time of need. being loved and not just desired. finally being touched where it matters.

barbatos

unwavering loyalty. living to serve. giving up on your individuality.

a shadow following you at night while you walk back home. sharp eyes locked onto yours from across the room.

passive aggressiveness. hiding behind a smile. an impenetrable facade of public politeness.

the ennui of knowing too much, of living the same day, of being hungry for a breakthrough. knowledge as a burden but also as a gift.

knowing everything about others but no one knowing anything about you. making small thoughtful gestures that remind others of your deep knowledge of their habits and wants.

finally being noticed and seen for yourself alone. getting the surprise you were craving. being taken care of.

simeon

living different lifetimes through your writing and through books.

the smile of a pretty stranger in the train that will forever visit your dreams.

a handwritten message in cursive on the fridge. a hastily written poem on the back of a receipt.

being the outsider. the watcher. being the director of the play of your life and not the actor.

tea that s just hot enough to warm your insides. falling asleep on an armchair with a book in your hand. sunkissed skin. the softness of summer. the fluttering of invisible wings.

ageless wisdom.

rewriting a cursed tale of history. going against tradition. trying to carve your happy ending. succeeding.

solomon

knowledge coming at the price of youth and life.

a thirst to know. devouring books. staying up until 5 am reading. eyes burning dry. feeling like you’re still not doing enough. head full of little nothings. feeling like you will never know anything however much you try read or learn.

notes in the margins of a book you took from the public library. wondering who is the person behind the words. fleeting attachments to the wrong people for the wrong reasons.

being the outcast. the kid at the back of your class reading a russian novel in the original language underneath the table during math class.

a house in the middle of the woods with smoke coming from its chimney. rituals in the dark. wet moss on your soles, the moon lighting up your eyes. the silence of night on a full moon.

whispering prayers and praises to the earth under your breath as you go. feeling drunk on fire. noticing the magic around you. kissing the earth. finally grasping the knowledge you sold your soul for. asking yourself if it was really worth it and having no answer.

love as an adventure. finally feeling and not thinking. giving up on reason and embracing your heart’s guidance.

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modern-vellichor · 3 years

Text

Darling, You're Hopeless

Summary: You and Loki are seemingly always on the run. One day Loki is forced to leave you, and Steve takes care of you while he's gone.

Warnings: smoking, cigarettes, mentions of blood, handcuffs?, needles, loki fluff, steve being a good friend, mostly fluff.

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Dating the villain isn't as bad as it seems, especially when you are one in the same. They knew you only as Hestia, except you weren't a God, not like him. They knew that you flirted with flame like it was an old friend, hence the nickname. You were the first one they called when he ended up in their grasp. It had taken a week of persuasion from Tony and Cap to convince Thor to contact you.

You were nice when you arrived. You stepped out of the cab in very mortal clothes. Cap noticed how generously you tipped the driver. You shook everyone's hand when you came in, even gave Peter a soft, motherly smile and a pat on the head. When you were talking with Tony and Steve you were nothing but mannerly. You didnt hesitate in declining a call in the middle of your meeting. You shook your head and apologised upon hearing of Loki's actions. Then politely asked to see him, and they didnt see why not.

"My Darling, Hestia. You dont know how happy I am to see you", he said, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth after the gag was removed.

"I know, baby", you whispered, wiping his chin with your thumb.

The two of you spoke for a while, Tony and Steve watching intently. Then you flicked your hand beside your head, a lit cigarette appearing between your fingers. You took one long drag, and exhaled. Smoke filled the room, obscuring their view. When they burst in, the two of you were gone and the room had been set ablaze.

They should have known.

Your house in Missouri was secluded. You hid there, you and Loki. You lived an almost normal life. You had groceries delivered to the house and spent your days lounging around. You had work to do, and Loki kept himself busy.

One late afternoon you heard knocking on your door. You opened it without thinking and next minute Steve Rogers was shoving his way into your entry hall. You stopped him before he reached the door to the living room, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Y/N, Darling?", Loki called out. "Is everything alright? Who's at the door"

"Everything's fine, baby. It's just an old friend. We're going for a walk." You answered nonchalantly.

You shoved Steve into the cool afternoon air. You didnt say a word until the two of you had walked to the next block.

"So, Y/N?" He asked lazily.

"You don't get to call me that." You spat in return.

You had worked so hard on keeping private and safe. And now everything had been compromised. For all you know there could be 20 S.H.I.E.L.D agents at your home for Loki while Steve distracted you.

You took a deep breath. "What do you want, Mr. Rogers?"

"I want to make a deal"

"What deal?"

"Keep your boyfriend distracted long enough until we have precautions in place to defeat him should anything,,,happen. We have Intel that Loki is planning an attack on the Avengers and we dont need another problem right now"

"Will those precautions involve killing him?", you asked sadly.

"No"

"Then you have a deal"

"Pleasure doing business with you"

From then on Steve made a visit every month. He promised not to tell any of the other Avengers of your location. You had begun to enjoy your monthly walks. Until one day Steve rapped at your door and you opened it, teary eyed and distraught.

"He's gone and I dont know where he is", you rambled hastily. "Steve you've got to help"

Steve was quick to get to straight to New York. He left you stranded in a concrete room while he searched the city for Loki. Eventually he came to let you out, and guided you to a plain but comfortable looking cell. In it was an angry looking Loki who was pacing. He had a cut on his temple and a bruise forming on his cheek. You sighed in relief and tapped on the glass. The two of you spoke quietly for a few minutes before your hands were being held behind your back.

Loki put up a fight as you were lead away in cuffs and chains. But you went quietly. You made small remarks to Steve, you was hesitantly leading you to a cell of your own. He had done so much for you, the least you could do was cause him no trouble. And even in captivity, Steve took care of you. He snuck you books to read and journals to write in. He took letters and notes to Loki, and brought you his in return. And after a few months of lonely captivity, you asked Steve a final favour.

He had come to bring you dinner when you grabbed his arm, looking into his eyes with a pleading look.

"Steve please. Allow us to share a cell. I worry what Loki will do, should he be left alone any longer"

He walked you to Loki with your hands tied behind your back. The first thing that Loki did was embrace you, your hands not yet free. Before Steve could remove your restraints, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and passed a little note to him.

Steve came to visit you in the evenings. You both hated to admit it, but you had become good friends. Should things have been different, you would have turned to him for advice.

Steve liked his evening visit. You and Loki read aloud as you lay with each other. While you liked to recite poetry and other dramatic readings, Loki preferred to read classic literature. Steve vividly remembers a poem you recited about icarus. He remembers you being so passionate about changing the narrative of the story of Icarus, and it had worked. Steve never saw that tale in the same light.

One evening Steve brought you and Loki your food. You came to retrieve your plates from the little hatch. You were muttering an apology before he even realised what was happening. He only felt the needle as you were pulling it out of his hand. On a normal man, that amount of tranquilizer would knock him out for days. But with serum raging through his veins, it merely immobilized Steve. It was enough though. You and Loki crawled out of the confines of your cell. With the walls behind you, Loki was finally able to get the both of you out of there.

Your holiday home in Italy was a lot nicer anyway.

Neither of you were working very hard in Italy. The two of you spent your days walking around in the summer sun, or spending your afternoons curled up in bed with each other. Loki was soft behind closed doors. Soft and loving, gentle and caring. Although you weren't allowed to tell anyone that. You lived like this for a few, happy months.

Then one night you were curled up, asleep. Loki's hand rubbing comforting circles on your stomach. You didn't wake up when the lock on your front door clicked, nor when the thudding up the stairs began. You still kick yourself for it. You only startled awake when your bedroom door was kicked in, a sad group of Avengers standing where it would have been. You immediately scrambled to hide your lover from the group of angry heroes. Steve had an emphatic look on his face, he met your pleading eyes with sorrow.

"Steve", you whimpered. "Please. I'm begging you. Don't do this"

You gave Loki a loving squeeze on the thigh. That was the signal. Within seconds he had disappeared, and you were left alone with tears in your eyes.

"Can I at least get dressed before you lot kidnap me", you spat.

Most of the group ambled pathetically downstairs, all but Steve.

"I'm sorry." He stated, sitting at the edge of your bed. His gaze trained at the floor while you dressed.

"I'm sure you are"

"I'll take good care of you, until Loki gets back"

Should those words have fallen from any others mouth, you would have thought them a threat. But on his lips, it was a kind gesture. You smiled at your unlikely friend, and things felt a small bit better.

Months went by. Every day you woke up in that God forsaken compound wishing that Loki would arrive to collect you. And each day you were disappointed. But there were little things to make up for it.

The young Avenger. Peter, you had grown close with him. And even though you were as stubborn as a mule, and refused to help, Stark could not kill you, you were simply too valuable. So you had the run of the library. You memorized poem upon poem for the day your lover returned. You knew in your heart one day he would.

Eventually your incessant complaining grew too much for Stark. So he allowed Steve to take your for walks. The two of you would walk Peter home from school sometimes.

It was on one of these trips that a familiar voice rang in your ear. The familiar call of "Darling" lingered in the air as you almost fainted. Sure enough, when you turned around he was there. Notably a fair bit skinnier. You weren't sure if this was really him or an apparition. When you embraced him you found him to be solid. Peter and Steve stood awkwardly as the two of you reunited.

"you have to go, god knows what they'll do if they find you," you say, pulling away from him with tears in your eyes.

You run your hands down his chest, straightening his shirt and fixing his jacket.

"come with me, please, darling. You have to, I need you," he begs. His eyes are soft and pleading.

Peter is standing behind you, he watches in fear. He's heard of Loki and the damage he's done, although he isn't scared of the Loki that you tell stories of, he's definitely afraid of the one standing a few feet ahead of him.

Steve watches out of the corner of his eye as Peter reaches for his phone and begins to call Tony. Steve grabs the device and crushes it in his hand. Peter begins to protest but Steve's quiets him quickly.

"Does that look like a man who's gonna hurt someone?" He whispers angrily, gesturing at the frail and weak Loki. "He's not here for revenge, he's here for her"

Suddenly you turn around to look at Steve, teary eyed. You look at him imploringly, silently begging him to let you go with Loki.

Steve smiles at you sadly, he raises his hand and waves at you.

Your eyes go wide in shock and disbelief.

Steve nods and shoos you away with his hand, turning around a pulling Peter with him.

You both look back one last time and you mouth a Thank You at the blond. He just nods and turns around again.

When he looks one last time you're gone. But he knows he'll see you again, and hopefully you'll have turned Loki into a better man. Or maybe he'll have corrupted you equally as much. Steve didn't try care. He'll miss his friend, and you will too.

#loki laufeyson #loki #loki odinson #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki layfeyson x reader #loki odison x reader #steve fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers

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wkemeup · 4 years

Text

By Any Other Name (2)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.7k warnings: descriptions of a controlling relationship, bucky is undercover as james, a wild peter appears, brock is an asshole 🌹series masterlist 🌹

“I thought I told you to keep these out of sight.”

Brock held up a copy of Jane Eyre, waving it around impatiently as you crossed the room to take it off his hands. You held the book close to your chest, brushing your hands along the fabric of the aged binding and took in the comforting scent of the pressed paper and ink. There was a slight aroma of aged brandy that burned in your nose and you looked down at the book to find a splash of Brock’s drink seeping into the cover of the near two century year old novel.

“Sorry,” you muttered, thumb brushing against the stain, a slight tremor in your voice. You turned to leave the room but Brock’s hand caught on the edge of your dress, grabbing a firm hold of the fabric and you stilled instantly. Your grasp on the book ached in your hands.

“You forgot something, baby.”

Muscles tensing, body clenching, you took a deep breath and pushed out a smile as you turned around to face him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. He tasted of cigar smoke and liquor despite the clear blue of the morning sky outside. You held onto the book pressed against your heart like it was a lifeline as he caged you with a hand gripped into your hair.

He let you go with a satisfied hum and you exhaled a breath of relief. He turned back to the papers on his lap without another thought to you and you quickly disappeared from the living room to return the book to its home.

Chills pressing bumps into your skin, you rushed down the hall until you found the sanctity of the library and closed the doors shut behind you. Leaning against the frame, you glanced down at the book, running a hand across the blue cover, tracing along silver lettering.

The stain had dried, a slight discoloration in the cover and you clenched your teeth so tightly it ached in the muscle. You set the book back on the shelve, squeezing it in amongst The Tales of Angria and Emma, your favorites in Bronte’s collection.

You stepped back from the shelf, admiring the precision of it, the colorings of the aged fabric of the covers and the intricately designed lettering on the bindings. It was beautiful; hundreds of years’ worth of knowledge and art and most brilliant creative works of humanity all gathered in a single room. Hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on these shelves. It was the only thing you put your time into these days; all that Brock would allow you access to the accounts for, so you didn’t get any… ideas.

You groaned, falling onto the couch and tucking your knees to your chest. A half empty cup of tea from the night before sat on the end table still seeping. There was a light ring forming under the cup, but you didn’t mind. It would add to the collection. Something about this place needed to feel imperfect and homey, unlike how polished and clinical as the rest of the mansion was.

It hadn’t always been this way, your relationship with Brock. You didn’t always feel so trapped in your own home, restricted to putting everything you had into a single outlet and spending your life locked away in a room your husband didn’t bother to ever step inside.

You had met Brock when you were a professor at Columbia in one of the cafes down by your office building. He had a charming kind of smile and was impossibly sweet for his stature and the scars littering his skin. He was easy to fall in love with and you supposed just about anyone would be if they were purposely catering every thought, feeling, and behavior to mold into what you wanted him to be.

He played the part of a loving boyfriend for nearly three years. You’d married quickly, with a short engagement, because he insisted he was just so in love that he couldn’t wait another second. You’d believed him because you were a girl who had grown up with an elusive father who spent more time in his office than at your recitals and scholarships ceremonies and poetry nights.

His disappointment in your love of the arts and literary fiction left a hole in your chest that Brock easily filled. Brock was the one who built the library in your shared home and encouraged you in your work at Columbia. He bragged incessantly about your accomplishments and joined you at every departmental fundraiser. He was perfect in every way, if only on paper.

Everything changed the night your father died and his millions were inherited to you, his only living child. Brock became distant and cold, and you had convinced yourself that he was grieving. He had been close with your father, after all, but the darkness never went away. He convinced you to transfer your inheritance to a joint account so he could take care of you, so you could take a step back and mourn without having to worry about paying bills and funeral costs and mortgages.

You never saw a penny of that money again.

It didn’t take long before you learned of Brock’s connections to Hydra, his apprenticeship under Alexander Pierce, and the crimes he committed in the dark cover of night when he slipped from your bed for nearly five years.

You supposed it was your own ignorance that let it go on for as long as it did or perhaps you were simply too naïve to see it, but Brock had held you down, tied and bound for years before you even felt the ropes.

You confronted him with the pieces you’d put together on his connection to the criminal world and he had threatened to turn you over to the police. It had been your money funneling Hydra and you were complicit, an accessory to every crime he’d committed and the blood money he’d made since.

He had you exactly where he wanted you; trapped, with nowhere to go, no friends or family to turn to. You hadn’t even realized how isolated you’d become until you were desperate to leave. He’d found a way to separate you from the last remaining friendships you’d had before you even knew they were gone.

So, you played the part of the doting wife. You did as he asked and kept up appearances when necessary. You went to his black tie events in expensive dresses and heels because it was what he demanded. You watched as he turned your father’s wealth into hundreds of millions of dollars through drug trafficking and weapons manufacturing, all while fighting off turf wars and ordering the executions of dozens of men.

He wanted you to conform to his life. He asked it of you every once in a while, for you to take your rightful place by his side and rule the city of New York together, but you told him to shove it. You wanted no part in the world he dragged you into, kept you locked away in by threat of extortion. He was a monster by your standards.

Your relationship with him was surface level. It was a political move to marry you, seeking out your father’s money. He’d forced you to step down from your position at Columbia, isolating you from the last remaining ties you had. He controlled every aspect of your life.

So, you kissed him when he asked, slept with him when he came onto you, because you were going through the motions. You kept yourself secluded to the one place that still managed to bring you joy; your library.

You were content. Numb, but content.

But something was different now. You couldn’t place what it was, but the unsettled need for more was returning to the surface and you were desperate to crawl your way out again.

A cool breeze swept in through the window, startling you out of your memories, and you shivered, turning to quickly close the draft as to not disturb the delicate temperatures needed to preserve the books. Locking the window shut, you turned and leaned against the wall, gazing out at the walled lined with countless novels, though your eyes kept falling back to a certain Bradbury novel with red flames intricately designed on the cover.

You sighed, grabbing your bag from the table and quickly made your way out to the car before Brock could notice you were gone.

***

You had the driver drop you off in Brooklyn, a few blocks off from the Queens border. It was part of your Sunday routine as much as you could manage to sneak away, to come into the softer side of the city and visit the shops and storefronts you’d frequented in your time before Brock.

You reveled in the feeling of the cold breeze against your every step, hands pressed into your pockets and nose tucking into a scarf when the chill started to bite.

You stopped in at your favorite bagel shop, the one with a few of the letters missing from the sign, and ordered your usual from the kind, middle-aged woman at the register. She smiled as she saw you, giving you a quick wave, as she finished up with the customer across the counter.

Stepping up to the counter, you took in a heavy breath of the fresh baked bread and the bacon sizzling on the table fryers. It was heaven in a shop.

“Hey, Mrs. Marselli,” you greeted, eyeing the order board though you had no intentions to change your mind, “I’ll take a—"

“Oh, don’t you worry, dear, I know it by heart,” she grinned, calling your order down to the last detail to her husband in the kitchen. You hadn’t changed your order in nearly three years and she winked at you. The bagel came only a few moments later wrapped up tight in tin foil.

“It smells amazing, as usual,” you grinned and slid a few extra dollars over the counter.

Mrs. Marselli picked up the cash and narrowed her eyes on it suspiciously. It wasn’t the first time you gave her more than what the bagel was worth. “This is too much, dear. I might need to send you back to school with my grandson!”

“Hmm, guess so,” you shrugged as you backed away, giving her no chance to hand you back the change and excess dollars. “Have a good day Mrs. Marselli! Tell Jim thanks for the bagel!”

“Will do, honey! Stay warm!

The next stop was down at the coffee joint on the corner of the block. It sat next to a Starbucks that usually had a line out the door, but you liked the family who ran Café Ramos and wanted to hear about whether Neftali’s son made the school musical.

The bell rang as you walked inside, a short blast of warm air pushing through the frame and you let out a sigh of relief and pulled the scarf down from your mouth. A messy mop of brown curls jumped up from the register where it looked like Mateo was trying to take a mid-morning nap.

“Y/n’s here!” Mateo shouted back to the kitchen, waving you over and quickly preparing your cup of hot warm. “What can I get you this time? We just got a gingerbread tea in time for the holidays? What about a chocolate lavender? Could always go apple caramel, too…”

“Whatever you think, Mateo,” you laughed, handing him the usual cost of the drink and told him to keep the change. He turned to grab a tea bag from the tin box with a small gingerbread drawing in brown crayon on the front label. “So, did you get the part of Bernardo or what? Don’t hold out on me, kid!”

“Who knows?” he sang with a huge grin, right in tune with the classic song ‘Something’s Coming’ straight from the West Side Story score. You squealed and gave him a high five, though he tried to play it cool. Most high school juniors did.

“That’s amazing, kid! I’m so happy for you,” you bit on your lip, trying to keep in your excitement. You’d known him since he was in elementary school and he talked nonstop of wanting to nab a lead in the high school play. This was his dream. “I want a ticket when you open, you hear me?”

Mateo’s cheeks flushed pink as he pressed the lid to your tea. “Bernardo doesn’t really sing a lot but I’ve got a lot of dance numbers and we all know the Sharks are way cooler than the Jets.”

“Well, count me in as team Shark,” you laughed, taking the tea as he handed it to you. It was piping hot but the smell was intoxicating. “Don’t forget to tell your mom I said thank you for the flowers she delivered to my aunt’s house last week. They were lovely.”

“Sure thing, Y/n!” Mateo called after you as you made your way to the door. He was a sweet kid.

There was as reason you looked forward to Sundays.

Most of the stops you made on your trips alone were filled with interactions like the sweet couple at the bagel joint and the Ramos family at the café, smiles and quick questions of how their day was going, but sometimes, you’d run into people on the street who recognized you for another reason, who knew of your connection to Rumlow and Hydra and they’d take one look at you before crossing the street or disappearing into an alleyway for an escape.

You clenched your jaw as it happened for the third time in only fifteen times.

This time, it was a young man, maybe in his college years with a dark purple bruise on his eye. He was walking with his head down, he almost didn’t notice you until he bumped hard enough into your shoulder to send you spiraling to the ground, trying to escape an oncoming biker who shouldn’t have been on the sidewalk in the first place.

The rest of your tea spilled to the sidewalk and the last bite of bagel was lost to the road. You only had a few sips of the tea anyway and it would give you a decent excuse to grab another on your way home, so it was no loss to you. Though, your tailbone would beg to differ.

“Oh shit! Sorry about tha–” The kid froze dead in his tracks when he finally got a look at you. He reached out quickly and pulled you to your feet, stepping away to give you distance.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you said, trying to laugh it off but you recognized that petrified look in his eye. He almost certainly knew your husband you wondered what he part of Brock’s world he could possibly be involved in at an age so young. He didn’t seem to be hearing a word you said, so you tried again. “No harm done, kid. Really. I’m perfectly fi–”

“Please, ma’am, I wasn’t lookin’ where I was going,” he begged suddenly, hands shaking now as he glanced around the street nervously, like he was waiting for an attack. “Please, don’t tell Mr. Rumlow. I didn’t– I didn’t mean to–”

He didn’t even give you a chance to convince him that you’d never tell Brock something so trivial and that he had no reason to be afraid, but he bolted off before you could.

“Wait!” you called after him, but it was no use. He was already down the block, glancing back at you over his shoulder like he was running from enemy fire. A frown pushed at your lips, aching in your cheeks as you picked up the empty cup and the foil from the bagel.

Murmurs of bystanders hung in the air around you and you noticed an elderly couple whispering amongst themselves and pointing in your direction. They knew who you were and gossiped amongst themselves. You just hoped word didn’t get back to Brock, but still, these sorts of things always did.

***

When you finally made it to the bodega in Queens, you spotted your cousin sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, mindlessly scrolling through his phone, though his mess of brown hair popped up at every horn that blared in the streets, which was pretty often.

“Parker!”

Peter’s head snapped up in your direction, smiling bright in relief, and he jumped up from the sidewalk, rushing the rest of the way and crashing into you at the center of the crosswalk. His grip around you was tight and he nuzzled the cold of his nose into your shoulder.

“I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show,” he mumbled. Voice muffled as spoke against the lining of your coat. It was a rough time of year for the Parkers. The anniversary of his uncle’s death had just passed last week. You let him hang onto you longer than usual.

You chuckled, glancing around at the pedestrians as they sent you irritable glares in their efforts to step around the two of you. You ushered Peter back over to the sidewalk, not daring to pry his arms from around you.

“Come on, Pete, you know I’d call if I couldn’t come,” you reminded him. “Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you, huh?”

He laughed a little, pulling himself away from your embrace and nodded.

“What’s on our agenda for today?” you inquired, nudging his shoulder to pull that smile out of him again.

“Aunt May wanted me to deposit some checks,” Peter said, gesturing to the lump in his coat pocket. They must be condolences from the funeral. It was nearly five years ago now, but May had a hard time bringing herself to deposit them. Looked like Peter finally convinced her to let them go. “The banks out in Brooklyn though, and I know you just came from there so it’s okay if you don’t want to walk that f—”

“I don’t mind,” you replied with a shrug, hoping to ease some of his tension. “It’s a nice day and I’ve got time.”

That got him smiling, at least.

As you followed Peter along the sidewalks back to Brooklyn, you were relieved to find that he still had the energy to talk a mile a minute, telling you everything from how school has been, his progress on his latest project for the science fair, his escapades with his buddy Ned, and the kid named Flash who had some kind of vendetta against him.

“How’s Michelle?” you asked him suddenly. He nearly choked on air, coughing to alleviate his surprise and you laughed into your scarf, trying to hold it back for the sake of his ego.

“Oh, she’s—uh—she’s good,” he stuttered, chuckling nervously and running a hand through his hair. “I was thinking I might try and find this necklace for her, actually. She really likes the Black Dalilah. You know, like the murder?”

You raised an eyebrow, listening intently as Peter explained and you couldn’t help but feel grateful you weren’t in high school anymore. All these rules about how to interact with everyone and constant pressure to say the right thing. It was exhausting. Though, if you were honest with yourself, your life wasn’t much different now as it was then.

“What about you? How are things with Brock?”

You blinked a few times, surprised to look up and find you were a few blocks past where you’d last checked. You brushed a hand through your hair, shaking out the knots.

“Oh, you know, same as usual,” you said, not willing to give Peter any more detail than he needed. He knew nothing of the underground world your husband operated in and you planned to keep it that way. As far as Peter knew, Brock was the owner of a dance club in midtown. Nothing more.

There was an ache in your voice though, a slight sort of tremble that Peter usually picked up on though he didn’t force it. You felt his eyes as he glanced over at you, hands tucked into his pockets and shoulders hunched up by his ears to hide from the cold, trying to find evidence of your hurt upon your face. Your eyes were downcast, lips pressed to a frown.

He’d seen the change in you after your father died and he had thought it was grief, even for a man who wasn’t around much to begin with. He had tried to give you space but even you knew you had lost pieces of yourself that never healed again and it wasn’t because of your father.

“Come on, kid,” you huffed, swatting at his arm enough to trip him a few steps and get him laughing again, “I’ll race you to the bank.”

It was only two blocks away and you were on back alleys with minimal traffic anyway. It was something you used to do when you were younger and you’d be the one watching him after school. It was all you could do to get the energy out of the little pest.

“What do I get if I beat you?”

“Pride, Peter.”

“How about donuts from McQueen’s?” he pressed, grabbing tight to your elbow and bringing you to an abrupt stop. Alright – so he was serious now.

You narrowed your eyes. “Fine. When I win, I want churros from the street vender across the block.”

“Done.”

***

An hour later you dropped Peter off back at Aunt May’s there was sweet sticky residue of cinnamon sugar on your fingers as you waved goodbye. You pulled the second churro from your bag, half eaten, and bit down on it with a triumphant smile.

Peter laughed, shaking his head as he brushed past Aunt May and slipped inside the house. She waved at you, leaning against the frame, reminding you to not be such a stranger, before you made your way home.

It had been a while since you’d spent time with Aunt May, especially after Uncle Ben passed. Hell, it had been a while since you’d spent time with anyone, really. You worked hard to keep Peter and Aunt May out of Brock’s world.

You never told him when you met up with Peter on the Sundays you were able to slip out of the house, giving excuses of your errands in Brooklyn and spending time reading in the park. He never questioned you, never thought that you would lie to him because he thought you to be feeble and submissive.

He confused you for the character in which you played for him. You weren’t the only one who could be fooled by someone who was supposed to love them.

You sighed as you pushed your way into the front door of the home, the chill of the inside no warmer than the flutter of snow falling outside. You reluctantly unwrapped your scarf, hung your coat, and eyed the emptiness of the living room. There was a loneliness in this home you were never quite able to shake, even in the moments Brock was around. It was never his company you craved.

A chill swept up your spine and you tugged your cardigan across your chest. Hoping there might be something in the kitchen you could throw together to make soup, you kicked off your shoes by the door and scurried your way across the living room. Hell, you’d even settle for a cup of tea and a PB&J if it was all you had.

Humming to yourself, you didn’t notice the murmured voices beyond the door as you pushed your way inside.

You froze in your tracks, nearly stumbling over your feet to find Brock and a few men in suits you didn’t recognize sitting around the table, eyes all trained on you.

James stood in the corner of the room, observing, and if you hadn’t already known what he did for your husband, you would have thought he was out of place.

Even the limited interactions you had with him had been decent, kind almost, and certainly nothing like the rest of the men your husband kept under his payroll. He nodded at you in acknowledgement, hands clasped behind his back. It was subtle, but it was there. It was more than any other Hydra members offered you.

Brock’s jaw was clenched when you finally dared to look in his direction, a silent warning for you to leave the room, but you huffed, letting the door close behind you as you made your way to the stove and turned on the top right burner. You usually had a bit more defiance in you after your time with Peter. He reminded you of who you used to be.

“Gentlemen, this is my wife,” Brock announced, forced smile and tight in his tone. He never offered your name, like withholding it was another lock he kept you under; dehumanized and alone.

You could hear the murmurs of approval from his business associates as you put a pot on the stove. Just as you were reaching for a can of broth from the pantry, Brock cleared his throat. You gritted your teeth and turned to face him.

“Why don’t you let Clara make something for you, baby?”

He wasn’t asking to be kind. He wanted you gone.

Clara quickly stepped in from the adjoining room, a sweet woman in her early seventies who had been working for the Rumlow family for decades and put up with far more than she should. You shook your head at her, offering a small smile as you held up your hand.

“I can manage just fine, thanks,” you replied.

“Baby,” Brock urged, the threatening nature of his voice masked under the pet name you despised, “we’re in the middle of a very important meeting.”

“You’re also in the middle of the kitchen and I’m hungry,” you snapped back, pleased by the flash of shock on his face. “You have a thousand other rooms in this house, you can’t go anywhere else?”

You’d come to regret that jab later, but the satisfaction of the way his forced smile faded down into an aggravated frown was too sweet to resist. As you turned back to the stove, you spotted James in the corner attempting to suppress a smile, though he quickly pushed it aside when Brock called his name.

“Karpov, please escort my wife somewhere she’ll be more comfortable. I’ll have Clara bring her dinner when it’s ready.”

James nodded, stern features replacing the softness of the smile and he stepped forward, gesturing for you to follow.

“You can’t be serious,” you gaped, glancing at James before you turned back to Brock.

You weren’t a child and you didn’t need to be treated as such, but with the look on Brock’s face, the redness burning in patches on his neck and the glare in his eyes as he stared you down, warning you to shut your damn mouth, and you silenced immediately.

You’d seen that look before. It wasn’t one you enjoyed being on the receiving end of.

“Ma’am, please come with me,” James requested, voice low, soft, and he placed a hand on your arm to lead you away but you yanked it from his grasp harsher than you intended.

It wasn’t him you were angry with but he was just as much a part of Hydra’s world as your husband was. He chose this life. You were forced into it. It didn’t matter how sweet and gentle he was, or the fact that he seemed to care about your books or your wellbeing. He was still a man following orders.

Frustration was etching in your skin, leaving you feeling antsy and shaken, but you stood your ground. You met Brock’s eye from across the room, a challenge of wills between you.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Brock growled, slowly standing from his position.

It was then you felt another soft touch on the mid of your shoulder blades. Gentle, guiding, and entirely unlike the hands of his men before who had yanked you from the room with a firm grasp around your wrist that left red marks and aching. You turned to find James watching you carefully, offering a nod in encouragement, and you shivered away from his fingertips.

His hand fell immediately and he made no efforts to touch you again.

You glanced back at your husband, and then to Clara who had already starting preparing the soup with the ingredients you had taken out of the pantry. With a roll of your eyes, you turned on your heels and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Brock with a satisfied, prideful smirk you’d come to loath.

“Keep an eye on her, Karpov,” Brock called out to James and you turned your shoulder to find him following you into the living room.

There was an apologetic look about him, with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his hair falling down into his face. He offered you a tight-lipped smile despite the hardened frown on your face, and it only seemed to add to the confusion he elicited in you.

“I don’t need a babysitter, just so you know,” you said, arms folded over your chest as you leaned against the back of the couch.

“Oh, I am fully aware,” James nodded, a slight chuckle escaping him. “Think you can do me a favor and let me stick around for a bit though? Just so I don’t piss off the boss?”

You laughed despite yourself. The tension quickly fading from your shoulders and your arms unfolded from your chest. Hands gripping at the suede fabric of the couch, you turned to see James smiling at you. It was bright, leaving dimples on his cheeks and wrinkles by his eyes. He was really quite beautiful if you stopped and let yourself think so, which you did not.

“I suppose I can be fine with that.“

A silence took over for a moment and he shifted in his stance. He didn’t care for the quiet, you noticed, watching the way his eyes glanced down to his watch and he started to tap his toe against the hardwood floors. It took you a few years, but you’d come to savor the silent moment likes these. They meant you were alone, out of Brock and Hydra’s reach. They were a blanket of warmth and safety.

James seemed to find them unsettling.

“I actually have something for you,” he said suddenly, a slight jolt in his body as the realization came back to him and he quickly made his way to a black backpack sitting in the corner of the living room.

You narrowed your eyes on him, wondering what your husband’s enforcer could possibly have in that bag. You watched as he dug around the inside and tried to steal a glance over his shoulder when he stood up abruptly with a sudden nervous energy about him.

He didn’t say anything as he extended his hand to you; in his grasp was a copy of A Farewell to Arms.

You swallowed, stilling immediately, as you stared at it for a moment, giving yourself just a moment to process exactly what this was before your eyes trailed up to his.

He was swaying on his feet and it surprised you to watch a man who had been hired by your husband, to have dozens of pounds of muscle on his frame, and standing at six feet tall to be so nervous. You carefully took the book from his hands, running your fingers along the print of the title before you flipped through the pages.

It was faded on the cover and the binding was near in pieces from over stretching and cracking down the middle with use, but it was still readable, even with the ring of coffee stained on the first page of chapter one. The back cover had a high school library sticker adhered to the page that looked like it had been picked at relentlessly, though it won out in the end.

Worn over the years of being passed from student to student until ultimately James took it home and kept it more than a decade ago. It was a relic. A memory. It was perfect in every way and suddenly there was a lump in your throat you couldn’t quite explain. It had been years since you’d known kindness like this inside this home.

You had Peter and Aunt May, but they were like treasured secrets; ones you kept at the furthest distance from Brock as you could. This – this book in your hands – was something else entirely. You couldn’t remember the last time Brock brought you something simply because it reminded him of you.

James managed to make your heart ache and your stomach twist all at once, and you’d only known him a few weeks. You were at a complete loss.

“I know it’s not a first edition but,” he stumbled nervously, scratching at the back of his neck, “it was one of the few classics I liked back in high school. It’s, uh, seen some things… clearly.”

He chuckled anxiously, gesturing to the worn-down binding, and after a moment of what seemed to be pure shock, you tugged the book to your chest, hugging it close to your heart. A smile lit up your face, sparkling like gold and glitter and magic in your eyes. It was like a rush of heat in your veins and breath of fresh air.

“Do you want to see the library?” you asked suddenly and he seemed surprised by that as he raised an eyebrow, taking a step back. Now it was your turn to shift nervously on your feet as you stole a glance back over to the kitchen. “You know, if you’re stuck with me for a little while?”

James smiled, the corners of his lips curving slowly into his cheeks, and he nodded.

You grinned, turning on your heels and allowing him to follow you. You kept the Hemingway classic close to your chest the entire walk and tried not to think of the implications of it or the fact that Brock never once took any interest in your books or that you’d only known James a few weeks and he already seemed to be more interested in your love of fiction than your husband ever was.

You pushed all those thoughts aside. At least, you tried to. James wasn’t making it exceptionally easy with the way he was stunned into near silence as you pushed open the heavy oak doors and led him inside your sanctuary.

“I know you said you saw it before, but–”

“Not like this,” he said with a heavy sigh, shaking his head in disbelief as he stepped inside.

You knew a forced smile when you saw it and the way James walked around the room, his hand trailing along the shelf and closely examining the titles and the intricate detailing in the woodwork, every ounce of the bewilderment on his face seemed to be entirely genuine. He paused at the end of the first row, chuckling to himself as he pulled out a novel you quickly realized was among your Bradbury collection.

Fahrenheit 451. The book he asked you about the second time you ever spoke to him. There were smiles in between, careful glances and slight nods of acknowledgment in a way none of Brock’s men ever offered to you before, but the first time he talked to you, really talked to you, without the presence of your husband, was the first time you’d laughed in that home in a long time.

“You can borrow it, if you like,” you offered, leaning against the shelf as you watched him flip open the pages, studying the near translucency of the paper and the sculpted gold framing of the font on the cover.

“Think I might be a bit too rough around the edges for something as delicate as this,” he replied and it made your stomach twist in knots with the way he laughed to himself. The feeling was so foreign to you, you almost didn’t recognize it. It had been years since anyone brought those kinds of butteries around.

“I don’t believe that’s true,” you shrugged, stepping closer. “There’s no use in having a library full of books you can’t read. It’s what they’re here for.”

“Not sure that applies to ones worth thousands of dollars,” he mumbled awkwardly, though he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the first page, like he had already started reading. His eyes were scanning the page, a slight curve of his lips as he read, and you swore your heart fluttered, but you shoved the feeling deep down because it wasn’t one you were allowed to have.

“It does, actually,” you countered and he looked up from the page to find you standing just a few feet away.

He sighed, clearly reluctant. His eyes trailed from the pages to your face, and back to the pages again. “Only if you’re sure.”

“I insist.”

You smiled at him and he closed the book, letting his hand fall to the side with the novel pressed to his hip. He nodded in appreciation.

“Guess it’s the least you could do now that I’ve gifted you such a relic,” he grinned, nodding to the novel in your hands nearly torn at the seams, with pages bending in the corners from unwanted moisture and cracks in the cover.

“Hey!” you laughed, swatting his arm playfully, “don’t knock my new favorite book.”

“Favorite, huh?”

Your cheeks hurt. Blushing and heart pounding. It was suddenly five years earlier and you weren’t tied down by rope and duty and bound to a home and husband you wanted nothing to do with. It felt like, for a short impossible moment, that maybe you could start again, maybe want something for yourself.

But James was just as much a part of Hydra as Brock was; maybe even more so because it was his hands carrying out orders. It didn’t matter that the soft hue of bright blue eyes and the sweetness in his smile seemed to contradict everything you knew about him. He was still Hydra.

Realizing you had been staring too long, standing too close, you quickly cleared your throat, stepping back and James let out a heavy sigh, looking just about everywhere around the room but at you.

A sudden knock at the door made you flinch, hand darting to your heart to hold you steady.

“Miss Y/n?” a voice called. Clara. You could smell the homemade soup from across the room.

“Just a moment,” you called back.

You were hidden behind an aisle of books, shielded by the abundance of thick covers and pages, hiding this stolen moment – or whatever it was. You glanced back at James nervously, a silent apology in your eyes and he seemed to understand immediately. It was time for him to leave.

He offered you a short smile, holding up the Bradbury novel in his hand with a slight nod of appreciation, before he quietly slipped from the library. Clara eyed him as he left, keeping a careful distance as she usually did when Brock’s employees were around. When you emerged from behind the row of shelves, she had already set up your tray on the coffee table, folding the napkin into a beautiful design.

“That one’s new around here, isn’t he?” she asked, referring to James, a slight tremor in her voice that came with age. She smiled at you, saying more between the lines, but you knew what she meant.

James didn’t seem to be anything like the other men Rumlow kept company with. He was kind, with bright eyes and a warm smile. He cared about your library and your novels without forcing his way through a conversation for the sake of politeness.

He brought you a book, one from his own home, one he kept since his school days and must have dug through old boxes for, simply because he thought it might make you smile.

He was genuine. It had been a long time since you’d known anything like that within the walls of this home.

And it terrified you.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

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prose-for-hire · 4 years

Text

Bad, evil, rotten lovers

Pairing: Spike x vampire!reader

Request: Hey there! Could you write a spike x reader thing, where they have been friends/together since being humans and both have problems to hide their giddy and fluufy relationship from the scoobys and trz to act all dark and tough?

Requested By: Anonymous

A/N: I enjoyed this request - hope you like what I’ve done with it!

For some reason I always default to season 4, not sure what’s up with that (it’s not even my favourite season) so I challenged myself with this request! We’re set in season 2 today with an ‘evil’ spike/reader.

You were never part of his usual crowd. You had been visiting the area he lived with his mother for only a brief period, staying with a distant relative but William had become instantly smitten with you. You had both got on so beautifully and when he had been missing for a while it had really hurt you, he had been the only one you cared about there. He loved you and you had been fast falling for him, he had even suggested that he would ask permission to begin courting you. So, when he went missing there was a hole in your heart. That was, until he came back for you, tapping on your window one fateful night. And that, as they say, is history. You had been sired and luckily the qualities he loved about you hadn’t changed and you fell in love outside of society’s strict code with neither of you looking back (unless you were reminiscing of course).

That was then, but now you and Spike were walking through a graveyard in Sunnydale. You had maintained a reluctant truce with the Scoobies to get rid of Angelus, secretly you liked the strange little group of kids but you would never tell them, or Spike. Angelus was starting to annoy you and your love, he had gotten into the whole Slayer killing, which was Spike’s thing. All that seemed to calm him down from his irritation was you, he really loved you which was lucky because you matched this love. You had taken to walking aimlessly at night, to get out of the mansion and strengthen Spike’s legs after being stuck in his wheelchair in front of Angelus. Your late night walks were where you could both discuss your frustration and maybe kiss a little between the gravestones. He had draped his leather duster over your shoulders, knowing you weren’t affected by the cold but wanting you to have it.

He had paused to gaze at you softly under the moonlight, the look he had given you all those decades ago. The first time you met at a society function. He had been so earnest back then, almost shy, now he was only like that with you alone. You liked it this way – you got the best of him. You had both apparently been reminded of the same thing, as he spoke his thoughts out loud.

“I remember practicing over and over, reciting long lines of wanting before I asked…” he referred to the night he asked you to be his.

“Sweetie! Your poetry still makes me blush, and I have no circulation!” You grinned at him as he appeared to duck his head slightly and you embraced him in a hug.

“Please don’t pull away, pet… not yet” he mumbled to you, as you started to move, but your embrace was unfortunately cut short as you both heard an almost inaudible whisper.

“Poetry?” Buffy and Xander had mouthed in confusion, both looking at each other. Xander raised an eyebrow, holding up a cross as you started to walk closer to them. This has to be a trick right? You were both evil and evil doesn’t write poetry or have cute pet names… do they? Buffy got in a stance ready to fight as you both finally noticed them.

“Well, well if it isn’t Betty the vampire layer” Spike smirked as you cackled, making sure to allow your most menacing scowl for the slayer.

“You know how many Slayers Spike’s killed? Two, soon to be three isn’t that right?” You bragged as Spike nodded along.

“Currently, you’re working with us though, sweetie” Buffy mocked. You both postured, starting to speak over each other in your haste to maintain just how bad you both were. You finally stopped as the slayer raised an eyebrow and started tapping her toe as if she were bored of your very evil tales.

Eventually Buffy and the boy walked away, having set your plan out for later. You both walked on, hand-in-hand, through another graveyard. Eventually you slipped your hand from his, a sparkle in your eye as you plotted. As spike was explaining something, he didn’t notice you slip away and hide behind a gravestone waiting to see how long it would take him to notice. He only noticed when he heard a soft giggle from behind one of the gravestones and his face melted as he realised. He wouldn’t admit it, but he enjoyed your impromptu games of hide-and-seek amongst the gravestones. He started to prowl through the stones, looking for any sign of you. He softly narrated where he was going, to see if he could make you giggle and give yourself away.

“Come here… big bad’s gonna eat… you… up” he whirled around at the last word, eyes locking with yours as you squealed and he scooped you up before you could run.

“You found me!” You cheered as he pulled you by your middle and held you to him.

“I’ll always find you, pet” He said, cupping your cheek softly. It was as if he were staring into your soul, even though neither of you had one. His cold blue eyes sparkled as you stared back, a smile on your lips. You could recall it all, you wouldn’t share the rest of your un-life with anyone else.

“Sweet William, you always know the right things to say to me!” You matched his soft almost-smile as he leaned into you, your lips meeting in small, soft kisses that turned slow and sweet. Your hands ran through his bleached hair as you both smiled into the kiss, reluctantly cutting it short. He was about to carrying on walking but you grabbed his shirt sleeve, “Wait! One more kiss, for luck!” you asked enthusiastically, and he smiled, pulling you in softly once more. Willow walked over to you, but neither of you were really paying attention to her, she must have gotten separated from the others. The young girl was too trusting, having spoken to you more than once without so much as a stake for protection. A small cough interrupted your kiss, she was clearing their throat and you both jumped in surprise before slowly turning to see Willow watching you both. Spike coughed, trying to show he hadn’t just jumped and almost yelped in shock at the tiny human.

“What do you want, little red? Never heard of the things that go bump in the night?”

“Y-yeah, we’re gonna eat you up after we all get rid of Angelus” you insisted. The girls pulse barely changed and you and Spike looked at each other. Willow wasn’t convinced you both were as bad as you say you were, especially since the truce. The girl was in a fluffy pink jumper, she looked like a marshmallow and her personality appeared to match the ensemble. You and Spike looked at each other, growling at her before deciding to head back before the sun rose.

Back at the mansion, you were sat on Spike’s lap as he wheeled you both into the room. He was still keeping up the pretence that his legs weren’t working. You were sitting sideways on his lap and you looped your arms around his neck, snuggling into his chest as he stopped in the centre of the room.

“I’ve got a surprise for you!” You smiled, “Close your eyes!”

“Love-” he started, but did it anyway, for you.

“Hold your hand out, palm up” You asked and when he closed his eyes and did it, you grabbed his hand and interlocked your fingers with his with a wide grin. He peeked and looked down at your hand and smiled, moving your entwined hands up to his lips so he could kiss the back of your hand. You giggled and he smiled that smile that was only for you.

“I’ve always liked the way your hand fits in mine, pet” You both got lost in each other’s eyes, a soft smile as your hands held onto each other. He was about to lean in and kiss your forehead when a voice startled you both.

“H-has anybody told you that you’re kinda sweet together?” A small voice interrupted from the corner. You almost jumped, you had forgotten that spike had grabbed the little witch as your tasty snack for later when the Slayer inevitably double-crossed you both. She was tied up in the corner and you had forgotten. Even spike looked a little sheepish that you had been caught being so soft together.

“We’re not sweet!”

“We are evil, nasty creatures of the night!” Spike pointed threateningly at Willow, wheeling himself towards her as you got up from his lap.

“We’re bad! Rotten to our core!” You insisted, Spike had changed into his vamp face to prove your points. She just looked away and moved further into the corner.

“You couldn’t even dream of the horrible things that we’ve done!” You shouted, frowning, your eyes flashing amber, “The terrors that we have inflicted on entire cities!”

“Y-yeah you are evil, you’re j-just sweet to each other” she corrected herself. You and Spike gazed at each other before you were snapped out of it once more.

“Quit playing with your food, the Slayer’s here!” Angelus ordered to you both from another room. You both looked at each other, shrugged and grabbed Willow along too. This was going to be interesting.

#spike x reader #spike x you #spike imagine #spike btvs #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs oneshot #vampire reader #gender neutral reader #requested #anonymous request #btvs #Angelus #Angel Btvs #Buffy Summers #Willow Rosenberg #Xander Harris #fluff

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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

Text

Xue Yang's ritual to resurrect Xiao Xingchen in Lan Xichen's body has failed.

Unfortunately for the wounded, guilt-wracked Lan Xichen, Xue Yang doesn't seem to realize this. All he knows is that he's finally got his daozhang back...

Stroking his hair, Xue Yang kisses his forehead, so gently that Lan Xichen almost cries. He doesn’t deserve this tenderness. Lan Xichen doesn’t, rather. But Xiao Xingchen— Xiao Xingchen deserves everything.

Xue Yang/Lan Xichen & Xuexiao - E - Ch. 1 Ch. 2 on Tumblr - AO3

Chapter 3 - The Coffin

Xue Yang’s fever breaks the next morning.

Lan Xichen sits up from where he’s fallen asleep at the table pushed near the bed. A light doze, plagued by nightmares. “How do you feel?”

Xue Yang blinks in the pale gold light streaming through the uncovered windows, then snatches at the bed as if reaching for the sword he slept beside before returning to Yi City.

“Jiangzai is safe!” Lan Xichen says before Xue Yang can panic at the missing sword. They’ve been through this many times over the past few days. “I even cleaned it for you.”

Xue Yang relaxes slightly. “What happened?”

Lan Xichen crosses the room to fill a bowl with cold rice. “You went out in the cold rain to fix the roof.”

“You don’t get sick from cold,” scoffs Xue Yang. His voice is hoarse, but it’s back to its old teasing, flippant self, with the new note of fondness it’s acquired since coming to the Coffin House. “I’ve been cold and wet more times than I can count.”

Lan Xichen imagines a young Xue Yang huddled outside in the rain and feels a twinge of—not regret, as there had been nothing he could have done about it while it was happening, but something akin to it.

“Your infection didn’t help matters,” he says, closing Xue Yang’s fingers around the bowl.

“Infection?”

Lan Xichen pours him a cup of water. He’s been trying to get him to drink for days, with little cooperation. “You can’t let things go like that again.”

Xue Yang grins through a mouthful of rice. “ ‘Again’? You think I’m going to run around getting slashed up by qi-deviating clan leaders again, daozhang?”

Daozhang. So he’s Xiao Xingchen again….

“Is that what happened to you?”

Xue Yang’s smile vanishes. “He attacked me.”

“Were you two…friends?”

Xue Yang shovels rice into his mouth, avoiding looking at Lan Xichen. “He reminded me of you,” he says, almost hesitantly. “Much better manners, of course, having been raised by gentry.” He grins to himself, as if Xiao Xingchen’s unusual upbringing is an old joke between them, but it’s not much of a smile.

“You sound rather...displeased with the man.”

“He turned on me,” Xue Yang says shortly, “as I always knew he would…I tried to help him, and he tried to strangle me.” Almost unconsciously he touches a hand to the pallid skin of his throat, and memories of purple bruises mottling that same throat spring to Lan Xichen’s mind.

Lan Xichen can’t imagine why he’d hurt Xue Yang. Why he’d do something like that to a smaller, weaker man—to anyone. The time before the Coffin House is increasingly hazy. A former life, a bad dream…

But despite not wanting to, he can remember that day at the Chang Manor, the bright blazing pain of that day like a beacon.

Lan Xichen had been distraught. Xue Yang had restored A-Yao to life, only for him to vanish in the morning. Temporarily, but Lan Xichen hadn’t known that, and he’d blamed Xue Yang...

But it wasn’t Xue Yang’s fault, A-Yao’s state of limbo. If anything, Xue Yang had done everything in his power to bring A-Yao back to him…

And A-Yao’s final decision to leave for good had not been Xue Yang’s fault. That had been A-Yao’s choice.

…No. He couldn’t blame A-Yao. A-Yao had simply done what he had to after Lan Xichen had destroyed everything about himself that A-Yao might have cared for.

And Xue Yang…

Lan Xichen has been avoiding these thoughts, but they break in on him now.

Xue Yang had tried sacrificing Lan Xichen to bring Xiao Xingchen back. Lan Xichen knows this.

But he, Lan Xichen had done far worse in his quest to bring back A-Yao, and unlike Xue Yang, Lan Xichen had a clan, a position, a life…

A family.

Who is Lan Xichen to judge someone such as Xue Yang?

He rises and refills Xue Yang’s bowl.

Xue Yang’s eyes follow him around the room.

“You’re wearing your old robes,” he says.

Lan Xichen glances down at his robes. They’re Xiao Xingchen’s white ones. “I thought you might like them.”

“No, no, of course not,” Xue Yang says teasingly. He’s…he’s blushing.

Lan Xichen bows, smiling despite himself. “I can take them off, if you’d like.”

Xue Yang laughs, wagging a finger. “Let’s wait until your stitches are out.”

"I..." Lan Xichen swallows and glances at A-Qing on the porch, hoping she hadn't overheard. He's been trying to avoid thinking of that terrible night together, of Xue Yang's hand inside his robes, of Xue Yang's tongue on his—on his—

Xue Yang laughs again, perhaps at the look on Lan Xichen’s face, and closes his eyes with his forehead slightly creased, as if he somehow doesn't want to see the white robes drifting around the Coffin House again. Though Lan Xichen thinks he must be imagining that part. Xue Yang is tired, that's all....

“Can you fix my hair later?” Xue Yang murmurs, long after Lan Xichen supposed he was asleep.

“Fix…”

“Braid it, like you used.” Xue Yang rolls over, pulling the covers up so only his eyes are visible. “I’ve been waiting for you to offer...”

Lan Xichen has never braided hair before, but he nods. “Once my wrist feels better,” he promises, though in truth it no longer pains him. He’ll have to practice on his own hair.

Xue Yang nods sleepily and drifts off.

It takes Xue Yang several days to recover his strength.

He spends most of them sleeping.

Lan Xichen cooks, changes his bandages and, while he sleeps, sketches, being sure to hide the drawings. There’s a large store of fresh paper and ink in the house, as if Xue Yang had prepared it for Xiao Xingchen somewhat recently.

On the third day Xue Yang gets out of bed. A-Qing sits in the doorway as usual, watching him with sightless eyes, while Lan Xichen sets the table.

Xue Yang kneels in front of the shelves in the corner, prying open a small casket Lan Xichen didn’t notice until now. Humming to himself, he messes around at the stove, pouring hot water into a small cup. He sets it down before Lan Xichen, eyes fixed closely on his face.

Lan Xichen sniffs at the fragrant steam curling up from the cup. “Is that…”

Every tooth in Xue Yang’s head is showing. “Jasmine tea. Your favorite.”

Jasmine has never been on Lan Xichen's list of teas he enjoys, but he blows on the steaming cup and takes a sip.

“It’s good,” he says, trying not to breathe through his nose. “Thank you.”

Xue Yang comes to stand behind him, slipping his arms around Lan Xichen, chin resting on his white-clothed shoulder.

“Wasn’t easy to find,” he says, nuzzling his ear, then pulls away.

Lan Xichen doesn’t eat much that night. He’s quite thin, but Xiao Xingchen’s robes are still a bit snug around his middle thanks to his larger bone structure. There isn’t much rice left, anyway. Tomorrow they won’t have anything to eat at all.

They sit at the table after dinner, Xue Yang with his brush poised over a sheet of paper, A-Qing motionless in the doorway, and Lan Xichen with a second cup of the vile tea. From the distance comes the haunting trill of a night bird, and the breeze from the open door is cool but not cold. A sprinkle of stars is visible in the crystal-clear sky, an enormous full moon casting long black shadows.

It’s…peaceful.

“The autumn wind enters through the window,

The gauze curtain starts to flutter and fly.

I raise my head and look at the bright moon,

And send my feelings a thousand miles in its light,” Lan Xichen recites.

“Winter wind.”

“…winter wind,” Lan Xichen corrects himself, though the poem, by an anonymous poet, is entitled “Midnight Song of the Seasons: Autumn Song.”

Xue Yang finishes the last stroke and lays the brush down. “I like this one.” He tugs at his hair, hard enough to hurt. Lan Xichen doesn’t think Xue Yang quite understands why poetry has an effect on him, or would be willing to admit it if he did. Or perhaps it’s all simply because it’s the daozhang’s poetry. He winks teasingly at Lan Xichen. “Better than all that stuff about flowers and birds and sunshine you used to write...”

He carries Xue Yang to bed that night after Xue Yang falls asleep at the table. He lays him out gently and pulls down the window's paper curtains so that they're not woken too early by the sunlight. He slides into bed beside Xue Yang but doesn't lie down. He's exhausted from days of tending to Xue Yang when his own strength is diminished, but he's afraid of falling asleep.

Sleep brings dreams.

There’s ink on Xue Yang’s face from where he fell asleep with his face on the table. Lan Xichen fights the urge to lick his finger and wipe the ink off.

Xue Yang’s face has lost much of its boyishness these past few weeks, the fever and wound taking their toll. He looks older, more worn, his once disarmingly innocent face finally matching how Lan Xichen views him.

Except…Xue Yang has been more like a besotted puppy these past few weeks than the hardened monster his reputation made him out to be.

Most of the rumors about A-Yao had been untrue…

Lan Xichen tries to shove the thought away, but another one springs up in its place like a corrupting weed: Xiao Xingchen couldn’t have fallen in love with the kind of man people made Xue Yang out to be.

Which must mean that…that…

Ridiculous. He knows it. And yet…

A-Qing rises and closes the door, shutting out the moonlight, and cocks her head at Lan Xichen.

He knows what that means. He wouldn’t have thought to look at her, but A-Qing, with no other entertainment, has developed quite a taste for poetry.

“Excerpt from ‘Last Night the Wind and Rain Together Blew’ by Li Yu,” he obligingly, keeping his voice low.

“Last night the wind and rain together blew,

The wall-curtains rustled in their autumn song.

The candle died, the water-clock was exhausted,

I rose and sat, but could not be at peace.

Man's affairs are like the flow of floodwater,

A life is just like floating in a dream…”

A mountain of white-robed corpses comes to him in his sleep that night, piled to the sky. Waterfalls of blood pour down the sides, gushing from beneath the once-stainless white robes, forming a crimson lake surrounding the towering island of dead cultivators.

He starts awake, heart hammering. Xue Yang murmurs something intelligible and draws him closer, arm around his chest, warm and solid and firm, but Lan Xichen can’t fall back asleep. He’s up early the next morning, still tired. To the accompaniment of the drumming of the rain that began overnight and the steady dripping of the leaky roof, he sifts through Xue Yang’s clothes until he finds a meticulously-maintained pale silk coin purse that seems out of place among Xue Yang’s belongings.

Lan Xichen wonders how Xue Yang survived before he came to the Cloud Recesses. Stealing? Certainly not begging. Perhaps he’d scrounged off the goodwill bought by his Xiao Xingchen mask?

“You stay here and watch over him,” he tells A-Qing. “Is there anything you would like me to buy you?”

He’s relieved when she gives a slight shake of her head. Xue Yang’s purse holds only a few coins, and he wouldn’t want to disappoint her.

He heads out into the rainwashed courtyard. A tapping sound stops him at the gate. A-Qing stands behind him, extending her stick to him.

“I couldn’t—”

She nods.

Lan Xichen bows. “Thank you, A-Qing. Now, why don’t you go inside out of the rain?”

The thin white material of his blindfold is already soaked, and he can see relatively clearly through the wet material and by peering out from underneath it, but he’s glad to have the stick as he ventures out of the courtyard for the first time.

He’s faced battle countless times without so much as a tremor, but his heart pounds as he taps his way past the abandoned houses surrounding the Coffin House courtyard and heads deeper into the city.

He isn’t sure what he’ll find. It’s been suspiciously quiet in the Coffin House’s corner of the city. But he finds shops in the center of town, and houses, though the city appears to be sparsely populated and run-down. The rain has emptied the streets, and he meets only the occasional pedestrian and a single donkey-drawn cart.

“This isn’t enough to pay for the vegetables or basket,” says the young man at one of the few stalls open despite the rain. He pokes at the coins set down on the table. “Just the rice.”

Lan Xichen swallows. He’d had no idea how much fresh food cost. Servants had always taken care of it, or Xue Yang. “I—I don’t have any more money.”

The young man starts to empty the basket. “Come back when you do, then.”

“A-Tong!” An old woman’s voice, shocked. “Are you being rude to the daozhang?”

He can’t see him clearly, but Lan Xichen imagines the young man making a face. An old woman-shaped shadow approaches him from the run-down house behind the stall.

“Is it really you?” The old woman bows low. “The daozhang, come back to us! My eyes are failing, but I would recognize you anywhere.”

Lan Xichen ducks his head, wondering just how bad her vision is. “Madam.”

“The daozhang, come back to us! I knew you would return. The good daozhang, returned to help us!” She bows again, and Lan Xichen averts his eyes.

It’s Xiao Xingchen she’s bowing at, not him. If she knew the things he had done—

“It’s been difficult since you left us, daozhang. Nobody cares enough to build a watchtower nearby, and there's talk of fierce corpses roaming the forest outside the city…” She bows yet again. “But now that you’re back, everything will be all right again. Here. Take this. Your money is no good here.” She fills the basket with vegetables. “You’ll have to come back when the rain stops for the rice. It’ll spoil in the rain.”

Lan Xichen returns her bows. He knows he shouldn’t be so affected by her kindness, that it’s merely another testament to the goodness and purity of the man whose name he’s soiling, but he is. “I am most grateful, madam. And if someone could help me find my way back to the Coffin House, I—”

“Anything for the good daozhang. A-Tong! Show the daozhang to the Coffin House!”

A-Tong glances curiously at Lan Xichen as they walk.

“I’ve heard about you,” he says. “And your friend in black. About how you used to protect the city and the village around here, and then you disappeared and left us on our own. Don’t know why my grandmother gave you all the free food. As if we can afford it! If it were up to me—”

He talks all the way to the Coffin House—not quite the Coffin House. He stops when they're just in sight of the courtyard.

“I’m not stepping foot within a hundred feet of that cursed place,” he says.

Lan Xichen wonders what happened here. Considers asking Xue Yang, decides against it. Doesn’t matter. It’s…

It’s home. For lack of a better word.

“Well, go on then,” says A-Tong. He turns and walks off, not soon enough for Lan Xichen, who had found himself wishing Xue Yang were there many times during the walk. Xue Yang would have had no compunctions about punching the young man in the face—

He winces. Since when are his thoughts so violent?

As if imagining a punch is any worse than what you’ve already done?

Xue Yang is pacing the porch when he returns.

“Where were you?” he demands, following Lan Xichen into the house. He tugs almost anxiously at the long thin wisps of hair framing his face. “I thought—”

Lan Xichen sets the basket down on the table. “We needed more food.”

“Yes, but…” Xue Yang grips the back of a chair. “You can’t just run off like that. You’re not fully recovered. You almost fainted the other day...”

Lan Xichen hands A-Qing her stick and lights the stove. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

“I feel much better.” Xue Yang relaxes his grip on the chair, but he does it with a forced casualness. “Did anyone remember you…?”

“An old woman.”

“And she recognized you…? Did anyone else see you?”

“Her grandson.”

“What was her name?”

“I didn’t get a name, but she called her grandson A-Tong. A rather…unprepossessing young man.”

For the first time in weeks—months?—the thought of Gusu Lan’s rules flash through Lan Xichen’s mind.

Rule 900: Do not hold grudges

Rule 901: Love all beings

Rule 1,019: Speak not ill of others

Odd that memory of the rules should return over something so innocuous, of all things…

He tries blinking the thoughts away, but to his surprise, the words lie warmly in his mind, beckoning to him.

How much easier things were back then. How comforting it was to have a ready-made trellis upon which to wind his life. A proven morality, a sense of structure, a set path.

Too late for that now. Can’t go back. Can never go back.

Not now.

Not anymore….

But they’re coming for him. He’s certain of this. Any day now he expects to see the white of the Lan as they invade the grim gray peace of Yi City, any day he expects to be whisked away in spirit-binding ropes.

Back to the Cloud Recesses. To the one place he can never return to.

Even if he could go back…

He’s no longer Lan Xichen, Zewu-Jun, the Lan’s Clan Leader.

He’s…something else, now.

Someone else.

“A-Tong, and his grandmother the grocer. I know who that is…don’t run off like that again, daozhang.” Xue Yang bites his lip, drawing blood, then reaches for the collar of Lan Xichen’s soaking wet robes and tugs it aside slightly, revealing Lan Xichen’s collarbone.

Lan Xichen’s skin still crawls at his touch, but…Xue Yang’s hands are warm, and Lan Xichen’s skin is cold, and Lan Xichen welcomes the gentle heat.

Xue Yang brushes a thumb over his clammy wet skin, gazing at his exposed collarbone as if looking for a symbol he can’t find, perhaps one of the bruises he’s marked Lan Xichen with. His hands slide down to Lan Xichen’s waist, as if measuring it. Lan Xichen can just fit into Xiao Xingchen’s wide gray belt, but despite Lan Xichen’s thinness, it’s snug.

“You should change into dry clothes,” Xue Yang says, and he abruptly turns and heads out of the house.

Lan Xichen glances at A-Qing, glad that she couldn’t see Xue Yang’s hands on him. She shrugs as if she could see his glance and goes to sit on the porch.

After changing into dry clothes Lan Xichen busies himself with boiling water and slicing radishes, the extent of his culinary skills. After a few minutes he hears a scraping sound coming from outside and a rustling, thumping sound from the roof.

“Be careful!” he calls up through a window. "Wait till after the rain stops."

"Sure, sure. The roof is leaking."

He goes outside and peers up at Xue Yang, who’s perched on the roof. “I mean it, Chengmei.”

“Go nag A-Qing.” Back to his usual cheerful self, Xue Yang flashes a grin at him over the dripping edge of the roof and disappears again.

Shaking his head, Lan Xichen goes returns to the house.

“The grocer told me there are fierce corpses in the forest,” he tells Xue Yang as they eat the boiled eggplant and radishes, something Xue Yang gratifyingly declares to be as good as anything Xiao Xingchen cooked in the past.

Xue Yang looks up. His hair is still damp, and he gives off the impression of a wet black kitten. “Are they killing people? That’s good—I mean, it’s great that we’ll get to night hunt again.”

“Not until you’re stronger. You’ll get yourself killed in your condition."

“I was crawling around on the wet roof, no problem—”

“We’re waiting until you’re back to yourself,” says Lan Xichen firmly. “We can’t have you getting hurt.”

Xue Yang swallows hard. “Anything you want.”

Lan Xichen hesitates. “There is something else.”

“Anything!” And then, as if ashamed by his response, Xue Yang shrugs and repeats, “I mean, you know, if it’s not too hard.”

Lan Xichen lowers his voice. “A-Qing. What is she, exactly? She’s not a fierce corpse.”

Xue Yang glances at A-Qing sitting still and silent in the doorway. “I don’t actually know. Some form of ghost, I’ve always figured, or maybe a new breed of fierce corpse.”

“We need to set her at rest.”

Xue Yang frowns. “Kill her?”

“Of course not. We need to make sure she’s sent off properly.”

“Before she kills me.” Xue Yang grins teasingly. “Sometimes I think she’s haunting me.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t bother asking what Xue Yang might have done to deserve this. Couldn’t be anything worse than what Lan Xichen has done…

“She’s had plenty of chances to harm you since we got here, and hasn’t,” he points out instead.

Xue Yang turns towards where A-Qing is in her usual spot at the door. “You hear that, A-Qing? Oblige the daozhang and kill me quick!”

A-Qing raises several fingers in a vulgar gesture.

Xue Yang grins delightedly. “Takes her a while to come back to herself after her little naps, but seems like she's back to her old charming self," he says. “Isn’t that right, A-Qing?”

A second gesture, even more vulgar than the first. Lan Xichen winces, but Xue Yang thinks it's the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

“How much are you contr…” Lan Xichen tries thinking of a better way of wording it. “…how far is she under your influence?”

Xue Yang makes a face and begins to play with his hair. “Not much. I try to avoid using the Yin Iron as much as possible. Just to get her not to kill me in my sleep and stuff like that.”

“When you were laid out in the snow, she carried you inside when I couldn’t.”

“She did? She…well, I think she just doesn’t want me to die by anything other than her hand so she can be set at rest and all that.”

“But you could do it, with the Yin Iron. Set her at rest without her having to harm you.”

“Maybe, but she’s been with me here for years. She’s…” Xue Yang stops and glances down into his bowl of slimy eggplant, now cold. These past few weeks have revealed a myriad of surprising new emotions from Xue Yang, but this strain of bashful hesitancy is something entirely new.

“I wouldn’t want to—” Xue Yang stops. “I—”

Lan Xichen reaches out and rests a hand on Xue Yang’s gloved left hand, just as he’s certain Xiao Xingchen would have done to reassure the man he loved. His thumb touches the scarred skin showing through the palmless glove, sliding inside the glove, rubbing his bare skin. Caressing the disfigured part of Xue Yang, the part Xue Yang tries to hide from the daozhang.

He touches his blindfold with his other hand, quickly removing his hand at the slight bulge of his eyes beneath the material.

“You won’t be alone, Chengmei,” he says, very quietly. “I’ll still be here.”

Xue Yang stares down at his hand for a long time in silence. Lan Xichen wonders if he shouldn’t have touched him, if he should have used his other hand, the hand without that odd little wrist wound he still can’t account for, if he misread things entirely.

“I won’t leave,” he tells Xue Yang, putting it into as simple words as he can.

Xue Yang pulls his hand away. “You did before,” he says, almost blurts.

The accusation is like a dart to the throat before Lan Xichen remembers it was Xiao Xingchen who had abandoned Xue Yang, not him.

But he cannot not blame Xiao Xingchen for leaving Xue Yang, just as he can’t blame A-Yao for leaving him.

Xiao Xingchen must have had a good reason, as he had for everything he did.

Just as A-Yao had.

Lan Xichen can’t think of what to say to Xue Yang, who sits staring off through the window. Instead of speaking, Lan Xichen pulls a paper-wrapped candy from his robe. The old grocer had sent it “for his friend in black.”

He sets the candy down on the table, a little offering of friendship.

Xue Yang shakes his head and steps out past A-Qing, disappearing through the courtyard gate.

But the candy is gone when Lan Xichen wakes the next morning.

Happy as he is to have the bed to himself, Lan Xichen again dreams of dead bodies that night.

Dead bodies bobbing in the darkness, illuminated by Shuoyue’s solemn silver-blue glow. By its light he can see the white uniforms of the Lan, the silver of the Nie, the skewered body of Wu Shen, the mutilated corpse of Chang Ping.

Floating amidst the corpses is a figure in white, its face blurred save for a white blindfold that stands out stark and clear.

It says nothing. Just stares reproachfully at Lan Xichen through the blindfold while a disembodied old woman’s voice whispers around him, over and over: The good daozhang, returned! The good daozhang—the good daozhang—

Lan Xichen wakes in a sweat.

The bed is cold and empty.

Xue Yang sets a bowl of rice down on the table at Lan Xichen’s seat. Half-filled, as usual. Lan Xichen looks up at the sound.

“Where were you last night?”

Xue Yang grins. “Miss me? I was night hunting. Killed two fierce corpses. Had to check it all out before I let you anywhere near it.”

“Where did we get the rice?”

Xue Yang taps the basket on the table. It’s overflowing with rice, fish, and dried meat. Near the door he sees three more, each with rice, fruit, and vegetables. “Someone left food at our door with an anonymous note addressed to you. Guess word’s out that you’re back.”

“A note?”

“It blew away in the wind. Welcoming back the good daozhang in white.”

Lan Xichen recognizes the color and weave of the baskets as ones on display at the old grocer’s stall. “Do you think it was the old woman from yesterday?”

Xue Yang eats a few mouthfuls of rice before responding. “I doubt it. They’re moving away today.”

Lan Xichen frowns. “Moving?”

Xue Yang shrugs. “That’s what I hear. Some relative died and left the old woman and her grandson a house or something in another town. They won’t be back.”

“Really? She made it sound like she would be around for a while yet…Perhaps I can catch her before she leaves, thank her for her kindness—”

Xue Yang looks up in something approaching alarm. He really doesn’t want Xiao Xingchen wandering around the city, Lan Xichen thinks. He had no idea Xue Yang could be so protective, not even of the people he cared about.

As soon as I go night-hunting with Chengmei, he’ll be forced to acknowledge that I've recovered enough to go out on my own again, he thinks, and is about to ask about the weather when Xue Yang speaks, as if eager to change the subject on his own.

“I have a better idea than running after the old grocer,” says Xue Yang. “What you said yesterday about A-Qing—” and all thoughts of the old woman or the weather are driven from Lan Xichen’s mind.

Lan Xichen, trained his whole life in diplomacy and the social graces, finds himself completely unable to find a way to address A-Qing.

Xue Yang explains things to her instead. “I’m going to set you at rest, or whatever it's called. How does that sound, Little Blind? Ah, you’re speechless.” He laughs as if this is a joke, stopping when Lan Xichen frowns at him.

“Can she speak?” he asks.

Xue Yang makes a face. “Well…she doesn’t breath, so she doesn’t have a voice, and I hated to see her try to talk, so…”

“Let her speak, Chengmei.”

Sighing, Xue Yang does something, though Lan Xichen’s not sure what, and A-Qing gets to her feet and eyes Xue Yang coldly.

“Well, A-Qing?” Xue Yang says. His tone is a bit too cheerful. “It’s been fun, no?”

A-Qing bows in Lan Xichen’s direction. “Thank…you….” she croaks, and Xue Yang was right, it’s an awful sound, all throat and no breath. “Can’t…leave…you…with…him…”

Xue Yang laughs. A bit too loudly, as if to cover anything else A-Qing might want to add. The pathetic sound of his old friend must affect him terribly, Lan Xichen thinks.

“You talk to her,” Xue Yang says, and he goes to stand on the porch, close enough to intervene if necessary. Lan Xichen would never do anything to distress A-Qing, but he appreciates Xue Yang's concern for her.

"Please let us help you, A-Qing," Lan Xichen says. "I can't bear to see you living like this."

"Not...leave....you...." she rasps out.

“I’ll be fine, A-Qing."

“….happy?”

“Yes,” says Lan Xichen. He’s surprised at how readily he responds, though he hasn’t given it any thought. Happiness had not been something he’d been raised to need or want. Duty and moral rectitude were. Two things he’d abandoned.

And yet—

“I’m as happy as I deserve to be,” he says, trying to untangle his thoughts, but when he remains just as confused as before, he moves on. “But don’t think of me, A-Qing. You’ve been through enough. You deserve to rest. You deserve peace.”

She cocks her head stubbornly. “Kill…him…”

Lan Xichen feels a pang of pity for both the girl and Xue Yang. “I know you feel some kind of…animosity towards him, but don’t you see that’s only keeping you trapped here? I’ve forgiven him for what he’s done. If you can’t let go of it and set yourself at rest, then allow him to repay you for what he's done by freeing you.”

A-Qing glances towards the silent Xue Yang. The makeshift Yin Iron is in his hand, and he’s staring just past her without so much as a trace of a smile on his face.

“…come….back…for…you…one…day…” she tells Xue Yang in a croaking rasp that’s truly awful to hear. Her clouded eyes glow like white-hot coals, and Xue Yang looks away.

Lan Xichen closes the door and goes to sit on the bed.

Xue Yang enters almost an hour later.

“It’s done,” he says shortly.

A bit shakily, Lan Xichen goes out into the courtyard. It's empty.

Xue Yang follows him out. “She’s over there,” he says. He jerks a finger at the large lacquered black coffin underneath the awning. Beside it is a smaller one in blue and gray.

Lan Xichen bows at the blue and gray coffin.

“The high tower is a hundred feet tall,

From here one's hand could pluck the stars.

I do not dare to speak in a loud voice,

I fear to disturb the people in heaven.

“Rest well, A-Qing.”

Xue Yang gives him the smallest of smiles. “If you think she got into heaven, I suppose there’s hope for any of us.”

Feeling slightly dizzy, Lan Xichen lays a hand on the black coffin to steady himself, and all expression drains from Xue Yang’s face.

Lan Xichen removes his hand.

He dreams that night of the lacquered black coffin.

He is both inside it and outside it, watching his hand creep over the coffin’s rim, watching himself watch himself as he rises, standing upright in the coffin.

His flowing white robes are stained with blood, the coffin filled with it. As he watches the coffin grows into an immense lake rimmed with lacquered black wood and bare white trees with clawed branches. Boiling blood laps at his waist as the coffin’s bottom sinks lower and lower, finally giving away altogether and plunging him into the crimson lake.

White and silver-clad arms reach up out of the roiling red surface to drag him down, covering his mouth so he can’t so much as scream as they rip him to shreds.

A-Yao is there too, grasping at his wrist, puncturing it, leaving a small red mark—

He wakes with a smothered gasp.

“What is it?” Xue Yang is sitting at the table, sifting through a stack of poems. He crawls back into bed with a handful of poems, pressing his forehead to Lan Xichen’s. “Another bad dream?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine—”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine—”

Smoothing his hair, Xue Yang kisses his forehead, so gently that Lan Xichen almost cries.

He doesn’t deserve this tenderness.

Lan Xichen doesn’t, rather. But Xiao Xingchen—

Xiao Xingchen deserves everything.

Lan Xichen raises his hand, touching the bandages on his wrist.

He remembers now. A-Yao, seconds before he disappeared for the last time. Gripping his wrist, leaving a soul mark:

“Goodbye, Xichen. Find me—”

And then he had vanished in a handful of golden sparks, dissipating into the gloom of the temple.

Lan Xichen shuts his eyes against the memory.

“I was going through your old poems,” says Xue Yang quietly. “Do you remember this one? Your only good one.” He kisses Lan Xichen again, so he knows he’s only joking, and reads aloud:

“I tip my cup to the bright moon

The moon, its shadow, and I make three

Fleeting friends we three, the moon, its shadow and I

Still, let us make merry ’til the end of Spring

The moon swaying as I sing...”

“The black coffin,” Lan Xichen whispers into Xue Yang’s throat—Chengmei’s throat. His shoulder is pressed against Chengmei’s chest, and he can feel Chengmei’s heart start to pound at his words. “I know what’s inside it.”

Chengmei doesn’t bother asking him how he knows the coffin is black. “And?” he says, a new sharpness entering his voice. He’d snaked one arm around Lan Xichen while kissing his forehead, and now his fingers dig into the thin material of Lan Xichen’s inner robe.

Lan Xichen raises himself up onto one elbow, looks down at Chengmei. Chengmei stares up at him, face deathly pale.

“I think it’s time,” he says.

Xue Yang swallows. His breath seems stuck in his throat. “Time?”

Lan Xichen struggles to remember. Where had he learned what he’s about to say? At the Coffin House? At Guanyin Temple? The past month is a hazy blur of corpses and coffins and fever and rain. “I remember, when we wer at the temple…”

“Remember?”

Lan Xichen winces at his own clumsiness. “Not…not remember. Heard. As I…” He stops.

There’s an odd look on Chengmei’s face. “Not remember,” he repeats. “Heard, as you were coming back.”

“Yes. Exactly. I heard. It wasn’t at the temple, it was while you were sick here in the Coffin House. You said that you wanted to…to…” He sits up all the way and glances out the window at the large black coffin, standing out darkly against the gray of the courtyard. He’s finding it difficult to put his thoughts into words. “That I was not meant to stay like this. That the body in the coffin was meant to…”

He makes as if to get out of bed, and Chengmei grips his elbow, guiding him back beside him.

“Are you sure?” he asks Lan Xichen. He’s gazing at Lan Xichen as if he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, something Lan Xichen knows is not the case. After all, he does not look like Xiao Xingchen…

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Chengmei continues, his voice barely audible. “I thought you might…” He trails off. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll do it in the morning. One final use of the Yin Iron.”

Chengmei nods, swallowing hard, and turns so his back is to Lan Xichen, drawing Lan Xichen’s arm around him and covering his hand with both his own.

His glove is off.

Lan Xichen melts into the other man’s warmth. Outside it has begun to rain, a heavy patter as the large cold drops fall on the trees, fill the courtyard, speckle the window. But the roof is repaired, the Coffin House snug, Chengmei warm beneath the covers beside him.

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow, the mark on his wrist will be gone.

Tomorrow, everything will be as it should be.

A part of him knows it’s only a matter of time before the Lan find them. Only a matter of time before this interlude is over and the Coffin House collapses around them.

But for now...

Chengmei squeezes his hand.

Moonlight pours over the windowsill, casting long shadows on Lan Xichen’s face and filling the Coffin House with a soft silver glow.

He drifts into a dreamless sleep.

* * * *

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#mdzsnet #xuexiao #lan xichen #xue yang #the untamed #a-qing #mdzs #xuelan #fractured ice au #1000 miles in its light

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ssaseaprince · 3 years

Note

Prompt 25 with Hannibal/Will!

Thank you so much for the request! Sorry it got kind of angsty there for a second but I hope you like it

Prompt 25 : “Your hair is really soft”

Cuba’s the opposite of Virginia. Hannibal said he chose it because of their extradition laws, but Will thinks it’s partly because he hopes the jarringly different setting will help him let go of the past and feel more comfortable with him, because they won't be surrounded by so many reminders. It’s not needed though. After their fight with the dragon, Will’s come to accept Hannibal, as well as himself, and forgive him for the past.

He still has nightmares, and there are times he’s pulled into flashbacks. But Hannibal’s nothing if not patient. When the nightmares come, he wipes the tears away from Will’s eyes and changes the sweat soaked sheets while Will puts on some clean clothes. When they lay back down, they’ll hold each other in the dark, and Hannibal will recite poetry in French as he strokes a hand through Will’s hair.

The flashbacks are harder to handle, Hannibal feels helpless at times when physical touch will send Will spiraling. During these times, sometimes Hannibal has to leave the room until Will can recover himself, but he always waits patiently until Will feels well enough to come find him. He’ll usually end up curled on Hannibal’s lap, his face pressed against his neck. Hannibal will run a hand softly up and down his back, kissing the top of his head, one hand combing through his hair and reminding him how much he loves him.

Will’s not the only one who has nightmares, every so often Hannibal will wake with a start in the middle of the night, breathing deeply to expel the imaginary water from his lungs. His nightmares are most often about the ocean, and how it swallowed them up after they fell. He watches Will die so many different times. Will’s hand will slip from his as he’s swallowed by the ocean, and no matter how hard he tries, he won’t find him.

The worst though is the one that was almost reality. When they fell, Will had hit his head and passed out, despite Hannibal’s best efforts to take the brunt of the fall. Despite his mind being muddled by panic and blood loss at the time, the memory is sharp. The feeling of Will’s body going limp and his arms releasing their harsh grasp on him. Hannibal had been able to maintain his hold on Will and drag them both to shore, but Will’s skin was paper-white and his chest was still, but through CPR, cries and begging words, Hannibal had been able to bring him back. It haunted him though, in his dreams Will never came back. His bright blue eyes blank and staring up at the sky, his curls splayed around him as his heart refused to beat. That night, when Will had coughed up seawater and his breath came out in gasps, Hannibal swore he would never take anything about Will for granted ever again.

So he worshipped all the small things he could about him, drinking in every detail he could and painstakingly filing it all away in his mind palace so he would never forget.

And that’s how it started.

Hannibal had always stared at Will, it wasn’t anything new. But now, with the stares came small, seemingly random compliments or observations. The flecks of green in Will’s eyes, the small freckles he had on his knee, the way he wrote different words, how his southern accent came out more when he was angry. Each was observed with a look of wonder and adoration, like Hannibal had just discovered the most beautiful thing. Every time it was something new, and the remarks never failed to warm Will’s heart.

Today was another warm day, it was just about 11AM on a Saturday and Hannibal was sitting on the porch swing at their beachside house. The house was beautiful, made of dark grey stone with red-brown details. Will hadn’t wanted anything too big, and they couldn’t get anything flashy at risk of bringing attention to themselves, so the house had been the perfect balance. It had 2 small guest rooms that shared a bathroom, an open dining room and living room next to each other, a large kitchen, and then the main bedroom that had its own bathroom. The house had a basement as well, perfect to use for their hunting and butchering.

It sat at the edge of the sea, which Hannibal was currency watching, clear blue waves calmly rolling up to shore. The palm trees swayed with the light breeze, and birds could be heard off in the distance.

Since it was a Saturday, Will often slept late, especially if he had a nightmare or trouble sleeping the night before.

Hannibal heard the door close as Will shuffled out, rubbing his eyes and carrying a blanket around his shoulders. He held an arm out, wrapping it around Will as he sank in next to him on the swing. He laid his head on his shoulder, his curls tickling Hannibal’s neck as he watched the ocean.

Hannibal brought his hand up, playing with Will’s hair as they sat in silence for a little while longer. Eventually, he broke the quietness.

“Your hair is really soft” was mumbled quietly as a kiss was pressed to Will’s head.

Will smiled, rubbing his cheek against Hannibal’s shoulder.

“Is that why you’re so obsessed with it?” he teased. “It’s almost down to my shoulders, I have to keep putting it up. I’ve been thinking about cutting it.”

If Hannibal was a more expressive man, he would have grimaced. Will laughed, he could practically feel the distaste in the air.

“Tout ce qui est nécessaire, mon amour. But it is lovely as it is now, it would be a shame to cut it.” (Translation - Whatever’s necessary, my love.)

Will loved it when he spoke French, so he often used it to get his way when he wanted something. Will knew a little Cajun French from his time growing up in Louisiana, but since their fall he’s taking the time to become near fluent in French, as well as Spanish.

“I guess I can keep letting it grow out a little longer, seeing as you like it so much. It might just be my best asset.”

“ Everything about you is wonderful, Will. There is no one thing better than another.”

Will grinned again, leaning up to look at Hannibal. “Out of my physical features you like my hair and my eyes the best, and we both know it. Don’t worry, I think it’s endearing.”

Hannibal just nodded, his eyes soft and full of adoration as he gazed at him. Will leaned up, softly pressing his lips against his and kissing him. Even now after so long, it still took his breath away every time Hannibal kissed him. The kiss was soft and loving, soft lips against each other. Eventually they pulled apart, forehead to forehead as Will held Hannibal’s face in his hands. Hannibal’s hands were buried in Will’s hair, softly caressing it.

“Je t’aime Hannibal” (Translation - I love you)

“I love you too Will.”

#nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram #murder husbands #hannibal fanfiction #hannigram fanfiction #anon #fanfiction requests

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skzsauce01 · 4 years

Text

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 3

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: none... yet

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night

And pay no worship to the garish sun.

There’s an issue with the soundboard, so the third rehearsal is delayed. While the girl playing Nurse whispers her lines to herself, you and Hyunjin sit on the apron, comparing ear piercings. Hyunjin isn't even in the upcoming scene.

Jisung scrolls through his phone while observing the two of you. Hyunjin takes out his silver bar earring and lets you look at it. Your mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ as you turn it around and hold it up to the light like a gem appraiser. He says something to you, and you break out into laughter.

Never has Jisung wanted to trade places with another person so badly.

Hyunjin rests his hand on your knee, and Jisung feels something inside him burst into flames. He abruptly gets up, knocking his chair into Changbin’s leg and earning an “Ow!” He doesn’t even apologize, just leaves the auditorium and goes down the school hallway. Without meaning to, he ends up in front of the restroom door.

There’s no one else inside, thank goodness. He splashes water on his face and watches as the droplets drip down his chin in the mirror. He has piercings, too. In fact, he has a silver bar just like Hyunjin’s at home. He tugs on the hoop in his right ear, wishing it would magically change. He allows himself to wallow in his self-pity for a minute. After drying his face with the hem of his shirt, he reluctantly heads back to the auditorium.

The soundboard appears to be fixed, judging by the tech director and Chan’s cheering. As expected, “Actors! To your places!” comes over on the intercom, and there’s a commotion as you scramble into position and Hyunjin disappears into the wings. He hopes Hyunjin trips on a cable, but alas, the cables on the floor are actually organized for once. The rest of the crew puts their headsets back and gets ready as well. The lights dim, and rehearsal finally begins.

You start the scene, and Jisung is surprised and proud of how quickly you are able to transition from yourself to Juliet. The spotlight shines upon you, and there is nothing else he can focus on. You look to the sky and describe the beauty of your lover.

“And he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun,” you recite.

Jisung disagrees with all those statements. Still, he can’t help but be moved by your love, even though it’s about Hyunjin.

Whenever you play lovesick Juliet, there’s always a small smile playing on your lips. This time it’s so tender that he unintentionally mirrors it when looking at you. Nurse stands by his side, waiting for her cue, so when Nurse enters the scene, you smile in his general direction, and it’s like it’s for him. His ears feel like they’ve been doused in sriracha, and he thanks the heavens that he’s wearing a headset, so no one can see how delighted he is. His day immediately brightens, and he almost forgets about the interaction between you and Hyunjin. News of Romeo’s banishment from Verona only increases his happiness. It might be strange to feel so strongly about a fictional character, but not to him.

Scene two is completed quickly. The lights go out, and the stage crew on the other side of the stage bring out the set pieces for scene three. At the same time, other actors rush on stage, trying to get into position before the blackout ends. While you walk back backstage, you attempt to take out the large pin in your hair.

“Can someone help me?” you whisper.

Jisung is about to step towards you, but the girl in charge of costumes, Ryujin, beats him to it. You lower yourself, so she can reach the crown of your head. You notice Jisung watching, and the corner of your mouth quirks up.

“I’m normally better at costume changes than this,” you tell him. The pin finally comes free, and you thank the girl for helping.

“Do you wanna change now or later?” She holds up a looser dress from the rack.

“Now. I might forget and then it’ll turn into a quick change,” you joke.

It doesn’t hit Jisung until a few seconds later. You are going to change, right here, right now, in the wings of the stage, not in the dressing room, in front of him, and a few other crew members who are not girls. He turns bright red, matching the color of the main curtain. He’s not the only way he’s flustered at this new prospect; the props guy, Yugyeom, who overheard the entire conversation, is also in a panic.

You begin unzipping the side of your dress, and Jisung and Yugyeom quickly face the wall, striking up a conversation about how great the weather has been. Jisung babbles on about the possibility of rain even though the sky has been clear for the past three days, while Yugyeom frantically nods. He wonders how Changbin and the fly rail guy are unfazed by this.

“I’m decent now.” They both hesitate and continue staring at the wall, so you add, “Seriously. You can stop pretending to be meteorologists.”

Jisung takes one for the two-person team and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that you’re fluffing your hair out from the collar of your newly-donned dress. You look amused by the trouble you caused.

“I wear a tank top and shorts under all my Juliet costumes, so don’t worry,” you explain, “but I appreciate the courtesy.”

“Got it,” he weakly replies. Yugyeom, on his way out of the stage, echoes his sentiment.

There’s no way he can just ignore you changing in front of him; he’s going to run and hide every time, especially now that he sees the aftermath of your change. Your hair is slightly unkempt, and your previous costume pools around your feet, reminding him —

Reminding him that now is not the time for impure thoughts.

“Stage crew, start getting ready,” Felix calls over the comms. “Jisung, at you in particular.”

“I didn’t come here to be attacked,” he grumbles as he meets Changbin at the edge of the stage and picks up the other end of the table.

“Lights and stage crew, get ready.”

The lights go out, and Jisung and Changbin bring the table out and align it with the glow-in-the-dark tape on the floor. Then they run back before Jeongin turns the lights back on. Changbin and Felix congratulate him on a job well done, and he rolls his eyes in response. He goes back to his previous position near the costume rack.

“I never realized how fast you guys set the stage,” you remark. “And you have to come back here as well. Is it nerve wracking?”

“You get used to it after a while,” he replies. “You have to get on stage fast, too.”

“Yeah, but it’s a one-way trip. And I don’t have to carry stuff.”

“It’s still impressive.”

You look up at him. “I think yours is more so.”

He is so grateful for the headset; his ears are burning, and he’s sure his cheeks will be soon. He awkwardly mumbles, “Thanks,” while focusing slightly to the right of you. The conversation dies, and you start talking to Nurse about the upcoming scene. Jisung internally slaps himself for not saying more, but he couldn’t think of anything witty after your compliment. His mind is still not working, and based on the comms, the soundboard might be having the same issue.

The last scene of Act III begins, and there are indeed problems with sound. Despite that, the actors and the rest of the tech crew power through, though the actors struggle to do the same.

Rehearsal is paused while the sound issue gets solved. Jisung decides to go to the classroom and wait out the situation in the more comfortable chairs there. As expected, it’s crowded, but he manages to nab a seat in the middle of the room. He spies you on the next table and waves hello. You light up and make your way over with Hyunjin in tow.

“Hey, Jisung!” you greet. “Hyunjin, he’s the one who thought you and I were the perfect Romeo and Juliet. Jisung, he doesn’t believe me. Tell him I’m not lying.”

Jisung feels small in his seat, looking up at Hyunjin. He’s already shorter than him, but sitting down really emphasizes the difference. His raised eyebrows combined with his slight grin make him seem like a condescending prick.

“She’s not lying,” Jisung shrugs.

“See?” you say to Hyunjin. “You’re doing great, so don’t worry.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you, and you turn a pretty shade of pink. “Thanks. And, uh, you too, Jisung.”

“No problem,” he manages to get out. He can’t decide whether he wants to Hyunjin down a flight of stairs or to kiss you. Maybe both are possible. “Always glad to be of help.”

“Do you wanna run the lines for the balcony scene again?” Hyunjin asks you. “I don’t think Ms. Park likes it right now.”

“Oh, sure!” you eagerly reply. “See you later,” you say to Jisung before following Hyunjin back over to the next table.

“See you,” he whispers too late.

Ten minutes later, Mr. Gi announces that there is going to be an adjustment to rehearsal today because the soundboard is still on the fritz, and a proper tech rehearsal is near impossible.

Despite their best efforts, rehearsal ends up being cut short. Everyone seems relatively happy about this, and Jeongin wonders out loud if anyone wants to get frozen yogurt with him. Jisung declines, citing that he has homework to catch up on, and while that’s true, he would rather go with you. Unfortunately for him, you and Hyunjin are working on the balcony scene with Ms. Park, and it doesn’t look like the drama rehearsals are ending early.

He gets frozen yogurt with Jeongin, Chan, and Felix after all. He’s disappointed that you aren’t a part of it, but it’s fine. He’ll go get some with you on your first date.

Just you, him, and a cup of strawberry cheesecake froyo to share.

~ ad.gray

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launchpadthai · 3 years

Text

Heliotropism 2/?

Summary: Fethry finds Steelbeak in a bad state and gladly nurses him back to health. Genre: Fluff, bonding, platonic intimacy. Confident!Fethry and Humbled!Steelbeak Rating: G Word count: 1750ish Part one

Notes: Again no beta, so feel free to message me if you see any funny sentences or grammar! --

One night (or morning? Did time matter under water?) he woke up sprawled on the library floor rug and looked over to see Fethry laying a few feet from him. He was reading a massive book, his face in his palms and was lightly kicking his legs in the air behind him. Did Fethry sleep AT ALL?

When Steelbeak explored parts of the sea lab while trying to “break out,” he wasn’t able to get through certain doors without a passcode, so he just full fist punched at some panels, smashing the buttons in frustration. Now, as they walked by one of the panels with crooked buttons and a toolbox sitting near it, he felt a bad feeling start to bubble inside of him. It was fleeting though, as he rubbed the back of his neck to chase it away. Fethry just kept humming as he walked by.

They stopped at a different door with an untouched panel and Fethry slowly pressed the buttons, like he meant for him to see the code. Steelbeak did see, and as Fethry turned back to grin at him, he turned his head a little too late, but still pretended he didn’t see. The doors slid open and he was met with a large dome made entirely of transparent material, save for a few metal beams lined with dim lights holding it all together, and a view of the bottom of the ocean. Aside from the colorful krill, schools of fish swam by, illuminated only by the lights given off by the rest of the sub lab. ‘Interesting…” He moseyed to the middle of the dome, tilting his head up and around. There was a little living room style set in the middle, complete with couches, chairs, lamps and a rug pulling it all together. It was by far the tallest room in the lab, but it also felt like the smallest. Steelbeak was not used to being trapped by a void, but rather a room like brick or cement. His hands in the pockets of borrowed pants were not enough to chase his shivers away, but when he looked back to Fethry, who was pressed against the dome wall- red outfit vividly standing against the deep blue- he felt the warmth of a campfire. Fethry moved his head around, like he was searching for something in the darkness before turning to Steel, his finger pressed against the clear wall above his own head. “Look! Barracudas!” Fethry bounced a little on his feet, his hat dancing like him. “Did you know they have ring structures in their ears like trees? The number of rings they have is also their age!” Steelbeak walked over, looking up at the pod of large fish floating in what little sun had made its way down to the depths. It was…kind of nice. “They have razor sharp teeth, like you.” Fethry said matter-of-factly and Steelbeak chuckled. After a few minutes of silence, Fethry jumped into a fighting pose, his stance like a boxer, making Steelbeak flinch and reflexively put an arm up for defense. “Who wins in a fight! You? Or a Great White Shark?” Fethry asked while bouncing side to side on the balls of his feet. Steelbeak stared but moved his defense arm down and put a flat hand out, allowing the smaller bird to give it a playful punch. “Actually, I already know you’d beat a shark, but how ‘bout me?” Steel couldn’t prevent the rumble of laugher forming in him, all he could do was collapse to his knees and try to breath as much as possible through his nostrils to try and prevent the giggles bubbling inside. He had really thought this guy was a threat, huh? “Yeah that’s what I thought!” Fethry crouched next to him, giving him another small playful punch to the larger bird’s arm and THAT, that felt good.

Hanging out with Fethry was both a good time and something to overcome for Steelbeak. Having a “friend” without ulterior motives was new for him, but was it luck that Fethry was patient with him? Or was he just...like this with everyone? Steelbeak calmly observed the puzzle that was Fethry. Soon, Steelbeak put together that Fethry did everything when he found him at a desk littered with microscopes and tubes sewing the ripped sleeve back onto his white blazer he thought was lost at sea. “You know that ‘white day’ is a scam, right?” Fethry asked unprompted and all he could do was sit on the floor and listen while Fethry went on a rant. The duck would chat about the sea life, then smoothly transition into clouds or politics while they lounged in sporadic areas of the sea lab Even though he talked a lot and referenced things Steelbeak didn’t know about, it didn’t make him feel stupid and he especially liked when Fethry would act things out, like moments in history or describe something with his hands.

Fethry not only did all the maintenance for the sub lab, but he also cooked, cleaned, recited poetry, organized, created sculptures, and tinkered with different inventions all while reading large books on all kinds of animals, volcanoes, space things, world politics and whatever else he felt like. Steelbeak almost forgot it was just the two of them submerged at the ocean floor because Fethry brought enough light and energy to fill the whole lab. “If your ribs still hurt, sleeping while sitting up should help ease the pain.” Fethry mentioned one night when the larger bird stretched a certain stretch that should have been accompanied by a yawn. “There are a lot of futons, you know.” His ribs didn’t really hurt anymore, unless Fethry made him laugh too hard, but sleeping on the futon while the duck worked on his projects sounded nicer than going to his claimed bed alone. So he started falling asleep in the various places they’d hang out, lulled by the sound of Fethry talking about the zodiac or different types of plastic. One night (or morning? Did time matter under water?) he woke up sprawled on the library floor rug and looked over to see Fethry laying a few feet from him. He was reading a massive book, his face in his palms and was lightly kicking his legs in the air behind him. Did Fethry sleep AT ALL? “Buongiorno!” He beamed when he saw Steelbeak stretch awake. “Help me make the next batch of stew?” -- Steelbeak walked a bit more confidently as he helped bring the little box of vegetables to the kitchen. It felt good to be able to lift something again without pain, even if it was small. The kitchen was a descent size, made for a crew (like most of the lab) and was clean save for a pantry that was clearly rummaged through and unorganized. “Stew is pretty much the only thing I know how to make.” Fethry admitted. Steekbeak would drop his jaw if he could, but of course couldn’t so he settled with wide eyes but furrowed eyebrows towards the duck who studied almost everything. Fethry waved it off. “I do more reading than cooking, and stew is good! But, if I wanna spice things up, I just read a recipe.” Steel set the box down and tapped on his own chest. ”You.” Fethry said matter-of-factly. He motioned around the kitchen and pointed to himself again. “You want to clean everything?” Fethry cocked his head to the side while pulling out cutting boards. Steelbeak could finally pick up on his jests but could only retort with an eyeroll or crossed arms. He chose both this time. “You know how to cook?” He corrected with a grin and Steelbeak nodded proudly. “Well, let’s do one of your recipes when our delivery comes in, we’ll have more ingredients and you’ll be able to chew again.” They dumped the veggies on the countertop and Fethry placed them haphazardly on top each other next to a block holding various knives. Steelbeak grabbed a paring knife and reflexively started peeling a potato in a spiral, pulling the skin off in one piece. “Whoa! Where’d you learn that?” Fethry asked wide eyed. He put a hand on his chin thoughtfully before tracing a square in the air with a finger on one hand and knife in the other, then put two fists in the air in front of him, like holding bars. The universal sign for “prison cell” or so he thought. “Ah, you aggressively read about it in a classroom! I see!” Fethry chirped brightly and Steelbeak shook his head quickly, cutting the air with a straight hand like “no, no” then dead panned at him while he giggled. “You know I’m kidding. Was it jail?” He froze, realizing what he had just gotten himself into. Getting booked to stay in cement rooms, prison wall etiquette, and breaking out was probably the main thing Steelbeak knew the most about (aside from fighting in general) and normally he’d pride himself but now, under Fethry’s curious gaze he didn’t feel so proud. He rubbed the back of his head nervously and avoided eye contact. “Prison?” He nodded lightly, turning back to peel another potato but didn’t move his hands, just hovered the knife above it. Fethry didn’t know anything about him and Steelbeak wished he could unlock his beak now more than ever so he could explain and defend himself. Fethry brought a pot out, placed it on the stove and dropped the spiral into it. “The skin has a lot of nutrients in it, so I’m still going to add it to the stew if you don’t mind. I mean, I have to run it through a blender anyways.” Steelbeak felt like shrinking again as his mind started running because of course his action was worthless! He rubbed his forehead, exasperated, thinking of course we’d just keep the skin, of course we must blend it because of his stupid beak! Heron was right, how useless could he be! Fethry stayed quiet while a small rain cloud seemed to form over the larger bird. He gathered his own thoughts before picking up a potato and another paring knife, then repeatedly looked at Steelbeak’s hands back to his own and shifted his fingers to mirror the larger bird’s grip of the knife. He moved his pointer finger to the back of the blade and wiggled his thumb next to it, slowly rocking the knife into the skin but could only pull some small patches off. Steelbeak stared for a moment, only blinking a few times at Fethry struggling to peel the root before he understood what was happening. He looked back to his own hands and slowly started to peel the other potato, careful to have his fingers in the right position. He couldn’t really teach someone how to do this, even if he could speak, but he tapped his thumb at the front of the knife’s blade to show how it guides under the skin. He did it slow enough so Fethry could see and Fethry did, silently following his guidance. As they moved onto more veggies, Steelbeak had more tricks to show with the knives and all Fethry had was a smile and time to encourage those tricks. The rain cloud above Steelbeak’s head disappeared and Fethry pretended not to see it in the first place.

#fethsteel #fanfic #AU #writing

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notanotherockstar · 4 years

Text

‘Forbidden Fruit’

(Headcannons of being Nolan’s granddaughter and dating Charlie Dalton)

Warnings: smut, fluff, dead poets society spoilers

You meet Charlie at a diner.

And it is in no way like those meet cutes they show in the movies.

You’re just minding your own business and eating your pie waiting for your grandfather to arrive.

Charlie just happens to spot you sitting alone.

Beautiful girl, sitting alone in a booth, eating apple pie, he just assumes that you’ve been stood up.

He just plops down on the seat opposite you.

“Do I know you?” You ask.

He extends his hand towards you. “Charlie.”

“Y/N.” You shake his hand and immediately go back to your pie because pie>>>>>boys.

“So, what’s a beauty like you doing sitting alone in a place like this.”

“Eating pie.”

Charlie laughs, even though he’s confused, because how dare some girl not give into the charms of the great Charlie Dalton.

“Apple?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You answer as you begin to wonder how long he’s going to be sitting here for because your grandfather will most definitely kill him if he saw you two sitting together.

“Can I have a bite?”

“Will that make you go away?”

“Maybe.”

You push the plate forward and allow Charlie to take a bite.

“This good.” He moved forward to take another bite but you pull the plate back.

You shake your head. “Only one bite. That was the deal. Now scatter.” You motion for him to leave, a cheeky smile on your face and you take another bite out of the apple pie.

“One more bite and I’ll leave.”

“Liar.” You accuse him but push the plate forward anyway.

The two of you end up finishing the pie together so Charlie orders another one.

And then another.

Till there is no more pie left to order.

So you two end up laughing and bonding over a slices of chocolate cake.

When you’re half way through the second slice of chocolate cake Charlie decides he wants to ask you on a proper date.

But then the worst thing that could happen happens.

Your grandfather walks into the diner .

Charlie’s immediately reaction upon seeing his headmaster outside school is to go hide but he doesn’t he just stays frozen in his seat.

He feels like he’s going to faint when he sees you stand up and hug Nolan.

He sits absolutely still as you introduce Nolan as the grandfather you were waiting for when he first spotted you.

As he sits frozen in the booth Charlie’s eyes flicker between you and your grandfather as he begins to wonder how someone of beautiful and amazing could be related to the man who made his life a living hell for the past six years.

He then stands up and shakes both your hands before announcing that he had to leave since his friends must be worrying about him back in school.

Though it disheartens you, you peck his cheek goodbye.

Just as Charlie was about to step out of the door he turns to look back at you and winks sending an involuntary blush on your cheeks.

“He’s nice.” You tell your grandfather as you two sit down opposite each other in the booth.

“He’s trouble.”

You would soon learn that your grandfather was right.

Denying Charlie Dalton was trouble was just as good as denying that the earth revolves around the sun.

That very night, after dinner, you’re sitting on your bed reading a book when you hear something tap against the bedroom window.

You ignore it as first, continuing to read your book but the noise gets harder and harder to put aside as the tapping continues.

You push the windows open and look down to see Charlie standing there, dressed in his pyjamas and a thick black cloak.

“What’re you doing here, Charlie?” You yell as quietly as possible so as to not alert your grandfather inside the house.

He looks down at his palm and begins reading out everything Knox had told him to say.

Much to his surprise, by the time he was done talking, you were giggling instead of swooning.

“Stay right there.” You tell him before shutting the windows, shrugging on a robe and sneaking out to the backyard where Charlie was waiting for you.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, you know that?” you say as you walk through the freshly grass, the green blades pricking and dampening your bare feet.

“I’ve been told.” A cheeky smirk was painted on his well structured face.

You two spend a good chunk of your night talking. Just talking.

The two of you touch every topic from your love for literature, a general hatred towards almost every other topic taught in school and of course, having very shitty parents.

You guys sat on the grass and talked for hours and hours till your heard your grandfather yelling your name and Charlie was forced to run away.

Of course, Charlie being Charlie would not leave without a grand gesture which came in the form of a fleeting kiss.

“Y/N, what’re you doing out so late?” Your grandfather questions as he flashes the light from the torch on your face.

Still in a daze from Charlie’s kiss the only thing that comes out of your mouth was, “nothing.”

The kiss marked the beginning of not-so-secret secret relationship.

That included a lot of sneaking around the town for dates.

You sneaking him into your bedroom.

And him sneaking you into his dorm room when he’s sure no one else is around.

All the other boys know, of course, mainly because Charlie can’t stop talking about you.

They encourage him to invite you to one of the Dead Poets Society meetings.

“Can’t make women swoon if they aren’t any women.” Cameron says and he has to use all his strength not to punch his roommate in the face.

He isn’t very keen on the idea of sharing you with his friends yet but when he proposes the idea to you you jump at the chance.

Nothing sounds better than reading poetry in a cave in the middle of the night and the chance of getting to make new friends was just the cherry on top of the sundae.

You get along with all the boys almost immediately— except for Cameron. No one likes Cameron.

But the one you bond with most is sweet boy Todd.

You end up sitting between him and Neil during the meeting.

It takes a little while but once you break through this force field Todd created to keep other people out the two of you start talking about poetry and literature as though you did it on a daily basis.

Charlie gets VERY VERY jealous of you and Todd.

He has this murderous look in his eyes every time he hears you laugh at something Todd said.

After the meeting he offers to walk you home while the other boys walked back to school.

The walk somehow led to a weirdly satisfying make out session in the woods.

Which led to weirdly satisfying sex in the woods.

“Bet Todd can’t make you feel this way.” You hear Charlie mumble as the two of you put your clothes back on.

“What?” You laugh. “Charlie is that what this is all about? You’re jealous?”

“No.” He scoffs and helps you up.

“No, it’s alright.” You lock your arm with his as you two walk ahead together. “I think it’s cute.” You poke his cheek making him smile.

Going to more and more Dead Poets Society meetings with Charlie till all the boys simply became family— once again, except for Cameron. NO ONE likes Cameron.

Finding out that Knox helped Charlie organise all his big romantic gestures and dates.

In turn, you help Knox with Chris.

You also help Neil practice for the play by reciting lines with him.

Charlie gets jealous again.

And a jealous Charlie is a clingy Charlie.

So he joins you and Neil during practice.

He rests his head on your shoulder and his arms are wrapped around your waist.

Slowly moves his hand up your skirt and slowly (and discreetly) begins fingering you.

You moan mid line alerting Neil.

He immediately excuses himself out of the room.

You want to be angry at Charlie but don’t get chance since he immediately pulls you into kiss and then fucks you into his mattress.

Helping Charlie with his English homework and other subjects whenever possible.

Mr. Keating definitely knows about you.

Charlie told Keating after he confronted him about the English homework he knew Charlie definitely didn’t write himself.

So when you introduce yourself to Keating the evening of Neil’s play you’re surprised to find out that he already knows you.

Broom closet kisses when you come to visit Charlie your grandfather at Welton.

Even though there’s an excitement to having a secret relationship you want to come clean about it because it can get really stressful at times.

Charlie convinces you to keep it a secret for just a little while longer— at least till he graduates and no longer has to worry about Nolan expelling him if he hurt you in any shape or form.

But you have to come clean anyway once the whole Neil fiasco unravels.

There’s a lot of crying and a lot of begging and a lot of swearing and lot of threats to leave home and country and never return till a deal was finally shook upon between you and your grandfather.

You would leave, go back to with your parents/mother/father in exchange for Charlie retain his position at Welton.

Sadly you couldn’t do anything about Mr. Keating’s job.

It’s a very tearful goodbye between you and the boys.

And an even sadder one between you and Charlie.

He spends the night before you have to leave in your bedroom not caring about the repercussions.

You promise to write every week and call every moment you get and he promises to do the same.

#dead poets society #charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader #dead poets society imagines #dead poets society x reader #charlie dalton imagine #dark academia

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yonymii · 4 years

Text

reminiscence

Pairing: Semi Eita x gn!reader

A/n: uhh i know he’s a civil servant as well as a musician but i’m in love with the idea of music school so here u go <3 also yes i love music fics lmao,, the next fic i write will probably be something different sorry (kinda) 💖✌️

Description: meeting Semi Eita was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings: none

“Y/n? Where the hell are you?”

Your friend’s voice was loud on the other side of the phone and you pulled it away from your ear, wincing at the volume. When you brought it back to your ear, she was silent, but you could hear her panicked breathing.

“I’m really sorry, Cho,,” you whispered into the microphone, looking at your patent mary jane shoes that were tapping together at the heels; you were ashamed to say the least. It surprised you how late you could possibly be on the morning of one of your important recitals. You could hear your professor shouting at Cho on the other end of your line.

When your friend spoke again, she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears. It hurt, knowing that this was your fault. “Y/n, the professor says that we can’t start without you, so get here quickly, okay?” she said the words gently, as if she were comforting herself, which may have been the case anyway. At this point, you really doubted that any of the other members of the orchestra cared about your feelings anyway; they were being shouted at (you could still hear your teacher and conductor’s loud voice in the background) because of you.

“My bus will arrive in five minutes, Cho. I’m sorry,” and with those words, you hung up and opened your sheet music, studying the notes written in between the bars carefully. You really shouldn’t have stayed up all night practising again.

When the recitals finally came to a close after three hours of run-throughs, Cho still wouldn’t talk to you. Her eyelashes had become weighted with tears and were no longer curled; you, however, much to her distaste, had barely batted an eyelid at your teacher’s scolding. There wasn’t one bit of emotion in your eyes when he was screaming at you for being late, not even a frown. Your expression had been the same all the way through the recital.

Both of your footsteps echoed throughout the fairly empty hallways, yours a little louder because of the weight of your shoes. Arriving outside the library, you waved half-hearedly at your friend who carried on walking, acknowledging you with a faint smile. You closed the door behind you and wandered towards the music section, scanning the shelves for a book of Chopin pieces you’d hopefully be able to use to get rid of any stress.

While you had felt the presence of someone behind you, you didn’t quite anticipate how small the aisles of the library were; your rear end bumped into theirs, a little yelp escaping your lips. The person turned, mouth open, ready to apologise, but they stopped when they saw you.

Your cheeks were damp, the tears shining under the harsh lights overhead; your skin was flushed pink and your eyes still glossed over with moisture, your lips trembling and breathing erratic. He furrowed his brows, stuttering before he managed to choke out a coherent sentence.

“Hey are you okay?”

Of course, like anyone else would have, you nodded quickly, wiping your cheeks with a choked sob, the sleeves of your sweater dampening from the heavy liquid. He shook his head and pulled your shoulder so you were facing him; his expression was blank but there was something in his eyes, though you couldn’t put your finger on what it was exactly.

“I, uhh… I’m Semi Eita. What’s your name?”

You sniffled, trying to hide your puffy red eyes with your sleeve. “Y/n L/n. I’m studying classical piano.” he nodded, patting your shoulder, “Why’re you crying? Did something happen?”

Again, you nodded. He cocked his head, urging you to continue, and so there you found yourself standing in the middle of a library aisle, clutching a few books of Chopin music and spilling your every thought and emotion to an almost-complete stranger.

“Semi?” you whispered, testing to see if your friend was awake. It was four in the morning; your phone was blowing up with notifications for new assignments and texts from your classmates about old ones, and you were laying on your bed, gazing down at your new friend, Semi Eita, who was asleep on a blow-up mattress placed to the left of your bed.

He groaned, turning over to face you, but was still asleep. You sighed, the air escaping your lips ruffling a few strands of your hair. It was late, but you couldn’t sleep again. Semi had come over to drop of some food but ended up just staying with you so you could eat it together. You two managed to stay up all night watching movies only to realise what time it was, so you both went to bed, but like usual, sleep just wasn’t coming to you.

You tried forcing out a yawn to trick your body into believing you were tired, but it just wasn’t happening. You heard Eita shuffle below you and you looked down only to see those brown eyes staring straight back up at you. You jumped a bit but they softened when they saw you wide awake yet again.

“You should sleep, y/n. It’s almost dawn.” Semi said, his voice quiet and husky from sleep.

"I know," you murmured, voice muffled by the thick duvet draped over your cold body. The heater was buzzing gently in the background and you could see the red light of your heating controls flashing slowly on your bedroom wall.

The ash blonde sat up, his matress bouncing from the pressure. He crawled towards you and pressed his hand into your hip to push himself up and onto your single bed. Semi sat on the edge, patting your upper thigh gently through the covers. The action, however small it was, sent shivers throughout your entire body, the coldness evaporating almost instantly when he kneeled up to crawl beside you, moving your hand and putting it over your stomach.

His warmth was intoxicating; like a breath of fresh air after being stuck underwater all your life. You'd never felt so safe, his body cradling yours gently, his breaths deep and heartbeat steady in his ribcage. The rhythm lulled you to sleep, your lungs filling with air slowly as your stomach rose and fell with every breath. Semi smiled down at you, your hands wrapped around his abdomen as you slept, albeit lightly.

Practicing piano for more than three hours was difficult for you.

Your attention span wasn't the best; that coupled with a difficult piece and a recital tomorrow wasn't your ideal option for a day. The hours went by slowly, cold fingers dancing around on the keys and glazed over eyes skimming the sheets in front of you, the black notes dotted around the page lifelessly. You didn't hear Eita come in to your practice room, nor did you see him sit down on the plush black stool in the corner of the room.

"Y/n, you should take a break. You're supposed to enjoy the music, not lament it." he spoke, voice quiet but you still heard him, gazing up to meet his eyes.

"Mhmm," you hummed, picking up your pencil and writing down notes in the margins of your sheet music. Semi sighed, standing to pull you up from where you were situated on the other stool by your hands. He could feel that they were stiff and their temperature shocked him a little.

"Your hands are cold, y/n. Come and warm up. Eat something," the boy said, pulling you out of the door and down the corridor, your feet dragging on the floor. He waited for you to catch up to him, draping his arm over your shoulder. “You okay, y/n?” he said in a hushed tone as you walked through the doors of a small minimalist cafe on the highstreet you both frequented.

You nodded, grinding your teeth together in frustration. Your fingers were numb and when you picked up your cup after Semi placed it in front of you, it slipped and landed back on the table, the drink spilling over the edge slightly. He sighed, frustrated, before sitting opposite you and taking your hands in his, rubbing them to relieve tension. “You can’t play like this, ok? You’ll be fine in your recital, you’re the best musician in there, okay?”

That made you smile, your lips curving into a wide grin, “Really?” you said teasingly, “You think so?”. Eita just chuckled, glad you were coming back to your senses after practicing all morning. He saw the sides of your thumbs were red and one was blistered. Your nails were cut too short; it must have hurt to play such a dramatic piece with little injuries like this.

“Thank you, Semi.” you whispered, looking over your cup at the ash blond, who was smiling ever so slightly at you. The sight made your heart flutter, the feeling strange to you. Your cheeks were noticeably warmer than earlier and you found yourself breaking eye contact with him a lot more often. It was strange, the way you were paying attention to his every detail, his breathing patterns and the unique marks on his face that only you could see because he only let you get that close; his smile was something you were exclusively shown every once in a while, and sometimes he laughed with you when you two were sat in each others company, telling jokes and eating popcorn while watching trash movies on Netflix.

Sometimes, it was nice to just be with him, giggling and sipping your drinks while the heavens had opened outside the window.

Your hands had warmed up already.

As with every time you’d realised you were in love, you hoped that when you did tell them, there’d be a cliche shoujo anime confession and that they were secretly writing poetry about you in the darkest hours of the night. I mean, who wouldn’t want love sonnets written about them?

You sighed contentedly at the thought, fully aware that Semi Eita was not writing romantic poetry about you. Of course, that wouldn’t stop you from wishing. There was always a possibility he was writing songs about you, though. Before you’d met, your friends had dragged you along to his band’s gigs a couple of times, insisting that the members were cute and the music was good. While you agreed with both of those points, you’d rather be sat in the company of one of the school’s grand pianos, the sounds ringing out from underneath the glossy black lid and echoeing off of the plain practice room’s walls.

You had to admit though, their songs were good. Most people wouldn’t analyse them as deeply as you, but that didn’t stop you. Every lyric was perfect for the song, guitars and basses melting together to create the melody, drums tapping lightly at some points and violently at others. After you got closer to Eita, you learned that he wrote a lot of the band’s songs and lyrics. It came as a shock to you; you’d assumed he was just there to play guitar but he was the genius behind these songs?

Semi never shared any romantic experiences with you, though. Despite constantly hinting at your curiosity and often just asking him about it, he either ignored you or changed the subject. His lyrics were all about love, most of them at least, which made you assume he had been in a relationship before. It didn’t cross your mind at any point that Semi had never had a partner and once you knew, you never brought the topic up again.

He’d obviously been in love, though. To be able to convey that amount of emotion through just words was extraordinary to you; you’d never felt so many overflowing feelings while listening to a song before.

“Y/n?” Eita’s calm voice snapped you out of your thoughts, patting your head to gain your attention. You turned your head to face his, eyes locked onto your tranquil expression. There was a strange softness to them, one you hadn’t noticed before. It was unfamiliar, alien, even. Hopefully you were the cause of the boy’s much-awaited change in demeanour.

“Ugh, this sucks SO BAD CHO! Do you not get it?” you shouted, kicking off of the ground with your feet. You and your classmate were sat on the swings of the park; the crescent moon was high in the sky, almost directly above the field, and there were stars spread across the sky, like Nyx had scattered glitter over the darkness and the light was raining down on the both of you.

“You’re in love. What about it?” she said nonchalantly, bringing the file up to her nails and starting to shape them carefully. You huffed at her, frowning. “What, have you never been in love, Cho?”

She nodded, looking up from her dainty hands to your moonlit face. Smiling, Cho tucked the nail file into the pocket of her coat and breathed out, a cloud of cold air forming around her mouth. “Not properly. I’ve had crushes, but i don’t think i’ve ever been in love with someone.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at her. I mean, before Semi, you hadn’t either, but you couldn’t imagine living without the constant feeling of butterflies in your stomach or the way you would smile uncontrollably when you thought of him. He was your lifeline, the only thing tethering you to the shore so you wouldn’t slip and start to drown again like that day in the library when you first met each other properly.

“You’ll understand me when you finally have real feelings,” you said, grinning slyly at the girl sat on the swing next to yours. She just rolled her eyes, shoving her phone into her pocket and standing up.

“I have to leave, my roommate’s drunk. See you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Eita?” it was a whisper, spoken in the back of the cafe on a soft couch while Semi drank a black coffee, his guitar resting against the wall in its case. He jumped, thankfully not spilling his drink, turning round to be met with your face, eyes staring down at him kindly. “What did you need? Is everything okay?”

The ash blond nodded and patted the space beside him, letting a breathy laugh escape his lips as you struggled to fit between the coffee table and the couch without bruising your shins. Once you were situated he looked away from you, pulling on the collar of his turtleneck nervously; a sign that something was, in fact, wrong.

“I just haven’t seen you in a while,” he muttered, picking up his coffee and blowing on it gently. Your smile lit up his eyes and he couldn’t help but return the gesture, even if it was considerably smaller than yours. His stomach dropped at the sound of your laugh, cheeks flushing a little. “You look nice today, y/n.” he mumbled, lips still attached to the rim of his cup.

Your cheeks warmed along with your ears but you managed to pay it cool, thanking him and waving your hands in the air as you told him he looked good too, maybe even better than you.

“No, you always look nicer than me.” was all Eita said after placing his cup on the table beside his bulging notebook and pencil case. You chuckled lightly, fumbling around for his hand and intertwining your fingers, heat spreading through your entire body. He was always so warm, like a fire on a cold winter’s night.

Semi’s hand tightened around yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand affectionately. When he turned to you, there was an expression on his face you’d never seen before; a pink blush dusting his cheeks and ears, nervously smiling and his free hand tapping his thigh. His voice was monotone and smooth, but comforting to listen to. His words didn’t compute until a few moments after he said them.

“I love you.”

You just kept smiling as his hand gripped yours as if you were about to leave. Maybe he thought you would.

“Huh?”

“Mmm tired,, let me sleep, Eita,” you groaned, turning over and your already tangled sheets. The warmth his body provided was gone in seconds as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, walking to your bathroom. “Y/n! You have a concert in a week! You said you’d spend today practicing! Don’t be too late!”

He raised his voice over the noise of the shower, closing the door. You could hear him singing softly; one of his band’s newest songs, you remembered. There were chip packets all over your bedroom floor and a few cans scattered by the side of the sofa, a pizza box open but empty on the table. You felt awful, but Semi wouldn’t make you get up till you were ready.

Last night was the same as every Friday evening; Semi would come to your place, you’d eat junk food together and watch a movie, then go to bed wrapped in each other’s arms. Your bed wasn’t quite the same without his presence, and on days when he wasn’t with you, you slept much worse. In all the two years you had been together, Eita had always been there to help you sleep, only living a minute or two away. He was always awake too; sometimes you could hear him playing guitar at night if you stood in the kitchen, or as you often did, sit on the counter and drink something full of caffeine so you could stay awake longer and listen to him play.

This was all you wanted, in all honesty; a partner who cared more about you than they did themselves, and vice versa. Someone who only trusted you to take care of them, to be with him at ridiculous hours of the night and help write songs. Sure, maybe your friends didn’t understand why you two were so awe-struck with each other, but they didn’t have so many memories, such a close bond or such similar interests. It was something you craved, and no-one but Eita had ever given it to you; a reason to stay exactly how you were.

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fairydust-stuff · 3 years

Text

Banana Fish Buffy the vampire Slayer crossover Special! Instead of Fox ,Dino hires a different predator to bring him Ash a decision him and everyone involved quickly come to regret.

Angelus walks into Lee Manor whistling still covered in blood he’s wearing a green neck scarf. the hushed voices of the two teenage boys seated on the sofa fade to silence.

“ Now you boys wouldn’t happen to be plotting would you, I wouldn't want to wake up tied to the bed with someone holding lighter fluid over me. Though it was a good effort, Yue. Even you did just exceed at pissing me off” Angelus added cheerfully.

“ You know what they say, third times the charm” Yut Lung’s tone is deceptively pleasant. “ I’m guessing by your new accessory Papa Dino is no more”

“ The old man was so annoying, Capture Ash Lynx blah blah blah I understand being obsessed with a blond superhero but if your not good at breaking people hand the whip to someone who knows how to use it,” Angelus said with annoyance. “ Don’t get me wrong some of his ideas were good but the execution D minus for effort.”

They’ve been holding each other he can smell it on them how adorable he’s glad he decided to keep Sing around after all. The two of them are much more fun as a set.

“ Shit you‘re in a good mood that’s never good” Sing looks uneasy.

Angelus plants himself between the two of them and stretches himself out one hand by each of their shoulders. “ Go to channel eight” this is directed at Sing The fourteen-year-old picks up the remote and flips the tv on.

Yut Lung has already started on the wine like a good little sixteen-year-old alcoholic. Angelus has contemplated getting rid of every bottle in the mansion just to see him go through withdrawal symptoms but has decided it’s not worth the risk of the kid possibly dying. Besides he’s got a million other ways to make him suffer. “ The Christen killer seems to have struck again the body of a blond eighteen-year-old boy crucified and turned upside down as a clear mockery of the Christen Faith”

Yut Lung scoffs “ What does this have to do with anything?”

“ Keep watching Yuey,” Angelus says in a cheerful voice.

“ the boy has been identified as Ash Lynx former gang leader”

Angelus looks over Sing’s face pales and Yut Lung’s face is clouded disbelief. The vampire shuts the tv off. “ Guess who finally bagged a Lynx” he gloats.

“ No, he’s not really dead…..he’s just playing a trick” Yut Lung mumbles standing up “ That’s just some random boy you picked up off the streets”

Angelus fixes a look of false sympathy on his face “ No I’m afraid it’s not” He grabs Yut Lung’s elbow and turns him so he’s forced to meet his eyes. “ Cinderella is never going to the ball again” then he pulls out one green eye from his pocket.

The head of the Lee family crumples to the floor a high-pitched anguished sound emerges from his throat. Angelus drinks the sight in deeply its hard to get a satisfying reaction from the kid. So when he hits that sweet spot it is euphoric.

“ Kill me” it’s not even screamed just a weak plea for mercy from a severely depressed teenage boy.

“ Nah! you don’t get to die” Angelus tilts his chin up so he’s looking up at him like some sort of God. Its fitting Angelus does control his fate. “ I don’t get why your so eager to go, you’d just burn in Hell for an eternity” truthfully Angelus isn’t sure of that considering the Chinese have a different belief system someone up there might decide reincarnation is more fitting for this wreck of a boy which would undo all his hard work. Now to deliver the finishing blow “ Like, Ash is”

Yut Lung runs out of the room chocking back sobs with anyone else Angelus would think he broke them but the boy had surprised him before. Even posing Blanca’s dead body in a reenactment of Judas’s suicide and offering his actual bloody heart to Yut Lung hadn’t been the devastating blow he thought it would be. Sure the kid was upset judging by his attempted seduce and burn him alive attempt but Angelus had aimed for curl up and whimper, not revenge.

“Just leave him alone you shit!” Sing lost his temper

“I normally don’t finish other’s art projects but his face is poetry and that body is an unfinished canvas. I’m going to craft the sloppy mess they left behind into something agonizingly beautiful” Angelus gloats “ A little side project while I wait to start working on my passion project”

“ Who’s your passion project” Sing asks

Ah, Sing hitting on what truly matters, Angelus thinks with some fondness. “Let’s have some fun, you're going to introduce me to Ash’s group,” the vampire says instead.

“ What the hell makes you think I’d do that?” Sing demands

Angelus just turns and walks up the stairs and up to the bedroom.” Oh Yuey come out and play!” he says in a sing-song voice Sing shot out dragon fang honestly what a ridiculously childish name, Angelus dodged his weapon with a laugh. He can hear Yut lung’s sharp breaths on the other side of the door before he opens it the kids hugging his knees in the middle of that big bed. Hair half out of his braid. Angelus stalks over and runs a hand over the boy’s leg feeling a slight tremble. Angelus contemplates Does he want to feel him up just to show he can or leave burns on the tender skin of those legs?

“ Haven’t you tormented me enough?” it's almost a whisper

“ Hey blame Sing, for choosing Eiji over you again”

“ You bastard! That’s not what’s happening!” Sing protested he’s caught up and he lands a punch on Angelus the vampire blocks and tosses him to the floor. Angulus slides a hand into his pocket. “ I’ll do it, I’ll do it just leave him alone!” the younger boy pleads.

“Really, Sing I had the lighter ready and everything. He’s so fickle” Angelus complained to Yut Lung “ Ah well we’ll play another day” he promises. The vampire blows the boy on the bed a kiss as he leaves with Sing he turns to Yut Lung’s bodyguards “ Watch him make sure he doesn’t die” they nod their human faces vamping out…

“I kinda miss how he was before, trying not to be clingy while wanting to grab onto me, so desperate” Angelus smirks. The two of them are standing on the New York subway.

“ You love the sound of your own voice” Sing observes.

“I was trapped by that nauseating soul, for years. It had me rescuing puppies, puppies! I used to nail those to people’s doors. Think Yut Lung would be upset if I nailed a dog to his door?” Angelus asked “ You are asking me for ways to torment my leader?” Sing demanded incredulously “ Oh right you have a crush don’t you” Angelus laughed. “ I keep forgetting that cause of the whole betrayal thing” “ He was the one working with Dino my cousin’s murderer” Sing argued

“ You think Yue wasn’t plotting against him?” Angelus chuckled “ Maybe that’s why I like you two. Years of do-gooder pep rallies and the constant we help the helpless rah rah rah. And your all hell with it! Your still both gooey in the middle but I’m going to fix that” he promises, vamping out and advancing on one of the homeless people near the back. He had after all missed breakfast.

Sing was looking rather pale by the time he got off the subway Angelus fixed his leather jacket “ I look good right, no blood on the mouth?” he asked “ Now remember only good things or I’ll be paying your pretty cousin Nadia a visit. Maybe I’ll grab of a few your guys as a midday snack” ...

“ We don’t talk to the police” they’ve been incredibly unhelpful,” says the handsome blond man before him who must be Max Lobo. He looks haggard and worn Angelus is pleased with how big an effect his actions have had on the group.

“ I’m a private detective” Angelus pulls out one of the Angel Investigations business cards he’d stolen. “ Sing told me you might need some help catching this mad artist”

“ You mean sicko with a god complex” Ibe retorts.

Sing laughs, he'll pay for that later Angelus thinks. He’s about to draw on some of his Angel speeches the soul makes him act like such a….His thoughts are frozen at the sight of a baby faced nineteen years old with an athletic build and big eyes. This must be Ash’s, Eiji the one he was sorry for not being able to protect. “ I’m sorry, I’m not usually up this late” his voice is hoarse and his eyes are red-rimmed.

“ This is detective Angel he’s a friend of Sing’s,” Ibe says. “ Oh, I’ll make you some tea,” The boy says quickly hurrying to the kitchen and starting up the pot. “ Its the least, I can do for a friend of Sings”

“ Some tea would be nice” Angelus comments. Eiji prepares tea for all three of them.

“ My condolences about your lover” the vampire lies.

“ Thank you, Ash had his flaws but...he didn’t deserve” Eiji pauses

“ I want to bring this man to justice but I need your help. Can you describe everything you saw that night every detail?” Angelus says in a smooth professional voice.

Eiji recites in a dull tone how he found Ash’s body its secretly quite fun for Angelus pretending he was unclear and asking for him to repeat himself, demanding more gory details.

“ that’s enough Ibe,” says harshly noting Eiji’s face.

“ Its necessary for the investigation” Angelus replies “ Its best to pry while every detail is fresh in his mind” he wants to laugh at how easily Eiji defends him as he continues tugging at the fraying threads of the boy’s grief. After the questioning Angelus leaves them the card and promises to keep in touch.

Eiji is sickeningly good, putting his feels on the backburner for the sake of others. He reeks of insecurity and doubt and despite his grief, there’s still a sparkle of naive hope in him. Also, something tells him the boys never been touched, considering Ash’s hang-ups about sex. Angelus normally finds these things not so appealing in boys but there’s such a girlish feel to this boy despite his athleticism that Angelus finds himself wanting to ruin and consume him. The way he would Drucilla or Buffy and the way the gangs in New York latch onto him like lost puppies. Angelus likes the idea of snuffing out the little light they’ve found in the dark world they live in. “ Wait here, Sing I’ve got to get something from the store”...

“ You shouldn’t get too attached to that” Sing comments as Yut Lung snuggles the kitten on his lap. the boy’s laughing at the little licks from the sandpaper tongue Angelus scoops up the kitten which cries out in terror and snaps its little neck. “ Why did you?” the boy yells

“ Present for your enemy Eiji” Angelus commented. “ But it didn’t have anything to do with it!” Yut Lung argues “ Neither did your brother’s children” Angelus returned. “It’s fun to kill defenseless things that can’t fight back right Yue?” he taunts stroking the dead kitten…

Angelus shoves Yut Lung down and receives a dark look “ Your not still mad about the little furball” he taunts. The boy remains silent

“ I’m sure you’ll add it to your list of things to avenge. Angelus runs his tongue along the boy’s wrist contemplatively. “ That’s the problem with you Eastern type everything has to be avenged or its dishonor” the vampire mocks brushing the boy’s neck lightly with his mouth.

“ If your smart you’ll kill me now” Yut Lung warns.

“ But your so cute and helpless” Angelus lifts the quipo slowly and runs his tongue along Yut Lung’s thigh he vamps out and bites down a cry escapes the boy under him. He licks the blood savoring the taste god its been too long. Yut Lung’s silent hatred makes it sweeter. Then the phone rings “ Yes!” he snaps “ Angel I….m... sorry….for…” the shaky voice on the other end is music to his ears. “ Eji what’s wrong?” he fakes concern “ Someone nailed a...a kitten to my door” the Japanese boy managed to get out.

“ Where are you” Angelus clamps a hand on Yut Lung’s ankle just missing as the boy rolls off the bed and makes a break for it. “ I’m staying with a friend,” Eiji says. “ Alright, I’ll be there first thing tomorrow night at eight” Angelus slams down the phone. “ So you're in the mood to play tonight are you Yuey?” the vampire walks into the hall scenting the air “ Alright, let's play hide and seek” he starts walking the halls “ 1, 2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9” he stops in front of the bathroom door the scent of blood and fear so strong he can almost taste it “ 10” he whisks the door open only to get shoved backward by a long-haired boy into a bathtub of holy water!...

It took Angelous a whole day to heal with the damage a whole day. He had to reschedule with his masterpiece and by that time Yut Lung was long gone. How the hell he managed to slip by his former vampiric bodyguards the former Scourge of Europe had no clue. Sing seemed to have not come back as well which meant those two had planned this. Angelus bet his little boyfriend smuggled him the holy water. When he got his hands on them both ...

“ So you think it’s the same guy who killed your boyfriend?” Angelus asked

“ What other fucker could it be!” Eiji snapped “ Sorry”

“It’s ok you’ve had a bad night. Eiji, I get the impression you're not telling me everything. Do you others to get hurt because you failed to cooperate?” Angelus asked

“ Papa Dino, he didn’t like Ash. We think he may have hired someone to get rid of all of us” Eiji interjects.

Yes me, Angelus thinks to himself not that it went well for the Godfather wannabe or his cohorts. “ Is there anyone else who may wish you harm?” Angelus asked “ Yut Lung Lee,” Eiji says.

“ Isn’t Hau Lee the current head of the Lee clan?” Angelus asked with phony surprise

“ They have a secret seventh brother” Eiji makes a face.

“ I take it your not fond of him” So the feud goes both ways.

“ Even so he’s been silent for weeks” Eiji comments “ And what happened last night. He’s cruel but even he wouldn’t do something like that” Angelus asks a few more questions “ Dam is it nine already” he commented.

“ How about I make you some dinner? It's the least I can do” Eiji offers.

“ You are not looking to break any stereotypes ” Angelus teased.

“ I can still spit in your meal” Eiji jokes. While dining on fish and vegetables the two converse.

“ So what you do besides catch scary serial killers?” Eiji asked “ I like ballet, I draw, I read, love the classics” Angelus admits. “ You” though he already knows photography and pole vaulting. He’s done his research or rather Yut Lung did and was always ready to complain about Eiji Okumura.

Eiji’s face crumples and he starts crying right there on the table. Angelus pulls him into a hug “ Thank….you…..I’m sorry...i” Eiji breaks off. “ Ash, he also loved the classics ”

“ its, fine let it all out’ The vampire soothing I can't believe I’m saying this cheesy crap, you better be worth it Angelus thought. “ I understand what you’re going through…..I lost my whole family to a killer” Yes, me I ripped their throats out.

Eiji’s horrified expression makes Angelus struggle to control himself. “ I’m so sorry, is that why you became a detective?” Eiji asked

“ I’m not a good person Eiji, I’ve done terrible things to deal with my grief” Angelus channels the soul and broods.

“ You're not a bad person,” Eiji tells him softly but with conviction. “ You should stay away from me” Angelus gets up and leaves the house smirking when he’s out of view…

The vampire sits across from the round-faced Japanese boy. The boy has circles under his eyes and the expression on his face resembles that of a lost puppy rather than that of a human. After weeks of ghosting him, dodging his calls Angelus has pulled I don’t want to but now I’m going to tell you the absolute truth ruse. He agreed to meet with Eiji to clear things up and damn he should win an Oscar.

In the meantime, he’s been trying to find his slippery teenage duo. He knows Yut Lung has safe houses all over New York due to his family’s activities well-stocked with weapons, medical and most likely staff furthermore absolutely no invitation inside. Last time he had the advantage of being invited in while attending a meeting with Golzine. Yut Lung had been low key furious when he found out about the vampire thing and how Dino had knowingly let one into his home. He can’t even use Sings guys because they appear to have disappeared as well.

“ First mafia and trafficking now demons! The worlds turning darker every time I turn around” there’s bitterness in his young voice. “ And without Ash….” he gulps and tears start to pour from his eyes. “ I’m so….r...r..y i” “ He meant a lot to you it's understandable you miss him” Angelus takes his hand “ And I’m going to help find whoever killed Ash” he vowed. “ For now I hear the gooseberry pie is to die for”

Eiji opens his mouth but the two of them are interrupted by two Asian men wheeling in a dinner cart. They were young clean-cut and wearing waiter uniforms. “ Order of flaymonyong?” one of them asked “ I’m sorry you have the wrong table, we haven’t even ordered yet,” Eiji says. One of the men reaches for the silver dish lid the vampire feels annoyed “ Look he said you had the wrong table so why…….”

The guys whisked the lid off to reveal a flamethrower. Eiji knocks the vampire out of the way the blast just misses them. The other waiters rush forward also Chinese he notices. Two of them tackle Eiji pinning him to the ground he trashes and bucks. The guy with the flamethrower fires it up again but this time the vampire is ready throwing his shoulder against the fragile human as hard as possible. The sound of something snapping makes him grin. The other Chinese men advance the vampire beckons them forward. “ So how much were you Bruce Lee wannabees paid to die?” he taunts

Two of them pull out their super soaker guns and aim holy water! Angelus snarls with rage and pain his shoulder sizzling. “ Angel, Eiji’s managed to get free and takes the other blasts for him getting utterly soaked. The vampire reaches past him for the hand which he crashes then grabbing the pained man uses him to smack into the other guy knocking them both down. Then he swipes a knife from the table and does three quick slices and two neck snaps. “ Why doesn’t that bastard leave me alone? Ash is gone! What does he want?” Eiji yells “ Go in the kitchen and call Ibe and Max to come and get you” The vampire orders. “ I’m going to make sure that’s all of them” he added. Eiji opens his mouth “ Go!” Angelus snarls. Once Eiji is gone the vampire pulls one of the dead men’s cell phones out of his pocket. He calms and puts Eijji in a taxi promising to continue this tomorrow...

The phone starts ringing, just as he arrives outside his fancy new apartment.

“ Gao?” a soft-spoken young voice comes through.

“ Hello, Angel investigations home of the no fun do-gooders” The vampire smirks.

The sharp exhale on the other end was worth it “ You survived” the boy says calmly. Angelus hears Sings outraged cry in the background.

“ Yut Lung Lee, I’m not gay but that voice of yours does things to me,” the vampire said obnoxiously. “ The rest of you isn’t too far from my fantasies either”

“ Funny, you appear in my fantasies most often as a charred corpse or a stain on the street” Yut Lung said with false sweetness. “ That bastard better keep you out of his fantasies!” Sing again. “ Yue, I’m glad you called” the vampire exclaims “ I need some of your venom spewing cynicism” he pauses “ Three hours with the Japanese boy scout. I swear, I saved Ash from picket fence purgatory!” he complained “You don’t get to say his name, Angelus!” Yut Lung spat

“ Go back to LA to Sunny whatever or even go pillage in the Caribbean Islands. Leave Ash’s Japanese boy alone and leave New York, this is your last warning” Yut Lung’s voice is cold.

Angelus laughs “ Your so obsessed with him you’d try to protect someone you can't stand because he’s the last piece of Ash you have left. God you're delightfully pathetic” “ Maybe but I will average Ash Lynx” Yut Lungs tone is ice “ Yuey you got damseled by the New York underworld's favorite hostage.” the vampire said with contempt. “ By all means take your best shot, I love a good Comedy.” “ How are your burns?” Yut Lung taunts

“ I’ll let you know as I’m slowly taking my revenge,” Angelus says smoothly.

“ You think you can do anything to me that hasn’t already been done,” Yut Lung says sardonically.

“It’s not the act, its all in the performance.” He pauses “I could trail burns down those wanton thighs of yours or maybe I’ll be nice enough to respect the ancient Chinese tradition of footbinding. I like the idea of mutilating those pretty feet of yours.”

Then he hung up and reaches for a pile of rough sketches he’d been working on. “ Your leading man is dead so your mine for the taking, the both of you” he pauses “ First which one of your friends do I kill next” he closes his eyes and selects one of his pictures. Then he hears footsteps turning around he sees a dark-haired woman. “ Hello, Dru” Angelus grinned. “ Do it, Daddy! Make the envious Moon weep until he no longer glows. He’ll taste of fresh lemons and pomegranates” Drucilla says excitedly.

“ Oh i’ll get to our succulent femmefatale eventually now I’m focused on another. Now let’s see who I can nab for dinner” his face vamps out...

“ Another dead end,” Eiji says looking exhausted The two of them combing through the crime photos. It’s not his finest work Angelus admits but he’s still proud of it. Then there’s a knock on the door Angel opens to reveal a man with red hair. “ Charlie?” Eiji says then the color drains from his face at the man’s expression “ No no not anymore I can’t take it!” he insists. “ I’m sorry Eiji,” Charlie says...

“ He always believed in me he used to say I could be a little more selfish,” Eiji says in a dry whisper. “ I was never the type to go for things but Ibe always…..how many more”

The boy doesn’t talk much after that during their outing which suits Angelus fine he’s not after the boy for his stimulating conversation skills. The excuse was he wanted to cheer Eiji up but honestly, its because Drucilla told him “the Moon was angry and stick and straw houses would fall” So Angelus is not surprised to see his house blown to rubble in a fiery explosion nor is he surprised to see three of Yut Lung’s men armed with stakes in case his vampire healing spared him said fiery death. They were here to finish the job. They took one look at healthy alive smiling Angelus and ran for it, unfortunately, he’s with Eiji so he can't rip off their limbs and mail them back to their leaders.

Eiji looks at him after a long thoughtful moment of silence“ I’m sorry you got dragged into this, I’m dropping the case” “ What?” Angelus demanded “It’s too dangerous for you to be around me, here’s some money for a hotel I’m sorry!” Eiji leaves. Dam it that brat ruined his plans Angelus is furious. He’s interrupted by humming he turns to see Drucilla “ Shhhh Miss Edith Daddy is very cross” the vampire chides her doll. “ Come on Dru let's grab a bite in Chinatown ” Angelus vamps out…

Angelus gets a call from Eiji two days later “ Angel, Yut Lung contacted me he says he’s got evidence on who killed Ash. He wants to meet in Central Park”

Angelus grins “ You think it's a trap?” Well, it is but not for Eiji. The little whore is using himself as bait, but if Angelus plays his cards right then he should be able to grab Yut Lung and use him as a hostage to get an invite from Sing. Of course, there’s still Eiji to worry about. Then Angelus comes up with a solution.

“ I need you to come with me just in case, please” Eiji pleads.

“ Of course” Angelus hangs up the phone and turns to Drucilla “ What do you say Dru ready to go to the park?”...

“ You made it,” Yut Lung says standing there.

If Eiji is soft cuddles in the morning Yut Lung is the dirty polaroid stashed secretly in a man’s drawer Angelus muses. Ash may not have been drawn to him like Eiji but the vampire bets he still a small hold on the boy. Yut Lung is all dressed up when they meet him makeup applied, hair done up its like he wants to be taken. It's like he’s living breathing art even his movements are fluid, every step a light tease.

Still, Angelus is going to bind those feet, the air of challenge in those delicate movements gets under his skin.

“ I was worried I’d have to draw you a map” a taunt on those red lips.

“ No tricks Yut Lung where’s the evidence?” Eiji asks

“ Right here” Yut Lung takes out a gun and puts bullet after bullet into Angelus. The vampire crazed with pain doesn’t realize he’s backing up into a tree until he hits it a familiar sharp object sails towards him and the vampire finds himself wrapped up in strings a familiar sharp object penetrating his stomach. Sing swings down from the branches.

“ You think you got me, oh Dru!” he calls the vampiress bursts from her four hours ago hiding spot and grabs Yut Lung pressing her nails to his throat. “ Aaand he doesn’t make it to first base” Angelus taunts. " Though he has been around the field a few times"

“Another one!” Sing exclaims

“ Sing kill him!” Yut Lung ordered.

Drucilla smiled “ Shhhh you used to be a dolly made of sugar to hide the taste of arsenic when you kissed the lizards. You burned the wicked Dragons. Even though you were too late to save the princess before they made her all red.”

Yut Lung gapes at her “ How do you know?”

Drucilla strokes his hair softly and for a moment she seems almost lucid“ My mummy is dead too, daddy name with his teeth like needles. The wolf came to the door but he dressed in the skin of a priest.” she laughs “ We’ll make you all red too. You don’t have to smile when Daddy makes you part you’re legs. We’ll be brides together, I'll carry you under the stars” She promises.

“ Like hell, you will!” Sing exclaimed

Drucilla looks at him and laughs “ Hades and Persephone will ride off with the Moon. The mountain Lion crushed beneath their feet.” she taunts.

“ Isn’t she wonderful? this is Drucilla my masterpiece” Angelus brags.

“ You mean she used to be human” Sing said in horror.

“ And sane and pure and oh so good. She was going to be a nun and declare her vows to God” Angelus said mockingly.

“ You hurt her, you broke her, you took her dam sanity” Yut Lung looks like he wants to rip the vampires’ eyes out with his bare nails.

“ I was going to do the same to you both” Angelus croons.

“ I won’t let that happen,” says Eiji pointing a gun at Drucilla.

“ Daddy who is this?” Drucilla asked in confusion

“ Just Eiji he was the other one I was focused on” Angelus wants to get on with things. “ I can’t see you ” Then Drucilla had a look of realization and lunges for Eiji. the boy fires a gun straight through her head which doesn’t kill her but causes her to scream. Sing moves and shoves a stake through her heart.

“ Not supposed to be here …..” then she turns to dust.

Angelus feels her loss not the loss of a man for his lover but an artist for his greatest work. Angelus breaks through Sing’s flimsy strings furiously. Yut Lung attacks Angelus pins his wrists “ Tonight doesn’t seem to be working out for you Yuey maybe if I give you a rousing cheer!” then he groans as a bullet pieces his chest. Yut Lung slips a needle under his skin and Angelus feels his body flop to the ground.

Then he sees the smoking gun. “ Eiji how could you, I thought we were friends” Eiji flashes him, his middle finger.

“ Congratulations you finally caught on after what a month” Angelus sneered.

“ Why couldn’t you have paralyzed his mouth too Yue?” Sing groans

“ He needed to have some awareness, for personal satisfaction,” Yut Lung says. “ I’ve contacted the Council we have a few minutes”

“ Even when taking out someone for the safety of the community you can’t stop being a sadistic bastard” Eiji complained.

“ He was going to give me locus feet” Yut Lung argued.

“ You fucking bastard!” Sing raged.

“ I’m going to do even more until those feet are completely useless” Angelus vows.

Both Sing and Yut Lung shiver. “ I’ll teach Sing all the wonderful things I learned in Tibet”

“ How could I have thought you were here to help me?” Eiji says with disgust

“Because Eiji if there was a first place for the biggest idiot you’d win the grand prize. I’d rather be back in Hell then continue to hang out with you” Angelus informs him.

“ Why did you?” Eiji asked

“ Because I wanted to taint, and corrupt you in every way,” the vampire says. “ I wanted you spread out on my sheets but you were so hung up on Ash, you friend-zoned me, me!” “ Clearly a bad choice on his part,” said Yut Lung sarcastically

“ You killed Ibe and Ash as a part of some sick game to hurt me” Eiji spat.

“ You were going to be my comeback piece,” Angelus said.

“ This pretentious fuck thinks he’s an artist,” said Sing with an eye roll.

“ So what did finally light a red dot in your empty noggin?” Angelus taunted

“ Yut Lung I realized he wasn’t trying to kill me but you. He wouldn’t do that unless. I went to Max and we did some investigating of our own. Three people saw you the night of Ibe’s murder with red hands. They were just too scared. I contacted Sing and Yut Lung and the three of us made this plan” Eiji said.

“ Enough talk” Yut Lung says with a nod

Sing goes up the tree to retrieve something.

“ You think the Watchers council can hold me?” Angelus laughs

“ They won’t have a chance to try” Yut Lung pulls out a stake and Sing comes back with a Jar. “ You want to do the honors Eiji chan, he wronged you the most” Angelus doesn’t register until seconds before Eiji holds the stake over his heart “ This is for Ash and everyone you ever raped, tortured or killed” Yut Lung holds the jar under him and Eiji drives the stake deep...

Angelus looks at the familiar fiery cubicle “ You know you guys could have redecorated since last I was here” the door opens and a familiar blond boy with green eyes walks through the door.

“ Are you a demonic projection or the real thing?” Angelus asked

Bastard!” a punch sails directly into his gut.

“ Hi, Ash got the guys upstairs really give you a reprieve to torment me.?” Angelus asked curiously “ I’m flattered”

“ This is my torment every sick thing I did for Dino I have to do for them. He’s a fan of my dam work!” Ash sounds beyond self-loathing

“ Yep definitely in Hell! I work my undead ass off sticking it God and humanity in general only to get passed over for some seventeen-year-old hack!” Angelus complained, “ So what Whips, chains, crabs ?”

“ Time to explain why you fucked up” Ash smirked. “ Drucilla never saw Eiji”

“ Come on your telling me your damsel was the difference between me winning or dying him?” Angelus exclaimed incredulously

“ Yut Lung was a mixed bag among the powers that be. Half the people upstairs wanted to put him on Hell’s legislator and be done with it especially after the Lee family slaughter. The other half debated he deserved a chance. In the end, it was love that saved him, Lang Lui his mom caught word and advocated on her little boy's behalf. She’s quite the pistole over on the other side and was smart enough to drum up enough favors for this day” Ash laughed.

“ We got it wrong Angelus, Eiji wasn’t meant to be saved he was meant to guide and protect others.”

Angelus processes this “ Those goodie two shoes used me!” he raged

“ Yut Lung and Eiji hated each other. Worse Sing was left torn between them. You were the nudge all three of them needed to become a united front. It was what the powers hoped for.” Ash grins “ There going to save so many people and its all because of you”

Angelus feels utterly horrified.

“ And it gets better you see Angelus just because you choose evil doesn’t mean good was done with you. You had more chances than any of us and you blew them!” Ash spits

“ I have no soul,” Angelus said in a well duh voice.

“ Neither did Darla or Spike heck Drucilla could've gotten redemption maybe if you hadn’t used her one last time. You robbed that girl of so much! Even with a soul, You were never serious about helping anyone; it was always about Buffy or the Shanshu prophecy or appeasing your own guilt. That’s why when you lost that guilt it was fucking party time” Ash hissed.

“ Are you torturing me or yourself?” Angelus mocks

“ I’m just getting to the good part,” the blond says sweetly “ See every act of evil you did brought out some good”

“How?” Angelus demands

“It’s funny you did so much good as a murderous psychopath because the face of your inhumanity brought out the compassion, kindness, strength of those who didn’t even know they had it” Ash finished.

“ Oh god no please no more just no more!” Angelus’s mind is reeling all that work, all that planning.

“ And guess what? we have an eternity to go over all of the ripples you created in the lives of others while souled and not. I’m talking about every sinner and saint and all of the good they did throughout their lives and how they influenced others. Welcome back to Hell you piece of shit. I’m the new management. I'm here to make sure your stay is as unpleasant as possible. So today lets start with all the nice laws that got passed because of you and Darla’s rampages!” Ash says in a cutesy voice.

Angelus lets out a wail of anguished despair that echoes throughout all of hell. The end

#banana fish #buffy the vampire slayer #Eiji Okumura #ash lynx #sing soo ling #yut lung lee #asheiji #yuesing #angelus #drucillia #Angelus/Eiji one sided #Angelus/Yut Lung implications #yut lung/sing #Yut/Sing/Eiji team up #angelus needs to kill instead of tormenting

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