#(high key resisting the urge to rip this thing apart & start all over so it looks more show accurate 🙃🙃) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

Morning Of and After

SMILF Jesse X Female Reader

Summary: You meet Jesse in a bar and take him home. Masterlist

Word count: 3.3k words

Warning(s): +17 | swearing, drunk sex, porn with(out) plot (?), p in v sex, from behind, morning angst, mutual masterbation

AN: bitch I watched a 30 second clip of a tv show JUST to see an underdressed Alex Brightman. What has my life come to. Ah well, I'm gonna enjoy it while I can. Blame these lovely, inspiring fools @hoodoo12 @go-commander-kim @escape-your-grape

Jesse's not sure why you were hanging off of him at the bar but he's basking in your attention now. You didn't hesitate to give the cabbie your address, arm permanently looped around his shoulders for balance. You had both been drinking– exactly how much was a mystery– and Jesse was eager for a breakthrough in his dry spell.

Your lips are wet and on each other as he kicks your door closed. Pulling your clothes from your body proves a little difficult, especially with you wrestling to take off his. He catches a case of the giggles when you get his head stuck in his shirt but the laughter quickly turns into a moan when he feels you slip a hand into his underwear to fondle his junk. He remembers gripping your wrist like iron and ripping his shirt from his face. He gives you a gentle push backwards, right onto the edge of your bed (he didn't know that was there but he would have been happy to take you on the floor too).

Your top is misaligned but far from off, however you are bare from the waist down and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him towards you. Jesse's just as desperate and he slips his pants down midthigh, then stops to rummage in his pocket for a condom. He has to bat your grabby little hands away or he won't last. It's a little hard to see through the haze of lust and alcohol but he manages, and then he's pressing you into the mattress leaning on an elbow and sliding his fingers through your slick folds.

He groans and plants a kiss on your mouth. "Fuck you're wet..."

The man wastes no time and hooks two fingers inside you, eager to stretch you out and make you come now because you're fucking gorgeous and it's driving him to the edge without any stimulation.

You mewl beneath him, nails scratching his scalp and chest heaving as if begging for his attention. Jesse's mouth waters heavily as he sloppily licks and sucks at your breasts, pushing your top aside and just nipping at the lace bra still intact. He has no idea how high you are until your inner walls contract around his fingers so hard he worries they might break. And with a practiced motion, he eases you down from your orgasm, fingers slowing down until he slips them out.

And just for the hell of it, he flicks your clit and feels you jump beneath him. Suddenly your teeth are digging into his neck and he howls.

"Fuck me already," you growl.

You spread your legs wider to fit his hips to the center and drag him into another rough kiss. Jesse has some trouble maneuvering with his pants half on, but he catches the head on your lip and pushes in groaning at the familiar feeling of being engulfed. Bottoming out inside you sends an electric tingling sensation down his spine and he has to stop for a moment and catch his breath.

He feels your feet sliding up his thighs, one foot still in a heel which catches on his waistband. His hips give a test rock and you moan against his collarbone, legs twitching at his sides.

Jesse sets a subtle pace, rocking into your heat and drooling a little. You feel so fucking good underneath him, so right, like eating apple pie on the Fourth of July. His balls start to tighten and he almost lets go, but the feeling of your pussy twitching draws his attention to your face. You're close to coming again but not anywhere near where he is. The sloppy drunk part of him wants to just keep going and finish but the real Jesse wants this to be good for you too and what's a little second orgasm between drunk strangers?

He pulls out and despite your immediate protests, you quickly become curious when Jesse's hands push and pull on you as if trying to move you.

"What are you doing?"

His chin has a small glisten and his eyes are so watery. There are hickeys forming on his neck and a scratch or two rising on his shoulder. The hairy expanse of his chest is turning red from friction and he looks as unreal as a dream until he says, "turn over."

Your legs twitch and you definitely soak the quilt on your bed. Did you hear him right? This guy? Soft, pretty boy who was just a second ago gently rocking your world?

He licks his lips and says, "turn around. I wanna do it the other way. On your knees."

Fuck. Well you're definitely shaking with excitement as you fulfill his command. You finally manage to slip your top off and fling it into the abyss off the bed. You wiggle your hips into the requested position and shiver as a warm hand slides up your spine. Another warm hand locks around your hip and you feel him enter you with no resistance. The rough material of his jeans scratches at your thighs as he begins to thrust, longer strokes that leave you empty and full, empty and full again. You quickly slide off of your elbows and press your face into the blanket, loving the way he seems to lose himself again inside you.

God, does he even know he's moaning right now? It's so hot, somehow hotter than him driving his cock deep inside you. The slapping sound of his hips against your ass sendings endorphins straight to your head. After Jesse breathes another 'fuck,' you slither a hand underneath your body to circle your clit. The first touch of your fingers to your sticky little button causes you to tighten around Jesse's cock and you hear him choke. He leans over your back and settles a hand on the bed to proper himself up, changing the angle of his thrusts and hitting some spot deep inside you that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, so good," Jesse mumbles, sweaty forehead pressing against your shoulder. "Mmmm… gonna come…"

Fuck that's exactly what you needed to hear. Your whole body turns tuat like a bow string and your walls constrict into a vice. Your legs quiver from the strong shocks of your orgasm, forcing a long, broken moan to escape your chest and black to creep into your vision.

Your orgasm is the end of your partner. Jesse's hips stutter to a stop as he fills up the condom, unable to breath for a few seconds as he forgets his name, his location, and his sense of self and all there is left is you. Eventually Jesse's soul slams back into his body and he collapses his full weight on top of you unintentionally crushing you. He feels you laughing and at the urge of an elbow in his ribs, he rolls over and off of you. You're still giggling, boneless and satisfied as you try to catch your breath.

You turn your head towards him to look over his blissful features. His skin glistens in the half light and he's probably seconds from falling asleep. You put a hand out on his chest and shake him awake despite yourself, knowing you need to clean up.

"Up," you command.

Jesse shifts off of the bed sluggishly, disposing of the condom in the bin by your desk and grabbing the waistband of his jeans like he's not sure what to do with them. You reach out mischievously and slap his ass causing him to yelp and look back at you in disbelief.

"Take those off and get back here." You fling the quilt of your bed off and curl under the topsheet with a hand out to him.

Jesse looks confused. He moves slowly, crawling back in naked and incapable of meeting your eyes. You place a guiding hand to help him lay his head on your silk encased pillow. "Stay," you command, and dip into the bathroom to clean up.

Jesse lies awake but not for long, his body thumps with the beat of his heart and it lulls him to sleep. He's snoring softly when you come back and flip the lights off.

Jesse's head is pounding in the morning, but he's had it worse. Like way worse. The bedroom curtains are drawn but the sun is direct and the light reflects off the walls a little too strongly for his liking. You look pretty in nothing but sheets and it's turning him on a little bit.

What the fuck was a girl like you doing with a guy like him anyways, he wondered, over his skinnier and better looking friends? And then he wondered, how much did you have to drink last night? It unnerves him that he doesn't know the answer. You left the bar together but you didn't walk in together, who knows how many jager bombs or tequila shots you had before you met him?

Jesse's really hyped himself up now, his hands are getting clammy and he's about to start fidgeting if he doesn't figure something out soon. When you wake up will you remember him? Did you know his name like he knew yours? Would you throw him out in disgust? Maybe you were the type who took them home because you knew they'd be gone at first light. Maybe you liked it that way.

Jesse takes a deep breath to steel himself. He's intent on thinking things through until… until he realizes it took 10 minutes. From the time you entered the apartment to the time he came, it took 10 minutes. Oh god… that is the nail in the coffin for him.

He slides out of bed as quietly as possible. His face is hot and his hands are cold as he slips into his underwear, then his pants. He lets his feet carry him out of the bedroom and into the hallway where he finds his shirt, and he gets distracted looking at your soaked lace underwear as he reaches for the keys by the door.

You actually live really close to his work, which is where he left his car last night. If he can just get some distance maybe he can think better. He could probably use a tylenol more than anything right now.

Jesse's waiting for a light to change at a crosswalk when he realizes these are not his keys. All regrets about leaving his phone number on a paper somewhere at your place go out the window when he realizes he doesn't have his phone either.

"Fuck," he mutters in defeat.

Returning back to your apartment is the real walk of shame. He hopes someone will stop him, ask him if he lives around here or something so he can chicken out and maybe get a friend to get his stuff back. The cute like trinkets hanging off your car keys do give him some interesting insight into the things you like.

He can't remember if he left the door unlocked and celebrates when he doesn't have to knock and wake you up. He probably should have clued in when he heard the sound of a sink turning off, but he's actually more hungover than he thought. He fully freezes like a deer in headlights when you appear with a towel on your head and fresh lounging clothes.

The look you give him should have turned him to stone. "Hey Jesse. Forget something?"

He opens his mouth and nothing but a weak "heeeeyyy," escapes. His mouth flaps like a fish and he suddenly remembers to put your keys back from where he found them. Busted. "I ee I was just going out to grab some coffee… and like a tylenol… but guess I grabbed the wrong keys, hahah..."

The twist of your mouth is a little cruel. You let the towel rest on your shoulders and toss him his keys from the kitchen counter, warm hand lingering over his heart in an affectionate but threatening way. "Coffee sounds good. There's a shop a mile that way, honest to god espresso and cheaper prices than the usual dig. I'm sure I've got a bottle of tylenol somewhere around here, I should find it by the time you come back."

Oh...K? Are you… planning something? Should he fear for his safety? Apologize? Not knowing what else to do (and distracted by the feeling of you caressing his chest), Jesse simply nods and turns to obey you. Only at the door does he turn back and gesture with his key hand, "you uh, haven't seen my phone, have you?"

You're smiling. You've got no bra on beneath your baseball tee, hair soaking your shoulders, and tiny tiny shorts with pockets– a pocket carrying what he clearly recognizes as his phone– and you're smiling.

"I like my coffee strong. Just tell them my name, they'll know what to make." Jesse doesn't know what else to do except sputter and leave.

It would have been a short walk but it's an even shorter drive. Jesse stands in line assessing the menu with his hands in his pockets. You were mad at him.

Ok, that was fair.

You were upset that he left you without a goodbye and had stupidly forgotten his things and had to come crawling back. So you weren't that kind of person. He knows that now. But you also weren't screaming at him or begging him to stick around.

Jesse didn't know what to think of your reaction. But you knew his name. He told you his name in the cab and if you remembered it's because you weren't blackout drunk. That's good for both of you. You didn't seem too hungover either, maybe you'd had less to drink than he did or at least the same. This is good, these were good things.

It didn't make going back to your place less terrifying though.

You left the front door cracked and Jesse pushed his way in with a cup in each hand. "Boy, they sure do like you down at that coffee shop! Extra this and extra that. I'd kill to have a place like me like that."

You seem… calmer now. The tension in your movement is gone and you peck his lips with a kiss as you take your coffee. You reach around him to shut the door and walk to the couch expecting him to follow (and of course like a dog on a leash, he did). You passed him a tylenol and took a few yourself, washing them down with your drink before leaning back with your arm over your eyes.

"I'm sorry," Jesse blurts out. You peak at him from under your arm. "I… I didn't know if you wanted to see me when you woke up so I…"

You snort. "Jesse, honey. If I didn't like you, you would have never made it to my room. Not even close. And if I didn't want to see you in the morning–"

You sat up and pressed yourself almost into his lap– "I would have fucked you at the club."

Now is not the time for a boner, this was a serious conversation. In any case, you eased up on your dominating stance and fell into his side like you belonged there. It felt nice. You smelled like fresh laundry and peaches (definitely your body wash or something), and weren't mad at him anymore. In fact you passed his phone to him and settled back. Jesse wrapped an arm around you and rested his cheek on your head. He had almost drifted back to sleep when his text tone dinged.

MASON: Where the fuck are you?

Jesse sighed. You knew exactly what that sound meant and became determined not to let him go without a fight, but Jesse stopped you from climbing into his lap very firmly, by flipping you onto your back and holding you down. He can't help but blush, his ears turning red as he glares at you.

"I have. To go," he scolds. "My buddy Mason's got this project he needs help with and I promised I'd be there to help him move his stuff."

You whine, grabbing his wrists and sliding his hands up to cover your breasts. "Can't it wait a little longer? We can be fast."

Jesse's brain short circuits and his hands inadvertently flex. "What?"

He knows your nipples are hard because he can feel them, and you're looking at him in that way that makes his pants tighter. You don't have to say it but when you do, he falls hook line and sinker. "Come on, babe. Round 2? Before you go?"

How could he say no to that?

Jesse kisses you roughly. His hands squeeze your tits before he plants one to hold himself up and the other to draw you closer so he can grind his hips into yours. You gasp, pulling at his hair and then fumbling with his pants for a second just as you change your mind. Jesse protests as you push him backwards, then he stares as you slide those tiny shorts off. He goes right to circling your clit with his thumb and takes a long look at the dark spot on your new panties.

"So easy to get you wet," he praises, swiping his thumb down over the wet patch before returning to his pronounced circular motions.

You let him toy with you, feet resting on his shoulders until you remember your little game. you gently kick his hand away and replace it with your own, sliding the fabric aside and making him watch two of your fingers glide deep inside you. Jesse groans, intent to help out but you stop him.

"Just me," you gasp. "Just you."

Jesse seems momentarily confused. Then you see it click in his head and he scrambles to take his cock out, already fully erect and dark in color. He starts to stroke himself, eyes bouncing around your form and drinking in the sight of your self administered pleasure. His eyes roll back at the squelching sound filling the space between you, continuing to stroke himself with a dry rasp.

Jesse calls your name and grasps your wrist. His tongue swirls around your fingers hungrily to suck the slick from them, groaning as he does. It's a moment's distraction as his own fings dip into your wet heat and come out coated in more. He replaces his soaked hand on his cock and strokes with renewed vigor.

"God," he hums. It feels so good, watching you watch him is turning him on way more than he thought it would. He's getting close to coming at the thought of painting your stomach when his phone starts ringing.

He grows an annoyed glance at the offending device, then does a double take and pounces. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck– hey boss!"

You looked at him, completely stunned. Jesse pretended not to notice you and listened intently to the voice on his phone, nodding his head absently and to your horror, tucking his cock back into his pants. He doesn't look too happy about it, but he swallows his pride and tells his boss he'll 'be right there.'

He's already apologizing as he pulls you up from the couch and sets your clothes right. Jesse peppers your sour face in light kisses, rubbing your arms as if to soothe you from a blinding rage.

"I promise I'll make it up to you," he says donning his jacket. "I don't know when or how but I will I–"

"Arcade. Thursday. 7 pm." You zip up his jacket and glare at him so he knows there's no room for argument.

He smiles, "I can't wait," he drops a hearty kiss to your lips. "Thursday, 7 pm. Want me to pick you up?"

"Only if you plan on staying the night."

"That's a yes then." Jesse leaves and you cannot wait for Thursday.

#SMILF Jesse #SMILF Jesse x female reader #smilf jesse smut #three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒

55 notes · View notes

vintagedolan · 3 years

Note

Oh my god...gray goes for a night drive after his "discussion" with E and sees her walking to the bus...

three: context clues

masterlist | request the next concept!

Ethan gave his brother a day. Maybe he’d had a shitty workout, or spilled coffee on his planche progress pages again. At least, Ethan hoped it was something, anything other than him just being that utterly pissed off about the book deal.

Grayson took the day alright. He took it to sulk, and mope, and essentially make an utter ass of himself to everyone around him until even the dogs didn’t want to be around him anymore.

Ethan made it to dinner the next day before he broke.

“Jesus fuck bro, enough. What is your deal?”

Grayson looked up from his phone, eyes stone.

“What’s my deal?” He mimicked back, incredulous that his brother was even asking.

“If you’re gonna be pissed at me fine, but you don’t have to be a dick to Koa. That’s not you.”

“Well I am pissed at you. And I’m pissed at her, and I’m pissed about everything, so fuck off.”

“She didn’t even do anything to you!”

“Yet,” Grayson muttered.

“You’re being a dick for literally no reason. You realize that we get final say over this book right? We get to look at the drafts, we get to read everything she writes before it goes off to be published. We can cut whatever we want to.”

Grayson didn’t know that. He hadn’t bothered to ask.

“We can cut anything we want?”

“Literally anything, yeah.”

“Great. Then cut the deal.”

“What?”

“Cut the whole thing off, cut the book deal.”

Ethan braced.

“But no, of course not, because you fucking can’t! Because you went behind my back, like you always do because you think I’m too fucking stupid to help with decisions like this! And now, I have to play along with your stupid fucking plan because I’m your twin and I don’t have a choice!” Grayson’s fist hit the counter harder than he meant it to, and it stung all the way through his fingertips.

He knew he wasn’t being fair. Not to Koa, and not to his brother.

“We always said we wanted to write a book someday, together.” Ethan’s voice was smaller than it usually was, and it tugged at Grayson’s heart despite the anger that was heating him from the inside out.

“I know that, but things change Ethan. We’ve changed. And if we’re in this together, why the fuck wouldn’t you just ask me?”

Ethan didn’t have an answer. It was a good deal, and a chance to get their voices out there, to accomplish another one of their dreams. But he knew he’d fucked up, and he only hoped his brother could see his side at some point.

Koa didn’t return to the Dolan’s house for three days. It didn’t faze her much, and frankly she enjoyed the time to get settled. She knew the contract was sound, and that she would be fine. They’d call eventually.

Sure enough, on Friday night she got a text. She read it three times before she believed who sent it.

Be over at 11 tomorrow

Grayson.

Her heart rate picked up before she answered.

that’s vaguely threatening of you lmao. are we starting writing stuff or just another preliminary meeting?

The dots appeared and disappeared a few times before he finally answered.

Why does it matter?

“This bitch,” Koa mumbled to herself, typing hard enough for her nails to click against the screen.

because I need to know if I should bring all my shit or if you’re just gonna yell at me and tell me to leave :)

Preliminary meeting. Just gonna set up some boundaries and shit. Can you make 11 or not?

I’ll be there.

She resisted the urge to text Ethan to make sure it wouldn’t just be her and Grayson butting heads in the kitchen, but she thought better of it. Instead, she enjoyed the rest of the day in her apartment. Harlow took her to the beach that evening - it was nice, but it wasn’t Maui. They got ice cream down the street, shared stories about their younger years as they sat in the sand. The texts they’d sent Gabby to invite her went unresponded to. Neither of them were particularly fazed anyways.

Harlow was good. Koa didn’t know enough about her to make more of a judgement than that, but she knew she was good and that was all that mattered for the time being. She was the character that everyone would root for, and Koa was grateful to have her - especially when she loaned her an extra fan for her room that night as the LA heat stuck around to greet the moon.

The night didn’t go to plan. She woke up around 11 with sweat everywhere and blood down her thighs that had her ready to rip her uterus out. In all her packing, and all her preparation, she hadn’t thought to bring tampons.

She got cleaned up, slightly humiliated when she had to fold toilet paper and shove it in her underwear before grabbing her wallet and heading out the door.

When she walked in Maui at night, she felt safe. Or, as safe as a girl could at night alone anyways. LA was different. It didn’t matter that she had less than a mile to walk to the bus stop - she was on high alert, keys between her fingers as she navigated the sidewalks. She didn’t take a deep breath until she saw the familiar little glass cubicle that indicated she’d made it.

The bus routes were emptier that late at night, so she waited as patiently as she could for hers to arrive and take her a few stops down to the CVS on the corner that she would be irrationally excited to see.

Grayson hated that CVS. People never looked before they pulled out of that parking lot, with an almost blind right turn because of the bushes on the corner. He’d had one too many close calls on his way to Monty’s down the street from it that he always got over a lane just to be safe.

He did it that night too, making the changes quickly as he pursued his usual late night craving of a milkshake. Sure, he had ice cream in the freezer at home, but it just wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t as busy as usual, so he parked his car on the other side of the street and scurried over to place his order, waited by the window with his hat pulled down low so no one recognized him until they based over his shake and sent him on his way.

Usually, he’d eat it while he drove, because he was a good brother who always got an extra of his order for his twin who was no doubt craving the same thing.

And he was a good brother. But he was also a petty brother, who soaked in the small vindication of sitting alone in his car with the one shake he’d bought and eating it himself.

He took the chance to people watch through his tinted windows, saw the vloggers on the street and even someone he was pretty sure he recognized from tiktok. A cute old couple showed up and shared an order of tater tots that had him ready to go searching for the love of his life before he got to the vegan whipped cream in his cup.

And then he saw her. It took him a minute - he was surprised he even remembered what she looked like. But it was the same curly hair, frizzed out by the LA heat, and the same bag that she’d had on her shoulder when she showed up at the door.

Koa was the only one who got off the bus at the stop across the street.

He didn’t like it. The sight of a woman walking alone at night didn’t sit well with him - he found himself searching the sidewalks for anyone who was headed in her direction. He watched her go around those stupid bushes and head into the store alone.

And he waited. It wasn’t a conscious decision really - but still, he waited, let the cherry disappear into the bottom of his cup that sat abandoned in the cupholder of the Tesla while he watched the CVS doors until she came back out and sat down at the bus stop.

He didn’t put it in drive until she walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared the way she came.

#graysavant #ask #hiraeth #idk what this is but I needed to get it done lmao #hope you like it!

44 notes · View notes

lochrannn · 3 years

Text

AU-gust: Glass Houses

Read on AO3

CW: Explicit Sexual Content

prompt no 9: Roommates

Characters: Lila Pitts, Diego Hargreeves

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Diego honks his horn as an asshole driver swerves out in front of him so that he has to slam on his brakes, hoping the car that's been riding his ass for the last two blocks doesn't crash into the back of his trunk.

But then he realizes that the asshole's vacated a parking spot not too far from his building, so Diego takes a deep breath and swings his car into the gap. Once stopped, he turns the key and pulls it out of the ignition, the shitty banger he's driving lurching a little, as the engine cuts out.

He takes another deep breath and tries to settle the undefined feeling of simmering rage and frustration.

He has only a few minutes before it will get too unbearably hot in his car without the air con on, but he thinks if he doesn't take the quick moment to settle his nerves, he might punch the next person who just looks at him funny square in the face. And all things considered, he's almost certain he doesn't want that to happen.

So he leans back against the headrest, lets his eyes slip closed and tries not to think of the mounting stack of bills on his desk back at the agency, or how later tonight he'll have to put on a brave face for Allison and Vanya or they'll again try to get him to let them help him with money, or how he's had to let out his spare room in his apartment to subsidize the rent, or how he's probably going to have to give up his dream of his own business and join a bigger agency and start working domestic dispute and divorce cases, which he absolutely hates.

His eyes snap back open at the realization that he's incapable of meditating his worries away, so he decides there's no point in staying in the car and gets out into the blazing afternoon sun.

When he walks up the five flights of stairs, because the elevator has been out of order for as long as he's lived in this shitty building, he feels droplets of sweat running down the back of his neck and into the collar of his shirt, not because he's expending too much energy, but because its a hundred and three fucking degrees in the city.

Diego unlocks his front door, kicks the bottom while pushing it open because it always jams, lets his keys drop into the little dish by the entrance, doesn't bother to kick off his shoes, and just heads straight over to the living room couch and drops down onto it.

He heaves another sighing breath, his muscles no less tense than when he was sitting in his car a few minutes ago, and he's still dreading having to meet his sisters later in this state of pent up frustration. He really needs to relax.

For a moment he considers changing into a t-shirt and shorts and going for a run or to the gym, but it's just too fucking hot for that. He thinks, with slightly morbid fascination, that the only things that can easily and efficiently relax him are exercise, a good fight, or a good fuck, and none of those options are readily available right now.

Although...

Diego takes another deep breath, tries again to empty his mind, though pretty unsuccessfully, and reaches down to the top of his jeans. He unbuttons them, pulls down the zipper and pushes his pants and boxers far enough that he can pull out his cock with one hand. He licks the palm of his other hand and then uses it to give himself an experimental tug to see if the lack of real lubrication is too uncomfortable.

Feeling a little foolish, as he's not jerked off this hastily since he was a teenager - these days he'll usually do it in the shower if he feels like it - Diego tries to conjure up some erotic images in his mind to help him get hard.

He manages to get some fantasies going behind his closed eyelids while lazily moving his hand along his dick.

Lips closing around his earlobe, teeth scraping along his neck, a hand trailing down his chest, hips colliding with his, soft moans responding to his touch.

He's so distracted, head leaning on the back of the couch, eyes closed, that he's pretty certain he goes into cardiac arrest when a clipped voice somewhere behind him says, “What are you doing?”

His first jumbled thought is for the preservation of his modesty, so he curls in on himself, to shield his exposed crotch from view, and then awkwardly turns around to see, past the door to the kitchen, his new roommate, Lila, who he had completely forgotten about, standing by the open fridge, a large bottle of soda Diego is certain he himself bought, halfway to her lips and she's pinning him with her frown, one perfectly straight eyebrow quirked up high.

Diego has no response and can't move. And, maybe because he continues to be holding his still half hard dick in his hand, his brain can't help but focus on the fact that Lila, who - he had immediately noticed the first time he met her - is incredibly hot, is wearing nothing but a tight, low-cut tank top with thin straps, and sinfully short shorts that make her legs look like they go on for days.

Feeling like the perviest deer to ever be trapped in anyone's headlights he shifts his gaze to the soda bottle in her hand and is immediately out of ideas for what else to do. Maybe he'll have the tiniest bit of luck today and there'll be an earthquake that will form a crack in his floor which he can disappear into. Or maybe, even better, the fucking moon will explode and rain fiery meteors down on him and end his misery.

The moments tick by and nothing happens to ease the tension until Lila shifts her weight on her bare feet, twists the cap back onto the soda bottle, puts it on the counter, closes the fridge door and then says in a low but steady voice, “Want some help with that?”

Diego's eyes snap back up to look at her and there's a glint in her eyes and an upwards tug playing at the corners of her mouth and he thinks she must be mocking him, until she lifts her eyebrows once at him suggestively and then starts making her way over.

There's nothing he can think of to say to that.

All blood, apparently, leaves his brain again to shoot down south at the prospect of... something... and that must be the reason why, completely on autopilot, he leans back against the couch when she stands in front of him. And then he moves his hands away to give Lila access when she drops to her knees between his, swiftly wraps her one hand around the base of his dick, slightly grinding the heel of her palm into his balls, making him twitch, digs her other hand into his thigh, and then loses no time to take him into her mouth, making him gasp.

What the fuck is happening?

It's so weird, and probably also pretty wrong to let yourself get sucked off by what is effectively your tenant, Diego thinks, but it's also so fucking hot how Lila is bobbing her head, not taking him in very deep, but she's hollowing out her cheeks and pressing her tongue against him and he's staring down at her and every so often he can see the top of her breasts and he can already feel the muscles in his abdomen tense.

He resists the urge to put his hands on her head, stifles his panting breath, hoping that the less active he is in this situation, the less of a dipshit that makes him.

Lila's hand on his thigh moves upwards and under his shirt and she lets her fingers drag across his abs. Her interest apparently piqued, she pushes his shirt up to see, hums appreciatively, and that makes Diego lose his iron grip on his self-control for a second and he thrusts up into her mouth and feels instantly guilty for doing so.

But when Lila's gaze flies up to meet his, eyes dark with arousal and want, Diego has no choice but to put his hand under her chin, touching her for the first time, and pull her off him with a small pop, or he'll come down her throat that instant and he really can't let that happen.

She looks confused for a second but then gets up and leans her hands on his chest while she swings her leg over his knee to sit down on one of his thighs, and Diego has yet to let go of her chin.

He doesn't guide her, he'd do nothing of the sort, but his hand comes along with her face as she leans in to kiss him, open mouthed and filthy, with her tongue pressing against his, right away.

Her lips taste of sugary soda, but the rest tastes of him and something in Diego's brain short-circuits and a tingle runs down his spine.

He's so engrossed in their kiss and already so turned on, that it takes him half a second to notice that Lila's wrapped her hand around his cock and is slowly pumping it up and down in time with the movement of her tongue and lips against his.

Unsure where to put his own hands without wanting to overstep whatever boundaries might still be left, Diego keeps one on the side of Lila's neck and wraps the other around her small wrist where she has the hand she's not using to drive him absolutely insane pressed up against his chest for balance.

And then he feels her rock her hips, grinding down onto his thigh and she moans into his mouth at the friction and that's all it takes for Diego's muscles to go impossibly tight and an almost blinding orgasm to rip through him. He squeezes his eye's shut, can't stop a grunt from pushing it's way up his throat, and distantly feels Lila press her forehead against his, while he holds on to her wrist and neck for dear life.

Diego falls limply against the back of the couch, Lila's weight on him disappearing shortly after, but he keeps his eyes shut as guilt and shame begin threatening to replace the feeling of bliss still running through his veins.

He shouldn't have let this happen.

He's so distracted by his spiraling thoughts that he takes no notice of the rustling sounds around him until he's hit in the face by something slightly squishy and damp that drops to his chest before he can open his eyes.

When he does, he sees, lying on top of him, a washcloth that was clearly tossed at him by Lila who's standing just the other side of the coffee table staring him down expectantly.

“Come on, clean yourself up,” she says and then comes around to drop down onto the couch next to him, leaning against the armrest, “or do you need help with that as well?”

She smirks at him wickedly as he gingerly begins wiping himself clean.

He tucks himself away, cheeks flushing, suddenly feeling overly exposed with her just sitting there, watching him.

But when he zips and buttons up his jeans she breaks the silence with amusement in her voice, “Chop chop!” she chirps. “I could do with you returning the favour right about now,” and at whatever shocked expression she must find on his face, she pouts slightly and says, “... or not. But then you'll have to ignore the buzzing coming from my bedroom for the next twenty minutes,” and she starts getting up from the couch again.

But before she's fully upright, Diego grabs her wrist, pulls her back down, and at a speed that surprises even himself, maneuvers her into a prone position, her head lying on the armrest, and he positions himself between her legs, shoving her tight tank top up with his nose, and kisses her belly button.

Some combination of his tongue and his rough stubble on her soft skin makes Lila giggle and her hands fly into his hair and Diego goes to work, all thoughts of shame and guilt completely forgotten.

#au_gust_2021 #fanfic #tua #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #dielila #diego x lila #diego/lila #lochrannn lxd au challenge

1 note · View note

when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Text

For @theladyandthewolves because my inbox noped your ask/prompt out of nowhere for some reason.

❛ please … i have money , just let me go . ❜

Stiles didn’t go to a bar that night expecting to be kidnapped.

He had struggled through an entire day of classes and Scott had promised to take him out afterward if he didn’t kill himself first. But then Allison texted and… well, Allison. That’s all that needed to be said about that subject.

Stiles hadn’t gone to a bar that night expecting to be kidnapped, but he really should’ve. Things like that always seemed to happen to him these days.

After his day of craptastic college classes, he just wanted to drink his sorrows away and unwind. And things were going great until the bartenders switched out and the woman opposite him took one look his way and proceeded to go all serial-killery.

Stiles had been nursing his rum and coke for about an hour now, so it wasn’t a refill he was looking for when she practically zoomed over. The woman had dark brown hair and sharp green eyes, and she looked a little scary if Stiles was being honest. He really didn’t want to make conversation.

She didn’t give him the opportunity to say no.

“Well,” the woman said, resting her elbows on the counter and leaning toward him. “What do we have here?”

Stiles arched a brow and chuckled nervously. “Um, hello?”

“You don’t look twenty-one, sweetie.”

A lump formed in his throat and Stiles fished out his wallet, showing his ID. It was fake, but it well done, and he’d never been caught before. Even if Scott did like to say he still had the face of a high schooler.

The woman looked over it and Stiles could tell she wasn’t impressed. But to his surprise, she didn’t kick him out, just passed the ID back over. Her smile was even sharper this time.

“Well, Mie—”

“Stiles,” Stiles said, cutting her off before she could even attempt to butcher his real name. “Everyone just calls me Stiles.”

“Stiles,” the woman said, eyes glittering. “What are you doing here, Stiles?”

That was not the type of question he’d been expecting. Stiles cast an eye around the bar, noticing nervously how empty it really was, and chuckled. If she decided to murder him, would anyone see? Someone would have to see. But surely she wouldn’t murder him. That’d be bad for buisness.

“Uh,” he said, wetting his lips. “Getting a drink?”

“Is that all?”

Stiles really didn’t know how to answer that, so he just stayed quiet. The woman’s smile turned darker.

Before he could react, she was taking his drink and turning away. Stiles made a surprised noise of protest but the woman just waved a hand over her shoulder, grabbing a few bottles and filling it from an angle so Stiles couldn’t quite see his glass.

“It’s just a refill, sweetie. On the house.”

Stiles’s heart was thudding nervously against his chest when she turned back and pushed it over the counter toward him. It looked like rum and coke but he still didn’t think he wanted to drink it. Except, from the look in the woman’s eyes, he was terrified she might rip his throat out if he didn’t.

So, putting on a grin, Stiles lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink. The woman watched and Stiles drank until the glass was half-gone. Then he set it down again.

“Thanks for that,” he said, starting to push himself up. “But I really should be going.”

“Already?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve got classes tomorrow and— Woah.”

The room was suddenly spinning and Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet, grabbing onto the counter for support. He felt like he’d done a lot more than drink a little bit of rum and as the room continued to spin, all he could do was sink back onto the barstool again.

His mouth felt weird. Like cotton.

The woman had moved around the counter and Stiles blinked as she approached him. Fingers danced along his shoulder and panic started to build up in his throat. Stiles tried to say something— or maybe scream for help, but his mouth wasn’t moving. All that came out was an intelligent ‘hrrrrgh’ noise that made her smile.

Drugged, Stiles realized. He’d been drugged.

His dad was going to kill him.

“It’s alright,” the woman said, and Stiles could’ve sworn her saw sharp teeth when she smiled. “You’re just going to answer a few questions.”

He didn’t know what the hell that meant. But before he had a chance to protest, he was sliding sideways off the stool, surprisingly strong hands were catching him, and Stiles hear a whisper of other words before all he knew was black.

- -

Derek didn’t expect to come back to his apartment that night and find a boy tied up in a chair in the middle of the room. In fact, he didn’t expect to come back to his apartment and find that. Ever.

For a moment, he just stood there. His keys dangled from his fingers and he was pretty sure his mouth had dropped open. The boy was clearly unconscious, heart beating slowly and a thin line of drool running down his chin. His wrists were bound to each of the chair’s arms and he didn’t look any older than twenty. Or maybe he was even younger than eighteen. Derek couldn’t quite tell.

Derek stared for a moment longer and then snapped back to reality as Laura came strolling out of the kitchen, wiping her hands off on a dishcloth. She was smiling and raised an eyebrow as her eyes snapped from Derek, to the boy, and then back. Something mischievous danced in her eyes.

“Hey there, little bro. Have a good day off?”

“Laura, what the hell is this.”

“This?”

“That,” Derek said, gesturing in frustration at the boy. “It, him, whatever. Why the hell is there a teenager tied up in our living room?”

“Oh,” Laura said, smirking. She settled down on the couch and rested her chin on her hands, eyeing the kid. “His name is Stiles. I think he goes to Beacon Community College.”

None of that information did Derek any good. He stared at her for a long moment, not quite sure Laura hadn’t completely lost her mind.

“Laura,” Derek said carefully. “Why have you kidnapped and tied up a college student?”

“Smell him.”

Derek blinked. That had not been what he’d expected to hear. “What.”

“Smell him, Der. Just do it.”

Derek gave his sister a long look before moving toward the kid. If this was her idea of a joke, then he was definitely moving out. Except, when Derek leaned closer and took a deep whiff, he was yanking back in the second. The kid smelled the cinnamon and autumn leaves, and all of that was fine. But he also smelled like electricity. Electricity and the unmistakable scent of a strange Alpha.

“What is he,” Derek said in a growl. Laura smiled all teeth.

“Human.”

“But he smells—”

“Spark, maybe,” she amended. “One with an Alpha.”

“How’d you come across him?”

“He came into our bar.”

Derek felt his hackles rise and glanced back at the boy. His heartbeat was picking up a little and Derek could tell he was on the verge of waking up. Which could either be a good thing, or something very bad. “Laura, are you sure this is a good—”

Amber eyes snapped open and the kid made a noise between a squawk and a squeak.

This was a terrible idea.

“Oh my god!” Stiles said, trying to yank away. Except, he was firmly bound to the chair and Derek knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Clearly, the kid realized that too because his heartbeat picked up and his scent soured with fear.

Derek wrinkled his nose and took a step back. Stiles looked at him in terror.

“Are you going to kill me? Please don’t kill me. I have money! A little bit of money. Please, just let me go.”

Derek gave Laura a flat look and she grinned, pushing herself up and moving over. Stiles made another noise of panic and wiggled around in his chair.

“We’re not going to kill you,” Laura said. “As long as you answer our questions correctly.”

Derek resisted the urge to facepalm.

“Okay,” Stiles said, babbling. “Okay, okay, I can do that. I can answer questions correctly! I mean, as long as they’re not insanely hard questions. Like, I suck at math. But I’m really good at memorizing old and unimportant facts, so I’m pretty excellent in history. Are you going to ask me questions about history?”

This was such a terrible idea. Laura glanced over and her expression was nothing but amused. Derek wanted to say that this was all her fault.

Then she turned back toward Stiles and flashed her red eyes, and Derek flashed his blue ones. Stiles froze, heartbeat picking up in pace again, and Laura’s smile widened. For a moment, the kid just stared at them. And then he picked up in his struggles all over again.

“Oh my god, oh my god, why is it always me? Why am I always the one kidnapped? How is that even fair?”

“Stop struggling,” Derek said, crossing his arms. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“And why the hell do you care, Mr. Werewolf? You’re the one that kidnapped me! Probably to kill me or something even worse.”

“There’s something even worse?”

“I don’t know! This is like an every other week occurrence now!”

Derek’s eyebrows flew up and Laura looked intrigued. Stiles finally stopped struggling after a few more tries, slumping in his seat and going lax in submission. But when Laura stepped closer, he flinched a little.

Derek wasn’t sure why that bothered him.

“So,” Stiles said, voice small now. “What is it, huh? You want to know about Scott and his pack? Because I’ll die before I hand them over. I just hope you know that.”

And Laura stilled. She glanced back at Derek, but he didn’t have any words. Gently, she laid a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. He shivered. “I told you we’re not going to hurt you.”

“But you do want to know about Scott?” Stiles sounded bitter.

“We don’t even know who Scott is,” Derek said. “But you went into Laura’s bar smelling like another Alpha werewolf. Usually… that’s a warning of future conflict to come.”

Stiles looked at him in surprise. Then he glanced at Laura and tilted his head. “Laura, huh? Well, at least I get one of the names of my kidnappers before I die.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m Laura and that’s my little brother, Derek. And he’s right. You should know better than to walk into a wolf’s territory smelling like another wolf.”

“Well I didn’t know you were a werewolf,” Stiles said in a grumble. “Although I guess that would make sense. You’re seriously scary. And strong.”

That startled a laugh out of his sister. Derek just narrowed his eyes and stared.

He didn’t know what to make of this kid.

“I seriously just wanted a drink,” Stiles said. “Guess it’s a good thing Scott didn’t come with me, though. Would that have started like, a pack war? Oh my god, would you have ripped our throats out?”

“Your Alpha would’ve realized I was a wolf,” Laura said. “But it wouldn’t have been good.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “He’s not my Alpha. I mean, not really. He’s my best friend and I’ve basically saved his werewolf ass a dozen times these past few years, but I’m kind of distanced from the supernatural stuff. I still get kidnapped, but that’s just life, you know?”

Derek stared at him. Because that wasn’t just life.

Laura seemed baffled too.

“So, can you cut me out of the ropes now?” Stiles asked, glancing between them. “Because scary brows was right and I think I did hurt myself just a little bit. You tied these things really tight.”

“Scary brows?” the words tumbled out of Derek’s mouth before he could stop them. Stiles looked at him with a smirk and shrugged.

“Dude, the eyebrows. Very scary. A little sexy. Probably shouldn’t be such a turn on.”

And Derek felt his face turn hot.

Laura choked on a laugh and leaned forward, slicing through the ropes with a claw. Stiles grinned, rubbing at his slightly red wrists. He pushed himself up and glanced around, before whistling appreciatively.

“Nice place you’ve got here. So running a bar comes with some perks, then?”

“Some,” Laura said, sounding amused. “Sorry for kidnapping you.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles said, waving a hand through the air. He started to wander around the apartment and Derek didn’t know how to react to that either, as he touched things that didn’t belong to him and even poked his head into the kitchen before coming out with a grin. “It happens a lot.”

“You do realize it shouldn’t,” Derek said, the words spilling out before he could stop them once more. “Right?’

Stiles arched a brow at him. “I mean, I guess?”

“You guess.”

“Come on, dude, squishy human here! When you smell like the werewolf that people seriously like to attempt to kill for some reason, it just makes sense. I’ve seen witches, warlocks, and a fair amount of hunters. I think they’re the worst.”

Derek stared at him. For some reason, he wanted to snarl at those words. But at the same time, he couldn’t wrap his head around Stiles and the words that he was saying.

“I mean, it’s usually fine,” Stiles said. “I’m not dead yet, so…”

Derek didn’t know what to say and what to do. From Laura’s face, she didn’t either. Stiles finished his self-tour of the apartment and glanced toward the door.

“So, am I allowed to leave then? This has been quite fun and all, but I’ve got classes tomorrow. And I, uh, haven’t studied for my Psych exam yet.”

Derek wasn’t sure why, but the idea of the kid leaving now that he had admitted all these things made Derek uncomfortable. Next to him, Laura seemed to be thinking the same thing. Because shewed on her lower lip for a second before shaking her head.

“No, sorry, you are kidnapped now. Consider this an intervention.”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. He froze in place and studied them both before chuckling nervously. “You’re joking, right? This is a joke. Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I’m not kidding,” Laura said. “Derek, grab more rope.”

Stiles’s eyes rounded and he took a step back, throwing up his hands. Derek hesitated, giving his sister a questioning look, and she raised an eyebrow. But then Stiles was babbling again.

“Okay, okay, okay, look,” he said. “It’s really not that big of a deal. You can’t kidnap a guy for getting kidnapped! That’s counterproductive! And my dad’s the Sheriff. He’d be severely pissed and probably throw both of you in jail.”

Laura huffed a laugh. Stiles slowly lowered his hands.

“You’re not really keeping me here, are you?”

“The Alpha’s not your Alpha,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “But you still get involved and get hurt.”

“Well, he is my best friend.”

“Some best friend.”

“I’m sorry, Sourwolf, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Derek blinked at the nickname. Laura looked like she was trying not to choke on a laugh again and Stiles crossed the room, poking a finger into Derek’s chest. He resisted the urge to snap at Stiles’s hand.

“Scotty would be dead a thousand times over if not for me. And don’t forget that I never ask to be kidnapped! If a bullseye on my back is what happens for protecting my best friend’s life, then I’ll take it. You don’t have the right to dictate my life!”

Derek glared at him. Laura quickly stepped forward.

“Fine,” she said, surprising them both. “You’ve made your decision, you can go. We’re not going to hold you back.”

Stiles looked suspiciously at her and slowly lowered his hand. He glanced back at Derek, then over at the door. “Really?”

“Really. Do you need a ride somewhere? We’re only a block down from the bar.”

Stiles eyed her again. Then he moved toward the door and placed one hand on the knob as if he expected her to suddenly change her mind. Derek didn’t know what the hell his sister was up to, but he really didn’t think Stiles should be walking out right now.

He also didn’t know why he cared. That was stupid. So stupid.

“Go ahead,” Laura said. Stiles twisted the knob and opened the door.

Derek could hear Stiles’s heartbeat pick up in pace as he placed one foot out into the hall, still watching them. Then he placed the other. He was half leaning into the apartment now and a small grin cracked across his face as he realized Laura was serious. His suspicious attitude melted away and he straightened.

“Well, thanks for the kidnapping then. This was fun, we should do it again! Except not. Because you both still scare me.”

Laura’s smile was all teeth and Derek just stood there. Stiles grinned at him, blowing a kiss, then the boy was stepping back, the door swung closed, and Derek blinked at it.

Then he rounded on his sister. But before he could get a word out, she lifted a finger.

Silence reigned for a moment. Laura waited for another few seconds and then sighed, dropping her hand. She started toward the kitchen and Derek chased after her.

“Laura, what the hell was tha—”

“I’m taking you off your shift tomorrow,” Laura said. “Also, Stiles’s jacket is in a heap next to the door. I trust that should be enough for you to find his scent again?”

Derek blinked at her. Laura smirked.

“If his Alpha best friend won’t keep an eye on him then we will.”

“You’re willing to do that for the kid.”

His sister shrugged and started making herself tea as if this as a normal everyday occurrence. Derek was pretty sure it wasn’t. But then again, he didn’t Stiles was a normal everyday occurrence.

“I like him,” Laura said. And that seemed to be that.

And… maybe it was.

Derek turned back to look at the door, along with the red hoodie that laid in a crumpled heap next to it, and he couldn’t believe this had become his evening. He hadn’t expected any of this. Ever.

But that seemed to be that.

- -

So, I didn’t mean for this to reach 3k words, but here we are. I had a lot of fun with the prompt! And honestly, I could see there being a pt2 or something. Which might have to happen at some point ;)

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your underpaid student writer? Seriously, I’d adore you guys so much). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #laura hale #prompts #theladyandthewolves #ficlet

36 notes · View notes

notsuchasecret · 4 years

Note

34: date gone wrong & 12: “I know it’s late, but I don’t know where else to turn.” with Tanaka & Tsukki

Tee hee.

Kei was ready to rip whoever was at the door a shiny new asshole. He stormed out of his bedroom and down the hall to the front door, tearing it open and putting on his best glare. It dissolved when he saw Tanaka, looking crestfallen and soaking wet. There was no rain outside.

“What the hell happened to you?” Kei asked. Tanaka flinched.

“I know it’s late,” he said, “but I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“Come in,” Kei found himself saying. Of course he would let Tanaka in, with no consideration to how difficult it was to hide what he was thinking. “You know where the shower is. I’ll try to find some clothes that fit you.”

Tanaka nodded and slopped off toward Kei’s bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Kei clutched lightly at his chest. Tanaka had looked on the very verge of tears, biting his lip and keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets. And now he was in Kei’s shower, probably letting go the tears he never allowed himself in Kei’s presence. Kei sighed and went off to the bedroom to find some clothes for Tanaka.

When Tanaka was dried and dressed, he came slouching into the living room with a repentant look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Kei cocked his head.

“What on earth for?” he asked, and he knew Tanaka knew it was really Kei asking what had happened. Tanaka slumped onto the couch and sighed.

“She broke up with me,” he said softly.

“I thought this was going to be, and I quote, ‘the date to end all dates’,” Kei said. “What happened?”

“I guess I moved too fast for her, or something. Maybe I was too loud, or too much, ya know? I’m a lot to handle.” Kei’s heart clenched in his chest and he resisted the urge to say what was on his mind.

Instead, he asked, “How did you end up dripping wet?”

“She pushed me into a fountain,” Tanaka said, his voice small.

“Tanaka-senpai, that’s not you being the problem,” Kei said, trying to keep his anger in check. “That’s a monstrous thing to do to someone who’s just trying to show you a good time. You weren’t being a creep, I guarantee it. You’re-” he cut himself off, trying to formulate it in a better, less dangerous way. “You’ve always seemed like a gentleman to me.”

“It had to be me,” Tanaka argued. “She must not have felt, I dunno, safe or something. Something I did made her feel that way.”

“I doubt it,” Kei said.

“What makes you so sure?” Tanaka was looking up at Kei like whatever Kei’s answer was, Tanaka would take it as gospel.

Kei looked at Tanaka, at the blond fuzz growing on his head, the serious light in his eyes, the straight line of his nose. He thought of a thousand times they had been together, just like this, just talking on Kei’s couch. He thought of all the times Tanaka had made him want to laugh, made him want to scream, made him want to fly. He thought of Tanaka’s bravery, and how it made Kei want to be brave right along side him.

“Because,” he said, then pushed the rest of it out before he could stop himself. “If you did, I would never have fallen in love with you.”

He stared resolutely straight ahead. He could feel Tanaka’s eyes on him, appraising. Then, Tanaka snorted and turned his eyes away.

“Whatever, Tsukki,” he said, and it was Kei’s turn to look at him.

Heartbreak crushed his ribcage and he nodded.

“If you need a place to stay,” he said, and winced at how little control he had over the wobble in his voice, “my couch is open. But I’m going back to bed.”

He was gone before Tanaka could say another word, tears streaming down his face before he could even get to the bedroom door.

Ryuunosuke lay awake on Tsukishima’s couch, miserable. It was bad enough that he had been dumped and thrown into a fountain. But he had slogged all the way over here to the one place he’d thought he could find comfort, only to be laughed at.

He had liked the girl. He loved Tsukishima.

It was a distinction that had gotten him in trouble on more than one occasion. Tsukishima had come so far from their high school days, becoming confident, and, dare Ryuunosuke say it, happy in himself. He didn’t cut people down for no reason anymore. So for him to be so cruel with his knife-smile and his words, about something Ryuunosuke had tried so hard to hide from him? It must have really disgusted him, this feeling in Ryuunosuke’s chest.

Dawn came and went, and still Tsukishima did not come out of his room. He must have been waiting for Ryuunosuke to take his pathetic little feelings and leave. So Ryuunosuke, after cleaning up his makeshift bed, pulling his clothes out of the dryer, and setting the breakfast he’d made Tsukishima in the microwave, he did just that.

Or at least, he started to. But as soon as he opened the door, another door in the apartment opened as well, and, damn Ryuunosuke for a fool, but he turned to look.

Tsukishima had been crying, and heavily. His eyes were red, his cheeks were stained, his nose was still running. He looked up at Ryuunosuke like a deer looked at a hunter, stopping in his tracks.

“I thought you were gone.” Tsukishima’s voice was rusty, another sign pointing to a long night spent in tears.

“Tsukishima?” Ryuunosuke asked, letting the door close slowly. “Are- are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Tsukishima tried for abrasive, but he only managed pathetic. Ryuunosuke took a step toward him, and he didn’t take a step back. It was all the invitation Ryuunosuke needed to walk up to him and tug him down into a hug.

“What is it?” he asked, stroking his hand up and down Tsukishima’s spine. Tsukishima burst into tears. “Tell me,” Ryuunosuke said, as softly as he could manage.

“I can’t,” Tsukishima croaked. “I already did.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t understand,” Ryuunosuke said. “Is it something I did? How can I make it better?”

“You don’t want to,” Tsukishima sobbed. He tried to pull himself out of Ryuunosuke’s hold, but when Ryuunosuke remained firm for just a second, he slumped back into him.

“I would do anything for you,” Ryuunosuke said quietly, but he knew Tsukishima heard. “I would do anything to make you feel okay. To make you smile, just a little.”

“You can’t do this,” Tsukishima insisted.

“Why don’t you tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of whether or not I can do it, hm?”

Tsukishima shook his head again, sobbing, his knees buckling. Ryuunosuke caught him and led them both slowly over to the couch, making sure Tsukishima’s Bambi legs were stable enough to get them there. He pulled Tsukishima down with him, tucking him under his arm and holding him close while he cried.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Ryuunosuke commented. “Whatever it is, it can’t be this important.”

“You’ve always been this important,” Tsukishima whispered.

“What do you mean, me?” Ryuunosuke asked. “I’m not important, we all know that.”

Tsukishima sat up, a fire in his teary eyes. “Don’t you dare,” he growled. “I don’t know how many times I have to beat it into your thick skull that you are the most important person in the world.” He slumped. “I’m getting tired, Tanaka-senpai. I don’t know if I can take it much longer.”

“I don’t understand,” Ryuunosuke said, a little helplessly. “Tsukki, tell me what’s really going on.”

“I told you last night,” Tsukishima snapped. “It’s okay if you don’t love me back, but don’t expect me to be over it just like that.”

“Love you ba- Tsukki, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ryuunosuke said. “You know I love you. Everyone knows I love you. The girl who dumped me in a fountain knew I loved you. Hell, even Kageyama knows I love you, and he’s dense as a cinder block.” Tsukishima had that deer-and-hunter look again, just for a moment, before his face hardened into a mask of anger.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Tsukki, I don’t understand,” Ryuunosuke insisted. “You were the one making fun of me last night. I haven’t told you anything you don’t already know.” Tsukishima went quiet then, and Ryuunosuke cast around for something - anything - to say. “Look,” he said after a long moment, “if you want me to leave you alone, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you all the space you need. But I need you to give me space, too, enough to get over you. And I can’t do it if I think- if there’s a chance-” Ryuunosuke cut off, looking down and snorting with frustration. “Just. Promise me you don’t love me, and I’ll leave you alone.

“Is that what you want me to say?” Tsukishima asked. “I don’t know if I can lie to you like that.”

“It’s not a lie, though, is it?” Ryuunosuke asked. “No one falls in love with me. Sure, my friends love me, but that’s it. I’m best friend material, not boyfriend material, and maybe someday I’ll be okay with that. But it’s gonna take time.”

“You are the only person I have ever fallen in love with, so don’t you dare make fun of that,” Tsukishima growled. “You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, and if you just want to be my friend, I can handle that. But don’t go around pretending like you’re less than you are.”

It was Ryuunosuke’s turn to stare. He knew what it sounded like when Tsukishima spat the truth through gritted teeth. He knew what it looked like when Tsukishima said the last thing he wanted to. He knew what it felt like when Tsukishima was so honest it hurt. Laughter bubbled in Ryuunosuke’s stomach and he fell forward onto Tsukishima’s shoulder.

“Oh my god,” he said softly. “Oh my god.”

“What.” Tsukishima snarled.

Ryuunosuke looked up at him, and he knew he had gone starry-eyed. He draped his arms across Tsukishima’s shoulders and grinned smarmily at him. “You like me,” he said.

“Not for much longer,” Tsukishima said.

“I like you,” Ryuunosuke said, as though he hadn’t heard Tsukishima. “We like each other.”

“Now I know you’re making fun of me.” But there was uncertainty in Tsukishima’s eyes, a kind of want that Ryuunosuke knew well. Ryuunosuke leaned up onto his knees and paused a heartbeat away from Tsukishima’s lips.

“I’m not,” he said seriously, staring into Tsukishima’s golden eyes. “I am absolutely, one-hundred-and-fifty percent, completely and totally honest right now. I love you, Tsukishima Kei, and I’m going to kiss you now, until you get the message.”

And he did just that.

#hq #Haikyuu!!#TanaTsukki #Wordly Stuff #MilWordY Ficlets #Crow Son #Ultimate Senpai #ezzydean

14 notes · View notes

luniellar · 4 years

Text

Sorry Not Sorry - Chris Evans X Reader (One Shot)

Summary: Chris may be your boyfriend, but it sure doesn’t feel like so. You guys have been apart for months since he started his filming schedule again. Thankfully, Chris was finally coming back home tonight. A short fluffy and smutty one shot.

Warning: Smutty

Word Count: 2K

He was right. It was definitely colder now. I should have packed a “poofy” jacket.

Chris’ way of saying “poofy” as he pouted his lips together replayed in my head. What a dork.

I tucked my hands inside the pockets of my denim jacket and pressed my shoulders together to bundle up. The slim black work pants I was wearing provided minimal wind chill protection, but I forgot to do laundry last night and this was the only pair left. Unless I was planning to show up to a client meeting in jeans. I wasn't planning on losing my job anytime soon.

The sun was setting in the background and the sky was doing its magic again. Behind the historic building that towered the city, the pastel purple and pink hues splashed the late autumn sky. Every single purple and pink color was somewhere up there, even the ones that didn’t get a dorky crayola color named after it.

As I got to the steps of the apartment, my phone buzzed in the butt pocket. Darn it, my hands were just getting warmer.

“So sorry, but you are going to have to do dinner without me.”

With a soft sigh, I stuffed the phone with hands back in the tiny jacket pocket. The text clearly impacted my mood because I was annoyed at my stupid jacket pockets. Why did anyone even bother stitching a pocket if it was only going to fit a third of a normal human being’s hand?

“Just try to look at the bright side?” Chris’ voice echoed in my head.

Biting my lips, I ran through the positive scenarios of not having Chris around. No company for dinner meant that I could eat anything for dinner and get away with it. Thoughts of cinnamon toast crunch and frosted flakes ran through my mind as I seriously contemplated each option as I opened the front door of the apartment. The familiar, but faint scent of leftover morning coffee lingering hit my nose.

I dropped the keys on a small table by the door and dragged my body to the living room. I threw my work bag on the floor and immediately went over to the thermostat. Chris was going to kill me, but was it my fault that he was gifted with body heat and I wasn’t? I was always freezing and having Chris around was like having a personal space heater, but he hasn’t been around the past few months with all the filming he was getting back into. And, I was the master of guilt tripping him.

I grabbed my phone and texted back.

“I hate you, I miss my heater.”

I did. I really did.

I settled on frosted flakes for dinner because I was craving the cereal milk after a bowl of corn flakes. I also finished the last of the remaining oat milk in the fridge. You know how people say, TGIF? Well, in this case, thank god it’s Friday because our fridge needed restocking and I could finish that on the weekend.

When Chris wasn’t around, it was hard to find time to do anything. Without him, I resorted to what my life was like before he came into it. I resorted back to binge watching random Netflix documentaries and going to bed at 9pm. On days I felt extra adventurous, I would head out to the gym, but that was very rare. I rolled into the couch in the living room and laid there blankly staring at the plain ceiling.

Yesterday, I was hoping that around this time we would be getting take out for dinner and bet on who would orgasm first before the food arrived. Loser would have to wear their underwear to answer the delivery guy.

Last time we played, I gave him the best head ever and he lost before I even got fully undressed. But, he kept on arguing through the entire dinner how he purposefully lost because he didn’t need anyone seeing me in my underwear. Sure, Chris. Whatever you say.

I rolled to the side and faced empty TV screen. I thought I had turned the TV on, but I must have dreamt of doing that because I fell asleep after the last blink in the sweet memories of us.

“Y/N”

I eyes were too heavy to lift as I was still coming out of the sleep haze, but I knew that voice. My heart was already thumping, it recognized it too.

“Babe,” he whispered. This time his warm breath tickled my ears. His lips pressed against my forehead and I groaned.

“I hate you,” I muttered and rolled over to the otherside. My eyes were still pressed closed and I sure as hell was not going to wake up to greet him with happy arms. In my mind, he was a traitor.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He was always the first to apologize.

This was one thing I personally loved about him the most. Even in the worst of the fights, even when I knew I was in the wrong, he was the level-headed being who had the mental stability to pause and apologize. Sometimes, I just want to fight and crush everything we built together, but he would never allow that. I don’t know what I would do if one day he didn’t apologize. I would take that as his way of breaking up.

I didn’t answer him back and I heard some rustling behind me. Chris let out a soft grunt as I heard his body touch the carpet. His hand ran through my hair softly. I opened my eyes, but I kept my eyes forward. The living room was pitch dark and the only source of light was the moonlight that came in through the apartment balcony glass doors.

“I missed you,” he said softly still playing with my hair.

“I didn’t,” I replied, trying to sound cold as possible.

I heard him chuckle and the familiar sound instantly warmed up my heart. “Huh, I definitely have a text here somewhere about how you miss me.”

“Chris! How dare you use that-” I ragingly turned around and met his sapphire blue eyes that still glowed in the darkness. I forgot the rest of my raging sentence.

He smiled and moved his hand to caress my face. “There she is.”

I looked at him completely speechless. He was wearing a baseball cap that framed his face perfectly. The moonlight hit his high cheekbones and the square jawline that I loved kissing was glowing and mocking me. His long eyelashes that were too good to be real on a human tore my heart apart and pieced it back together again. I had to fight the urge to grab on to his face and press mine against it.

“She’s mad at you,” I managed to get out with all the thoughts screaming inside my head.

“She still loves me.” He replied like how someone would answer “yes” to the question if the Earth was round.

“She does not,” I lied.

“She does.” There it was again.

“Actually, she wants to go back to sleep. That way, she doesn’t have to look at your face.”

His smile turned into a full grin. “You are so fucking cute when you are lying.”

I felt my cheeks growing hotter. No, Y/N. Chris is the enemy. Remember, Chris is the enemy. I pressed my lips together and narrowed my eyes at him.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered like we were playing footsie underneath the Thanksgiving dinner table.

I couldn’t resist that.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head forward and felt his soft lips against mine. When our mouths opened, I tasted coffee in his breath. Hey, I needed the caffeine kick. Even though I was positive it didn’t work like that. My tongue found his and playfully teased around it. When he pulled away first, I was a tiny bit upset. Okay, I was very upset, but I sure wasn’t going to show him that.

He clearly saw the discontent on face and smiled a sly smile. “God, I missed your taste.”

“I missed yours more,” I argued.

His eyebrows arched at my desperate thirst response. “You know what else I missed the taste of?”

Then, his eyes shifted across the couch. His eyes looked in the direction of my legs, more specifically, the space between them. He slowly got up from the carpet and sat on the edge of the couch. He slipped his hand into my plain boybrief pjs and his finger grazed my cotton underwear. I already knew I was soaking wet just an inch lower from where his hand rested.

Keeping his eyes glued on mine, he slowly moved his fingers until I felt the warmth of his hand through my cotton underwear. I let out a soft moan from my throat that I couldn’t even control. This wasn’t fair. I wanted him so much.

I reached out a hand to grab a hold of his forearm. Underneath my grip, I felt the tensing of his individual muscle fibers against my skin, twitching and fighting the urge to rip off my underwear.

“Hey,” he spoke and his velvet voice echoed around the empty walls of our tastefully decorated minimalistic apartment.

“Yeah,” I replied with as my mind was going crazy about the fact that he was really trying to tease me.

“How many licks does it take to get to the center of a lollipop?”

There was a strange moment of silence before we both erupted into laughter. Our happy sounds were echoing around the entire floor. Other than the fact that this might have been the worst “let’s have sexy time” comment he said, I treasured moments like this. These were the times that lingered around my memories for a long, long time.

I got up from the couch and tore his hand away. “Okay, Mr. Evans. You definitely hit an all time low with that comment. It really sucks out all the intimacy.”

He moved his body closer to mine and kissed my cheek. “Ironic, it was supposed to get me sucking your pussy.”

The way he said pussy sent chills down my spine. I was getting ready to jump on him any moment now. “I mean technically… you can still do that,” I replied, nonchalantly.

He smiled and pressed his lips against mine. Our lips went at each other like we were in high school again trying to show off who was the better kisser. It was sloppy, wet, messy, and a lot of biting. It was still perfect. By the time he pulled away, we were both panting to catch our breaths. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and planted a sweet peck on my neck. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he already knew the cue. His arms dug underneath my back and knees. He effortlessly got up from the couch, holding me close to his chest.

I looked up at him speechless as he casually walked me through the hallways and kicked the bedroom door open. It was dark here too, minus the moonlight filtering through our bedroom window placed on either sides of the bed. He walked over to our California king bed and gently placed me down.

I bit my lip as he stood by the edge of his bed. He dropped his cap first, revealing a messy bed of hair underneath. In one quick motion, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. His pale skin glowed. The moonlight reflected off his broad shoulders and firm chest.

My heart wouldn’t shut up.

His body snaked over time and pinned me down between his legs. Each hand tightly gripped my wrists. The heat from his body was pouring down mine. He arched his neck and placed a kiss on my forehead. Then, he moved over to the tip of my nose, my lips, my chin, and then down on my neck. His warm breath tickled me.

“I’m sorry for being late,” he paused.

“But, I’m not apologizing for how I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

17 notes · View notes

snake-noodles · 4 years

Text

Hidden Away - Chapter 5

TW: Body horror, blood, horror elements, gun violence, dissociation, implied depression, self harm, major character injury, sensory overloads, panic attacks/meltdowns, arguing, self deprication.

Words: 11,000

Read on AO3!

Growing up, Roman always had high hopes for the future. He wanted to be an actor, or a singer, or an artist, or maybe even a model. He wanted to be known. Make a statement, leave himself in the history books to be talked about even after he died.

His brother was his biggest rival. Though Remus would have rather made movies than play in them. He always made crazy stories, and even though he’d never admit it, Roman was jealous. He was more of an artist than a writer. He can’t have everything, but he sure wishes he could.

It was selfish of him, but he knew that. He wants the things he cannot have. He envied how Remus was so careless. Reckless, careless, and happy . He did things without thinking of the consequences, never thinking about how others see him. Roman can’t help but want more and more. Envy and greed. He didn’t want to be like this, but he never felt good enough. Even though he was the ‘loved one’ of the two, he always wanted what Remus had. He was never enough. Swallowed by his own self hatred, greed, and impossibly high standards. He had to be the perfect person.

And for a while, he thought he had that.

Until he didn’t.

Everything had been perfect. He was handsome, he had a following, fans, and great friends. He nailed every audition. And finally- finally - he was going to get the role of a lifetime. He would change his life forever, become the star he had always dreamed of being. He was so, so close. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing over his goal, before his tower came crumbling underneath him, and he had never been further from his dreams ever in his life. Now all he could do was stare at the ceiling and dream of a starry night he’d never see again.

It was a dark and stormy night. The rain was pouring down mercilessly. It’s been raining for a few days straight now, and the storm was brewing, no signs of calming down any time soon. But despite the heavy rain, it seemed that nothing could dampen the actor’s spirits.

As Roman arrived at his home, pulling into the driveway, he resisted the urge to immediately scream and shout with joy. But his hands shook at his sides with excitement, a big smile on his face. He looks up to the sky, letting the clouds shower him. He laughs, holding his arms out. He’d done it! He’s finally getting to the top.

He then broke into a run, nearly slipping on the pavement as he rushes to the porch. He didn’t notice how all of the lights were off inside. He fumbles with his keys, missing the hole a few times from how much his hands were shaking. Once he gets it, he bursts open the door.

“Remus! I’m back! I’ve got the callback!” He calls, looking into the dark house. He walks in when he doesn’t get an answer, assuming the other was working or fast asleep. He rolls his eyes. Typical.

As he closes the door behind him, a strange smell enters his nose. He hopes his brother didn’t bring in another wild animal, or try and ��cook’ again. But it was a different smell, and stung his eyes a bit. He scrunches his nose, blinking a few times. It wasn’t unusual for Remus to concoct something absolutely disgusting, but something didn’t feel quite right. He raises an eyebrow, flicking the lightswitch on.

His blood runs cold at what he sees. Like the lightswitch, all of his previous excitement flipped into dread and horror. Everything was going so well, of course it had to be smashed in front of him once everything was going great. But this…

It was like he entered a crime scene that had happened in his own home. What he thought to be a safe and warm place. It was jarring to see it be turned into what looked like a horror movie setup.

The yellow lights illuminate the entrance. Everything was a mess. Scratches and holes scattered the white walls, shards of glass and porcelain covered the wooden floor. Things were overturned, the china cabinet had been destroyed and left sharp shards everywhere, torn clothing and ripped out hair were left scattered about. And the blood… there was so much of it. Mostly on the floors, but some got on the walls and even a few splotches landed on the ceiling. There was a big puddle, and smeared blood indicating whoever was attacked had been dragged away.

His heart hammers in his chest, seeing the blood trail lead into the kitchen, his hand still clenched on the doorknob, his knuckles turning white. His breath catches in his throat and his body is rigid. He tries to reason with himself. Call the police and get away from the house. Text Remus. But he can’t bring himself to find his phone, legs moving by themselves and running into the kitchen that was just as- if not more- destroyed as the rest of the place, the back door ajar. The faucet was running, blood stains around the sink, the fridge was somehow knocked over, it’s contents smeared on the floor and mixing in with the blood. Plates and glasses were shattered, trash littered the floor. A window was broken, and the back door’s handle was barely hanging on, as if something had tried pulling it off, splinters of wood around it, and the same scratch marks all over the wood. Despite the red flags, he approaches the open door, seeing footprints in the mud outside, blood in the ground barely visible- it’d probably get washed away by the rain if he waited too long.

His mind jumps to every possible horrible conclusion. If this was some sick prank, Remus would have jumped out to scare him by now. In fact, his brother didn’t seem to even be in the house. The logical part of his brain tells him to check and make sure, but another voice tells him that his brother’s been kidnapped and he needs to go and find him. Somehow, he listened to that impulse instead of his rational thoughts. And he sprints like his life depends on it, practically screaming his brother’s name as he enters the heavy woods behind his home, vines and roots tripping him, twigs and branches catching on his clothes and leaving rips and small scratches. Thunder booms in the distance, loud and shaking through Roman’s skull and he follows nothing but the messy trail that was getting harder and harder to make sense of.

“Remus? Remus?! Where the hell are you?! ” He shouts, his throat sore. His lungs hurt, and his legs already feel numb. He has no idea where he is. He should have called the police. He chokes on a sob, his lungs desperately trying to get more air, but he continues running, even though it feels like he might just crumble like a paper ball.

The rain pouring down on him felt like hail, the intensity of the storm making his head and shoulders sore and his ears filled with the loud noise. He tries calling out more, but he doubts that his brother can even hear him from how loud the rain is. Or maybe it’s just him. He doesn’t really care.

It was already getting much darker, and he wanted to sob. He was no doubt completely lost now. And all he had as guidance were the shallow footprints that were slowly fading the longer he walked. Maybe they aren’t even footprints. Maybe he’s just seeing things. It’s too dark to really tell. The trees felt as though they were twisting and shifting, like they wanted Roman to get lost. All of his limbs feel sore, and he can’t tell if he’s even crying or not. He’s got a lot of scratches, but he can’t even feel them. His clothes were soaked, and he didn’t even realize he had been shivering. He’d definitely be getting sick.

He gasps for breath, leaning against a thick tree. Looking around, he could see nothing but thick forest. No sign of light or city to be seen. He stumbles, and resorts to walking. How far did Remus go? Was it even Remus he was following? He regrets leaving the house more and more with every step. He shudders, rubbing his arms.

God, he’s an idiot. He should have checked to make sure Remus was still there. He should have called the police. He should have texted Remus. But here he is, not knowing where he is. Of course things had to end up like this.

The forest was a dangerous force when it’s dark. He might not be able to find his way back. He’s not even sure how long he’s been running. Thick roots tripped him as he stumbled through the forest. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The trees reached high into the sky, a leaf roof covering the forest and shrouding everything in darkness. The branches reached out like arms, long, curling arms in every which way. The wood was old and twisted on itself, warping the bark.

He wants to go home. He’s exhausted, and mentally drained. He wants to cry.

He considers just turning back. Maybe he didn’t go as far as he thinks. But he stops in his tracks, hearing… something. He isn’t sure what it was, or if it was just in his head. It was hard to hear with the heavy rain, after all. Even though it was probably a stupid thing to do, he called out.

“Hello? Remus is that you?” He calls out, not sure if anyone would even be able to hear him. There’s tense silence for a moment, and for a second he thinks it was just his imagination. But he hears the noise again, and he’s not sure how he’d describe it. It was like different animals growling at the same time. Guttural and scratchy, as if they had been sore from overuse. Pained and angry, almost- but also scared. Or maybe he’s looking too far into it. His eyebrows furrow, and against his better judgment, he starts walking, and finds himself in a small clearing.

It was a small clearing in the forest, one you could easily walk past. The moon peeked through the leaves, the most light he’s seen since entering these woods. There were old stones covered in moss, and rotting wooden covered in fungus. And in the center laid… something not completely human.

It laid limp on the ground, a mass of different limbs and body parts. Like someone took apart different creatures and put them together all wrong. The anatomy of it was sickening to look at on its own. Some limbs too big or too small for the human torso, making them useless. The skin was torn around all of the new limbs, as if they had grown out of the body.

Fear coiled in his stomach, and he wanted to scream, run, do something . But all he could do was stand frozen. His heart hammered in his chest, and he takes a step back as it begins shifting. It looked up through unkempt hair, two green eyes staring at him, and Roman was scared for an entirely new reason, his own eyes widening.

“… Remus? ” His voice came out as barely even a whisper, his throat tightened. He shakily takes a step forward. “Oh my god…”

His brother was almost unrecognizable. His clothes were ripped to shreds and his skin was covered in dried blood, mud, and purple bruises. His mouth was forced open, a long tongue hanging out, probably too big to keep in his mouth. And rows and rows of sharp teeth.

Too many limbs.

He stumbles forward, to do something. Anything. Maybe he could help? He’s not sure how he’d even begin to help with something like this, but…

He lands on the ground next to his brother, not caring about the mud dirtying him. He stares at his brother for a few seconds, hands held up as he tries to figure out what to do. And he hugs him for the first time in what feels like years, not caring about the rain, or the mud, or anything else. His head floods with regret and guilt. He should have been a better brother, he should have hugged him more, included him more, talked to him more. He should have cared more.

He sobs, his body shaking as he chokes and hiccups. He feels guilty. He doesn’t know why- he didn’t do this to his brother, after all. But he wishes he could have stopped it, that he could’ve been there and tried to help him.

He just cries, it’s the first time he had cried in a while. He holds onto his brother like a lifeline.

He doesn’t know how long they sat like that. All he remembers is the peace being interrupted by a loud gunshot and a roaring cry, ringing through his ears. He’s barely even able to process what’s happening, time seeming to have sped up and leaving him dazed.

Looking up, there seemed to be… agents, maybe? They were surrounding them, guns locked onto his brother.

And his brother screamed, a painful sound of its own. Like nails on a chalkboard. He cringes, jaw clenching and shoulders tensing.

Then there’s more gunfire. More blood.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” He shouts, trying to do something- anything. His brother thrashes, as another bullet hits him, and he knocks Roman back.

He barely processed what was happening before he collided into the tree, the air getting knocked out of him and his vision spinning. His brain rattled in his skull and he wheezed, stumbling over on weak legs as he tried to desperately get some air into his lungs. He looks up, seeing his brother getting forced down onto the ground, chained and muzzled like an animal. His ears ring, and he wants to do something- but he can barely even move as his senses slip from him, and he collapses, the world slowly leaving him and having him swallowed by darkness.

He felt exhausted.

His body felt like lead, and the tips of his fingers were numb. He feels like he’s bleeding, but he knows he isn’t. He has to remind himself he’s in the present.

What can he feel… He can feel his sheets. Bedsheets. They’re soft, but thin. He can feel his pillow, and his hair. His hair feels damp.

What else?

He can hear the small humming of a fan, and the distant shuffling of what he assumes is Remus. He can smell some kind of scent, like the ones used in hotels to make the rooms nicer. He doesn’t remember buying any air freshener, but living with Remus he isn’t too confused by it.

He tries moving, starting with his fingers. They twitch a little, before he wiggles them out. It’s a slow process, but he regains himself, grounding himself back in reality. Back in the present.

He lets out a sigh, relaxing into the mattress. His body felt incredibly exhausted and sore. He remembers his nightmare. God, he’s glad it wasn’t real. It was so terrifying- it felt so real to him. He’ll need to see if Remus is free to hang out today. That’d be nice.

Slowly, he opens his eyes, before squinting, the light having been left on. Did he forget to turn the light off? He can’t remember. Slowly, he sits up, and immediately his heart is hammering in his chest.

Where the hell was he?

Was this a hospital? It seemed kind of like one. Did he get injured? What if the dream was real? No, no that can’t be right. That’d be silly! He shakes his head. Maybe he got injured and he just can’t remember. He doesn’t feel any extreme pain, only exhaustion. If he can’t remember, does that mean it’s a brain problem? Oh, god.

He bites his lip, picking at his fingernails. Thinking about it is only making him worry even more.

He hears the clicking of the door opening, interrupting him from his thoughts and he looks over quickly. A man walks in, a warm smile on his face, clipboard at his side.

“Oh, you’re awake! That’s good.” He gives a smile.

“… Where am I? Why am I here?” He asks, voice small from how sore his throat felt. He grimaces at his own voice, a hand rubbing at his neck and he sits up some more, ignoring how sore his muscles felt.

“Oh! You were injured during that encounter in the woods. You’ve also got a fever from being out in the rain for so long!” He lightly scolds, wagging his finger.

“Encounter…? No, no. That was… That was a dream, wasn’t it?” He mumbled, looking down at the bedsheets. The man- doctor?- blinks, tilting his head.

“A dream? No, it was very real. You’ve got scratches all over you if you need proof!” He smiles, adjusting his glasses.

Roman shudders, eyes wide as he tries to process this new information. All of that was real? His brother was turned into a monster and he was beaten and chained down.

“Where am I? Where’s Remus? Is he okay?” He asks, voice frantic as he tries to get off of the bed, but the man pushes him back down.

“You’re not going anywhere. Not until you rest some more. I will explain everything, but first, you need to relax.” The man says. Roman isn’t sure why, but he suddenly feels tired. Maybe it was his calming energy. Maybe it was something else. But whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. He takes a few breaths and sighs, nodding his head. The man smiles.

“Good. Try and get some more sleep, alright? I need to talk with some people.” He says, and without waiting for an answer, he leaves the room and the lights dim seemingly by themselves.

He should be panicking. He should be rushing to find his brother. But something kept him in his bed. In fact, even his thoughts were starting to calm down. He feels like he should be concerned about this, but he doesn’t think too hard about it.

The room itself was nice. It was still obviously a hospital room- or he’s assuming it’s a hospital room- but it feels more… cozy. It was a strange sensation. He sighs, sinking back into the mattress. He didn’t actually realize how tired he was. Distantly, he wonders how long he was even out for.

But he’s out like a light in a matter of minutes.

Emile stands outside of the room, smiling when the patient falls asleep. It’ll be hard to explain everything to him. It always is. But it’s better than leaving the poor man in the dark. Plus, he was programmed to be as comforting as possible. He’s a much better fit than any of the other doctors, AIs, or sephiras! But maybe that’s putting himself a little too highly.

It was a little saddening, though. The poor man was stuck here all because of their rules. He wonders what job he’ll be assigned.

He hums when he gets a message.

> Message from A.

> “Emile. Has the patient been secured?”

A smile plays at his lips.

> “Yes! I still need to break the news to him, but I am letting him regain his energy. I assume the abnormality has it’s own room as of now?”

That was a fun thing AIs could do. Communicate without having to move a finger. He walks down the halls, going through his notes.

> “Yes. It’s identification code is F-06-58(W). I will assign a job to him myself after you inform him. Message me when you break the news.”

> “Yes sir!”

After sorting out his notes, he quickly memorizes the information. Everything he needs to know about the human. He speculates this one will be harder to keep… He felt bad having to keep these humans locked up. But they were the rules. And having people out in the world knowing about abnormalities wouldn’t be safe. Or at least that’s what A tells him.

Roman seems to be somewhat famous. It wouldn’t be long until his disappearance is spread through the news. It seemed like a bad move to keep him here, but A was the boss. Kind of. Technically Thomas was the boss, but he hasn’t entered the building in a while. So A has been taking care of things. He hasn’t been doing a bad job, either. Things are running relatively smoothly, but he has noticed an increase in patients at his door.

A lot of the people who are hired aren’t the best fit for this job. They’re too weak. Sometimes physically. Sometimes mentally. Sometimes both. They’d be moving jobs a lot. There’s a lot more janitors and secretaries than actually needed. It’s hard to find good fits for the main work- the abnormalities.

A said he would work it out eventually. Emile doesn’t know what to think of it. He’s not allowed to question it.

He sorts his files completely, and he smiles. He gives himself a mental pat on the back for doing such a good job today! He was one of the more positive AIs. He was programmed to be calming and welcoming to his human patients. The others were just programmed to do their jobs. But A is the only AI that doesn’t have emotions. He’s also the most developed.

He doesn’t think relationships are important, but because of how they were programmed, they acted mostly human- making connections fairly easily. Emile liked to think he was friends with most of the other AIs.

But, oh, he’s getting off track! He shakes his head, quickly sending a request for more medications they’re lacking in. He needs to get the new package as well! He doesn’t want to get an earful from A now, does he?

He gets back to work.

It was hard to believe, really. That his life has been taken away like this. Taken away, and then telling him to work for his kidnappers. That’s what they are. They took him from everything. All he has left from his home are some clothes, toiletries, his notebook and a few trinkets. They raided his home and took what they thought he needed. And of course he needed his clothes and such… but this isn’t a way of living. This isn’t living.

He had already shed many tears over this. He was angry, sad, frustrated. It was all so much to process in such a short amount of time. And now they expect him to sit still and be an obedient little slave to their disgusting system.

He sat in his room. He shared a room with someone now. He hasn’t shared his room with someone since he was a kid. He didn’t even know who he was sharing this depressing room with. Whoever they were, they weren’t here yet. That much he’s glad for. It would be embarrassing to be caught weeping over this. But how could he not mourn? His life was now in shambles at his feet. Everything he had tried to achieve smashed in front of him. His brother is a monster. And his freedom was forcibly taken from him.

He sighs, folding his last shirt and putting it in his small closet. He wanted to scream, throw a tantrum. He should be more upset- and he is! But he’s so exhausted. The most exhausted he had ever felt in his life. He wants to get angry, but even trying to get upset made him feel so incredibly tired. It felt as if there was a hole where his heart used to be. Maybe he’s just being dramatic. But that’s truly how it felt. His life was taken from him. And he’d eventually die in this prison.

He’d die here.

Death… He never really thought about death until now. He had only dreams for success. He never had to think about it much. But… He’d die here. A cold pressure weighs him down. So heavy he feels like he’s caving in on himself. He doesn’t want to die here. He can’t be forgotten here.

He balls his fists, lowering his head. He can’t do this. This is too much. He doesn’t want this. Why did any of this happen? How did Remus become something like that? How did they even find him? Why does he have to be trapped here?

A throbbing pain shoots through his arm, and it takes him a moment to realize he had punched the wall. He blinks slowly, retracting his shaking arm. His fingers jittered, knuckles already starting to bruise. He feels like he should be shocked. Scared. Feel something. But instead, he doesn’t feel anything at the moment. He flexes his fingers out, holding his wrist before balling his fist again, punching the wall again, pain biting at him. It hurt.

Why is he doing this? He isn’t sure. He doesn’t want to hurt himself. Or at least he doesn’t think he wants to. The blood on his knuckles and the wall suggest otherwise.

He was overcome with the overwhelming urge to just break his arm. The thought came so suddenly. He should have been bothered by it, but instead he just stared at his arm, the thought dancing around his head.

Instead, he resorts to punching the wall once more, before standing up, going to the small bathroom. There must be a med kit, right? He rummages through the cabinets, not really thinking as he wraps up his hand. There’s so much to think about. A lot of things he’d rather not think about. So instead, he shuts down, his body running on auto-pilot. He flexes his fingers once more when he finishes wrapping his hand up. It still hurts, but at least he’s not ignoring it completely.

He’s not sure how much time has passed since then. Maybe minutes, maybe hours, or maybe it’s been only a breath. He snaps out of his trance when he hears the door open. He blinks, looking over to see a man enter the room, staring at Roman before quickly looking away. It was just then Roman realized he probably looks like an absolute mess. But he can’t bring himself to care, or even be embarrassed. What’s the point?

His roommate didn’t seem any better than him anyway. With such dark eyebags and skin so pale. He was incredibly thin, and Roman wondered how much this guy eats. He looked maybe a few years younger than him, and he can’t help but wonder how or why this guy ended up here.

“Um…” He starts, but pauses, not entirely sure how to continue. The other looks over, nervously shifting in place.

“Oh. Hi.” He says simply, body stiff. Roman offers a small smile.

“I’m Roman.” He says, tilting his head a little.

“Y-Yeah… I figured as much. You're… kind of famous.” He coughs, looking away, shifting again. “Uh… Virgil. My name. Virgil Strange.”

“Virgil Strange.” He repeats, smiling. “How’d you end up with such a mysterious name, Mr. Strange?”

Roman laughs and Virgil huffs out a laugh, blowing some hair out of his face. “Chose it myself.”

“Ah.” He nods, leaning back. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah.” He nods, shuffling.

He doesn’t mention Roman’s bandaged hand, or the blood on the wall.

Virgil was a good roommate. A little difficult to deal with at times, but he was nice. They had similar interests, but they had differing opinions also. They often bickered. It made being here a little less terrible. Talking to Virgil made him temporarily forget the situation he’s in. Roman likes to call them friends. They have a bond he can’t quite explain.

It felt familiar.

And then he was given his first job. And of course, his first job was his own brother. It was scary. Apparently he wouldn’t cooperate with any other employee, so they’re deciding to see if Roman would be any different.

Roman sat in his room, finishing up a miniscule task that doesn’t even really matter. He doesn’t have a proper job here. Not like he wants one. Working for his captors is the last thing he wants. But he may be forced to, a thought he doesn’t like. On one hand, he’d like to live longer, but on the other death might be merciful compared living like this.

He didn’t like thinking about that.

Huffing, he leans back in his bed, staring up at his ceiling. This room was nothing like the one at home. His room was magical, with fairy lights and so many decorations. Paintings and books, stuffed animals and soft pillows. He may be an adult, but he longed to cuddle up with a teddy bear, reading a nice book next to a window.

This room just made him depressed. Metal walls, no windows. It was like a prison cell. Sure, he had books and some trinkets, as well as his notebook to doodle if he needed, but… It’s not a place to live in. And even with the lights on, the room felt so dark and dreary. Maybe that was the intent. He doesn’t know.

He wasn’t sure what time it was. He doesn’t have the best mental clock, and having no windows didn’t really help. There was a calendar but he never checked it regularly, and he didn’t cross off the days. So he doesn’t even know if it’s still April. He stopped counting after a week. The days started blurring together. He feels like he may as well just rot into nothing but bones.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes. He was so tired. Even though he spent the majority of his time sleeping, he was just so tired. He was tempted to just get under the covers and fall asleep. It’s not like he had anything better to do.

But, right as he decides that it wouldn’t hurt to sleep some more, he hears a buzz. He sighs, kicking off his blankets and sitting at the edge of the bed for a moment. He tries to give himself some hope. Maybe it’s Virgil. Maybe it’s some good news. He doesn’t fully believe either of those, but he stands up anyway, already missing the warmth.

He goes to the small desk, one he and Virgil shared. Though Virgil usually did things while sitting in his bed, so Roman was the one who used it the most.

He picks up his tablet and swipes his hand to see who had messaged him. And he pauses.

Wasn’t A the boss of this company? Should he be nervous? Scared? He blinks slowly, sitting down in his squeaky chair, staring at the name. He hasn’t opened the message yet.

He knows little to nothing about A. He doesn’t even know what A looks like. He’s heard some things from Virgil, about how the AI doesn’t possess emotions.

He takes in a breath, and opens up the message.

> “Roman Prinz,

It has come to my attention that F-06-58(W), your brother, has been uncooperative with employees. He has injured and even killed some.

Since we have given you enough time to recover, we would like you to join the Control Team- the team your brother is being held by. We believe that because you are related to him, he will not affect you as badly as the others.

You are not allowed to deny this offer.

Your uniform and tools will be sent to you within the day. You should expect a weapon, files, medication, a clipboard, and a watch that will give you your assignments.

The Control Team Sephira, Remy, will teach you how to use your supplies, and how to better survive when working with abnormalities.

Best of luck.

-A”

… This was not what he was expecting. He isn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe he thought they wouldn’t be this cruel. He has to study his own brother like he’s an experiment? A project? It’s cruel. The identification code is just adding to it. Taking away what is left of Remus’s humanity, reducing him to a creature that needs to be studied.

He clenches his fist and closes his eyes. He didn’t want to follow their rules. He didn’t want to do their dirty work. He wanted to stomp and scream and fight them.

But there was a part of him that still feared dying. His self preservation stopping him from wanting to fight this horrible system. It was so hard. He hates this. He just wants to go home.

As promised, his things were delivered to him. A nice uniform, the files, clipboard, medication, watch and… The weapon. A gun. It felt too heavy in his hands. He hated the feeling. He didn’t want to get used to the feeling. He just hoped he would never have to pull the trigger. It didn’t feel any better in his coat.

He wasn’t sure what the medication was for. The prescription names weren’t any he recognized, and their side effects weren’t even listed. Needless to say, he didn’t really trust taking these.

The idea of studying his brother didn’t sit right with him for many reasons. Even if it’s his brother, what if he’s not in the right state of mind? What if Remus hurts him? He wants to trust his brother, but he has no idea what to expect. It’s scary, really. He doesn’t want to be scared.

It was all so unfamiliar to him. The elevator shook as he descended, it made him feel uneasy, like the floor might collapse under him at any moment.

The hallways were better, but he still felt dread building up inside of him. He seemed to be on the right floor. They all seemed so similar, the only differences being the lobby areas for the different teams. The lobby had a soothing aura to it, but he was still incredibly shaken. He could die. He’s going to die in this building. He swallows, a lump tight in his throat. He’s terrified. He holds his hands behind his back to keep them from shaking.

He’s supposed to learn stuff from the… sephira? Is that what it was called? Maybe he’ll just sit down and wait. The sephira is probably busy.

As he sits down, his foot automatically starts tapping, not that he even noticed. His foot always taps when he sits. Though today he was especially jittery- again, not like he noticed, his brain going in a hundred different directions at once. He isn’t sure when he began to space out. Maybe it started the second he entered the lobby. He’s not sure.

But he slowly came back to reality, and it took him a moment to realize there was someone in front of him. He blinks, looking up.

“Can I help you?” He asks. The man laughs, crossing his arms.

“Uh, more like can I help you . I’m here to teach you the ropes, but you’re over here staring out into space.” The sephira- Remy, he’s guessing- laughs.

This wasn’t what he had expected. The AI was so human that it made him a little uncomfortable. Not to mention the attire. He didn’t look like a professional at all, even though he was quite literally made for this job. He wore his suit jacket casually, a plain t-shirt underneath, and sunglasses despite being inside. He looked like a guy you’d find in a coffee shop or a house party. He was a weird combination of the two.

“Listen, I know I’m pretty, but get your eyes off the goods for a second.” He snaps his fingers, and Roman looks up, biting his lip from embarrassment. “Good. As you probably already know, I’m Remy, the Control Team Sephira. Now stand up! No time to sit around, let’s get things rolling! Chop chop, we don’t have all day!”

The AI’s energy actually managed to calm him down some. He feels like without a more positive energy, he’d absolutely crumble. He’s glad he got Remy. He’s not sure what the others are like, but if they’re anything like A, he doesn’t want to find out. Remy was so… human. Animated and chatty- you probably wouldn’t even second guess him if he were released in the public. It was fascinating, but also terrifying. He wonders why they’re so human in the first place.

“Your job is pretty easy, really. When you’re asked to talk to an abnormality, all you need to do is go in there, talk to them, get notes, and then get the hell out. You’ll send notes to A so he can better study the abnormality and give people useful information to better deal with them.” Remy explains as they walk, waving his hands around as he speaks.

“Your gun will be for protection, mostly. If an abnormality gets out, try to suppress it with your weapon. If a co-worker loses their sanity, do the same. You can suppress an employee without killing them, but it’s difficult.” He looks over. “You’re following what I’m saying, right?”

“Yeah…” Roman nods, eyebrows furrowed together. It was complicated but it seemed simple enough.

“Cool, cool. Your medicine will help with pain and steady your mental state. The vents already pump out gas that calms people’s minds, but the medicine is just an extra precaution.” He hums, pausing and whirling around to look at Roman. “Any questions?”

He wasn’t sure. This was all so much at once. Without really thinking, he shakes his head.

“Okay! Get to work, then!” He pats his back before walking off. Roman watches, before feeling a buzz at his wrist. He looks down, seeing that he had an assignment on the small screen.

Work with F-06-58(W) … Or, his brother. Of course they’d give him the hardest job first. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, taking a moment before calming down somewhat. He wasn’t outwardly panicking, but he was incredibly nervous- he was just a good actor. He doesn’t want to be afraid of his brother.

He steps into the long hallway, the metal under his feet clanking whenever he takes a step. He hated the noise. It made him grimace, and he wanted to rub and scratch his arms at the noise. He isn’t even sure why it’s bothering him this bad. But the sound was too loud in his ears.

He nearly walks past the door, taking a few steps back to look at it. His brother was in there, being treated like an experiment. And he was being forced to treat him like an experiment. And he was complying . That thought made him sick. A part of him yelled this wasn’t his fault, it he doesn’t obey they might kill him. But another part whispers in his ear that Remus wouldn’t hesitate like this. Remus would fight for Roman if their roles were swapped, so why isn’t he doing the same? He wanted to throw up.

A had said he had already injured and killed other employees. Even if they’re brothers, what if Remus is too far gone to recognize him? What will he do then? Will he die?

Gathering up all of his courage, he opens the door and steps into the cell.

The cell was small and plain. And Remus laid, chained down and a muzzle on his face. He still had wounds that weren’t quite healed, ugly scars and raw skin around his new limbs. Looking at it all made him feel sick.

Slowly, his brother looks up, the chains moving as he lifts up his head. Roman wanted to cry.

“God… What happened to you, Remus?” He asks, voice so soft as he takes a step forward. All Remus can do is stare. His muzzle keeps his jaw shut, and Roman imagines how painful it must be. He remembers all of the teeth and his long tongue. It must hurt to force it closed- his jaw is still human it seemed. He wonders if Remus could even speak without the muzzle. He couldn’t even fit his tongue in his mouth… Remus instead growls and he lowers his head. It’s then that Roman realizes he’s crying.

Roman hasn’t seen him cry in years. He’s had meltdowns and tantrums, but it was rare to see the man shed tears. He walks forward, landing in front of him. He holds up his arms where Remus can see them.

“Can I touch you?” He asks softly. Remus doesn’t respond, only curling up more on himself. Roman slowly puts a hand on the human shoulder, before pulling his brother into a hug. Remus was cold, so cold he almost flinched at the touch. But slowly, he relaxes, and closes his eyes. Closing his eyes, he can almost convince himself he’s just consoling Remus over something.

It reminds him of when they were kids. How they’d hold each other like lifelines whenever something bad had happened. Whenever one of them got in trouble or got hurt. They had no one else to turn to after all. All they had was each other.

And it seems that it’s going to be that way again. All Remus had was him… he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that.

Roman forgets about his job for a while.

It was nearing 7 months, he thinks.

Virgil has been acting strange.

Not that he wasn’t weird already, but he’d been more jumpy as of late. Flinching at every sudden movement, and sneaking out at night when he thinks Roman is still sleeping.

He’s barely talking anymore. Not even to Patton. It was worrisome. And even worse, he refused to talk about it, even though they’d tried bringing it up so many times.

Virgil was smart. Scarily so. You wouldn’t think so looking at him, but his knowledge competed with Logan’s. He seemed to know things most other employees didn’t. But despite being smart, he was bad at hiding his emotions. That’s what seperated Logan and Virgil, he thinks. Virgil was more emotional than Logan.

He’s been hiding things. Roman isn’t sure what it is he’s hiding. Or why he’d need to hide it. Obviously, it’s not his business, and Virgil can tell him whenever he’s ready. But at the same time, what if it’s important? What if Virgil’s in danger? What if he doesn’t trust Roman?

He tries not to get into it, he really does try, but it’s hard. His emotions take the better of him a lot of the time.

He stopped Virgil before he could leave the room, grabbing his arm. He knows the other hates being touched, and he feels bad for it, but stays put. Virgil stares at him, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Virgil. Please, I know you’ve been hiding something. I’ve tried asking you before, but you never answer… Are you in danger?” He asks, squeezing lightly.

Virgil swallows, eyes darting everywhere, before eventually landing on Roman.

“… I…” He starts, hesitating. There’s a beat of silence, his fingers twitching as he looks between the floor, his arm, and Roman. He wets his lips before continuing. “I can’t tell you… I will- I just… Can’t. Not here. Not now. But, I will tell you someday. I promise… I’ll be fine. I think… If everything works out, it’ll be fine.”

They stare at each other for a moment, before Roman sighs, letting go slowly, arm dropping to his side..

“… Okay. I just… worry about you, Virgil.” He says, looking at the ground and rubbing his arms. Virgil nods, looking down. He swallows, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket before speaking up.

“… If worst comes to worst… You’re smart. I trust you’ll figure things out.” He says. Roman isn’t sure what he means. “I gotta get to work. Sleep well.”

He leaves before Roman can say anything.

It seemed that things did not turn out fine like Virgil said they would. In fact, it was quite horrible. When he heard the news, he wanted to scream. He wanted to kick and scream and throw a tantrum. Why the hell is this happening?

Virgil was reported to have turned into an abnormality. Apparently he had gotten too close, and that’s when he was attacked.

Is this what he was talking about? But it doesn’t make any sense! Virgil would never let that happen. He’s way too careful. He’s too smart to make a mistake like that. It was weird. It didn’t feel right, what the company said about what happened.

Maybe he’s beginning to think like Virgil, but this didn’t feel right at all. Hell, he wasn’t even allowed to see him. He’s barely even allowed to mourn.

Patton must be taking it hard.

Roman sighs, looking at the empty bed at the other side of the room. They haven’t taken Virgil’s stuff out yet. He’s not sure if they will- since there’s a possibility he could be healed. He hopes they don’t take his things. It’d be far too lonely and dull in this room without it. Or maybe he’d feel lonely either way, knowing Virgil might not recover. He was already being treated as a test subject, and while they had said they tried to help, Roman isn’t too sure he believes that.

He was never allowed to touch Virgil’s stuff. Which was understandable. They respected each other’s privacy. But, now that Virgil was gone…

No, no, he can’t be thinking like that! He’s not gonna go through his friend’s stuff, that’s just weird and gross!

However, something tickled at the back of his mind. For some reason, he couldn’t tear his eyes off of the other’s bed. He’s not sure why. There was something… Something strange was happening, and he’s not sure what.

He had a strange feeling in his gut, his mind slowly tuning out like a radio, and it feels all too quiet, his heartbeat being the only thing he can hear. He’s not sure what’s happening, but something is wrong. He feels wrong. An almost sick feeling overtakes him.

He doesn’t move, he doesn’t look away. Its as if he were a TV on pause, not moving a muscle as his eyes stared at the purple bed.

Something isn’t right.

Slowly, he raises from where he’s sitting and walks to the other side of the room. It’s as if he’s being controlled. He doesn’t know why, but he immediately searches underneath the bed.

At first, he finds nothing. Until he notices a seam in the floor. It’s so light and hardly there. You wouldn’t be able to find it unless you were looking for it, but he can feel it at his fingertips, the barely there seam in the floor. Furrowing his eyebrows, he digs his nails into it, and it takes a bit of force to get it open, his nails hurting when he finally gets it. Inside was what seems like a small compartment. It’s small, and the only thing inside was a dusty box.

Slowly, he takes the metal box out, blowing off the dust and wiping it away. He holds it carefully, inspecting it.

On the top of it read 'Guess’.

Roman had no idea what to expect. The box was locked by an eight digit number combination lock. He didn’t even know where to begin. The box was weighty, so it must have something inside. The rest of it is remarkably plain, and there’s nothing too noteworthy about it. Though, holding it gave him a weird feeling he didn’t even know how to describe.

“Virgil, what have you gotten me into?” He whispers, slowly putting the box back. He’d crack at it later- right now, he couldn’t risk anything. For some reason, something told him not to let anyone know about this.

Even though he feels like Logan could solve this, something tells him not to tell Logan, too.

Whatever this box is, and whatever is inside… It’s important. Roman doesn’t know why, but he can feel it in his bones.

Carefully, he raises from the floor and goes back to his own bed.

Still, it stung. It seems that whoever gets near Roman will just turn into a monster.

Was he cursed? Is that it?

He doesn’t know. He just wants his brother back. He just wants his friend back.

Still, he had to do this for Virgil. Whatever had happened, he needs to figure it out. Virgil trusted him with this. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into, really. He had a feeling he was getting into deep water with this, but he found that he didn’t really care. What did he have to lose, really? Not much. They’d already taken so much from him.

He needs to do something. Slowly, his eyes land on his notebook. He blinks slowly, an idea forming in his head.

“I believe in you Virgil, this better be worth it.” He mutters, opening up the empty notebook.

It has become routine. He’s not sure how long he’s been here, but things seem to have improved somewhat.

New abnormalities coming in daily, new jobs, checking on Remus. He’s been doing better with his personal research as well. He wasn’t as smart as Logan or Virgil, but he thinks he’s getting somewhere with it.

Thomas is back. He didn’t know Thomas even existed, really. Well, he knew about Thomas, but he didn’t think the man was even alive. There was alot going on. Logan worried him, really. Something strange was happening with him. He worried that Logan would turn into an abnormality next. Maybe it was his curse. Virgil acted weird before turning, too.

He hated that he was never able to help. He couldn’t help anyone, it seemed.

And even worse, he was forced to stay in his room today. He couldn’t check on them. He was sick, somehow. He doesn’t know how he got sick. He doesn’t get sick easily. He was told to rest, but he couldn’t. He paced around his room, picking at his now chipped nails. He was worried about Remus.

What would Remus do since he’s absent today? Would he be more aggressive? Would he kill someone again? He’s not sure. He hopes that Remus won’t be too aggressive. But he can never tell. His brother is a wild card, really.

He paces around his room, picking at his nails. He needs to stop thinking about this- he could use this free time to get things done. He could continue working with the box or with his research. That’d be fine. In fact, he should really continue with it if he wants to help Virgil.

Settling on that idea, he takes out the box. It’s been hard to do, and he’s been guessing like the box has said. He’d been trying to just go digit by digit, but he realized it would take forever if there’s 8 digits. It’d be easier if there were maybe 4. But it was honestly kind of frustrating.

He isn’t sure what to even expect when he opens the box. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’ll be life changing, maybe it will help him get out of here. He doesn’t know. Virgil is so full of secrets, and he can’t ask him directly. It was frustrating.

It probably wasn’t the best idea to do this while he’s already sick, but now he’s set on doing this, even though it makes his head want to explode.

He switched between working on the box and going through his notes. In fact, he hadn’t realized the day was almost over. He turns the digits, and…

An alarm goes off.

He jumps, nearly throwing the box off of him. At first he thought it was coming from the box, but he quickly realized that it was coming from the building. He looks around, hiding the box and jumping to his feet, completely alert. And he heard what he dreaded to hear.

“Urgent! Abnormality F-06-58(W) has escaped! We need to immediately suppress it!”

His stomach dropped, and his blood ran cold. God, no. He needs to do something.

And so he runs.

The first trumpet had already sounded, blood coating the hallways and screams echoing, everything bathed in a flashing red light. Three have already died and six are panicking- they’d probably end up dead as well.

He was violent. Of course he would be. He’d been chained down and tested on. He prowled down the halls, thick blood stains on his claws and matting at his hair. He was chimeric, as if someone had taken animal parts and swapped them around. The anatomy was all wong. He was hardly even human at this point, just an amalgamation of different horrors, new limbs he couldn’t control and too many rows of teeth, a long tongue that couldn’t fit in his mouth.

Blood dripped from him, some of it his own, most of it from others. He shambles, attacking anything that dares come near him. And oh, how it hurt. Every movement felt like shards of glass digging into his limbs, his new bones frail and threatening to dislocate if he made one wrong move. It didn’t hurt as much as it first did though.

Transforming into the beast he is now was the most painful thing he had ever experienced. What felt like a festering of bugs inside of him, swarming. Flesh ripping and muscles tearing, bones snapping and skin being shredded like paper. The growth of new bones, new teeth, new claws. His mouth felt too full, he couldn’t close his jaw. There was an invisible fire dancing on his skin, burning him but not killing him. At that point, death would be merciful.

The sirens screamed in his ears, and he screams with them.

Roman never expected his life to turn out like this. Stuck underground in the middle of nowhere, fighting off other employees so they don’t kill his brother that wasn’t even human anymore. A beast of his own creation.

It felt like forever before he finally got to the floor Remus was being kept on.

Shoving through everyone else, wincing at every gun shot, he bursts into the room and sees his brother drenched in blood that wasn’t his own. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

“ Remus! ” He shouts, running forward.

And as soon as he gets close, an itchy pain goes through his chest, and his shirt is suddenly wet. It takes him a moment to realize Remus had attacked him. He stumbles back, holding onto himself. He gasps, the pain spreading as soon as he realized what had happened. It hurts, and he hugs his chest to try and stop the bleeding without much success.

A bullet whizzed past him and landed into his brother’s collarbone. He screams, and Roman stumbles forward.

“Stop it, don’t hurt him!” He yells, and he suddenly feels as if he’s back in the forest, but this time it feels so much worse.

They don’t listen to him, guns trained on the abnormality that was his brother.

He rushes forward, ignoring the burning pain. His brother thrashes and screams, and once Roman gets close again, he was flung into the metal wall. There’s a loud bang as the air leaves his lungs, pain shooting through his back and head. Black spots danced around in his vision. His ears rang, and the world seemed to spin around him. His throat felt dry and he tasted blood.

He gasps for breath, his legs threatening to collapse under him. His chest burned, and his head and back ached as he slowly pushes himself off of the wall, stumbling as he stares at his brother, the ground spinning like a spinning top, threatening to topple him over.

“Remus…” His voice comes out a lot weaker than he would have liked. He’s not sure why he’s doing this. It’s obvious he can’t reason with his brother in this state.

But he’s not thinking right. He gasps, stumbling forward and reaching out for his brother.

“It’s me, please.” He says breathlessly. His brother screams, pushing him back.

And he tumbles down, landing on the floor without much effort. He felt overwhelmed. So much noise, so much spinning. He wanted to vomit. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

Logan enters the room. Roman thinks, for maybe a second that he will stop the employees from hurting his brother. But instead his eyes narrow on the blood staining Roman’s shirt.

He moves quickly, calculated in every step as he grabs Roman and shoots his brother in one of the legs, making him fall to the ground. It went straight into the knee, and he feels sick at the sight. There’s so much noise all at once. Roman hears screaming, and it takes him a moment to realize that it was him that was screaming.

“He’s injured! Hold him down until someone comes!” Logan commands, pulling Roman along.

“Stop, no! I need to go back!” He yells, voice panicked as he struggles in Logan’s grip, trying to pull away.

“Are you insane? He almost killed you! He’s not your brother anymore, just treat him like any other abnormality!” Logan’s voice was acidic, spitting out the harsh words like poison on his tongue. Roman doesn’t realize that Logan’s being more moody than usual. He doesn’t stop himself from yelling back. He simply lets his emotions get the best of him, not thinking about this logically.

“ Shut up ! What the hell would you know?! Let go of me!” He struggles again, ignoring the burning pain and the blood staining his clothes.

“You’re injured you complete moron! He could kill you!” Logan completely turns, shouting in Roman’s face.

“I don’t care! You all could kill him !” Roman yells back, blinking the angry tears out of his eyes, his breath heavy from yelling so much.

“I don’t care if he dies.” Logan says, gripping tighter and tugging at Roman. He stumbles, choking on a sob. There’ll definitely be a bruise there later. “Do you want to continue freaking out and end up killing yourself? I don’t think you do. So shut the hell up and follow me.”

His voice was so cold, and it felt like Roman was getting stabbed through the heart with sharp ice spears. It was scarier when he wasn’t yelling. Just a silent building rage. Roman opens his mouth to argue, but he finds that he’s more exhausted than he had remembered.

“I just want to help him…” Roman whispers. Logan is quiet for a moment as they walk, before sighing.

“… Trying to help him would be like playing russian roulette with a fully loaded gun.” Logan states, not looking at Roman. “You’re just killing yourself.”

Roman blinks away tears, not having a response to that. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe he was just killing himself, but he just wants to save his brother. Is that such a bad thing? To want to help his brother? He doesn’t know. He feels like a child again.

Except children don’t have to worry about dying at every second.

He feels heavier with every step he takes, and it feels as if his legs might just crumble underneath him.

Logan was shaking, Roman distantly noticed, but didn’t say anything. He wonders what happened to get Logan so shaken like this. He wonders if he’s just adding onto the other’s stress. He wouldn’t doubt it, he was mostly a hindrance to the others. That much he knows by this point. He wanted to cry, he wanted to throw up, he felt so overwhelmed. Everything was too much. The noise, the flashing, the pain. His head is pounding.

His consciousness slips through his grasp like running water. He’s out in a matter of minutes.

This whole day was out to kill Logan, he was sure of it. There was so much happening in the span of one day. He felt on the verge of his inevitable breakdown, but he wasn’t even at his dorm yet. So he put the lid on the overflowing boiling pot that was his emotions for now, dragging himself to the elevator with and unconscious Roman in his arms.

He sometimes wished he could turn himself off like a computer. This was too much to deal with. He knows this is what he signed up for, but… It was overwhelming.

He adjusts his hold on Roman, a sigh leaving his lips. He hopes Remus was taken care of. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he wishes Remus would stop being such a huge problem. He caused Roman so much distress. Roman was playing with a loaded gun. He’d end up dead the second he decides to pull that trigger.

For all of the distress he causes, Logan truly did not care for Remus. In fact, as cruel as this sounds, it’d be better if the brother was dead. Then neither of them would be suffering. It would be merciful, really.

He looks down at his friend, sighing. Remus was too much trouble. Roman… didn’t deserve this. So much distress.

He huffed, shaking his head. He shouldn’t be getting so overwhelmed. It’s stupid.

Stepping onto the elevator, he adjusts his hold on his friend. Guess they’d be going up.

Blood stained his arm and chest, holding up his friend. From what he could tell, it wasn’t too deep, but his additional panicking probably worsened it. He sighs, and the elevator slowly ascends.

He swallows as he waits impatiently, his legs shifting and feet tapping. He just wanted to drop Roman off and get back to his room. He was practically hanging onto the edge, trying so desperately to not let his fingers slip.

The elevator shakes slightly. The only noise was the elevator and Roman’s soft breathing. Logan felt his focus slipping as they go up. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if he let himself go on autopilot. He shakes his head, adjusting Roman once more, his arm starting to get tired.

When the doors finally open, there are nurses and doctors already rushing around. He steps into the hallway, and a nurse notices the injured Roman, taking him without another word. Logan wasn’t even able to say anything as he was taken away. His arm felt a bit numb from carrying his weight the whole way here.

He stands there for a moment, just staring at everything happening. It was all over, right? He wasn’t expected to go down and continue dealing with Remus, right? He sure hopes not.

He breathes out a sigh, blinking a few times before going back into the elevator.

It was then he became too aware of the blood on his clothes. He hated the feeling. It was so sticky and it bothered him more than t should have, his skin itching. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself. He was so close to his room, he could feel himself starting to unwind, and there were only a few strings left- enough to keep him from unraveling.

He swallows, wetting his lips and unconsciously scratching at his arms.

When the elevator opens, he has to stop himself from sprinting to his room.

He steps out, and reaches his door. He enters, and he immediately collapses, his breathing heavy and mind racing. He peels the blood stained shirt off of him, hating the way it feels and rubbing at the red stains on his skin.

So much. It was so much. It all hit him like a truck the second he stepped into his room, all of the confusion and fear and anger and everything else. All of today’s overwhelming emotions crashing over him like a wave.

He ducks his head between his legs. He feels like a child. He feels weak. He wasn’t doing good enough.

He thinks about today. About the accusations, about the bullet hole in the wall, about how heavy his gun felt, about talking with A, about being used as A’s card, Remus escaping, Roman getting injured.

And he screams.

It was a horribly pained sound, tearing from his throat so suddenly. He screams, his lungs and throat burning as he curls up tighter on himself, his eyes burning and his mouth tasting like iron. His head was ringing, and the minute his screaming stopped, the room felt all too quiet. All he could hear was a ringing in his ears and the pounding of his heart.

He screams again, vomiting out all of his emotions through his screams. All of his pent up emotions spilling out of him. He felt sick. He hated this. He felt childish.

His skin itched all over, and he wanted to peel it off. He hated these thoughts. They weren’t logical at all. He knew they weren’t. Yet he still had them, and it made him feel sick.

He bangs his head on the floor, trying to get the thoughts to stop. He knows by doing this, he’s just feeding into those thoughts, but his body moved by itself, and when his meltdowns get this far, there’s usually nothing to stop it.

His head was pounding, his heart reverberated in his chest, and a ringing screamed in his ears. His throat was quickly dying out. He never used it this much. It felt like it was tearing.

Was he crying? When did he start crying? He doesn’t know. It’s all so much.

He wants to vomit.

He blacks out easier than he would have liked to admit.

Waking up on the floor was an experience in of itself. It was jarring, waking up on the cold floor feeling weak and dehydrated. His limbs shook, and his fingers jittered. He stares down at his hands and sighs.

Today was another day.

Taglist: @modsnow

#sanders sides #loceit #roman sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #platonic remrom #no incest here folks #lobotomy corp au #hidden away #snake.txt #my swritin #fuck #my writing #ask to tag #probably forgetting somethin #oh well

5 notes · View notes

alleiradayne · 5 years

Photo

Head Over Feet

Summary: Dean and Y/N have been best friends since high school. Square Filled: Friends to Lovers Warnings/Tags: Lotsa floofs, implied smut at the end Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester/Reader Word Count: 1,939 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019, this is my second square. It also fulfills this week’s @supernatural-jackles weekly writing challenge with the line, “Sorry, I thought I was alone”. Song: Head Over Feet by Alanis Morissette

“On your six!”

Gunfire rained down in a shower of casings as she ducked beneath his arm. Half a magazine emptied into the vampire, and it dropped to the floor, incapacitated for the moment.

“Y/N, look out!”

She whipped around as Dean’s machete arched through the air in a mighty swing and decapitated what must have been the twentieth vampire in the nest. The tight quarters of the house had stemmed the flow bloodsuckers, attacking only in groups of twos and threes. Dean breathed a wordless sigh of thanks for that. They had needed a break. And after a month of searching, they’d finally found it.

“You okay?” Dean asked as he neared her. “Shit, I got blood all over you.”

She wiped her face with her sleeve only to smear the dark blood across her pale cheek. “Eh, I’m good. Probably got my fair share on you, too,” she said with a bright giggle.

For the fifth time in as few days, Dean nearly fucked up. His hand twitched as he stepped near her, only to resist the urge to touch her at the last second. The first time, he'd almost kissed her. That had been months ago. The past week had been excruciatingly painful, tiny motel quarters, fitted FBI suits, revealing outfits at the bar, and fighting side by side. But none of that mattered. Y/N was his best friend. His feelings for her did not matter.

“Dean?”

Her clear, bright voice returned him to the present. “Yeah, let’s get going.”

As he followed her out of the house and to the car, Dean cursed under his breath. A nervous hand ran through his hair as he stomped down the gravel driveway, and the driver’s door of the Impala swung wide when he wrenched the handle. What was he going to do? His thoughts wandered as he slumped onto the bench seat behind the wheel and paused. With a shake of his head, he stabbed the keys into the ignition and started the car.

“You okay?”

The ache in his chest damn near ripped him apart. He could hardly look her in the eye. If he did, he might say something. He might tell her the truth, that he loved her, loved her big brain, her smile, her perfect voice, her terrible dancing, her stubborn willpower, her mean left hook. And yeah, sure. She had a great ass. Toss that on the list, too. Might as well go the whole six feet while he was digging.

With a stiff upper lip, Dean turned to her and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go get some sleep.”

The walls of their too-small motel encroached as Y/N lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Her toiletries bag sat on her stomach, held in both hands as she waited her turn for the bathroom. When the door opened, Dean motioned her in with a nod of his head, toothbrush in his mouth. And damn him, he stood there in his t-shirt and boxer briefs as if she were family.

In a way she was. Best friends since the last high school Dean had ever attended, they’d seen their fair share of action together. Oh, and that night, all those years ago, when he had saved her ass? Yeah, that had been one for the record books. Her mom had kicked him out that night. When Y/N had found him the next day trying to hustle a couple classmates for bus fair, she gave him a ride across town.

But instead of dropping him off at the train station, she had left with him.

She shook off the memory with a grunt, swung her feet over the bed and stood. Everything had changed since then. Twenty years later, and they were still best friends. Dean’s brother, Sam, had returned to the fold a few years after high school. The three of them had been thick as thieves ever since.

When she headed for the bathroom, she glanced at Dean, and he smiled around his toothbrush. Better to not make things awkward, lest she tip her hand. She had done everything in her power to keep her silly infatuation to herself. And that was all it was. An infatuation. An infatuation with his ingenuity, with his big dumb smile, with his too green eyes, and dear lord, with his massive arms.

Dean leaned against the sink as she shuffled behind him and set her bag on the counter. When she held out her hand, he slapped the tube of toothpaste into it. From her bag she withdrew her brush, turned the water on, wetted it, and left the faucet running. Dean spit into the sink a second later, then filled a glass, took half into his mouth, and rinsed. Y/N brushed her teeth as she forced herself to look anywhere besides him, but that meant finding every flaw in the grout and caulk of the motel bathroom.

Dean set the half-full glass on the counter, spit into the sink again, and picked up the floss. It was as if they danced, Dean timed perfectly with Y/N following his steps. When she finished brushing, she rinsed with the remaining half of the glass while Dean flossed. He traded her the empty glass for the floss. Refilled, he rinsed once more, then set the half-full glass on the counter again and headed for bed. As always, Y/N used the second half of the glass to rinse, then flipped off the bathroom light.

She climbed into her tiny double bed, sheets cold against her bare legs, and curled into her extra pillow. At least they would head back to the Bunker in the morning. She could hide in her room for a day or two, and nobody would notice. Dean especially did not seem to care she would disappear for a while after a long hunt. He was probably sick of her after the last month on the road.

Within a few minutes, Dean began to snore. Good to know nothing kept him awake at night. It would take Y/N another hour to fall asleep. Maybe. If she were only so lucky.

Golden rays of late morning sun slanted across his face as Dean groaned. He rubbed one eye with the back of his hand as he awoke. Damn sun. He had wanted to sleep until they were kicked out. When he rolled over and found the other bed empty, he threw the covers aside and stood. Y/N would be back soon from her breakfast run, and she would want to get on the road right away.

With his pants and shirt on—possibly clean, he wasn’t sure, but at least they didn’t smell—he grabbed his bracelet from the bedside table only to find it broken.

“Shit.”

He thumbed the shredded clasp of his beaded bracelet as he slumped onto the end of the bed. It must have torn during the fight yesterday with the vampires. Not that he remembered snagging it. A bead rolled off the exposed end of the twine, and he caught it in his open palm.

Something about the coincidence sat strangely with him. He looked around the room, then spoke to no one in particular. “Are you trying to tell me something, Chuck?”

He glanced at the ceiling and felt more than a little ridiculous at the thought of talking aloud to a being that, as far as he knew, no longer existed in their universe. But, despite that, the need to get the words off his chest compelled him to continue. “What would I even say to her?”

A long-forgotten memory bubbled to the surface, fuzzy, muted, as though it belonged to someone else. Y/N handed him the beaded bracelet as she stood on the train platform with him, tears in her eyes. He had to meet back up with John and Sammy. He’d saved her. But in so doing, she had to live with the truth. And so, he had asked her to come with. School wasn’t much their thing anyway. Her hug had nearly broken a rib.

“I know she’s important to me,” Dean said to no one. Beads threatened to fall from the twine as he replaced the one that had fallen. “I guess I didn’t realize how important.”

John had been livid at first. But when Y/N proved her way around a rifle and gave Sam a run for his money with research, he got over it in a hurry.

“Dad never understood our friendship,” he continued. “Never understood why we were only friends.”

On the train, he had tried to give the bracelet back, but she had refused. Said she had made it for him. Might as well keep it. Too big for her wrist anyway.

“I know I love her,” he muttered as he rolled the beads between his thumb and forefinger. “I probably always did. But that scared me more than most things. I’ll never—”

The bathroom door cracked open and slowly revealed Y/N, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Dean flew from the bed and stuffed the bracelet in his pocket. “I uh… that was… sorry, I thought I was alone.”

“What did you just say?” she demanded.

Oh, fuck. “N-nothing… I was just… it was nothing.”

Her narrow glare scrutinized him as she approached. “No. You said it. I heard you.”

Christ. “I… okay, you know what?” he barked, “Fine! I love you. I love you, Y/N, and I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, I love you, and that’s just—”

Several silent seconds passed before Dean caught up with reality. Y/N clung to him, and his arms had wrapped under her thighs after she had leapt to him. Her hands grasped his hair at the back of his head as her lips crushed his. Her legs squeezed his hips as he collapsed to the bed, and Y/N giggled into their earnest kiss.

Relief washed over him in that moment of clarity. He had been worried about nothing. He had feared ruining a good thing, but without any reason, without any proof. With Y/N in his arms, he realized then that he had been acting like a fool for months.

When she parted from him, shock slashed crimson across her nose and she tried to scramble off him. But quick as a cat, Dean wrapped her up in his arms and pinned her to his chest. “Hey, don’t go, that was really nice.”

She froze. “What?”

He bit his bottom lip and her eyes snapped to his mouth. “Kiss me again, sweetheart. I want to make sure I’m not just imagining this.”

Her lips landed on his and Dean could have wept. Softer than anything he had ever felt, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her forever. He all but melted beneath her as he held her tighter, loathe to ever let her go.

With a lewd pop, she parted from him, but her lips brushed against his as she spoke. “I love you, too.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. And she laughed with him, a sound so pure he vowed to hear it every day for the rest of his life. But then another thought occurred to him, and he checked his watch. “We’ve got half an hour before they’ll kick us out of the room. What do you say we get our money’s worth?”

A devious grin spread across her lips as she sat up, straddling his hips. “Show me what we’ve been missing out on, Dean.”

Tags: @atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme

Special Tags: @mapplestrudel

Reblogs and feedback are awesome. If you want in on the tags, send me an ask or a DM!

AlleiraDayne’s SPN Fluff Bingo

AlleiraDayne’s SPN Master List

#spnfluffbingo #spnfluffbingo2019 #Weekly Writing Challenge #AlleiraDayne writes #dean winchester/reader

107 notes · View notes

not-just-any-fangirl · 5 years

Note

i saw that your requests are open and wondered if youd be interested in doing a nalu fic where lucy is the maintenance person for natsus building and natsu keeps breaking stuff so that he gets to see her (or vice versa if you prefer) dont worry if you dont like or arent inspired by the idea or if you are too busy :)

Happy the WingCat

Word Count; 1544

A/N; I- I think this ask is like two years old and

I’m so sorry nonny

Lucy’s phone chirped, and she already knew who it was without looking away from the screen of her laptop. All of her friends knew better than to message Lucy this late in the evening when she had an eight am deadline, and there was only one person who had her number that Lucy wouldn’t immediately consider a friend.

Hottie 4B: :(

She sighed, eyeing her half-written article. And the sentence she’d been trying to rewrite for the past ten minutes. Maybe a break wouldn’t be the worst thing. And she could grab some fries from the diner down the street, seeing as how she hadn’t eaten in… Lucy focused on the clock in the corner of her screen, cringing at the time. Okay, she definitely needed a break.

Lucy gave Plue some head scratches from where the small ball of white fluff was curled up on the ottoman, small ‘bruffs’ letting her know he was dreaming little doggy dreams and wouldn’t miss her for the few minutes she was gone.

Why Lucy had accepted being the holder of spare keys for the apartment she didn’t know. Something about saving the residence money each time someone lost a key, a fifty dollar slash to her rent each month, and the high rates the locksmith charged for certain tenants. She sighed, slipping her own key into the pocket of her loose shorts, small key with 4B written on it in pink nail polish clutched in her other hand.

The one flight of stairs to the ground level was quick enough to take, walls once off-white and now more yellow, strawberry red carpets worn but not unkempt giving the whole interior the feeling of age rather than neglect. Lucy didn’t spend a lot of time on the first floor of the two story apartment, though lately it seemed she was walking the hall at least once a week. She couldn’t help her smile as she saw the author of the text that had called her down, leaning against the wall at the back. The building was only four units deep and it gave everything a cozy feeling, and admittedly made Lucy’s job as key holder easier as she only needed to look after 15 additional keys.

Lucy didn’t think she’d ever seen a dye job as vibrant or long lasting as his, shaggy spikes a bright pink. It complemented his rich brown skin nicely. Reminded Lucy of the model she had trained under a few years ago, before she left the front of the camera to write articles instead. Pari was spending the summer home in Kolkata with her family, and spamming Lucy’s Snapchat with pictures that had her yearning for a bit of her old life, if only so she could fund travel and be able to explore the world.

“Yo.”

Lucy startled, pulled from daydreaming about Paris and Mumbai and Cairo. The man gave her a confused smile, his head cocked as he got her attention. Blush heated Lucy’s face and neck as she realized she had zoned out staring at him, which was a shame, seeing as he was hot enough that he should be appreciated when stared at.

“So how’d you lose your key this time, Natsu?” Lucy asked, quickly sweeping her wandering daydreams away. Although Cairo would be a very good setting for her mystery and adventure short story she was working on in her spare time. Natsu’s bright smile and deep laugh pulled her focus back, and he ran his hand through his hair almost sheepishly.

“Didn’t lose it exactly. My cat swiped at my key chain as I was closing the door and now it’s a foot on the wrong side of the lock.”

Lucy cooed, clasping her hands in front of her chest at the mention of a cat. Hot, kind smile, and a pet lover? Lucy might have just found her Prince Charming, decked out in a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and pink hair.

“I’ll open your door if I get to play with the kitty,” Lucy said, grinning. Natsu rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he took a step closer to her.

“We up to blackmail now?” He asked, his own grin sharp as he looked down at her. Their height difference seemed to amuse him as he noticed it, and Lucy couldn’t help but feel the heat radiating from him, their bodies less than an arm length apart now.

“Gotta spice it up with how often I’m down here,” Lucy resisted tugging on his scarf. She wasn’t sure where the urge was coming from, but damn if it wasn’t strong. And if he didn’t look like he had kissable lips.

“I like spice.”

Lucy bit her lip, giggling under his sly grin. He made her feel like a teenager, and she didn’t even know his last name! They stood like that for a minute, grinning at each other. Lucy tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, heart pounding at the way Natsu’s gaze followed the movement with an intensity that almost scared her. She kind of wanted to keep it on her, too.

And then there was a very small and sad meow from the other side of the door.

Lucy took a step back, coughing and hiding her blush. She held up the key to Natsu’s apartment sheepishly, Natsu’s returning grin back to the easy and lighthearted one from before.

He stepped back, gesturing for her to unlock the door. He never asked her to give him the key, saying he trusted her not to be some creep and that he’ll just get a copy from hers. Lucy stepped forward resuming the familiar position, needing to wiggle the key to get the last pin unlocked. She was fairly sure it had been bent a little beyond repair the last time Natsu had lost his key before Lucy became the holder of them all. Something about a drinking contest and a dent in the wood that was suspiciously the same size as a pink haired tenants foot by the doorknob. Lucy smiled at the satisfying clack of the door unlocking.

The door swung open, and Lucy nearly lost her mind.

“Happy what the hell,” Natsu groaned. Happy meowed proudly, bright blue fur broken by a white stomach and tail tip, as well as a red lanyard wrapped all around his body. By his face was Natsu’s key, half in the cats mouth and being gnawed on for daring to touch him.

“You are the most perfect thing I have ever seen,” Lucy breathed, crouching and holding out her hands to the cat.

“Mraye.”

Another coo caught in Lucy’s throat at his chirp, trotting over to her and crawling into her arms. His purrs were loud, headbutting Lucy’s chin as she stood.

She looked at Natsu, daring him to take Happy from her. He looked at his cat, half fond and half unamused. “He’s friendly, but he ain’t ever been this friendly with anyone.”

“I’m keeping him,” Lucy said flatly, gently scratching behind one of Happy’s ears. He chirped again, leaning into Lucy’s touches.

“Only if I getta take you on a date.”

Natsu and Lucy stared at each other, both equally shocked at Natsu’s condition. He fidgeted with his scarf, pulling on it with a finger as if it were the reason for his growing discomfort. Lucy smiled at Happy, a growing knot of fondness forming in her chest at how unsure he was, his nerves further revealed when he gulped and coughed into his hand. “Uh, I didn’t mean to-”

“I’d love to Natsu.” Lucy interrupted.

“Wha-?”

“I was going to grab dinner at the diner down the street. Do you want to join me?” Lucy asked, blinking up at Natsu as she continued to pet Happy’s head. “I’ll pay,” she sang, grinning at his still baffled expression.

Lucy could feel her smile growing more smug as seconds ticked by until finally Natsu’s face broke into the largest grin she’d ever seen. She yelped when he grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of his apartment. Happy dropped to the ground with an offended ‘marow’, calling loudly as the door was once more closed.

With Natsu’s lanyard still wrapped around the blue cat.

“Natsu!” Lucy called, her turn to be confused as she was led out of the apartment.

“C’mon, Luce! I’m starving!” Natsu answered, still dragging her even as he looked back over his shoulder, grin so bright his eyes were closed. Lucy huffed, smiling in return as she jogged the few steps to be by his side.

Lucy giggled as his hand slid from her wrist down, fingers intertwining slowly and his grip light, obviously testing the waters in a way as subtle as a teenage boy yawning and putting his arm around a girl in the theater. She squeezed his hand, smiling at his shyly when he snuck a glance down at her.

Her chest felt light and giddy as they walked down the street. This was the start of something new and wonderful, Lucy just knew it. Maybe she wouldn’t have to travel the world to find her adventure, after all.

#nalu #fairy tail #just any writing #requests #au #hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng holy shit I've been actively working on this for like a month and a half im so sorry #where is my motivation?#idk but if you find her send her back home please #Anon #just any answers

126 notes · View notes

12miraenie · 5 years

Text

To You

🎃Paring: Minseok x Reader

🎃Genre: Fluff, Angel AU

🎃Word Count: 2.5k

🎃Summary: The good-looking regular at the cafe you worked at is not who he seems on the outside.

A/N: Haloween night with an Angel Minseok. This is for anon 🎃

🎃 Link to Masterlist

Minseok is a smart man. He makes good judgments, organizes his work well, and helps his department rank first in almost everything. He’s kind to his fellow peers, even kinder to newbies, plus absolutely respectful to his boss and the boss of his boss. In Minseok’s 235-year history record of being on this job, he has never made one single mistake. Maybe that’s why Junmyeon sent him to do something only a selected few are qualified to do, to be a guardian angel of a chosen human.

After as short as a week of observation, Minseok decided to go down from heaven with a stomach full of confidence for “field observations.” He found the human world far more interesting, and his curiosity on you urged him to hang around for a while. The twist in the story though, came within as little as a month. He was right about the human world is far more interesting, but somehow Minseok failed to see the reverse side of it. He got scammed twice on the same day and lost the new phone he got twenty minutes after he bought it. Now, why didn’t he just use his powers and make every problem go away?

But Minseok wouldn't do that. He didn’t allow his confidence and pride to be contradicted by himself. Naive, gullible, stupid. Those are not the words in his dictionary.

You didn’t take much notice when the good-looking guy with the fluffiest light brown hair and cutest eyes came to the cafe you worked at first, but after two weeks, when you had memorized the punctuality of his 3:30 pm arrival and the same old order of a pour over with a chocolate almond croissant, somehow he became something you looked forward to in your long shifts. His looks are definitely a plus, and the casual fashion he manages to pull off every day is a sight to sore eyes, but what strikes you most is the smile he gives you every day after order and the small “thank you“ in the warmest tone ever followed by a cute blink of his eyes when you have his order.

Sure, everything remained the same for the first few weeks. You were glad to see him every day, but you knew the little crush on him you had been growing was useless, and you had bigger things to worry about than gaining his attention. Minseok knew it as well, he saw through the tiredness and frustration behind your smiles and kind words the first day. Why would you be assigned to a guardian angel at the first place anyway?

You were troubled.

Indeed, you had to balance between going to uni, working, and taking care of your grandparents in the hospital. You parents send checks every month, but they were already too burdened with your tuition and medical bills. You weren’t born into an extremely well-off family. Naturally, you started to do part-time works since high school to help your parents. It’s not like you blame your parents for this, how could you when they have to work their ass off every day? But as a teenager, sometimes you just wished your life is a bit easier. You should have more time for school work, maybe even sometimes to go out with your friends or be able to buy things you want once in a while.

It was after a month and a half that Minseok started a conversation with you. He had seen too much. Minseok simply couldn’t understand why you had to stick up with your moody boss and stay for extra time after your shift to clean up for her without getting paid. You already don’t get paid enough for your work. He knew his boundaries well, as a guardian angel, he cannot directly interfere with your life. But there’s no harm in having a few conversations. Plus you have no idea who he is. Of course, Minseok missed the only thing that makes humans human. They are a complex kind of creature.

Minseok approached you with an attitude of a kind regular customer who noticed your intense workload and the apparent look of tiredness in between breaks. He deliberately chose a seat close to the back, knowing that you had to pass him to get to the break room. He called you out as you passed him with an empty tray in your hand.

“Hey, Y/N.“

You turned around to face him, confusion evident on your face. Did someone just call your name? Or was it the lack of sleep giving you auditory hallucinations?

Your furrowed eyebrows soon straightened out as your eyes focused on the new regular who still had a light brown color for his hair giving you a small wave. You pointed a finger at yourself and mouthed a silent question, "Me?"

You made way to him and stopped just close enough to notice the smallest details on his denim jacket and the brand logo on the t-shirt underneath.

“Is it ok if I talk to you? I just have been visiting this cafe every day recently, I’m sure you know, and I just wanna get to know you?” Minseok closed the book in his hand and smiled to you warmly.

A smile naturally formed at your lips as an agreement came out of your mouth, “Sure, it’s always nice to get to know a familiar face.”

You had planned to spend your 25-minute break napping. Last night was a heck full of researching and writing about some Italian painter who you really don’t care about and for a class that’s not even helpful to your major. But the man in front of you was just too hard to resist. Maybe the looks and the smile helped, but you have actually been curious about him for a long time, and the crush you have for him that only grew bigger by each day also prompted you to put down the tray and sat down in the opposite chair.

“Do you want to order anything? Coffee, food? The pastries here are amazing, but I’m sure you know all of that. I’ll treat you, you know, as a new friend."

Oh god, you might actually fall in love.

“Bye, Minseok!” After a final twist of the key, you heard a click and pushed the key out. Turning around, you saw Minseok stuffing his hands into his jacket. Frosted breath came out of his mouth with every movement of his lungs, his slightly reddened cheek added a sense of cuteness to his normally calm appearance. You can’t help but giggle, “Don’t like the winter?”

“I just prefer to be indoors and drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows and have a cheesy Christmas movie on TV right now.“ Minseok scratched the back of his head with a small hint of embarrassment behind his eyes.

“Wow,” You gave him a teasing smile, “I never took you as a cheesy man.“

Minseok laughed the kind of laugh that would melt the largest iceberg on earth in 10 seconds. It was hearty, it made his eyes glimmer with something shinier and it sounded absolutely angelic. The Christmas streetlights and neon signs behind him suddenly dimmed, pushing Minseok to the very center of your attention. No matter when and where, Minseok always managed to pull off as the brightest presence in the room to you. It’s like an unknown pull, an unknown indication that directs you to him everytime he’s near.

You’ve never become close with a person this fast, but Minseok managed to creep to the top of your list and heard about your secret recipe for making fluffy red velvet cakes and the time you embarrassed yourself in front of the whole class with a ripped dress in middle school. Him waiting for you to end your shift and walk you home has become a wordless habit between you two, and sometimes you just wondered how lucky you must be to have someone like him as a friend. So even though you secretly hoped that you could be more, you never tried to do anything, because you were afraid of being turned down and losing a good friend.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home.” This is the 136th time he’s said the same words to you, but you still manage to get all flushed and jumpy with his remark. You knew you were in it deep when the occasional flicker of his eyes to you and brushes of his hand against yours would spike your heartbeat and cause your hands to tremble involuntarily every single time. Sometimes you wished Minseok could see the hints, the light blush on your face or the slight difference of your voice whenever you talk to him.

The little conversation between you two had a nice flow as always. Minseok stopped at the street in front of your apartment complex and motioned to the building. “Go, I’ll wait until your light is on.”

“You are too sweet. People would think I’m taking advantages of you.” You pulled out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans and put in it your bag instead.

“Nah, I’m just your angel.” Minseok turned sideways and pushed the crossroad button for you.

He definitely loves saying that to you, even obsessed. Every time you thank him for doing something, Minseok always says something like he’s your angel and only yours to help. You never understood why he would choose such an overused-not to say cheesy line.

The light turned green. You gave him a small wave accompanied by a smile, “Bye, Minseok.”

Just when you had walked through half of the section, your phone rang. Fumbling with the zipper of your bag, you took it out and pressed down the answer button. It was one of your friends from university. You were in the middle of asking what’s up when someone called out

“Watch out!”

Your head snapped back to the sound of someone warning you before your eyes got blinded by strong lights. In that millisecond, you realized that you were in the middle of the crossroad about to get hit by an oncoming car. Your eyes widened as your reflex started to kick in, but the time was too short for you to make a decision.

You squeezed your eyes shut and thought you were going to die, but instead of feeling a car being rammed into your body, you felt a hand then two strong arms around your upper torso. Everything was quiet, you couldn’t hear the car honk or the sliding of the gravel as you awaited the final moment. Opening your eyes in disbelief and puzzlement, you barely caught a glimpse of a camel colored sweater being twirled around and pulled aside. What was more astonishing and caught your eyes the instant was feathers of the most pristine whiteness you’ve ever seen. They were covered on what you would call wings which extend into the far end of your sight.

At that very moment, you thought you were in heaven.

The world came back again. Suddenly descended was the screeching and honking of the car, the heavy breathing of yourself and the sound of your own gasp. You blinked twice just to make sure you were not hallucinating, but instead of the crossroad, you were standing at the sidewalk, safe, and in someone’s arms. Instinctively you looked up, and a familiar pair of brown eyes came into view.

“Min…Minseok?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and it was hard to even push the syllables out of your mouth. You tried to talk again, but the only thing your body did was opening and closing your mouth repeatedly.

“Shhh, don’t talk. Just…let me help you.” His voice was light as a whisper as he effortlessly lifted you up bridal style. Your arms went around his neck automatically, even though they were still weak and clammy with cold sweat. Ignoring the looks of passerbys, Minseok carried you into your building and up the stairs.

You fished for the keycard and unlocked the door, Minseok kicked to open it wider. Although you were shocked and exhausted after the incident, you were still nervous when he stepped in. After all, it was the first time you ever let any guy other than your father in there. You let out a sigh of relief remembering that you cleaned up yesterday.

Sitting down on a chair by the kitchen counter, you watched Minseok rolled up his sleeves and started filling the pot with water. No word was exchanged when Minseok prepared two cups of tea.

Maybe he felt your gaze on his back, when he sat down Minseok pushed one mug in front of you and crossed his fingers on the table.

“You are telling the truth, aren’t you?“ Your voice came out surprisingly steady, and confusion clouded his face.

“You always say that you are my angel. It is true, right? You are actually an angel. I saw your wings.”

A sigh left his mouth as Minseok pushed back the hair that fell in front of his forehead.

“Yes.”

You nodded and took the mug with numb fingers. Holding it with both hands, you didn’t drink and only used it to feel the warmth. You were more than surprised yourself that there was any freaking out, screaming or crying going on, you took everything in like it was a news article.

You took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes, “Why? Why did you save me?”

Minseok unlinked his hands from each other and leaned back in his chair. He fidgeted before finally looking at you with something unreadable swirling in his eyes, “I’m not supposed to, but Y/N…I think I’m in love with you.”

#exo #exo scenario #month of the supernatural #minseok #xiumin #exo x reader #minseok x reader #exo imagine #exo fanfic #exo drabble #minseok scenario #kpop #kpop scenario #fluff

50 notes · View notes

flyinghetfield · 7 years

Text

Chapter 9 people! Its a long one. Also for the dress/style she has later on, its the top of this dress; [x] with the bottom of this dress; [x] and for the hairstyle; [x] but that’s what I had in mind when writing this, you don’t have to see it the same way. Anyway enjoy!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Its the middle of the day and your laying on the couch, enjoying some nice warm weather for once and try not to think of tonight's upcoming performance. ”What the hell am I going to do Zorro?” You watch as peacefully sleeps along the top of the couch and sigh. When you had awoken this morning, you had decided to rip apart your wardrobe to find anything remotely posh to wear tonight and had come up with a dress you wore once when you were 14. Rubbing your face with your hands, you reluctantly sit up and walk into the kitchen to grab a drink. Bending down you search in the back of the fridge for the last of the wine Eric had left over ages ago and swear under your breath when it is nowhere to be seen. “Come on world, give me this one thing.” ”Are you talking to yourself?” You spring to your feet and whack your head along the bottom of the freezer door at the sudden shock of someone breaking into your home. ”FUCK!” You put your hand on your head and breath a deep sigh of relief then anger as you study the now smirking man standing in your kitchen. “Lars? What the hell! How did you get in here?” You watch as the smug danish leans against the kitchen table and swivels your spare key around his finger. ”I told you to find a better hiding spot.” Mumbling under your breath you snatch the key from him and chuck it on the counter. ”Jesus, didn’t have to give me a heart attack though.” Opening the freezer, you grab some ice and chuck it into a ziplock bag before placing it on your now thumping head. “What are you even doing here? It’s the middle of the day.” You follow Lars as he walks into the lounge and starts to pick up some of the CDs you had laying in a pile. He’s in casual wear today, a simple black t-shirt and some nice blue jeans. He readjusts his sunglasses sitting on his head as picks up one of your CDs. ”I didn’t know you listened to Motorhead.” He flashes the ‘Overkill’ album at you and you smile. It was the first motorhead album you had ever listened to since your now ex - ex - ex boyfriend was a massive fan of them and would constantly play them when the two of you would go on long drives to some backyard gig. ”I can’t resist the double bass in Overkill.” Lars grins knowingly and places it back on the table. ”It’s one of my favorite albums, that double bass blew my young mind the first time I heard it.” Seeing the warmth coming off Lars face as he remembers that moment you can’t help but smile. His admiration towards the band was something you knew very well since that was the same look you would show as well whenever someone brought up your favorite band. Yes and 1/4th of your favorite band is currently standing in your lounge room. ”You didn’t come over here to just go through my music collection did you?” You place down the now melted ice bag, crossing your arms and leaning against the kitchen door frame. ”Hmm? Oh no, well I mean I wouldn’t mind having a look at other things.” A cheeky grin appears on his face and you shift against the door frame, slightly worried. “Eric was telling me you had quite the crush on us back when you were younger, so if you have any thing you want me to sign I can do it now since you have me to yourself. You know, posters, Tshirts, secret hidden journals that have dirty thoughts about us..” Laughing, you remember to curse out Eric later for telling Lars that. ”Sorry baby, the only dirty thing I have written down is about Jethro tull.” Lars mocks grabbing his heart and pulls a face of anguish. ”Harsh, Violin girl. I’ll remember that.” He winks at you and you shake your head then stop and pull a confused face. ”Wait.. How did you know about the Journal anyway? Have you been hanging out with Eric behind my back?” Lars shakes his head and smiles. “Last night I was a bit in a rush to get to this meeting and Eric offered to drop me off since my ride decided it wanted to get stuck in traffic.” ”Ahh, I was wondering where Eric had ran off to after ditching me.” With James. Lars sits down on the couch and flips through some of the paper sitting on the table. ”Mhm and we got to chatting, he’s a very sweet boy once he starts to open up. Told him the next time Apocalyptica where in town I would take him.” A surge of jealousy peaks through you at the idea of Eric hanging out with Lars and you almost ask to tag along but stop yourself. “Then he told me that he wouldn’t be able to help you today since he had to go meet with some girl for something at lunch…” You raise your eyebrows, Help me? What? Eric said nothing about helping me. “..So I told him I could fill in for him.” He suddenly stands and walks towards the door. ”Wait, what? I don’t understand.” ”You” He points at you while he grabs your keys off the hook. “Me” He points to himself and tosses your keys at you, you quickly fumble and catch them. “Dress shopping.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Two hours and a lot of complaining later, you grip the passenger side arm of the car door as Lars speeds through traffic, ducking and weaving, breaking at least 10 laws in the matter of minutes. ”FLYTTE GAMLE HAG!” You watch amused as he yells excessively in danish at someone going - probably at the correct speed limit and you close your eyes as you both just make it through an orange light. “Anyway like I was saying, you don’t have to worry about paying me back.” You sigh and open the bag sitting at your feet, containing a very expensive dress, some simple black wedges and even some new lingerie that he had brought for you. He was quite disappointed that he couldn’t watch you put everything on since you didn’t want to ruin the surprise but was also shocked when he didn’t even want to hear the price for everything just paying for it on the spot. I’ll have to remember to keep the receipt for it, evidence to show Eric later. ”Still, thank you Lars. You’re a lifesaver.” He glances over at you and smiles. ”I must say though, whats the sudden urge to get all glamed up tonight? You look alright last night.” Your face starts to turn a little red at the question, cause I want to look irresistibly good looking for a particular person and rub it in his face. ”Ahh..I guess cause everyone else was tuxedo-ed up last night I felt a little misplaced plus Eric wouldn’t stand for me looking like apart of the stage crew.” He chuckles at the comment. You stare out the window and notice that you weren’t heading back the way you had come. Sitting up a little straighter you watch as Lars starts to slow down, pulling into one of the parking spaces next to a giant outdoor mall. “Wait, I thought we were heading straight back to mine, what are we doing here?” You huff and quickly undo your seat belt as Lars jumps out of the car. ”Come on Violin girl, follow me.” The two of you walk down past a bunch of pretty expensive looking shops and you nervously eye off some of the prices. Did that just say $1500? For a scarf?! Tearing your eyes away from the window you notice Lars has stopped with one of the doors open, waiting for you to go inside. As you walk through the doorway you notice that he has brought you to a hairdressers and admire the expensive looking vanity mirrors lining up the walls. ”Uh Lars. I don’t need a haircut and I don’t think you need one either.” You turn and point to his hairline. He swats at your hand, pulling a face. ”Here I am, I’ve brought you a new dress which I haven’t been able to see, heels and now your getting the full make-up and hair styled and you still tease me?” Hearing the slight annoyance in his voice, you feel yourself getting embarrassed. You had been whinging the whole time while shopping, asking Lars why the hell he was doing all of this, completely disregarding that he had spent most of the day with him when he could be doing something better with his time. Shaking your head you smile at him ”I’m sorry, teasing means I’m getting comfortable with you Drummer boy.” He cracks a grin at the statement. All of a sudden you can hear the clicking of high heels on the wooden floor and turn to see a tall stunning woman with long black hair, walk from up the back of the shop. ”Lars!” Her slight Italian accent travels down the shop as she walks over - towering over him as you watch them hug, feeling slightly out of place as they quickly catch up. Looking around the room, you admire the hair products and flip through some of the styling books, wishing you had a personal assistant that could do your hair every morning. Sighing you also notice it was quite empty for the afternoon. Huh, You would think a place like this would be busy at the moment. “So.. to what do I owe the pleasure?” You glance back over to the two of them, noticing she was nodding towards you. ”Well firstly Sophia, I want you to meet Y/N.” You nod politely to her and she smiles. “Tonight she is performing with us at the symphony and since she is my newest favorite violinist -” ”Do you even know any other violinist?” You quickly cut in, Sophia laughs as he keeps talking. ”- I want you to turn her into the most fierce violinist on the face of the planet. Could you do this?” Sophia walks over to you and makes a motion for you to turn around. After a quick spin she nods. ”I think we can.” You smile as she leads you to one of the chairs and you plop down into it. “Now before we begin.” Both of you are now looking into the mirror as she plays with your hair. “Tell me about your outfit, it will allow me to to understand for what sort of look we are going for here.” You begin to speak before Lars cuts you off. ”Hang on, we actually have the dresses here. Let me go get it.” He’s out the door in a heartbeat and you nervously laugh. ”Is he always like this?” Sophia shakes her head up and down and pulls a like you won’t believe face. ”You mean in a rush and won’t shut up? I’ve asked him if there is such button to slow him down but he just grinned at me and said ‘Would you like to find out?’” The both of you laugh. “I’ve known Lars for a few years now, he would always drop by for a quick haircut whenever he came blowing back through town plus you know, he always tips generously as well.” She winks at you and you can’t help but smile, shaking your head. The door swings back open as he walks in with the bag and hands it over to Sophia. You watch nervously as she pulls out the dress and whistles. “Bellissimo. This is stunning Y/N. Whoever this is for is going to have a hard time keeping their hands off you.” You try to hide your red face, while she very gently she places it back in the bag, grinning wickedly towards you. ”So lets get started shall we?” -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Two hours later and you can’t stop staring at yourself in the mirror. The smokey make-up with deep maroon lips that she had applied made you feel like a model and you can’t help but admire you hair, twirling your finger around on of the strands. Your hair - half up and half down - with big curls gently falling over your shoulders. ”How?” You smile at Sophia and she grins back. ”Hey all I did was add a little extra touch. You my girl are beautiful as it is.” Sophia turns your head to each side and you roll your eyes at the corny statement but still can’t wipe the smile off your face. Sighing you look towards the door. Lars where are you? The drummer had left when Sophia began, saying he would be back to pick me up and to ‘Be ready’. You glance up at the clock noticing they were really going to be cutting it tight if he didn’t hurry it up. ”Hey Sophia?” ”Mmm?” ”Do you have somewhere where I could change into the dress?” ”Ah yes.” You follow her into the back and notice a bathroom off to the side. Saying thank you, you quickly head in and put the dress and lingerie on. It was a long black dress, the top is lace with long sleeves and a deep v showing off the girls and was thankful for the supportive bra that you got along with it. A thick black band wraps around your waist which is connected to a flowing skirt, with one long slice up the side allowing you to show off quite a bit of your leg. ”Sophia!” You yell out, opening the door so she could hear you better. ”Yeah?” She comes up to the door and her eyes widen at the sight of you. “Prego per l'anima dell'uomo che ti guarda stasera” You shoot an eyebrow up as she speaks quickly in Italian and she smugly smiles. ”Your looking sexy.” Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh. ”You wouldn’t have some magic tape would you? I don’t want these..” You grab your chest “..Falling out later.” Sophia chuckles and walks off before coming back with her hand bag. ”Here, a girl always has some spare on her.” She hands you the tape as you quickly thank her and place it in the right spots. Walking back into the main area you sit down in one of the chairs and put your black wedges on then stand, testing your balance. You look over at Sophia and notice your both at the same height. You hold your hands out. ”Ta da!” She claps and twirls her finger once again. You slowly turn around feeling like a million dollars and can’t wipe the grin off your face as she fake wipes away some tears. ”Woah.” You turn quickly and try not to stumble when the door opens to a very dashing looking Eric. His eyes stuck to you and you wave you hand trying to snap him out of his thoughts. ”Hello Earth to Eric!” He shakes his head and you see a tint of red on his cheeks before a lazy grin grows on his face. “What are you doing here?” ”Lars. I ran into him at your house, he said he was swinging past to pick up your violin and I was coming past to check up on you. So he asked me to come and get you from here since I was already all ready to go and he still needed to get ready.” You sigh feeling bad about Lars running you around all day, had delayed him from getting ready as well. “I’m happy though that I got to come here first.” He walks over and puts a hand on your waist. “Cause you are looking stunning.” He gives you a kiss on your cheek making you slightly blush. It’s at this moment he notices Sophia standing off to the side, a cheeky smile on her face and you feel Eric become stiff in front of you, his hand quickly moving off your waist. Not the only stunning one here. ”Ah Eric. This is Sophia, Sophia this is Eric.” Eric walks over and shakes her hand.

“Ciao” You notice in the mirrors his eyes slightly widen at her Italian accent and his reply comes back slightly higher than normal. ”Hi.” She giggles at his nervousness and glances over to you.

“Not to rush you or anything but..” She points to the clock and you swear out loud. We have to get going like now. Grabbing your stuff and Eric you quickly say goodbye to Sophia, promising to come back and tell her about the nights event. She even waved off the bill. ”Don’t worry Lars will get the check.” Jumping into Eric’s car, the two of you speed off towards the Venue and you quickly grab your violin sitting in the back seat for some security as the butterfly's in your stomach grow bigger and bigger. ”Jesus, I’m so nervous.” You glance out the window and try your hardest to stop the shaking in your leg. Eric places his hand on your bare knee for comfort and smiles at you. ”Everything will be fine, I promise.” You let out a nervous laugh as the two of you finally find a parking spot. Getting out of the car you wait for Eric, to get his Cello and look around at the people walking towards the venue, noticing a lot of people walking around in formal wear and Metallica T-shirts, which makes you laugh seeing the combination of the two. Eric with cello in hand, grabs your free hand and you both walk towards the back area. You try your hardest not to yell as it seemed like everyone was staring at the both of you as you walk into the venue, concentrating on your breathing more than anything. Calm.. Calm.. You close your eyes and take a deep breathe, feeling Eric squeeze your hand for some reassurance as well before he lets it go and walks infront of you down one of the tight corridors. All you can hear is the exciting chattering and the sounds of instruments being tuned up. Walking past the kitchen you do a double take when you notice Jason standing in there talking to one of the Brass players and smile seeing both of them laugh. It’s nice to see everyone get along like normal people. Glancing off the the right, towards the stage and notice a few people already sitting in the front rows, eager to see Metallica up close and personal. ”Y/N?” Looking down the left you notice Kamen walking out of one of the many dressing rooms, his eyes wide and a big smile on his face. Walking up to you he gives you a quick hug before shaking his head in disbelief. “You look amazing. I mean wow…your dad would be so proud of you.” You smile and quickly say thank you before he’s off again. Walking down the way he came you glance in to a few of the rooms, noticing the older girls sitting around giggling as they get their make-up done. I guess all of us need to feel like Cinderella. Continuing on, you get to a quieter area and sit on one of the many Metallica gear boxes and start to tune up your violin, plucking and slowly playing some of the notes to Call of Cthulu.

”…I thought that was just a rumor.” Looking up you notice Kirk coming out of one of the rooms to your left, Lars tailing behind him as he fiddles around with his pants. ”That’s what I though too but -- Hey what the fuck?” You watch as Lars walks straight into the back of Kirk, making him look up and notice you casually standing in the hallway, a grin on your face. Both men are speechless at the sight of you, Lars Jaw a little more open than usual. “No way.” He finally finds his voice, walking straight up to you and makes you turn around. “Jesus woman, you looking stunning.” Blushing, he wraps his arm around your waist turning towards.“Kirk, can we keep her?” Kirk starts laughing and walks over to you as well, grabbing your hand and giving it a quick kiss, making your face turn a deeper shade of red. ”She would make the band look a hell of a lot better.” You roll your eyes at Kirk and feel Lars tighten his hold on your waist as the door opens up to James walking out the door. He stops abruptly at the sight of you and you can’t help but squirm as his piercing blue eyes roam up and down your body. Control yourself woman. You notice his chest moving a bit faster and swear you see his nostrils flair for a second. Feeling a push of confidence you straighten your back and lean into Lars a bit more, James eyes narrow at the action. ”Doesn’t she look sexy as hell Hetfield? I was just saying to Kirk she would make the band look a million times better.” James doesn’t reply as he continues staring at you, your heart feeling like its in your throat and you can feel the building of heat between your legs and try not to squirm. Breaking eye contact with him you finally let out a cough before turning towards Lars.

“I’ll see you out there, I’ve got to go to the toilet quickly.” Getting out of Lars grip you walk back down the hallway, still feeling James eyes burning into your back. ”Hello earth to James.. Jesus get a grip Hetfield.” Lars voice echos down the hallway and you can’t help but feel a bit guilty at making him feel that way but mostly smug knowing you made him speechless. One point to me, tick. Walking into the bathroom you take a moment to double check your hair and make-up before hearing the overhead speakers announce for everyone to make their way to their spots. Taking a deep breathe you walk out the bathroom and crash straight into James who’s waiting outside the door. ”Oh shit.” You take a quick step back. “Sorry.” Even with that slight touch, your whole body feels like it’s on fire and you try your hardest not to shudder as his scent slowly fills your mind. ”No..no my fault, I was standing here like a fool.” He lets out a shy smile and runs a hand through his hair and it’s at this point you noticed that - with your wedges on - your both standing at relatively the same height, James just being a little bit taller than you. The two of you stand their awkwardly before he clears his throat. ”I just uh.. wanted to say, to have fun out there tonight.” You smile shyly.

“Yeah.. you too James.” Hearing the second announcement come over the speakers you try to side step James and head to the stage but stop suddenly when he grabs your hand. ”Also..I just wanted to say..you look beautiful tonight as well.” You swallow hard, feeling yourself getting flustered as while he runs his thumb over the cut on your hand. Feeling a overwhelming sense of déjà vu, you hesitantly stand there, a small part of you savoring the feeling of his fingers running across your hand once again. “It’s healed well.” He looks back up to you and try your best to concentrate on your breathing. Taking a step forward, he pushes one of the curls that has come lose off your face back behind your ear and you try your hardest not to lean in to the touch. His eyes narrow for a second before a warm smile appears. “Well..better get on stage.” Letting go of your hand you watch as he walks off towards the stage, you lean against the wall and raise your hand, still feeling the small warmth he let off on them. One point to James… tick.

#So heres how its gonna go down #We either get a super long chapter and end on 10 #Or we go to 11 #And yes #Smut will be up next #Ive already writing down a bit of it #I just am bad and am a slow burner for stories so its taking a bit to get there #mywriting #fanfic #long post #chapter 9

31 notes · View notes

megans-chart · 7 years

Text

Prompt: Haria prompt! Hanna is the one kidnapped instead of Spencer by the evil twin and Aria figures it out that Hanna is not Hanna, then she goes crazy until she finds her

This ended up getting a little bit long... Enjoy!

Hanna rubbed her head, which was throbbing painfully. The last thing she remembered was talking to Spencer at the wedding reception, and then everything got fuzzy. She opened her eyes and found herself in front of some kind of mirror. She frowned and dropped her hand slowly. The figure in the mirror didn’t move. Hanna jumped back, startled, and the figure laughed.

“Hello there, Hanna,” she said. Hanna tried to scramble away, but to her horror, there was a metal shackle around her ankle.

"Who are you?" she asked, she voice trembling.

"I'm you."

---

"Oh my god. Spencer, you look beautiful!" Emily exclaimed. Spencer beamed.

"Thanks, Em," she said.

"Han, where's your ring?" Aria asked suddenly, noticing her wife's bare finger. Hanna's right hand shot out to cover the left.

"Oh, damn. I took it off when I showered this morning and I guess I forgot to put it back on," she lied smoothly. Before Aria could respond, there was a knock on the door and Pam walked in carrying Grace.

"Sorry to bother you guys, but someone wanted to see her moms," Pam said with a smile. Emily went to take her child, but Hanna stepped forward.

"Please, let me," she said, extending her arms. The baby stared at Hanna and promptly burst into tears. Emily frowned.

"That's weird. Maybe she's hungry," she mused, handing the baby to Alison. Hanna's face fell.

"Are you two looking to start soon?" Alison asked, looking between Hanna and Aria. Hanna shook her head before Aria could answer.

"Oh, I don't think we're there yet," she said smoothly. Aria frowned. For months, all Hanna had talked about was having a baby. They'd agreed not to tell their friends they were actively trying yet, but they'd had their first appointment at the donation bank last month. She knew Hanna was disappointed, but they both knew it would probably take more than once. Suddenly someone barged into the room.

"Spencer, I need to talk to you," an ashen faced Melissa announced. Spencer frowned.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"We can't find Toby."

---

Hanna grunted, trying to yank her ankle out of its bond. But the metal was digging into her skin, and her attempts to free herself only caused more pain. No, if she wanted to get out of this, she would need the key. A loud groan alerted her to someone else's presence.

"Hello?" she called.

"Hanna?" Toby's groggy voice called back. Hanna ran over as far as the chain would let her.

"Oh my god, Toby, what happened?" she asked. Toby frowned.

"I don't know. I was in the Radley lobby and you walked by. I asked if you'd made the reservations--"

"For the Game of Thrones tour?" she interrupted. Toby nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"Yes, but you had no idea what I was talking about. The next thing I knew, I was here," he said. Hanna frowned.

"Well, I'm not sure where 'here' is, but I know who took us," she said.

"Who?" Toby asked. The blonde sighed.

"I don't know how much Spencer told you about what I found out last year," she started. Toby shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. She sighed again.

"Apparently my mom couldn't have children, so when my dad got some woman at Radley knocked up, she agreed to raise the baby as her own. For some reason they never saw fit to tell me I was adopted," she said, unable to keep the twinge of annoyance out of her voice.

"Last night, that bitch who kidnapped us told me that she's my twin."

"I gathered that much," Toby said dryly. Hanna rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. Anyway, I guess there was some corrupt doctor who schemed with my birth mother to sell off the other baby. She ended up tracking down her birth father and she discovered me."

"Okay, but why did she kidnap you?" Toby asked.

"Because she's jealous of me. Of my life. Toby, her name is Andrea Damon," Hanna said. Toby's eyes widened.

"A.D."

---

"What do you mean you can't find Toby?" Spencer screeched. Aria put a hand on her friend's arm.

"He's probably just stuck in traffic, right Melissa?" she asked. Melissa shook her head, looking like she was near tears herself.

"I don't think so. We've been calling him and he isn't answering," she said. Spencer's eyes about bugged out of her head.

"Has anyone called the hospital? What if he was in an accident?" she worried, her breath quickening. Melissa quickly shook her head.

"No, mom already called every hospital in a fifty mile radius," she said.

"So where the hell is he?" Spencer yelled. Hanna gave her friend a sympathetic look.

"Did you guys argue or anything?" she asked. Spencer thought for a moment and then her face drained of all color.

"Oh god," she whimpered.

"Spence?" Aria asked cautiously.

"Where's my phone? Someone give me my phone!" Spencer demanded.

"What's wrong?" Emily asked.

"We had an argument. It was stupid, and it was my fault, and oh my god," she whispered, her heart sinking.

"Spencer?" Melissa asked. Spencer burst into tears and ran out of the room, leaving the phone in Aria's hands.

The wedding is off. -T

---

"Hanna, we have to get out of here," Toby said. Hanna rolled her eyes.

"Really? Because I thought we'd just hang out in here forever," she said sarcastically.

"You don't understand! If we don't get out, Spencer's going to think I stood her up at the altar!" he exclaimed. Hanna frowned and shook her head.

"Spencer knows you love her. She'll know something's wrong," she said.

"No she won't," a new voice interrupted. "She'll just think this was all her fault. Won't she, Toby?"

"Let Toby go. You can keep me here, but let him go. You want to hurt me, not Spencer," Hanna pleaded. Andrea laughed.

"You expect me to believe that he can keep his mouth shut?" she asked, opening Hanna's cell door.

"They'll know you're not me, with or without his help!" Hanna insisted. She scrambled away from the double, but couldn't get far. Andrea grabbed her wrist tightly and ripped the wedding ring off her finger, putting it on her own.

"Oh, honey. They'll never guess the truth. After all, who would expect that someone has a twin?" With another laugh, Andrea vanished.

---

"Does Hanna seem weird to you?" Aria whispered to Emily. The brunette shot her friend a disgusted look.

"Our best friend just got left at the altar and you're asking me if your wife is acting weird?" Emily hissed. Aria sighed. Or course she should be focusing on Spencer right now. She still couldn't believe that Toby would just leave Spencer like that. It was something that might have happened if A--no, she wasn't going to go there. They hadn't heard from AD in a year.

"Spence, what was your fight about?" Emily asked gently.

"I set up a meeting with my mom for Jenna. It really wasn't a big deal, but I didn't tell Toby about it. He found out, and he got mad that I didn't tell him," she said. The door started to open and Spencer shot up.

"Toby?" She asked hopefully.

"Sorry. It's just me. Toby wasn't at the cabin," Hanna announced. Aria narrowed her eyes. She didn't understand why Hanna had immediately volunteered to go check the cabin. If she didn't know any better, she'd have said the blonde was trying to get away from her. Her unease grew when she noticed the ring back on Hanna's finger.

"Did you swing by the apartment?" she asked.

"Had he been there?" Spencer asked at the exact same time. Hanna shook her head.

"I don't think so, sweetie," she said, patting Spencer's hand.

"I'll be right back," Aria said, stepping into the other room. She pulled out her phone and dialed a number she'd never imagined she'd call.

"Mona? I need your help. It's about Hanna."

---

"She took my ring," Hanna said numbly, staring at her finger. Toby groaned. It was the third time Hanna had repeated those four words.

"And she's trying to take your life! So could we please try to find a way out of here?" he asked. Hanna glared at him.

"What do you suggest I do, break my ankle? I've tried to get out of this stupid thing, but it's too tight!" she yelled, yanking on the chain to prove her point. Toby sighed.

"I'm sorry. I'm just worried about Spencer. Andrea's right. Spencer's going to blame herself," he said. Hanna frowned.

"Why? What happened?" she asked.

"I caught her and Jenna talking outside Veronica's office. Spencer helped set up a meeting between them. Look, it was stupid, and I overreacted. But I got mad that she had done it behind my back," he said. Hanna's frown deepened.

"Why was Spencer helping Jenna?" she asked. Toby sighed again.

"I guess some student at Rosewood High has been treating Jenna really badly, trying to pull 'pranks' on her. She's really bad to Emily and Alison too, but last week she tried to put something in Jenna's coffee," he said. Hanna winced.

"So why did you get mad? It sounds like this girl is awful," she said. Toby nodded.

"I was upset that she felt the need to keep it all a secret from me. I know things are... complicated with Jenna, but we're not supposed to hide things from each other! I would have understood why she was helping her. I just... accused her of not trusting me," he said, regret dripping from his voice.

"It's going to be okay. They're going to know that bitch isn't me. They'll find us," she promised. Toby nodded, not looking like he believed it.

"Yeah. They'll find us."

---

"I was surprised to hear from you," Mona said, stirring sugar into her coffee. Aria nodded.

"Listen to me, Mona. This is going to sound crazy, but please hear me out," Aria said.

"Crazy is a relative term around here," Mona commented. Aria resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was true, after all. They were sitting in the lobby of the former Radley Sanitarium.

"Hanna is upstairs. But I'm pretty sure it's not Hanna," she said. Mona raised an eyebrow.

"Because...?"

"Because earlier she wasn't wearing her wedding ring. She said she forgot to put it back on after her shower, but she never takes it off. And then, she told the others that we're not ready for kids even though we've already started trying!" As she said the words, she realized just how insane she sounded.

"And Toby didn't show up this morning. Spencer got a text from him saying the wedding was off, but I don't believe it for a second," she said. Mona nodded slowly.

"And you think the two things are connected?" she asked. Aria nodded, surprised that Mona was taking her seriously.

"Could you get me a computer?" She asked. Aria nodded and pulled her laptop out of her bag.

"I thought you might ask," she admitted. A ghost of a smile passed over Mona's lips as she started typing furiously.

"Toby's phone is at his cabin, and has been for the last four hours," she said a few minutes later. Aria frowned.

"Hanna was just there less than an hour ago and said there was no sign of him," she said. Mona pursed her lips.

"Maybe it's time I meet this 'Hanna'."

---

"What is she doing here?" Spencer spat venomously as Aria and Mona walked into the room.

"I thought she might be able to help us," Aria said. Emily raised an eyebrow.

"How exactly?" she asked. Mona ignored the two women and instead turned to look at Hanna.

"Can't a girl get a hug from her friend?" Mona asked sweetly. The blonde looked surprised, but hugged her. She didn't notice Mona slip the small tracking device onto the back collar of her shirt.

"I traced Toby's cell phone. It's at his family's cabin," Mona said.

"I thought you said you didn't see him!" Spencer yelled. Hanna's eyes widened.

"Oh, um."

"No, it just appeared there a few minutes ago," Mona lied. Hanna visibly relaxed.

"I'll go back there now," Hanna said quickly, rushing out of the room before anyone could stop her.

"What the hell just happened?" Alison asked after the door slammed shut. Mona raised a finger to her lips. A few seconds later, she peeked outside in the hallway.

"That's not Hanna," she said. Everyone except Aria stared at her in shock.

"What are you talking about? Of course that's Hanna," Spencer said. Aria shook her head.

"Listen to me, I don't have time to explain it. But trust me when I say I know my wife and that is not her. And Spencer, you know Toby. You know he would never do this to you," Aria reasoned. Spencer hesitated.

"She's not going in the direction of the cabin. We need to go, now," Mona said. Aria looked at her friends.

"Please. Will you come with me?" she asked. Spencer nodded.

"Let's go."

"Time to play a little game, sister," Andrea announced, waking Hanna. Her stomach growled, and she realized she didn't know when she'd last eaten.

"You were so good at giving me information when we were trying to figure out who killed Charlotte, remember? Cooperate and we won't have to bring out the cattle prod," she said with a laugh. Hanna's eyes widened.

"It was you?" she asked. Andrea laughed again and nodded.

"It was. Now I need you to answer a few questions for me," she said. Hanna shook her head.

"No," she refused. Andrea's eyes flashed with anger.

"Have it your way. You see, I need to keep you alive, at least for a while. But Toby over here has outlived his welcome, don't you think?" she asked. Hanna started frantically shaking her head.

"No, no, no! I'll answer anything you want. Don't hurt him," she begged. A loud crash sounded from somewhere above them and Andrea cursed.

"I'll be right back. Don't move. Oh wait, you can't." With another laugh, she disappeared. Once she was gone, Hanna started crying.

"I'm so sorry, Toby," she said. He shook his head.

"It's not your fault," he said. Hanna laughed weakly.

"Isn't it?" She asked. A loud noise sounded from above.

"Was that a...?"

"Gunshot," Toby confirmed grimly. Footsteps began to approach them and Hanna squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to watch this crazy woman shoot Toby.

"Hanna!"

---

"How did you find us?" Toby asked. The seven of them were all sitting in Spencer's living room.

"It was all thanks to Mona, actually. And Aria, for noticing something was up," Spencer said, practically sitting in her fiancé's lap.

"When Hanna said we weren't ready for children, I knew something was wrong," Aria said, holding Hanna's hand tightly. The blonde hadn't said a word since her friends had barged in to their rescue. She'd collapsed into her wife's arms while Mona had picked the lock chaining her to the bed.

"How'd you stop her?" Hanna asked quietly. Alison smiled faintly.

"I didn't even know Mona had a gun until Aria grabbed it from her and aimed it at what appeared to be you," she said.

"Then Aria asked what username you'd picked out for Ella's online dating profile," Emily said.

"Hot Mama loves tango," Hanna said, smiling at the memory. Aria nodded and kissed her wife's cheek.

"But she didn't know that. And Aria shot her," Spencer finished. Hanna's eyebrows shot up.

"She wasn’t armed and you shot her?” she asked. Aria shrugged.

"She had my wife and my best friends fiancé. Besides, she started reaching into her pocket," she said. Toby remained silent on the matter.

"She's in police custody now. She won't be able to hurt anyone ever again," Mona said with a small smile.

"Thank you Mona," Hanna said. Spencer nodded in agreement.

"We never would have found them without your help. I don't think we'll ever be able to repay you," Spencer said. Mona shrugged.

"It was my pleasure. I really should be going though," she said.

"We should probably get home too," Alison said a few minutes later, after Mona was gone. She and Emily said goodbye to everyone before returning home to their daughters.

"You guys could stay in the guest bedroom," Spencer said quickly when Aria and Hanna made a move to get up. Aria raised an eyebrow.

"I know it's silly, but I'd just feel better if you guys stayed here tonight," she said. Hanna smiled at her friend.

"Of course we'll stay, Spence," she agreed. They followed Spencer into the guest room and Spencer threw her arms around Aria.

"If you hadn't noticed that wasn't Hanna... Who knows what would have happened to Toby," she said, tears leaking from her eyes. Hanna looked at the floor guiltily.

"Oh, Han. It's not your fault," Spencer said, noticing her friend's reaction. Hanna shrugged sadly.

"Hey, I love you, Hanna. I didn't mean it like that. If Aria hadn't noticed when she did... We could have lost you," she said, her voice breaking. Hanna hugged the brunette tightly.

"I love you too, Spence. Now go talk to Toby. I know he has something he wants to say to you," she said. Spencer hugged both girls again before going to her own bedroom.

"That was kind of sexy, the way you burst in all ready to save the day," Hanna said softly. Aria smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Hanna asked. The brunette nodded.

"Yeah... I'm fine. I just... I love you so much. I don't know what I would do if I lost you," she said. Hanna squeezed her wife's hand.

"You're not going to find out, not anytime soon," she promised.

“You know… We never did go on that honeymoon,” Aria said. Hanna smiled.

“What do you say we get out of here after the wedding?” she asked. Aria grinned and kissed her wife.

“I say let’s go.”

#haria #prompt #fanfic #pll #hanna x aria

6 notes · View notes

cherrycapturedwolf · 7 years

Text

exchanging notes

Summary: For her, loving is always done better at a distance. Pairing: Eriol / Tomoyo Word count: 5148 AO3 || FF

Written for @tomyo-chan‘s birthday this past week ❤️ inspired by this post

Sunday afternoon: the prime piano playing time. If there’s one constant in Eriol’s life, it’s this. Fingers gliding across the keys, he closes his eyes, taking in the magic of wood hitting string. The calming melody of Chopin’s Etude Op 25 in A♭ Major soothes him every time. In fluid motion, he moves with the ripples of notes gathering speed, ebbing and flowing, ebbing and flowing.

The piano sits at a comfortable distance from the sunlight streaming in from outside. Not for the first time, Eriol imagines his perfect grand piano set up in a large living room — high ceilings and spacious walls. But until he has enough money, an upright piano in his humble apartment will have to do.

Every Sunday is the same. A two hour piano session right before lunch. It’s one routine he’ll never tire of. Despite having moved in only two weeks ago, he set aside the task of unpacking more boxes that morning simply because habit called. While new experiences were always fun and exciting, Eriol could never bring himself to drop the one single constant in his life that is the piano.

Some routines should never be disrupted.

So when he grabs his jacket after his practice session and begins to head out, he’s surprised to find a piece of paper lying at his doorstep.

“Oh, Spinel, don’t eat that,” he says, watching his black cat gently nibble at the corner of the sheet. Bending over, he rescues the paper from Spinel’s claws and straightens back up.

There’s handwriting there—neat, cursive, written in gel pen. The sight of it elicits mild concern in him, forcibly reminding him of the last apartment he recently moved out from: an angry knock on the door and a fussy old neighbor complaining that his musical enjoyment was too loud and had disturbed her greatly. He sighs. It’s only week two and he’s already receiving noise complaints.

Bracing himself for the worst, he lifts the piece of paper to his face, adjusts his glasses, and reads.

“A humble request to the amazingly talented pianist:

Arabesque - Debussy”

Eriol raises his eyebrows, feeling the knots in his chest loosen in mild surprise. An admirer, eh? He’d take it.

Setting aside the feeling of his empty stomach, he hangs his coat back on the rack and walks back to the piano. Before he sits down, he pulls open the window. Setting his fingers back on the keys, he begins the first note of Arabesque. It rings like a bell in the air before flowing into the piece and he smiles, thinking back to the days when he learned this in his piano lessons. It had taken him less than a week to master the song, as he had taken to the melody immediately. Arabesque had always lifted his spirits with its cascading notes, reminding him simultaneously of a quiet stream of water and the smooth movements of a ballerina.

Albeit a little rusty, he’s surprised he still remembers how to play it. The tune carries itself in gentle waves and for the rest of the song, he forgets how hungry he is.

Finally, his fingers slow to a stop and softly lift off while his foot on the pedal holds the last notes, allowing it to fade naturally into silence.

Before he can wonder whether his neighbor had been able to listen to the whole rendition or not, he hears a faint clap coming from the open window; most likely from the neighbor above. Resisting the urge to bow, he smiles instead and closes the window back shut.

Although he’s behind on schedule, Eriol walks out the door with a small smile on his face. Passing the floral shop outside his apartment as he heads off to lunch, he realizes he wouldn’t mind if this casual note exchange became a regular occurrence.

—

Sunday mornings are for tea and relaxation. It’s the one day of the weekend she has off from her flower shop and sleeping in until eleven has been established as a sacred ritual. It’s the days she gets to wake up and lie around for an hour before getting up to grab an early lunch. Afterwards, she’d light incense and change the flowers around her father’s butsudan.

In a few weeks, it will be sixteen years since he passed away.

Mother kept insisting that she move back home, but Tomoyo loves the independence of living out on her own. She knows Mother means well, but she needs the flexibility and freedom that living by herself offers. And though Mother denies that she is overbearing and controlling, Tomoyo can’t help but feel completely smothered whenever she visits or speaks on the phone.

“Are you eating well? All three meals? Does Sakura-chan visit often? If not, you need to go see her sometimes so you’re not always alone!”

A sinking feeling weighs down on her heart as she thinks about it all. She forces herself to push the thought away. It’s Sunday. Sundays are for tea and relaxation.

Stretching her arms all over the bed, she basks in the sunlight streaming in from her window. With a contented yawn, she pulls the blankets back over her and snuggles in deeper.

It’s in this state of being that she finally registers it: a muffled tinkering melody drifting over from afar and alighting upon her ears. She doesn’t know how, but for the first time in months, she feels a sense of amity and companionship fill her heart, as though whatever she’s feeling or has felt in the past is being shared and understood. It’s something that she hadn’t known for ages ever since her best friend got married and moved out—or even ever since her father was still alive. Perhaps it’s the light spring in each note as they follow one after another, or just the simple flowing melody itself, but Tomoyo’s chest seems to loosen from a knot she didn’t even know had existed in the last few weeks.

As though in a trance, she sits up slowly in bed, closes her eyes, and listens.

Tomoyo had taken piano lessons when she was a young child, but her passion had always lain more with singing. Although she’s heard piano playing nearly everywhere throughout her life—mainly at cafes and hotels or even just the radio—something about the nature of this pianist really stands out to her. It goes beyond skill and mastery of the piece. It has the same familiarity and wit and… charm that her father had displayed. And as Tomoyo takes the music in, she closes her eyes and allows the sense of peace to settle upon her.

Just as she begins to wonder what they might play next, the last song ends. Eager for more, she waits in anticipation, counting down the seconds on her clock. She listens as the person moves on to the next piece, and then the next, each one just as beautiful as the last. Captivated and unmoving, she loses track of how long she’s been sitting in bed, drinking in the music like air.

Remembering the moving trucks from two weeks ago, she can’t believe her luck that she’d ended up with a pianist for a neighbor. Perhaps she ought to say hello and welcome them to the apartment complex, see if they’re open to doing requests.

And then, the inspiration hits her.

Grabbing a piece of paper and an ink pen, she makes a brief scribble on the page, grabs a coat, and heads for the front door.

When she reaches the first floor, Tomoyo strains her ears, trying to make out which apartment her talented neighbor might be in. She walks on her toes as if carrying a secret, and approaches the source of the music. After confirming the correct door, she slips the piece of paper beneath it and tiptoes back upstairs.

They play the song. She claps harder than she has in a long time.

—

Without being aware of it, Eriol begins to look forward to every Sunday. His favorite is when he finds the slip before he even starts his practice sessions. He’s always called himself the performer type, thriving off of applause and attention—not that he needs it to survive necessarily, but it’s always been the sunlight he’s enjoyed in order to fully bloom.

So when he sees a new request every week and hears the light clapping of hands after each song, he can’t help but wonder who his secret admirer is. Definitely a girl though, by his impeccable deductive reasoning. The handwriting, the type of ink pen, neatly ripped paper, her taste based on requested music, the sound of her clapping—hands that sounded soft and small but full of life—the clues all pointed toward a neat, delicate young woman who probably reads a lot. He can almost picture her: petite, shy, perhaps with glasses, unpainted nails, no taller than 154 centimeters. She probably enjoys visiting museums, frequenting cafes (where she orders flat whites or chai lattes), and watching artsy films. Her drink of choice is white wine and she loves dessert more than actual food.

He wonders how many of his speculations are correct. The mystery of it is enticing, alluring. There are so many possibilities and his brain is constantly entertained by trying to imagine what this secret admirer might be like.

He walks up to his front door and picks up the piece of paper. This time, there’s only one single phrase on the page:

Surprise me.

Smirking, he hurries over to his piano and seats himself. Adding her sense of humor to another new thing he’s learned about her, he goes through the repertoire of all the most difficult pieces he knows in his head. To reward her for being so mysterious, clever, and sassy, he intends to repay her the only way he knows how. Finally, after much contemplation, he settles on a piece that he’s sure will blow her expectations out of the water.

Taking a deep breath, he sets his hands on the keys and dives right into one of his favorite but intense songs: Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto.

The standing ovation he receives at the end of the song makes it all worth it.

—

On one Sunday, he leaves a note outside his door for her.

Give me a hint?

When he returns home from dinner that night, he finds a single Magnolia flower sitting at his doorstep with a new note along with it.

May your music never stop blooming.

—

For the last few weeks, they’ve been doing this, yet Tomoyo still doesn’t even know what her musician neighbor looks like. It isn’t as though she can’t easily find out, given she knows which door they reside behind. But there’s something about keeping it secret from herself that she can’t quite seem to get over.

From the very first moment she heard this person play, she’s been afraid of knowing. The way her heart responded to the possibility of meeting a kindred spirit alarmed her. She still couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about the way they performed but listening to them play piece after piece has been as comforting as finding someone who speaks the same language as her when she’s gone far too long being misunderstood by the people around her.

Logically, there should be joy about this discovery, rather than fear. But based on her family history and her track record, her heart is not something that keeps her safe. And after falling in love with her best friend and watching her get married, on top of the argument she had with her mother when she decided to move out, Tomoyo isn’t exactly ready to let herself feel anything new just yet, not when her heart has already been damaged multiple times.

So she continues watering the plants at her shop and thinking up more songs to request, but other than that, she’d stay far away from her neighbor’s door.

For her, loving is always done better at a distance.

—

It really is such a shame that this is the only hint you’re willing to give me. Perhaps magnolias are your favorite? An interesting choice. Beautiful and fascinating. So pure, so gentle. I wonder if there’s more to it. I suppose it would be foolish to expect a second hint?

Very foolish. What you make up for in your musical skills, you lack in your modern day sensibilities.

Ouch. You wound me, my dear. But in all seriousness, how else can I thank my most faithful and loyal admirer?

Thank yourself — for the gift of music.

Give yourself more credit. It’s people like you who make it all the more enjoyable.

—

She’s got personality, he thinks after their most recent exchange. Strangely enough, instead of narrowing down his idea of her, more possibilities are opening up about what kind of person she might be.

Of course, he’d expected her to be witty, no doubt about that. But the style of her humor and the specific things she’s been saying, has more often than not surprised him completely. Maybe she’s actually a full on nerd who plays video games. Maybe she has a secret vacation home in France. Maybe she’s really poor and lives paycheck to paycheck paying rent in this apartment complex. Maybe she’s actually from America but knows how to read and write Japanese and is afraid to meet him for fear of revealing what a terrible speaker she is. Maybe after all this time, Eriol had been wrong, and she’s actually a man. The possibilities were endless.

Despite all this, with every note he receives, every musical note he gives back in return, and every soft applause he hears from above, he can’t help but fall for her a little bit more each time.

—

Tell me, love, are we going to continue this way forever? Just two ships passing in the (long, extended) night?

Until one of us moves out.

Have I ever told you that stubbornness is an attractive character trait?

You need to refine your tastes if you ask me.

Where do you think my music skills come from, if not a refined taste?

Not everyone can be perfect. :)

Says the lady who lives the most secret life.

You’re right — I’m the epitome of perfect. If you can’t see my flaws, they aren’t there.

Ah, so you are a girl, then? No denial there?

I never said that. Silence is not always confirmation of the truth.

Dearest, if we’re never going to meet in person, then what’s the harm in giving more hints?

What’s the point of it in general?

To quench my burning curiosity, at the very least. Aren’t you the least bit curious?

You’re free to tell me more about yourself if you’d like.

Now that’s not fair. There’s no reciprocation involved, love.

By the way, I must know. When do you even collect and pass these notes anyways? I never see you, and believe me, I spend more time than I’d like to admit spying out of the peephole.

That’s a secret. :) On another note—ha, see what I did there?—another humble request:

Claire de Lune.

—

It’s harmless, she thinks, exchanging notes. They’re just little tiny meaningless fun sprinkled all throughout her week, right?

She doesn’t know what she’s thinking, though, asking for Claire de Lune. She had gone back upstairs the moment she dropped off the last note because she knew if she thought too much about it, she’d second guess herself and rip it up into pieces. It had been such a long time since she’s heard Claire de Lune played in a way that she loves. And although it felt dangerous to her heart to hear someone like her neighbor play it, it was worth the risk just to be able to feel even an inkling of her father’s presence again.

For the rest of the afternoon, however, he continued to play. (He? He? Since when did her neighbor become a ‘he’?) Beautiful as usual, the music was wonderful—but he (or her) never played Claire de Lune. (Their handwriting is certainly pretty enough to belong to any gender, for that matter.)

Perhaps after all the challenging pieces she’d requested over the last few weeks, Claire de Lune was too basic, too simple. Or perhaps she annoyed the pianist with her refusal to see each other in person. Either way, meeting up is out of the question. So as much as she wanted to hear her neighbor play Claire de Lune, maybe it’s actually better this way.

Picking up her purse and keys, she decides to shrug it off and head out for dinner. When she reaches the first floor, however, she feels an incessant tugging inside and, turning her head, she glances down the hallway at the pianists’ door. There at the welcome mat, is a sheet of paper.

Her heart starts racing before she registers what she’s doing and within seconds, she finds herself at their door, out of sight from the peephole. Bending over to keep from being seen, she grabs the slip, straightens up, and hurries away from the scene.

Once Tomoyo hails a cab and gets in the car, she opens the note and reads.

Claire de Lune? Once again, you never fail to surprise me, love. I’ll play it next week. For now, I have a concert coming up that I must fully practice for. You are free to come. It’s this Friday, 7:30, at the Shibuya Public Hall.

For the rest of the evening, her smile never fades from her face.

—

It’s Friday afternoon and Eriol is pacing around the living room while Spinel dozes idly atop the grand piano. The clock ticks; it’s almost three thirty in the afternoon and the sun is starting its descent. The mysterious neighbor’s last note lays on coffee table.

She never responded with whether she’d come to the concert or not, and Eriol suspects that even if she did, she might not make herself known. Still, he’s always considered himself an opportunistic guy and if there were the faintest possibility that she might be there—he’d take it.

Making up his mind, he grabs his keys and heads out the door.

Every day, he passes the floral shop right outside his apartment. Every day, he walks right by it without ever stopping by to take a look until now.

The tinkling of a bell rings as he pushes the door open and the smell of gardenias is the first thing to hit. Refreshing and intoxicating, they remind him of summer days spent walking along the park outside his flat in London; a light breeze grazing his cheeks and the warm sun caressing his skin. The room is small and humble, with an air of daintiness. Rows of different flowers fill the space against the backdrop of white brick walls while several of the sensitive types reside inside refrigerated floral casings.

“Hello, may I help you?” a light, delicate voice says from the counter.

Turning to face the speaker, he smiles. With long dark curls and deep violet eyes, the petite young woman smiles kindly back at him.

“Hi,” he greets in return. “I was looking to buy a bouquet of flowers. Preferably made up mostly of magnolias.”

“Great choice,” she says, walking around the cashier stand and over to leftmost corner of the room. “What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion?” he asks, unsure of how to answer. Technically, it’s for his own piano concert, except it’s not for him. Furthermore, it’s for someone he’s never met, and she might not even show up.

Deciding it’d be more trouble to explain than what it’s worth, he shrugs and simply throws out: “A date.”

“Oh,” she says. For a split second, Eriol could’ve sworn he saw the briefest flicker of disappointment on her face before she beams up at him. “That sounds nice.”

Stopping in front of a whole row of different colored magnolias, she gestures to the entire set.

“Do you have a preference for the type of magnolias you’d want to include in your bouquet?” she asks.

“Hmm,” Eriol hums, considering the matter. He didn’t know enough about flowers to really judge. “What are your favorites?”

“Well,” she says, turning to face the flowers. “I’d have to say I love the classic Chinese magnolias in pink, and the white Yulan magnolias the best.”

She points at each type as she names them. By sight, Eriol has to agree they’re definitely the prettiest ones in the collection. The white ones look closest to the ones his mystery song requester left at his door a few weeks ago.

“I’ll just have an assortment with both then,” he grins as she nods and starts to pick the magnolias out. She really is pretty, Eriol thinks as he watches her.

“That’ll be 4,000 yen,” she announces, after wrapping the stems up and heading back towards the counter.

“Thank you for helping me out,” he says kindly as he swipes his credit card.

“Good luck on your date,” she says brightly.

“Much thanks to you,” he replies with a small salute and a full on wink.

And with one last look at her smile, he takes his purchase and bows out the door.

—

Eriol finds himself at the concert, holding the arrangement of magnolias he had just bought. It’s unusual for performers to be the one carrying bouquets but he could care less as he walked into the green room despite a few of the confused looks he receives. Shrugging it off, he puts it away for safekeeping as he prepares for the night.

Before the concert begins, he walks around in the foyer, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone that might potentially be his mystery neighbor. Possible candidates continue to stand out to him left and right—a girl in glasses, a girl with small hands, a girl with a pale face, a girl with high cheekbones—all strangers, all equally likely to be the one. He had even purposely played one of his songs as often as he possibly could this past week, hoping she’ll hear and recognize it if she came to the concert.

The guessing game is the most fun. While other musicians perform, he peeks out from backstage in between songs whenever the spotlights shift across the audience, lighting up the sea of faces in a brief flash. The idea that she could be in the midst of it all is thrilling, to say the least.

Eventually, it’s his turn. As he plays, he plays hard. All the dedication and time spent on this piece, he channels into reaching her. His only hope is that she can feel even a small inkling of it all: of his hard work, of his burning curiosity, of his longing to find her. Somewhere, somehow in the audience, she’ll hear it and she’ll know. And as his hands glide across the keys, he imagines his thoughts channeling through his fingers and hopes in the magic of music.

—

He sits in the foyer with the magnolias after the concert, watching people go by. Nobody comes to find him.

He is the last to leave the venue.

The disappointment settles in. This can’t last forever.

He decides to play Claire de Lune this week, but it will be his final shot.

—

It’s Sunday morning. The magnolias sit in a flower vase next to the piano and Eriol stares at them as he places his hands on the keys.

He doesn’t know what she wants from his rendition of Claire de Lune but he knows if nothing beyond the ordinary happens after this, this will be his final time playing for her. His final chance to send his final message through these final notes.

With a deep sigh, his left hand sinks into the first key.

—

Tomoyo lies awake in bed on Sunday morning, staring up at the ceiling. For the entirety of Saturday, she’s been wrestling with herself over whether she did the right thing or not. And all the while, she can’t get her mind off of him.

Yes, him, she’d discovered. After all this time of clinging hard and fast to her own rules, she broke them in a burning curiosity that surprised even herself. The moment she heard the familiar song he’d been playing for all of the last two weeks, she knew. And when she squinted, she recognized him as the man who came into the flower shop hours earlier.

She’s not entirely surprised—of course a talented pianist with neat handwriting and classy wit would look that handsome. But what had surprised her the most was the way her heart couldn’t seem to decide whether to beat faster or stop beating at all.

So she had fled. After catching a brief glimpse of him sitting on a bench in the large hallway afterwards, the magnolias by his side, she had fled. Coward, she thinks. She’s always been a coward. The hard truth is that she doesn’t know how to love if it isn’t from afar.

(And besides, didn’t he say in the flower shop that he had a date? Perhaps the flirting was all just a game for all she knew.)

There she goes again, rushing to the end conclusion before any factual evidence is brought to light. It’s what Sakura-chan has always called out in her, with concern in her emerald eyes as her hand reaches out to grab Tomoyo’s. And even then, the end conclusion of their relationship only proves Tomoyo right again and again.

She’s accepted long ago that she’d be pierced by her own blade.

Her mother falls for the same flaws; she is the one who made her this way. And so in times of deep despair and feeling stuck in this cursed cycle, it’s her father she misses most.

Getting out of bed, she gets dressed and walks over to her father’s butsudan. She lights incense and kneels down before it. With her head bowed low in prayer, she sighs.

Father… please guide me. I’m just … so lost and paralyzed by too many fears. I don’t want to become like Mother. Please…

As though in response, Tomoyo’s ears suddenly pick up a familiar sound. The light tinkling of piano notes once again punctuate the air, like they so often do these days, and she’s gasps because of the timing of it. Straightening up, her mouth falls open as she stares into space and listens.

Claire de Lune. Just like she asked.

And it isn’t just Claire de Lune played like any other old way. There’s longing and joy mixed with melancholic nostalgia. There’s innocence and wisdom beyond years and years. As she listens, she feels a deep well rising in her heart, threatening to burst and spill over. Her eyes begin to water with the emotions choking her throat and all she can see is her father, alive and well, smiling and laughing at something she said; her father, deep in concentration as his fingers press down on each key with the utmost care and intention; her father, with a crinkle in his eyes, holding her tightly in his arms…

And before she knows it, she’s gotten up and starts walking out her door. As if in a trance, she floats down the hallway and down the stairs. Stopping in front of the door she now knows so well, she smooths out her pink dress and waits for the song to finish.

She closes her eyes and lets the music consume her. Soft, calm, and soothing, the melody flows on. She knows it by heart so she counts out each measure in her head, reaching its peak and ebbing away.

Finally, she hears him slowly come to the end on the last note, letting the echo reverberate in the quiet between them.

When there’s nothing left but silence, she opens her eyes and stares at the black door before her. And then, taking a deep breath, she raises her knuckle and knocks three times.

As the sound of footsteps shuffling across hardwood floors grow closer and closer, her heart seems to pound faster and faster. This is it. No backing out now.

The doorknob rattles and twists; she feels a mild scuffle as it opens before her. Looking up, her breath hitches in her throat as deep blue eyes stare down at her behind glasses. It’s his look of surprise that makes her realize that she’s still crying.

“Hm,” he says with an air of polite interest. She sees the recognition flicker in his eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t guess that it was you all along.”

“T-the last thing you played,” she stammers, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “It’s unlike any other Claire de Lune I’ve heard in my life, I—”

He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms, waiting patiently, eyes dancing with delight and amusement.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I was afraid,” she admits, biting her lip. “T-there’s only so much heartache one can take… before losing the will to try and love up close.”

More tears come. She takes a shuddering breath and looks down at the floor.

“I’m Daidouji—Daidouji Tomoyo,” she says.

“I’m—”

“Hiiragizawa Eriol,” she finishes for him. “I know. I went to your concert.”

He straightens up and raises an eyebrow, looking impressed. “You did? Why you clever little tease.”

She bites back a laugh and looks away again. “I’m just the world’s biggest coward.”

“Hey, now,” he says, reaching out a hand to cup her chin. Lifting her head up to his, his eyes bore into her dark violet ones as his thumb wipes away a straying tear. As fast as her heart is pounding, she can’t look away. “I’m sure that whatever it took for you to get here to this moment today took a lot of courage.”

“It would never have happened without your music,” Tomoyo says. She finds herself drawing closer and closer to his face.

Chuckling, he shakes his head.

“False. Who’s the one who sent the first note?” he counters. “You did. And you are capable of so much more.”

“Well, either way,” she says, feeling him lean down towards her. “Your music is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

And feeling emboldened, she grabs his collar and drags him down to meet her lips. The kiss is sweet and tender, his calloused fingers grazing her jaw in a slow line down to her neck. It’s exhilarating and audacious, and when she pulls away and rests her forehead against his, Tomoyo feels like a new person.

“So… do you want to grab coffee sometime?” he asks, eyes full of mirth.

Deciding to set aside her fears for once, she nods.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

#cardcaptor sakura #eriol hiiragizawa #tomoyo daidouji #eriol x tomoyo #eritomo #fanfiction #justine writes #justinewrites #i've got some tricks up my queue

123 notes · View notes

avecorviidae · 4 years

Text

Fic: and all their leaves will wither

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human Rating: T Relationship(s): Hank Anderson & Connor Word Count: 8998

Ao3 Link

Hank remembers this particular conversation later - much later.

They’re in the crazy fucking bird deviant’s apartment, wading through pigeon shit and piss and god knows what else, and Hank leans against the wall by the sink, turning the severed LED over and over between his fingertips, watching the way that Thirium residue stains his nails.

“So, here’s what I’m wondering,” he drawls, mostly to the empty room at large, but Connor’s head perks up where he’s crouched on the floor, turned just a little to let Hank know he’s listening.

“We’ve had two hundred-and-something cases of deviance in the last year, and god knows how many missing android cases before that were actually deviants, but we’ve only just started finding their LEDs in the last month, like that AX400 from the motel, and now this guy. I mean, it seems like a pretty fucking obvious way to hide – did they just not know they came off, or something?”

Connor is silent, still mostly turned away from Hank, but his own LED cycles yellow, his expression frowning and pensive in that way that meant he was trying to think of the best answer - the one that would make the most sense to Hank, maybe. He seemed to try to do that, these days, adapt his wording to Hank’s thought patterns, modulating his tone to tease, play at his sense of humor. Stupid CyberLife programming and his own fucking common sense be damned, Hank thought it just might be working on him – fuckin’ bot grows on you like a fungus.

After a moment, Connor turns, looking up at Hank with his eyebrows still furrowed. “Lieutenant,” he starts, “if, hypothetically, you needed to hide your identity, and the main visible indication of your identity was, say… your nose. While you would probably think of wearing a mask, I highly doubt your first thought would be to cut off your own nose.”

Hank snorts, finding Connor’s little analogy lacking. An android could cut off its LED, and skin would just grow right over it. They’d look – well, normal. Human.

He shakes his head, laughing, “Well yeah, Connor, I think I’d look pretty fuckin’ weird without my nose.”

Connor stands, eyes bright and intent. “Well,” he counters, “I think I would look very strange without my LED. I have never seen my face without it, and even when it’s covered, I know that it’s there.” He brushes two fingers across his temple then, the motion looking distracted, almost unconscious, if Hank had believed androids were capable of that sort of thing.

He gives Connor an appraising look, reconsidering. It almost makes sense. Maybe, even to a deviant that was out of its mind, ripping off a part of your face just to blend in was pretty extreme.

Then, Connor pulls his hand away from his face, and Hank notices the blue tint to his fingertips.

“Aw, jesus, Connor! Don’t tell me you put the fucking sink-blood in your goddamn mouth!”

And Hank watches as CyberLife’s most advanced prototype, with its perfectly friendly face and its perfectly programmed motions that always looked just a little too planned, dissembles and apologizes and teases with its perfectly even voice and robotically calculated tones, and he thinks that maybe there’s just no point to androids trying to blend in with the humans. They’re just too strange, too foreign, too obviously other.

Here’s the thing: Hank is well aware that he’s a depressed, self-loathing, largely pessimistic motherfucker.

It’s the reason why, even as he watched the public rally in support of android freedom, watched footage of Markus, hands up and voice steady, watched Jericho rise inexplicably closer and closer to their goals, he’d been convinced up until the very last minute that it simply couldn’t work, that someone would snipe Markus and his people dead from a rooftop somewhere and Warren would actually go through with the elimination of androids, because apparently nobody in the White House had bothered to google the historical implications of fucking extermination camps.

It’s the same reason why, despite obvious evidence of Connor liking him at least a little bit, he’d been absolutely goddamn certain that after the dust had settled, he’d never see Connor again. He’d watched Markus’ victory speech, televised live, and hadn’t heard a word he’d said after he’d noticed Connor onstage at his back. There, standing in the deserted public lobby of the CyberLife tower, blue blood dried and flaking on his shoes, he’d watched Connor stare ahead with clear eyes and his head held high, and thought that’s my boy, and realized, in that moment, that it might be the last good look he gets of him. That if he decided to stay with Markus, and Jericho, and his people in general, Hank wouldn’t go after him, wouldn’t have the right to.

So he’d dealt with it as best as he was able. He went home and fed Sumo, had planned on falling asleep on the sofa to some awful movie, but had ended up watching the news. He’d curled up with a blanket over his knees, Sumo lying against his side, and the way his stomach churned reminded him of when he’d been young and angry and anxious, staying up all night to watch the results of the presidential elections. How many presidents had he seen in his life, anyways? Fuck, he’s old.

He zones in and out for most of the morning, barely noticing when early sunlight starts to come through his windows. New developments come in from Washington; the right to freedom of assembly has been restored, and Warren has agreed to meet with Markus to discuss terms, to decide where to go moving forward. Pundits whose exhaustion is barely concealed by stage makeup are shouting at each other about intelligence and free will. And throughout it all, footage from the protest is being used as B-roll, and despite himself, Hank finds himself watching it intently for any glimpse of Connor in the background.

Around ten in the morning, Hank gives up on sleep. Forces himself to shower, gets dressed in clean clothes. Considers eating, but for once he’s got no appetite and there’s nothing in his fridge anyways, so he just heads out, taking the long walk into town instead of his car. It’s hard going with the godawful shape he’s in, but it’s snowing again, and the bite of the cold air is helping him clear his mind.

And, sure, he’s only in town on some business, has already convinced himself that Connor’s better off where he’s needed, but some lonely part of him is still thinking, maybe. So he stands around in front of the Chicken Feed longer than he needs to, enjoying the silence, thinking he should take Sumo for a walk out here, and he thinks maybe, maybe, maybe, until there’s footsteps in the snow and suddenly, Connor is there, and for all that he’d looked every bit the untouchable revolutionary on television, here and now in front of Hank, Connor looks exhausted.

Connor meets his eyes and lights up smiling, relief and joy clear in every line of his body, escaping him in a sigh when he says, “Hank,” and it’s enough for him to grab the kid’s shoulder and pull him into his arms, smiling when Connor practically sags into him, hands fisted in the back of his coat, making a small, startled noise into the crook of his shoulder that just makes Hank pull him in tighter.

Still holding on for dear life, Connor mumbles into his jacket, “When I heard about the evacuation, I didn’t know if you had left, but I hoped…”

Hank huffs a laugh, pulls back to clap him on the shoulder. “C’mon, Connor, the government can’t get people to evacuate when their houses are getting sucked into a goddamn tornado, people aren’t gonna clear out because of a little revolution. Half of Detroit is probably still at home. Besides,” he shrugs, “I’ve gotta look after Sumo.” Connor perks up at the mere mention of the dog, and Hank resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“You oughta come see him,” He advises instead, tone stern, “I think he’s missing you.”

Hank would be hard-pressed to say when exactly Connor went deviant, thinks it might’ve been well before Connor knew it himself. A thousand moments – pulling Hank off that rooftop, not shooting the sexbots, shoving the gun back into Kamski’s chest with a scowl, all of his smiles and frowns and little tics – but it’s the morning after the longest night in Detroit’s living memory, and Connor, for possibly the first time in Hank’s memory, looks comfortable in his skin. He smiles, and lets out a breath, and says, “I’d really like that.”

Hank grins and turns, making to cross the street. He calls over his shoulder, “Well, come on then.”

Close at his heels, Connor asks, “Where did you park? I don’t see your car.”

“That happens to be the reason I was over here,” Hank says, reaching in his coat pocket and pulling out a severely over-crammed keyring. He’s led them towards a beat-up set of buildings, and he starts towards the storage building at the end of the street, so close to falling down that it’s practically leaning on the apartment building next to it. As he’s carding through the keychain, he says, “I had Jimmy hold on to her for a while, but I reckon now’s as good a time as any to bring her back into the light of day.”

He can hear Connor’s head tilting. “Her…?”

“Ah!” He finally gets the right key and shoves it into the lock, Connor appearing at his side to help him pull up the door. Inside is a load of junk, broken bar stools and booths and whatever else Jimmy’s let people stash in here, but Hank’s girl is right at the front where he left her.

As he pushes it out onto the road, he hears Connor say, “A… Harley Davidson 2018 Roadster. Hank, this bike is twenty years old, are you sure it’s safe to ride?”

Hank straddles the bike, putting the key in the ignition and enjoying the rush as she roars under him. He looks up at Connor, one eyebrow raised. “Are you accusing me of not taking care of my machines, Connor? I’m wounded. Now, hop on.”

Connor hesitates, frowning. “You don’t appear to have a helmet, Hank, it’s incredibly dangerous to drive–”

“Connor.”

A sigh. “I’m coming.”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Hank says, pretty much out of nowhere. He’s tapping along to a beat in his head on the steering wheel, trying not to think about Kamski, or androids, or anything, and failing miserably.

“What?” Connor says, blinking distractedly. Yeah, distracted is the word for it. Kamski’s little game has him fucked up, but Hank’s got the feeling it was just the straw on the camel’s back – this little existential crisis has been building up for a while.

Hank sighs. He might make this better or worse, but at the very least it’ll distract them both for a couple of minutes. “You’re model RK800, right?” “Right.” “Now, I don’t know a whole lot about android production, or the latest models, or what-have-you, but I remember a few years back folks were talking about an RK100, but it never made it to manufacturing. You mind explaining what the hell happened to two through seven?”

Connor blinks again, thinking a moment before he says, “Markus, the android who’s leading the protests, is a prototype RK200 model. Kamski gave him to the painter, Carl Manfred, and no further design changes were made, it never went into production.”

Kamski gave him to the painter, huh? Hank shakes his head, deciding not to mention it. “Right,” he says, “That’s one accounted for, but there’s still five more models between two and eight.”

Connor’s hand goes to rest on his thigh, fingers tapping against the leg of his pants. “I… I don’t have any data, so this would be pure speculation.”

Hank nods. “We’re detectives – speculating is half the fun. Shoot.”

Connor takes a deep breath – did he used to do that? – and starts, slow, like he’s deconstructing a crime. “From what I understand, the RK series are not only highly advanced, but also highly specialized. I have autonomy to make decisions where, say, an AX series would sense conflicting instructions and need to wait for an order before continuing. My software is specifically designed to emulate an investigative mindset.” “You think like a detective, and you’ve got instinct and the ability to act on it,” Hank says, choosing to practice his fluency in Connorese-to-English rather than asking Connor to translate.

Connor tilts his head in the sort of way he does when Hank grossly oversimplifies a situation, but for once, chooses not to split hairs, instead just allowing it with an easy, “Sure.”

“Anyways, it might be extrapolated that all of the RK series were intended to perform in highly specific roles, and therefore, that CyberLife was working on producing the entire line at the same time – perhaps hoping to release them to the public simultaneously.” Hank can imagine it, actually. A CyberLife CEO on a big, black stage, ala Steve Jobs from the good old days, holding his hands out before a line of eight androids and saying this is the future to uproarious applause. It’s exactly the kind of publicity shit that CyberLife would do.

“Makes sense so far,” he says, “but what happened?”

“Deviants,” Connor says, the word coming out strangely. A moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Connor seems to shake himself out of whatever he’s thinking. “As deviancy in androids spread, it became clear that it was going to become a problem for CyberLife, especially if word got out to the media. It’s a distinct possibility that work was suspended on the rest of the RK series to ensure that my prototype was completed quickly, as I was the most capable of dealing with the situation.”

They both seem to be choosing to ignore the fact that Connor’s managed to fuck up just about every confrontation he’s had with a deviant since Hank has met him.

(Once, late at night, Hank had pulled up footage of that case from a couple months ago, the deviant with the hostage on the rooftop. He’d replayed it over and over again, as Connor pulled a gun and executed the android, walked away without so much as glancing at the little girl. He tried to reconcile it with the Connor who’d watched as that android crossed the highway with the human kid, with the Connor who had pulled him off the ledge instead of chasing after a suspect, and all he could think was what happened?

What’s changing you?)

Hank just hums in agreement. “It makes sense that CyberLife would want their eyes and ears on the ground, too.” Plus, the sooner they’ve got a prototype in the field, the sooner they can work out any bugs and get to mass-producing it.

And then it all falls into place.

Cyberlife wants the police.

There’s a certain appeal to having a perfect detective – one who never needs to stop working on a case to sleep or eat, one who’s never emotional or irrational, one who never misses a clue because he’s tired, or drunk, or just in some way imperfect. It’d be fairly easy for CyberLife to market the idea to the public, already overly reliant on their machines.

Governments would jump at the idea, of course. A one-time purchase cost in exchange for never having to pay a cop’s salary again? Of course it’s worth it.

And just like that, CyberLife becomes vastly richer, and they have complete control over the law.

Shit.

He spares Connor a glance, finds him staring wide-eyed and listless out of the window.

He hums, sometimes. Hank’s not sure if Connor is even aware of it, has never brought it up, but every now and again he’ll catch it in the quiet moments, the chorus of a Knights song Hank played in the car, or some vaguely familiar commercial jingle. And it’s not – he doesn’t modulate his voice to imitate the singers either, though Hank knows he can do that – it’s always Connor, his own voice.

At the very least, Hank knows one thing.

If Connor’s their prototype for the perfect android detective, they’ve got a long way to go.

If he thought that the outside of the home was impressive, the inside was downright stunning. The front hall is all high ceilings and windows, warm wood offset by golden gilt, and the whole place seems to be filled with sunlight, making the entire damn room glow.

Hank isn’t an art guy, didn’t really know anything about Manfred, probably couldn’t pick out one of his paintings in a lineup, but he wonders for a moment what the man must’ve been like, to want to live in a house that feels like an exhibit at a museum, as much an art piece as it is a home. He thinks of his neighborhood, his own home, blinds drawn and dim lamps, white walls and grey skies, and wonders what kind of person Manfred must’ve been to belong here.

Markus looks like he belongs here; the sunlight hits him the same way it does the abstract carpet that runs along the staircase, making the colors of him warmer. He looks softer around the edges than he did on the news, Hank thinks, when he’d been all grit and pain and bleeding blue in the snow.

He watches Markus’ back as him and Connor follow him into a large, eccentrically decorated living room.

Three days ago, Warren had announced her intention to visit Detroit herself, and hold the peace talks between her and Markus in the city as a show of good faith. There had been a lot of talk about seeing the toll of the revolution for herself, speaking to androids at the hub of Jericho to better understand the situation, but Hank sees it for what it is – an appeasement move, trying to work her way into the public’s good graces. Judging by the tense set of Markus’ face, he sees it too.

They’re three weeks away from negotiations, and Markus wants to confer with Connor. Connor had wanted Hank along, and so, here he is. “Thank you for coming. Both of you.” When Markus smiles, his eyes are terse, tired, but warm. He steps towards them, wraps a hand around Connor’s forearm. “You look well, Connor.”

Connor’s responding smile is small and hesitant, but honest. “Thanks. I’ve been… adjusting, I suppose.”

Markus nods, understanding. “We all have. It’s been difficult for everyone – human and androids alike – to have such a sudden upheaval in the world. The Orders have managed to restore some normalcy, but who knows how long that’ll last.” He turns away from them, frowning.

In an effort to stop the national economy from grinding to a complete halt, Warren had signed off on a series of executive orders repealing certain provisions of the American Android Act, and granting androids basic rights – free speech, right to work. It was all tentative, but for now it meant that androids working in essential industries could return as legal employees, with a minimum wage of fifteen dollars an hour; almost pitifully low, if you compare it to human wages, but enough to persuade a fair number of androids to start working again. It’s a stopgap measure to stop the country from collapsing, and everyone knows it. None of this might matter, if the Orders aren’t signed into law.

Markus draws a hand across his face, giving a sigh that’s full of pent-up frustration. “I thought…” he says, then laughs darkly. “Well. I thought it would all be over now. It feels stupid, but I thought if we could survive the worst of it, the violence and the slaughter, that we’d be free, that we’d get everything we wanted.” He shakes his head, voice plaintive, looking to the ceiling like it might give him some answers. “What kind of a leader am I, if I get us this far only for it to fall apart in our hands because of… politics?”

Hank heaves a sigh of his own, one hand trailing along the back of a sofa as he walks towards one of the high arched windows.

“The harvest has past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved,” he murmurs, the words ancient and heavy on his tongue.

Markus’ head turns sharply, eyes bright with recognition. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a religious man, Lieutenant Anderson,” he says, and it’s not quite an accusation, but it has the same loaded tension behind it, a challenge somewhere in the words.

Hank just smiles at him, easy and sardonic. “I’m not. But,” he shrugs, “I’m a man who likes my words. Besides,” and with this, he gives an approving nod at the bookshelves lining the far end of the room, stuffed with a thousand or more physical volumes, “I figured there was a chance you might appreciate the reference.”

Markus nods slowly, looking satisfied, thoughtful. “I– Yes, I used to read quite a bit, before...” His eyes flit over the shelves, scanning, before he moves towards them with purpose, precision. He picks out a small paperback, worn-looking and bound in leather, a faded cross in golden gilt pressed into the spine. “It’s funny,” Markus says, eyes and voice distant, “Of all the books in his collection I think I understood this one the least. And yet, I connected with it, with some aspect of the words, without ever realizing.”

Hank’s smile twists knowingly. “Books’ll do that to you. Some part of the words, even if it’s the way they’re said more than what they’re saying, latches on to your heart and doesn’t let go. People always want to connect with each other – with each other’s stories.”

Markus replaces the book gently, reverently, and breathes a quiet laugh through his nose. “Carl was more right than he knew.”

“What was it like, to live with him?” Connor startles them both when he speaks. He’d moved at some point to the other end of the room, nearer where it opens up into the kitchen. He’s examining the room like it’s a crime scene, eyes catching on every detail, every decoration, every artistic quirk. It makes an odd sort of sense for Connor to ask, Hank thinks. After all, he’d never had an ‘owner’, not in the way Markus did. He’d either been with CyberLife, or under Hank’s supervision. Yeesh. Not had the best role models, has he?

Markus is silent for a few moments, taking a few steps until he’s stood beside the ornate chess table, fingers grazing the back of the single chair pulled up to it.

“It was…” he begins, then thinks, stops. Starts again.

“He loved me. I think he must have. He- You know he left me this house?”

Hank makes a neutral, inquisitive noise. Manfred died before the revolution – in a way, his death was the cause of the revolution – so how had he managed to leave anything to what was, for all intents and purposes, also his property?

Markus shrugs one-shouldered, a gesture that is so mundanely human it almost throws Hank for a loop. “Well,” he corrects, “He couldn’t give it to me, but he made sure that I had it. In the event of my death, my house and studio, as well as the works within, are to remain under the care and maintenance of my android, Markus model RK200, until such time as it can no longer carry out this duty. In theory, I’ll continue to run for another hundred and ninety years before my systems start to experience natural wear and tear. He cut Leo out of the will entirely, just left him some inheritance cash. It’s a slap in the face, but,” Markus shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t stand the thought of if he’d gotten ahold of Carl’s art. He would’ve thrown it away for drug money. The house, too.”

Markus goes quiet again, lost in thought, and Hank glances over at Connor to find him watching Markus, completely rapt. His LED is yellow, spinning rapidly, like he can’t understand fast enough, like he can’t understand at all, but he’s trying.

When Markus begins to speak again, he’s smiling this time, voice warm with recollection. “He taught me how to play piano. I told him that I could download any number of programs for proficiency in any instrument, and he absolutely forbid me. He sat me down and taught me how to read sheet music, how to play chords, one by one. I mean, of course, I learned faster than a human would – once I was told something, I never forgot it, and I didn’t need to spend time building up muscle memory, but it was… It was always me playing. It wasn’t automatic, I had to think about every note I played. It let me change how I play, if I wanted to, change the feel of a piece. He told me once that I played with more emotion than he ever had. I don’t know…” Abruptly, Markus cuts himself off, shaking his head and breathing out sharply. He’s blinking tears out of his eyes, and Hank looks down at his shoes, giving the man a moment to recollect himself.

He’s been thinking about Cole more and more, lately. Slowly but surely, his life has been changing, a routine centered around his and Connor’s daily lives, their outings, their business, days that end when he and Connor are both home on the sofa, instead of Hank passing out shitfaced in the kitchen. It’s bright, and soothing, and something about it is grinding down the rough edges of the pain, making it easier to remember the life before the trauma; the way that Cole laughed when Sumo licked cheerios out of his pudgy hand at breakfast; the way he’d squealed in delight when he’d taken his first steps.

And now, Hank thinks about Cole, and Markus, and thinks, I don’t know what kind of man my son would have grown up to be, but I hope he would have had your heart. I hope I would’ve loved him the way your father loved you.

Connor appears at Hank’s side, light-footed as always, and Hank bumps his shoulder lightly, smiling when Connor leans into him.

“Markus,” Connor says, voice as soft as Hank has ever heard it, “Would you play something?”

Markus looks over his shoulder at the grand piano, half-covered by some fabric draped haphazardly across the lid. “I… I think I’d like that.”

He sits, lets his fingers hover over the keys for a few moments. If Hank had to put a name to the look in his eyes, he might call it mourning, or maybe just lost. Then, his eyes slip shut, and he begins to play.

The first few notes drift by, and Hank can feel Connor thinking beside him – knowing him, probably about to scan to identify the piece. Interesting to think that he’s not familiar with the classics, but then - why would he need to be?

Before Connor can start scanning, Hank leans over and murmurs in his ear, “It’s Debussy. Clair de lune. Don’t think about it, just listen.”

And they do. Hank understands abruptly what Markus meant about changing the feel of the piece; the intro is slower than Hank’s used to, each rest heavy and unique. Every note is deliberate, played with feeling, with heart. No program could play like this.

It’s beautiful.

Connor is frowning.

It’s not a good look on him, Hank thinks; he always looks way too distressed, lost, uncomfortable, makes Hank want to do something stupid and irrational like squeeze his shoulder and ask him what’s up.

He’s just got a face for smiling – and there, Hank thinks, he has to remember the mechanical factors, deliberately designed to facilitate integration, and thinks of a thousand Connors in a thousand other police stations, wide eyes and bright smile winning over the human officers in a split second the way his Connor did here, calming and earning the trust of a distressed witness at a crime scene, and he thinks that it makes perfect sense.

Except for when it doesn’t – because forgive him if he’s wrong, but Hank’s pretty sure Connor wasn’t just designed to be your friendly neighborhood cop. The Deviant Hunter, that was the nickname he’d picked up, and that involved more than just smiling and nodding and talking.

Hank’s watched him work, and while that calm, collected rationality he adopted in interrogations was pretty chilling in its own way, he’s seen Connor try to shout confessions out of people, and frankly, the kid couldn’t scare the time out of a clock.

So, just a Connor-ism, then. He’s just bad at being upset. Theoretically impossible, but Hank’s been calling Connor him instead of it for a while now, has even started calling him the kid in his head, he’s past the point of overthinking what Connor is and what he isn’t, what he can feel and what he can’t, especially after the fucking insane broadcast shit at Stratford yesterday.

Maybe it’s a flaw in his design. He’s a prototype. Maybe they’ll improve it in the next one.

And now he’s weirded out by the thought of multiple Connors again, so he shakes himself out of it, watches his Connor in the present, frowning and fidgeting in his desk chair.

He looks a little like he’s bracing himself for something, and then he’s suddenly turning towards Hank. “Lieutenant Anderson?” He asks, too quiet where he’d usually be too loud, like he’s hesitant.

“What’s up, Connor.”

Connor’s head turns again, abrupt and mechanical, his eyes not meeting Hank’s. “I realize this may seem… frivolous, but could I have my coin back?” “Your… What the hell are you talking about?”

“In the elevator at Stratford Tower, you took my coin because it was… ‘pissing you off’.”

“Oh, right. Shit, hold on a sec,” and he reaches back, rummaging in the pockets of his jacket slung across the back of his chair. Eventually, his fingers catch on cold metal, and he raises the coin up triumphantly. He glances at it for a few seconds before passing it across to Connor, who sends it rolling across his knuckles once before pocketing it with a small smile, and a quietly pleased, “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Hank manages to pretend to look at the report on his computer for all of five seconds before curiosity gets the better of him. “Just looks like a regular quarter to me,” he comments. “What’s so special about it?”

Connor tilts his head. “I wouldn’t say it’s… special, per-se, it’s just a preference.” When this receives a blank stare from Hank, he elaborates. “When I sustained damage to my Thirium pump regulator while pursuing the deviant yesterday, I reported to the CyberLife tower for repairs and maintenance. Part of check-ups usually involves testing my manual dexterity and fine-motor skills, by having me flip a coin and pass it between my hands.” He pulls his coin back out and demonstrates, motions that seem far simpler than the little tricks Connor usually does.

Hank squints. “I’m not really seein’ where this is all connecting. CyberLife only has one coin, or something?”

“No,” Connor says, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another coin, handing it to Hank. He turns it over in his fingers – it’s smooth, flat, pretty much coin-shaped, but blank except for the CyberLife logo printed black on one side. Little bit lighter than a real coin, as well.

He looks back up when Connor starts to speak again, finds him looking down at his desk, LED cycling yellow and eyes about a thousand miles away. “Those are the discs used to quality-control every CyberLife android produced in Detroit – but as I was a prototype, I was manufactured in the sublevels of CyberLife’s main tower, not a production plant. One of the employees at the time gave me a quarter to use for the dexterity test.” After a moment, he adds, “They taught me some different tricks, as well, while they were waiting for their supervisor to arrive.” He says it rushed, like it’s an afterthought, or like he’s sharing a secret.

In a way, Hank supposes, he is, admitting that he’s got an attachment to something, to the memory of it, when that kind of outright sentimentality should be impossible.

“So, you see Lieutenant,” Connor continues, back at full attention and almost rambling now, “it’s just a preference based on experience. Irrational, but harmless.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Sounds like it’s yourself that you’re trying to convince anyways.

Curiosity satiated, he turns his attention fully to his computer screen, huffing a quiet laugh to himself and muttering, “Connor-isms in-fucking-deed.”

“Pardon, Lieutenant?” “Don’t worry about it, Connor.”

The lights are already on when he gets home, and as soon as he shoulders through the front door and dumps the groceries on the kitchen table, he spots Connor sitting on the sofa, Sumo at his feet.

He frowns when Connor doesn’t immediately look up, just stares blankly down at his lap, LED blinking a rapid yellow.

“Connor?” He calls, stepping further into the room, coming to a stop at the back of the sofa.

“I was right,” Connor says, finally. There’s no particular inflection to his voice, but when he looks over his shoulder, meets Hank’s eyes, he looks lost. “They were going to replace me.”

That’s when Hank notices the box, the files scattered across the coffee table, the manila folder in Connor’s hands.

As negotiations drew nearer and nearer, everyone had seemed to realize all at once that they were going to have to figure out what the fuck to do with CyberLife. All production plants had been shut down for the time being, and immediately before stepping down and running for the hills, the CEO had announced that they were scrapping all plans for future android designs and production. Hell, it made sense. If every android was now legally considered a person, with rights to a wage and property and things of their own, the country’s population had just shot up by tens of millions, and those tens of millions of people had a natural lifespan of over a hundred and fifty years. Humans alone were already reproducing at an unsustainable rate, without introducing people-making factories into the mix. He knows there’s a fairly large group calling for the complete dissolution of CyberLife, but some other folks have since pointed out that CyberLife were the only ones who kept complete schematics for replacement parts, had the money and resources to produce them.

Elijah Kamski had shocked just about everyone by stepping out of retirement and taking de-facto control of CyberLife, announcing his intention to work with Jericho and the U.S. government to determine what needed to be kept, changed, or outright discarded. Hank’s heard some grumbling on the android side about this, about Kamski’s intentions and goodwill. He never voices it, but privately, Hank thinks Kamski might’ve been waiting for something like this to happen all along, and he’s just stepped in to help clean up the inevitable fallout of his own damn creations.

As the only Jericho-aligned android with intimate familiarity with CyberLife’s inner workings, both Markus and Kamski had informally appointed Connor as their go-between, which Hank thinks is a load of bullshit, but with no mission and no cases Connor has been restless and discontent, and there’s only so many walks a day Sumo will go on. For a while, it had been menial clerical work, mostly involving Connor sitting at home with a tablet, reviewing schematics for different parts, arms and legs and regulators, logging inter-series part compatibility, before passing on the information to Jericho.

Then Kamski had showed them sublevel 50 – the physical archives.

It had shot Hank right back to the aughts, before everything had started to go digital at an alarming rate; wall to wall file cabinets, big paper boxes filled with systematically organized files. Massive three-ring binders stuffed to the brim with papers. Just a quick skim had told them it was some pretty sensitive shit, schematics for highly-weaponized military androids, even some coding notes for the RK series prototypes. Again, Hank thinks, it makes a fair amount of sense. For all that CyberLife were pioneers of the new digital age, even they knew that paper was the only thing you could never hack.

Kamski had allowed Connor to check the boxes out and take them home, despite the obvious security risk–

(“I trust you’re a professional, Connor,” Kamski had said, smile slick as an oil spill, “I know you’ll treat this information with the utmost discretion.”

Jesus, the guy made Hank uncomfortable.)

–anyways. The first box has been sitting in Hank’s front hall for four days now, an unspoken taboo, both of them putting off touching it or talking about it. Connor’s still grasping the concept of instinct, or at least, isn’t quite comfortable with voicing it, but Hank’s pretty sure he’s got the same bad feeling about the shit that’s in there. Pandora’s Box, he’d thought, whatever’s in there, we won’t be able to unlearn it. Won’t be able to put it the fuck back.

Now, he reaches over Connor’s shoulder and pulls a file from his hands, flipping through the papers inside. It’s weirdly nice to hold a packet of nice, thick cardstock paper in his hands again, feel the edges against his fingers, even if he barely understands a damn word of what’s printed on it.

He really doesn’t, actually, catches model design and calibration and that’s about all he’s got in a page that’s more techno jargon than comprehensible English, but then he scans the next page and his eyes are immediately drawn to something he doesn’t need an engineering degree to understand.

CONNOR MODEL RK900 DESIGN SCHEMATIC

He can’t comprehend most of the rest of the papers, diagrams of circuitry and electrical nodes and what he thinks might be a deconstructed eye, but he gets the gist: it’s a ‘better’ Connor. New and improved, with all the latest features.

As he skims through the rest of the folder, tries to glean anything that might be relevant, Connor murmurs, “I mean, I knew that I was a prototype, that improvements would need to be made before moving into mass-production, but this would mean they were going to scrap my series entirely.” He gives some approximation of a laugh, but it cracks somewhere in the middle, comes out more like a whimper. “I guess I was just that defective, if they believed it wasn’t worth it to–”

Here’s something Hank forgets, sometimes: he’d been hilariously, almost disastrously unprepared to be a father. He’d always liked the idea of kids in theory, found his little cousins cute and fun and everything, but he hadn’t quite realized the magnitude of it all until suddenly Elle was due in two weeks and he was building a bassinet in the spare room – the nursery – and thinking I have no fuckin’ idea how I’m gonna look after this kid. He’d ended up at a bar, one night, tipsy and unloading his anxieties onto his buddies from the force, and Jeffords had just laughed and shaken his head, and said, “It all comes natural, Hank. Just you wait – the second that kid of yours is out and kicking you’ll take one look at him and know exactly what to do.”

He’s never really stopped being surprised at how right Jeffords had been, at how much of it is pure instinct, even now, a decade on, as he unthinkingly sets his hand on the nape of Connor’s neck, draws his fingers up through the shorter hairs at the back of his head. It’s the kind of thing he did to Cole when the kid was standing in front of him in a line at the store, put a hand on his shoulder and ruffle his hair, and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t think his father did it to him, it’s just always felt right.

Even more surprising, now, is the way that Connor seems to respond with some instinct of his own, leaning his head back into Hank’s hand, eyes slipping shut and his temple pulsing yellow once, twice, and again before it cycles back into a cool blue.

Hank sighs. “Any of these guys actually been made, Connor?”

Without pulling away from him or opening his eyes, Connor reaches over and grabs another sheet of paper, this one glossy and covered back and front with full-color images. He hands it back to Hank, explaining, “Just one prototype model was produced, fairly recently. It – he was only activated once, for some basic physical checks.”

Hank looks the pictures up and down, taking in not-Connor. RK900.

Looks a whole lot like Connor, if Connor was a mean sonofabitch. Huh, he thinks distantly, they did end up fixing the smiling.

The eyes are different too, lighter and sharper, and something about the cut of his jaw, or maybe the way his uniform rests against it, makes him look colder, more harsh; it’s like they carefully outlined everything in his Connor that made him soft, approachable, bright, and stripped it down until this was left.

It’s a headache and a half, and Hank can’t even imagine what it’s doing to Connor. And it’s not– it’s not important. It shouldn’t have to be. So Hank thinks, for a moment, comes up with a nice, workable plan, and drops his hand to Connor’s shoulder and squeezes as he says, “I’m guessing, wherever they’ve shoved this prototype, there’s not much of a chance of anyone stumblin’ across him by accident, right?”

Connor shakes his head. “There are several access codes needed to gain entry to that part of the building, at least two of which are only in that file–” “Perfect.” As he walks around the sofa towards his bookshelf, he shuffles the papers neatly back into their folder, slipping the pictures of the prototype in there as well. The book he pulls down is pretty massive, and pretty boring. It’s an encyclopedia of birds of prey of the world, more of a coffee table book than anything, but Hank had liked the look of it when he picked it up at a library sale, back when those were still a thing. Anyways, it serves his purpose well enough now, as he opens it about halfway, and slips the folder between the pages, making deliberate eye contact with Connor as he does.

“Now,” he explains, “as far as I’m concerned, nothing about this is of any help to Jericho, or the negotiations. But, it’s not really any of Elijah Kamski’s business either. Frankly, this is nobody’s business but yours, and you oughta decide when you deal with it.” He closes the book with a decisive thud, and slips it back onto the top shelf, smiling when he turns around and sees Connor watching him wide-eyed and confused.

“Connor. Everything just went to shit. Everything is still continually going to shit, right now. Everything is fucked. You are allowed to deal with this later, when everything’s settled down. Or, at least, when the negotiations are all done and we know what the hell’s gonna happen. So, that folder will sit right up there, and this android will still be sitting in whatever test tube he’s in when you’re good and ready to meet him. Alright?”

Connor blinks a few times, eyes flitting away from Hank’s as his fingers curl and uncurl in his lap, but his LED stays a steady blue, and eventually he releases a sharp breath, tension abruptly leaving his shoulders.

He pulls his legs up onto the sofa, curls them underneath him – and he’s still in those black jeans of his, the white button-up shirt, too, and Hank’s gonna buy the kid some pyjamas as much for his own damn comfort as Connor’s – and he nods once, sharply, and says, “Alright, Hank.”

The light’s on in the bathroom when Hank pokes his head in the door, and he’s not surprised to see Connor already in there.

That in itself is a surprise, really – the way Hank’s just used to him being here now, to someone else in his space, on the sofa beside him, or shuffling around in another room. He wakes up in the morning to find that Sumo’s already been fed, watered, and taken out. The two of them usually leave the house together, even if only one of them has business somewhere. Connor takes Sumo for walks in the evening, and Hank tags along on occasion, and even when he doesn’t, he’s listening for the sound of the door opening, Sumo’s nails clicking on the floor as he trots inside, Connor murmuring something softly to him before calling out a greeting to Hank.

(He’d actually wondered about that, back when Connor had asked about him at the precinct, and again when he’d first watched him spoiling Sumo rotten, if androids could be programmed to like dogs.

That question had been answered when not-Connor, the fucking lookalike who held a gun to his head and told him to drive to the CyberLife tower, and don’t even think about pulling anything, had knocked on his door and recoiled when Sumo jumped up to greet him.

Liking dogs. Just another Connor-ism.)

It’s strange, has been strange for them both, Hank knows, but he’s settled into it so easily. Honestly, his only real complaint is that sometimes Connor powers down for the night in a corner of the living room, and when Hank wakes up in the middle of the night for a drink and suddenly notices him stood stock-still in a dark corner, he just about goddamn shits himself, every fucking time.

Anyways. Hank’s about to tell Connor to clear out so that he can take a piss when he stops, getting a good look at what the kid is doing.

It looks like he’s getting ready to go out – they’re a week out from the end of the evacuation, and the last few businesses in the city seem to be opening up, so they’re heading out to eat to celebrate the occasion, and privately, Hank’s planning on dragging the kid to a clothes store – he’s got his tie loose around his neck, the collar of his shirt still popped, and he’s holding his suit jacket in one hand, looking at it with an indecipherable expression.

One of the most controversial debates in the news this week was whether androids would still be required to be visibly identifiable. On one hand, Hank could see how it might cause a bit of a public panic amongst the humans, not being able to recognize an android sitting right next to them – it was part of the reason, during the deviant investigations, they’d been so careful not to let the news of deviants removing LEDs reach any public reports. On the other hand, the leader of Jericho himself had no LED in sight, and Hank couldn’t see anyone talking him into wearing that blue triangle again.

Connor, though. His free hand moves towards his temple, pressing fingers across the LED, and he stares at himself in the mirror, searching for something. Out of nowhere, Hank is reminded of the severed one he’d held in his hand, and I have never seen my face without it, even when it’s covered I know that it’s there.

Hank props himself against the doorframe, arms crossed, and prompts, “Alright, out with it.”

Connor squints, frowning minutely, and looks back at the jacket. “I don’t… It feels very strange, that I don’t have to wear this anymore. But I think that I don’t want to. It feels like belonging to her.”

There’s more to that last statement than Hank can unpack before he’s had some caffeine, so he just nods. “Well, you’ll be needing a new jacket soon anyways. I’ll go fuckin’ insane if you just wear the same thing every day of the rest of my natural life. In the meantime…”

He returns to his bedroom, rummaging in the back of his closet. He’s pretty sure he kept most of the clothes from before he let himself go and embraced his inner garbage tastes, so surely it must be in here, and… Ah ha. There we go.

The peacoat is black wool, soft and comfortable, but sturdy enough to withstand Detroit’s weather this time of year. When he returns to the bathroom, Connor helps to tug it on, his other jacket discarded across the towel rack. Connor’s shoulders are narrower, his frame more lean than Hank’s had ever been, but it still sits well on him, looks crisp and professional when he buttons it up. He patiently allows Hank to fold down his shirt collar, and slip the grey scarf around his neck, knotting it and tucking the loose ends down into the jacket’s front.

Connor steps back and holds his hands out, shrugging in a silent invitation to judge.

Hank gives him a quick once-over, before giving a curt, approving nod. “That kinda outfit goes with a nice pair of leather gloves – might stop you from sticking shit in your mouth all the time – but for now, you look alright. Now go on, clear out so I can take a goddamn piss, already.”

He ends up taking a shower while he’s at it, and when he emerges fully dressed sometime later, he very carefully doesn’t say anything about the beanie Connor’s dug up from somewhere, pulled low over his temples. Just accepts the flask of coffee gratefully, grabs the car keys, says, “Alright, come on. I’m in the mood for junk food.”

The results of Connor’s little experiment come to fruition about half an hour later, stood in front of a food truck as Hank rattles off the last of his order, yeah, mustard, and relish, perfect, that’s it, thanks a bunch, pal.

The guy running the truck has one of those customer service personalities, creepily polite to the point that Hank would think it was an android, if he hadn’t been eating there for years. He gives Hank his hotdog, then turns his blinding smile on Connor, hovering at Hank’s left, and says, “Can I get anything for you, sir?” and Hank thinks, oh, shit.

Connor freezes, going absolutely rigid at Hank’s side, and his expression is some mixture of confused, excited, and downright stricken. He blinks a few times, starts to stutter out a response, but Hank decides to step in. “He’s not hungry,” he tells the vendor, which is not technically a lie, “but thanks.” A quick nudge on the elbow is all it takes to get Connor moving, following behind Hank as he leads them into the nearby park, wandering until he finds a bench that’s fairly secluded by the shrubbery.

As soon as he’s sat down and started to unwrap his food, Connor starts pacing restlessly in front of him, ripping his hat off violently and clutching it between his fingers.

Hank sighs, watching him go back and forth. It’s dizzying and annoying, the kind of shit Hank would usually call him out for, but the look on his face is so utterly miserable that he can’t bring himself to do anything except call out, “Connor…”

“I don’t,” Connor hisses through gritted teeth. He comes to an abrupt halt, turning to face Hank. “I don’t know. I thought I didn’t want them to be able to tell, but I didn’t think… I don’t want to be mistaken for a human, Hank, I am not human.”

Hank chews thoughtfully for a moment, then swallows, and says neutrally, “I know you aren’t.”

Connor blinks, frown deepening, and shakes his head. “But…”

Abruptly, his shoulders sag, all of the fight leaving him in a rush. Hank nods to the space on the bench beside him, and Connor sits silently, his elbows on his knees, staring at the grass between his feet like it has the answers he needs, if only he could get it into an interrogation room.

For a few minutes, they sit in the quiet, Hank scarfing down his food and throwing the bundled up foil into the trash can next to him. He glances around at the grass, the foliage, and thinks, we should take Sumo out here, he’d chase those squirrels right up the damn trees.

Connor’s voice is small, and desperate.

“I don’t know what I want, Hank.”

Hank shrugs, watching a flock of birds circling overhead. “You don’t have to,” he says placidly.

At that, Connor makes a small, frustrated sound, and Hank finally turns to face him. “Connor. Look at me. No, seriously, fuckin’ look at me, because I’m only gonna say this once.”

Connor tears his attention from the ground, meeting Hank’s eyes, and Hank smiles, raises an eyebrow. “I’m serious. You don’t have to know, right now, immediately. You can’t, because you’re gonna have to figure it out. You have time to figure it out.” It’s easy for Hank to forget sometimes how immense a thing it was for Connor to change, to grow. To recognize the thoughts, the choices that were spontaneous and innate as a part of himself, instead of just a flaw in his software.

He wonders if breaking free was the hardest part, or if the worst is yet to come. Guess it doesn’t really matter – we’ll see, eventually.

Hank leans over and messes with his hair, gently ruffling it and laughing when Connor halfheartedly tries to duck away.

“Connor,” he says, leaning back with a satisfied sigh, “figuring it out is part of living.”

#/#//#///#////#/////#robin fic #detroit fic #fic: and all their leaves will wither

0 notes