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sagesolsticewrites · 7 days

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Kiss Me Once Again

Rosie takes you to his apartment for a proper date night away from his family.

Warnings: language, mature content (fingering, oral (m & f receiving), protected PinV penetration) (18+ MINORS DNI)

Word count: 3.4k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist | Read part 1 here! | Read part 2 here!

“Y/N, he’s here!” Jeanie calls through your bedroom door.

“Coming!” You call back, wincing as you nearly stab yourself trying to get your earring in.

The small pearl now securely fastened, you step back to take in your appearance in the mirror, scanning for any glaring issues.

Finding none— your favorite blue dress is wrinkle-free, your hair curled to perfection— you walk out into the living room, the click-clack of your kitten heels announcing your approach.

Rosie stops mid sentence as you enter, eyes wide.

“Wow, sweetheart,” he says softly, scanning you up and down as a smile stretches across his face, “You look gorgeous.”

You feel a flush spread across your cheeks at the compliment.

“Thank you, Robbie.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay for dinner, honey?” His mother asks from the kitchen.

“Ma, I’ve been over for dinner every day this week,” Rosie calls good-naturedly, throwing an arm over your shoulders to pull you close, “I haven’t gotten a chance to have a date night with my girl yet.”

“Well, if you need anything— especially for dinner— you know I’m right down the hall,” she reminds him, wiping her hands on her apron as she joins your little group in the living room. She meets your eyes for a moment, a teasing lilt to her voice as she adds “Goodness knows what passes for food in that bachelor pad of yours.”

“I do have food, Ma! Please, I’m a grown man,” he laughs.

“Alright, alright,” his mother says, throwing her hands up in surrender, “You two have fun, okay?”

“Not too much fun!” Jeanie singsongs from the couch.

“Bye Ma, bye Jeanie!” Rosie says, sticking his tongue out at his sister when Mrs. Rosenthal’s back is turned, grinning at you as he sees you try to hide your giggle.

Rosie guides you down the hall to his own apartment, unlocking the door as he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“It’s not much, but…”

He trails off awkwardly as you enter, scanning over the fairly spacious, well-furnished apartment.

“It’s gorgeous, Robbie,” you gush, turning to take in every corner as he closes the door behind him.

You had never been in his apartment before. He had moved during law school and your own life had kept you so busy that time alone at his apartment was out of the question, never mind that your father and brother firmly disallowed it. Then came the Pearl Harbor attack, and your family and Robbie were off to enlist, and his apartment had just… sat here.

He grins, pretty blue eyes crinkling at the corners, “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, letting you take it all in before guiding you over to the kitchen. He throws on a record as the two of you start on dinner, but he swiftly drags you away from where you’re chopping vegetables to twirl you around the kitchen, breathless laughter filling the room as he spins you around in his arms.

What was supposed to be a quick meatloaf turns into an hour of dancing with occasional breaks to cook… and then you end up having to start all over after it ends up burnt.

“Don’t tell Ma,” Rosie pleads as he sheepishly dumps it into the trash, “I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” you giggle, pecking his lips as you rummage through his fridge. Luckily, he’d bought far too much for just one meal.

The second attempt goes far better— still plenty of dancing around the kitchen, but you remember to set a timer this time.

Rosie cheers as you pull out the finished meatloaf, helping you plate it and settling on the couch.

You give him a funny look even as you sit next to him, eyes darting from the perfectly good dining table to the couch the two of you are currently sitting on.

“What?” He says, a cheeky grin lighting up his face, “I got used to having you next to me,” referencing your usual seats at Mrs. Rosenthal’s table.

You shake your head, laughing as you lean into him, soft jazz filling the room alongside your soft conversation.

Soon dinner is done— dessert, too— and the two of you have returned to your positions cuddled up on the couch in the living room.

You’re in the middle of a story about one of your coworkers when the familiar feeling of Rosie’s fingers tracing lightly over your thigh makes you pause.

“Well?” He prompts, bright blue eyes wide and curious.

“W-What?”

His brow furrows.

“What happened next?” He asks, the genuine interest in his tone laced with a teasing lilt, “Did she get in trouble?”

“I-I, um…”

He looks at you expectantly, fingers still tracing patterns over your dress.

You eventually remember how to speak.

“She, uh, got a verbal reprimand from our supervisor, but for now she still has a job—”

As you speak, his fingers move under your dress to the inside of your thigh, stopping when you stop talking.

Oh. So that’s what this was.

Cheeky bastard.

“Robbie, please,” you whine softly, attempting to squirm against his fingers.

You stop at the look he gives you however, before it fades into an innocent grin.

“Please what, honey? I’m not doing anything.” He purrs.

You groan internally, begrudgingly continuing to tell him how your coworker was stuck working in the coat check until she could be trusted not to flirt with the customers, if it would only get him to touch you faster.

“— and then her b-boyfriend stopped by— oh, Robbie,” you moan as his fingers finally begin tracing gently over your underwear.

He freezes, and your fingers dig into the cushion you’re sitting on, desperation clouding your mind. If he would just touch you—

“Finish. The story.”

Resisting the urge to buck up into his hand, you haltingly continue the story— her boyfriend walked in and flipped out that his girl was working coat check and didn’t they know who he was, how dare they, etcetera etcetera, concluding with having to break the news that she was flirting regularly with customers and him unceremoniously breaking up with her on the spot— your voice getting faster and more desperate as he circles his fingers around you over your underwear.

“Wait, he broke up with her right there in front of everyone?” He asks, pausing momentarily.

His name escapes your mouth in a half-sob, half-groan. You did what he asked, why wouldn’t he just—

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m sorry,” he says, gently pushing your underwear aside to drag his fingertips through your folds, “That better?”

You only just manage a nod, wriggling as you try to get closer to him, to get his fingers deeper.

His touch remains frustratingly light, however, and he tuts, pulling away slightly.

“Be patient, honey,” he murmurs, brushing a light kiss to your lips, “Lemme take my time. I didn’t get to last time, did I?”

Heat floods your cheeks at the memory of your midnight rendezvous the day he returned home, of trying desperately to be quick and quiet so as not to disturb his family sleeping just down the hall.

But now…

Now his family was in the apartment at the other end of the hall. Well out of earshot.

Rosie grins as he sees the realization dawn on you.

“Now will you be good for me, honey?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and he captures your lips in a heated kiss, his fingers returning to drag teasingly through your folds. You whimper, but try to keep from squirming as best you can, the way his tongue slips into your mouth proving a welcome distraction.

He pulls away slightly, just enough that your noses brush as his darkened blue eyes meet your gaze. You’re about to lean in to connect your lips once more when he slowly slips a finger inside you.

“Rosie—” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut as he pumps slowly in and out of you before adding a second finger.

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

All you can manage is a nod, feeling yourself melt as he quickens his pace.

“You don’t have to be quiet here, remember?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw as his thumb drags along where you’ve clamped down on your bottom lip to stifle your moans, “C’mon, honey, lemme hear my girl—”

His fingers brush a soft, spongy spot inside you as his thumb brushes against your clit, and suddenly you’re coming all over his hand with a cry.

Rosie swears softly, eyes wide.

You flush, ready to stammer out an apology as you come down from your high, but Rosie looks utterly enraptured.

“I can’t wait,” he says lowly, gently pulling his soaked fingers out of you, “to see how many times I can make you do that.”

A thrill runs up your spine at his tone, watching rapt as he cleans his fingers of your release.

“I think,” he says after a moment, scanning you up and down, “that you are wearing entirely too many clothes, my love.”

He captures your lips once more, and you groan into his mouth, letting out a giggle as you feel him fumble slightly with the buttons of your dress.

“Need help?”

“Nah, I got it honey.” He murmurs breathlessly, managing to get one, two, three, buttons undone. “Makin’ me work for it, huh?” He chuckles against your lips.

“Well where’s the fun in just letting you take my clothes off?” You laugh, your giggles quickly smothered by his lips once more as he finally gets the last button undone.

You wriggle out of your dress, keeping your lips connected as it’s tossed to a corner of the couch. His hands wander over your bare skin, pulling away to rake his gaze over your body.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers grazing over the edge of your brassiere.

You let out a sigh as he brushes kisses along your jaw, moving down to mouth at the tender skin of your neck. You bury your fingers in his soft curls, Rosie groaning against you as your nails rake along his scalp.

He takes his time with your neck, kissing and sucking and nibbling until your skin is a watercolor of red and purple marks that you’ll need to take pains to hide for the next several days.

“Robbie,” you whine through the haze of pleasure fogging your mind; you can only imagine what your neck looks like after his handiwork, “There’s no way I have enough makeup to cover all this up—”

“I’ll buy you more,” he murmurs distractedly, and you quickly forget your worries as he begins sucking another dark spot onto your skin, his mustache brushing deliciously against the sensitive marks surrounding it.

Marks scattered over your neck and collarbone to his satisfaction, he migrates south, allowing his lips to skim over the tops of your breasts. He unhooks your bra with ease, tossing it over to join your dress in the corner as he drags his hands reverently over you.

A sigh escapes you, your eyes fluttering shut as he mouths over your breasts.

“You’re so soft,” he sighs against you. Butterflies stir to life in your belly at the feeling, breath hitching as your gazes meet as he takes your nipple into his mouth.

“Oh,” you gasp as his tongue swirls around you, his hand cupping your breast as he toys with your other nipple simultaneously, “Oh, Rosie—”

He hums against you before switching sides, making you tighten your grip on his curls at the feeling as he slowly works his way down your body.

You melt against the cushions as his mouth drags down your stomach, skimming along the waistband of your underwear.

“Can I, honey?” He murmurs against you, blue eyes blazing as he meets your gaze, “Wanna taste you, sweet girl.”

A broken moan escapes you, brushing back a stray curl from Rosie’s forehead as you nod frantically.

But he doesn’t move, just keeps those fiery blue eyes locked on yours as he murmurs lowly, “Wanna hear you say it, honey.” Your mind turns to static as he drags his mouth over your underwear, a teasing glint in his eyes as he adds, “Say please.”

Even more heat pools between your thighs at his tone, a whimper escaping you as you ramble “Please, please Robbie, I want you, please—”

With a groan, he rids you of your panties, licking an eager stripe up through your folds. Your hips make a valiant attempt to buck against him, but a hand splayed across your pelvis keeps you firmly in place as he buries his tongue inside you.

An obscene noise escapes you as his thumb comes up to gently circle your clit, fingers white-knuckling his curls.

“Oh fuck, Robbie—”

He hums against you, the vibrations sending delicious shivers throughout your body.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart,” he groans softly, licking deep through your folds.

Your whines and gasps join the muffled groans and soft squelches filling the room as Rosie takes his time taking you apart with his tongue.

“Robbie,” you gasp softly, shakily, as the tension builds within you with each stroke of his tongue. “Robbie, ‘m gonna—”

A high-pitched whine escapes you as his thumb quickens its pace around your clit and you feel his lips moving rapidly against you, his voice barely audible from between your legs as filthy praise and encouragement spills from his mouth.

With a cry, you reach your second orgasm of the night, legs shaking as Rosie eagerly laps up your release with a groan.

Your heart stutters in your chest at the look he gives you from between your legs, eyes sparkling and mouth glistening.

“Fuck, you’re perfect, pretty girl,” he mumbles as he kisses his way back up your body. Your breath catches as he captures your lips with his once more, a shiver running through you at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

“Your turn, honey,” you murmur against his lips, and he has just a moment to pull back, looking confused, before you slowly begin unbuttoning his shirt.

His pretty eyes flutter shut as you scatter kisses down his jaw to his neck, his button down and undershirt joining the growing pile of clothes in the corner of the couch.

Your gaze and your hands drag down his body reverently, fingers tracing the silver chain draped around his neck, thumb running over his name stamped on the tags dangling in the middle of his chest.

Rosie still has a bit of a glazed look to his eyes from your ministrations to his neck— pretty purple marks scattered over his skin matching yours— but his gaze snaps down to meet yours as your fingers hook onto the chain and pull him towards you for a kiss.

His lips move greedily against yours, your hands wandering over his body as he hovers over you.

“Honey, I—” he gasps once you break for air, lips brushing yours, his mustache tickling the skin above your top lip. “Bedroom? Please?” He breathes, and you’re unable to hide your eager grin as you breathe a “Yes, please,” in reply.

He clambers off of you and pulls you down the hall to what must be his bedroom. You barely have time to take in the dark blue duvet draped over the bed, covering fluffy pillows, before his hands are gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him.

He dips to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, your hands drifting down his torso to fumble with his belt. You can feel him grinning into the kiss as you swiftly remove it, moving to press kisses down his neck, his chest, his breath hitching with each press of your lips going lower and lower.

He gasps your name as you kneel down, lips skimming along his waistband as you make quick work of his slacks.

“I— fuck, sweetheart, please—” He sighs, a groan escaping him as you palm him through his boxers.

“Be patient, Robbie,” you tease him with the words he’d used earlier, “I didn’t get to do this last time, did I?”

His only response is a soft curse as you brush a kiss through his boxers before freeing his length. A strangled moan escapes him as your thumb swipes over the head of his cock, gathering the beads of moisture collected there before pumping up and down the length of him.

His pretty blue eyes flutter shut, his hand moving to stroke your hair as you press hot, open-mouthed kisses down his shaft, tongue swirling teasingly around his tip before taking him in, your hand pumping around what you can’t fit in your mouth.

His grip on your hair tightens, a strangled gasp falling from his lips as you take him deeper. His moans fill the room as you bob up and down, strained curses tumbling from his lips as you hum around him, looking up through your lashes at the way his head is thrown back, exposing his pretty neck covered with your marks.

“Fuck— shit, sweetheart, hold on,” he pants, tugging gently at your roots until you pull away, breathing heavily. “Almost got carried away and we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet,” he says breathlessly as he pulls you up to standing.

The moan that you let out at the heated look — the pure unfiltered want in his eyes — is stifled by his lips crashing to yours. He walks you backwards until your knees hit the bed, keeping your lips connected as he gently lays you down. He reluctantly breaks the kiss and takes the time to rummage in his nightstand for one of Douglass’s parting gifts, rolling the condom on before climbing to hover over you.

His hands trace reverently along the curves and lines of your body, a soft sigh leaving your lips at the feeling of his calloused fingers on your skin. Rosie pulls away to gaze into your eyes as he lines up at your entrance, your soft please all he needs to slowly press into you.

“Oh God, Robbie—” you moan at the stretch, his breath hitching as your nails dig into his skin.

He hisses out a curse at the feeling, slowly pulling out and thrusting back into you.

It takes him almost no time at all to find the rhythm you like, the one that has you desperately muffling your moans in his neck as he drives into you, that has his nails raking deliciously down his back.

“None of that, Y/N,” he pants, nudging you until you pull back from his neck, “I wanna hear you, honey, wanna hear every sound, c’mon.”

His hips snap determinedly against yours, drawing out a cry of his name as his darkened eyes meet yours, a groan escaping him at each loud moan you let out.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he gasps, groaning at the feeling of you clenching around him, “Fuck you’re perfect, honey—”

Your whines reach a fever pitch as his thrusts speed up, and before you know it your orgasm is crashing over you like a tidal wave, Rosie’s name falling from your lips in a cry.

A soft curse escapes him at the ecstasy on your face, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he follows suit, spilling into the condom with a shaky moan.

Catching your breath, Rosie drops a sweet kiss to your nose as your eyes meet.

“Sweetheart,” he says breathlessly, “That was…”

“I know,” you giggle, reaching up to brush a curl out of his eyes as you continue softly, “It was perfect.”

His eyes scan over your face tenderly, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss as he slowly pulls out of you, discreetly disposing of the condom in a nearby trash can.

“I’ll be right back sweetheart,” he says with a brush of his lips to your forehead as he slips out of the room, returning with a damp washcloth. He helps clean you up, brushing a kiss to your cheek in apology when you let out a soft hiss at the feeling of the cloth on your still-sensitive core, and soon he’s curling up in his bed, pulling you securely into his arms.

You feel yourself utterly melt into his touch, resting your head on his chest and smiling softly up at him as you fiddle with his dog tags.

“I love you, Robbie,” you whisper, brushing a kiss to his chest, right where his heart is.

He cups your face tenderly, thumb stroking along your cheekbone.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

It’s the last thing you hear before your heavy eyelids flutter shut, his heartbeat a soft lullaby as you drift off to sleep.

#rosie rosenthal x reader #robert rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #mota #masters of the air #mota x reader #masters of the air x reader #mota fic #my writing

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angstywaifu · 2 months

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The Lost Sister - Part 12

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC

A/N: I don't have much to say other than, the talk you have all been waiting for is here. Enjoy. The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

Tonight everyone celebrates. The dining hall is loud and chaotic as every riders is here. The kitchen had gone all out with the food for tonight, and someone had definitely spiked the lemonade. Tonight we are all riders, celebrating as one. The second and third years who had kept their distance, now welcomed us with open arms. We had proven we had what it takes to be riders, and had dragons of our own to prove it.

As the night goes on, people start sneaking off to each others rooms to celebrate in another way. I see a few of my squad mates among them. I can’t help but smile as I notice Rhiannon sneak of with Sawyer. Not long after Bodhi disappears as well with a first year he had been talking to most of the night. With his departure I was on my own. My eyes scan the room hoping to see the familiar curly hair of the one I’m looking for. But I come up short, and I can’t help but feel disappointed. I had tried to find him after we had all received our relics, but he had disappeared along with Xaden. Judging by the look on Xaden’s face during it all, I wondered if it had something to do with Dain kissing Violet. Another two who were also missing. After this morning I had hoped to grab him and talk to him. But it seemed tonight was another night where he was nowhere to be seen.

The walk back to my dorm room is quiet, with most people back in the privacy of their dorms celebrating, or back in the dining hall. Seems most people were smart enough to put silencing wards on their doors or go to a second or third years room. I round the corner to where my new room is and stop in my tracks. There leaning against my door is the tall and muscular, curly haired figure I had been searching for all night. Garrick. I hadn’t made a sound but as if he knows I’m there, his head turns to where I stand. My heart flutters as our eyes meet. I can tell he had been waiting a while. A small smile forms on his face as he see’s me, pushing himself off the door to stand up straight as I make my way over. Only he could make a normal sized door look small, his head getting very close to the top as he stands.

“Was wondering where you had gotten to. Was starting to think you’d found other ways to celebrate.” I say, trying to make a joke of the situation as I stand in front of him.

The way his eyebrows furrow at me tells me he is not impressed at my attempt at a joke. “I told you the other week, I don’t do casual hook ups.”

”But you did.” I point out, referencing his past times with Imogen.

He sighs and drops his head, his curls falling in front of his eyes. I don’t know if its the spiked lemonade talking, but god do I want to run my hands through them. Like I use to back in Aretia. Back when I would always be over at his place. His mum never complained about me being there. Hell she had complained if I wasn’t there. After dinner we would always sit out on the balcony or on his bed, his head in my lap as we would talk or just simply enjoy each others company. I would run my fingers through his hair out of habit. I wondered if they were as soft as I remembered.

”And as I also said. If someone else wasn’t ‘dead’.” He uses his fingers to emphasise the word dead as he looks up at me. “I wouldn’t have done so.”

The intensity in his stare has my heart skip a beat. I’d been avoiding the conversation, and now there was no way to avoid it. It was very clear that Garrick was here to talk about that moment in the Healers Quadrant. And honestly I wanted to have that talk. Especially after talking to Xaden the other night.

“Yeah, I remember.” I mumble as I look down at my hands and pick at a stray fingernail.

”Surprised you do with how quick you ran off and have been avoiding me.”

And there it is. I feel as if Garrick has just dropped a brick in the pit of my stomach. He wasn’t wrong. The only reason we hadn’t talked was because of me. He had tried, and I’d run off as soon as I’d seen him. The only one I had really talked to since was Bodhi. Even Xaden had been victim to some of it till recently. Bodhi and Imogen were both quite impressed at my ability to avoid my section leader and wingleader.

Garrick reaches out and grab my hands, stopping my fidgeting. My skin feels like its on fire where his hand grips mine. I look up to see him looking down at me, the same look he had given me in the Healers Quadrant that day. His eyes hopeful I will say what he wants me to say.

“I shouldn’t have run off. I was…” What was I? Scared? Shocked? Unsure.

A bang at the end of the hallway startles both of us, our gaze shifting to a couple trying to get into one of their rooms. Garrick tugs on my hands and opens my door before leading us inside. After closing the door he leads me over to the bed and sits me down as he kneels on the ground in front of me. It’s one of the few moments Garrick and I are at the same height.

”In all the years I’ve known you Ophelia, I don’t think I have ever seen you that scared before.” He starts, reaching out and taking my hands in his again. “But correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I saw happiness to. Like you had been waiting to hear what I said.”

I sigh and look down at our joined hands. He wasn’t wrong, but there was still that part of me that was scared what would happen if it went badly. I didn’t want to be what came between Garrick and Xaden. I pull my hands from his and stand up, pacing back and forth behind him. He stands and watches me, concern in his eyes. His heart is essentially in my hands right now. And I know that terrifies us both. For me I could say something wrong and wreck this completely. For Garrick. I know he’s never been like this with anyone. He’s never laid out his emotions like this to someone. And that terrifies him. I know it does. If I turned him down, something tells me he would never let anyone in like he has with me.

”You’re right. I won’t deny that Garrick. I’ve been dying to hear you felt the same way I did since….. Since I don’t even know when.” I start, a small smile on the edge of his lips. “But I am so terrified.”

I stop and turn to him from my spot near the window. His eyes meeting mine in an instant due to him watching my every move.

”I am terrified that if this,” I gesture between us, “Goes wrong, then it affects more than us.”

He sighs and nods. “You’re worried about mine and Xaden’s friendship. All of our frienships. You don’t want to come between us.”

I nod. Its as if he can read my mind. “If this went so badly that we don’t want anything to do with each other, it would tear him apart. Not to mention he would probably tear you apart if we did get together.”

”He already knows my feelings. It was kind of hard to hide them five years ago.”

I look at him confused, unsure as to what he is referring to. Then it clicks. Very soon it would be five years since I had ‘died’. Garrick sits on the bed looking down at his hands. As if preparing himself for what he’s about to tell me.

”It was already an emotional day as it was. Watching our parents die and getting our rebellion relics. But we all had each other.” He starts as his gaze flicks to mine before going back to his hands. “I was stood next to Xaden. He and I had just gotten our relics.” His arm with the relic twitching as he tells me the memory. “We all go to leave, but Melgren stops Xaden. I remember how he pulled the bag we had last seen you with from his dragon and threw it at Xaden’s feet.” I swear I hear his voice shake slightly. “I remember the closure breaking and the contents tumbling to the ground. He didn’t say anything to us. He didn’t need to. We knew what he was hinting at.”

He pauses and looks up at me. And my heart nearly breaks at the emotion in his eyes from retelling the memory. I swear I see tears in his eyes before he blinks them away.

“The rest is a blur. Bodhi told me a group of them had to hold me back as I tried to go after Melgren as he walked away. After he went, apparently I just knelt by your things staring. Even Xaden couldn’t snap me out of it. Apparently I even tried to fight him when they tried to get me to move. A few days later before we got shipped off to our new homes, Xaden pulled me aside and I told him everything.” He pauses again. My heart breaks. I never knew what happened. I never knew how they found out. I just assumed they would think I had gotten away or got caught up in our escape. “He just sat there and listened to me as I broke down and told him every single thing. I think he’s the only person to see my cry besides my mother. I swear I even nearly got him to cry as I told him how much I cared for you. How I had planned to find you after all this was done and tell you. But then, I didn’t think I would ever get the chance to.”

Its as if I can see the memory through his eyes. Even I want to cry and I wasn’t even there. I was the one they were mourning at the time. He stands and walks over to me, placing his hands on my hips tightly as if he’s worried I am going to run again. His thumbs rubbing into the exposed skin where my top has ridden up.

“I have waited too damn long to tell you how I feel, and now I’ve been given a second chance. And I will be damned little one, if I don’t take it. Because I am not losing you again.” He rests his forehead on mine, his hazel eyes staring into my green ones. “I am willing to risk everything to give this a go, and I will do everything I can to make sure this does not end. I am yours, and you are mine.”

I know every word Garrick speaks is true. Every word he spoke is fuelled with emotions he’s been holding back. I know without a doubt, if we go down this route, this is it for him. There is no going back. And he will fight with everything he has to make this work. And I know I will to. I barely nod my head before Garrick grasps my face in his hands and his lips are on mine.

A/N 2: Next part might be a little bit..... spicy

Part 13

Tag List: @riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the empyrean #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #the fourth wing #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc

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thatoddgent · 1 year

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We're With You Always (Nameless Ghoul(ette)s x Ghoul!Reader)

A/N: This is a request from my lovely mutual, @serene-sun! I really hope that you, and everyone else, enjoy it. I'm still getting used to writing for everybody, but hopefully it'll get easier as I go on, especially now that I'm specifying the characters. Feedback is appreciated, and requests are open!

Character Notes: Reader is AFAB and transmac, uses he/they pronouns. Short and petite, dark curly hair.

Genre: Fluff, like super fluffy, we're going for comfort here. A touch or two of angst, but just to set the scene and nothing way too graphic.

Warnings: Reader is a victim of bullying (body and queer issues), some hateful speech is used but anything overly graphic is only referenced, not explicitly said. Implied ED, and self esteem/body issues, not proof read but checked as I went!

Morning are always the hardest, hearing the loud chiming of the church bells first thing isn't the ideal way to wake up, but you'd be a liar if you said it wasn't effective. The halls slowly began to fill with noise of siblings and staff alike, the noise finding its way to the dens where ghouls such as yourself resided.

After soaking in the commotion for a moment, you finally pry yourself from the bed you became so well acquainted with in the night. Stretching your body and letting out a yawn, you open your eyes and scan your room for a moment, searching for the mask you had quickly discarded the night prior. In the midst of your search your eyes land on the mirror that rests on the wall, you lift yourself from your bed and look for a moment.

While distracted by your reflection, you hear the ghouls start to leave their rooms as well, and your attention is pulled back to the task at hand. You take one last look, and with a sigh, walk over to your closet and get dressed. You find your mask and make your way back to the mirror, trying your best to tame the curls that rested on your head before shimmying the mask on your face.

Fumbling fingers tie the string in the back before making small adjustments to your daily wear, trying to make sure that everything is perfectly in place. You take a deep breath and meet your own gaze, and tell yourself that today is another day, you'll try your best to make it yours.

By the time that you step out of your room, the hall has cleared up, the only people left being a handful of sisters gossiping, or a stray ghoul or two trying to flirt with them. You can't help but feel a few eyes follow you ask you walk past, you can't tell if you prefer being watched to fighting through the crowd from earlier but you try your best to ignore it and eventually make it to the dining hall. Grabbing a spot in the, now short, line, you slowly make your way to the older sister tasked with serving everyone.

It's kind of nice, lately Papa had been advocating for better treatment of the ghouls which let you guys be more involved with the siblings and staff, saying "If we are to be brother and sister, then we shall be family under one roof." Everyone was surprised that Sister Imperator actually let it go through, but she did always have a softer spot for your Papa, it made you smile at the thought.

Once it's your turn to be fed, the woman hands you a small tray, offering you a smile as well.

"Are you sure that's all you want dear? Look at you, you're practically withering away!"

Your expression falters, your tail wrapping tightly around your legs, even if she means well it just gets so tiring hearing the same thing everyday. You try your best to look unphased, and assure her that you're alright and carefully take the food from her hands, sending a soft "thank you" her way before scurrying off.

You spot Papa's ghouls all sitting in the far side of the hall, the ghoulettes trying their best to eat while trying to settle an argument between the guys, a small smile returns to your face and you seat yourself a few spots away at the table next to them. Picking at your food, your head starts to fill with all kinds of thoughts, ones about you body, and suddenly you become hyper aware of everything going on around you.

That's when you hear it, at the table just behind you. Maybe they didn't think you could hear over the noise, but your stomach drops as you listen in to the sister speaking behind you.

"Seriously, how do they just let those things walk around here? It's ridiculous, I mean, now we have to eat with those freaks thanks to Papa. And didn't you hear, I guess they have a weirdo of their own now, that real little one? Like come ON, how can you-"

You quickly get up from your seat, the ghouls at the table next you get quiet and look over your way, the girls quickly standing up in an attempt to see what's wrong. You storm into the hallway, tears start to tingle in your eyes, but you just keep walking.

It isn't fair. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, wear, say, it doesn't matter. And now what are you, a freak amongst freaks?

You walk, and walk, and walk until you finally make it to your room, throwing open the door and slipping inside. You rip the mask from your head any throw it onto your bed, wiping at your eye to rid them of any tears that threatened to fall. Looking up, you're in the same place you were this morning, gaze caught in your own eyes in the mirror.

Black curls tossed in every direction, eyes puffy and half lidded, tail tucked between your legs. All you can do is stare, you hate it, you hate them, you hate it all, that is until you hear a gentle knock at your door.

Your body stiffens and your breath stills, they didn't follow you did they? That girl, was talking about you not enough, did she needs to say it to your face. Instead, a sweet, worried voice talks at you through the door.

"Are you alright in there hun? We saw you run off, you don't look too good.

You stay quiet, waiting to see if she'll leave. Another voice chimes in, this one raspier the the one before.

"We heard that girl, and what she said, please let us in."

You wipe your tears, and, without even really thinking, you open the door to meet the masked eyes of Papa's three ghoulettes. You shuffle to the side a bit and let them in, trying your best to steady your breathing and stop crying before you turn to face them.

"Hey now, we aren't here to judge you sugar, come on and talk to us."

Cumulus reaches a hand out to you, offering to hold one of your own, she takes hold of it and leads you to the bed. Sunshine and Cirrus follow behind her, they're quiet, but something about their presence is comforting.

"Now if you don't wanna talk about it, that's alright with us, but I'll be damned if I stand by and let someone get talked down on like that, especially in front of me. I'm gonna need a name while you're at it darlin'."

Cumulus has a fiery look to her as she speaks, flashing a genuine toothy smile your way, you can tell she really cares for keeping everyone in the clergy safe.

"(y/n), and I'm not really one for talking..." Your voice trails off a bit. "If you don't mind me asking though, why do you guys care? I'm not really in your whole group, it doesn't affect you."

Sunshine lets out a lighthearted laugh, and cumulus giggles beside her, for a moment you worry that this is another joke being played.

"Because silly," Cirrus starts "We're family, we always gotta stick with each other, we're all we've got around here. Even if there's still people around here that don't like us, we have what we need."

The tears in your eyes return, but for a whole other reason now. For the first time in a while, you feel seen, you feel wanted.

Slowly, Cumulus brings a hand to your face, brushing the hair away from your eyes and wiping the tears from your cheeks. The other two move in closer and bring you into a small hug, not to tight, but tight enough for you to feel the love seeping out of them.

"Hey," Sunshine's voice breaks the momentary silence "How about we go show you just how much family you got, huh? I'm sure we all feel the presence of a couple nosy peeps outside."

Wiping your eye once more, the girls help you to get yourself presentable once again, fixing your clothes and putting your mask back on. Cumulus leads everyone to the door and opens it quickly, making Swiss and Dew, who were leaning on the door, tumble forward a bit.

Everyone laughs at them while they both try to make up excuses, meanwhile the four of you shuffle out of the room.

"Gentlemen," Cirrus looks over to the two eavesdroppers "And drama queens, this is (y/n), make him feel welcomed yeah?"

And just like that, you're welcomed with open arms, you introduce yourself to all of the guys and they all treat you like a close friend. Your group migrates to the ghoul's common room to keep talking, and you really get to sit down and get to know everyone and their stories. Jokes get thrown around and you join in, attempting to open up just a bit more, and they find you hilarious.

"I don't know where you found them," Dew rings out "But we gotta keep this little dude around, I was starting to get bored of you fuckers."

You feel off for a moment at the comment, but Aether puts a stop to that feeling quickly.

"You act like you're not so small yourself, bet you they could still kick your ass," He pats your back firmly but carefully "Ain't that right kid?"

You smile and nod your head, a feeling of warmth spreading inside you. The day seems to go on forever, with you all talking and laughing together. Eventually it gets late and a few yawns are heard, as you go do get up, however, you feel a hand grab yours to keep you in place for a moment.

"Why don't you stay the night? We do these cuddle piles sometimes, and a new friend is the perfect excuse to have one!"

You swear, Sunshine's gotta have some dark past or something, because you've never met someone so sickeningly sweet, but you just can't find it in your heart to say no to her. So you nod your head, and she goes off to gather everyone up, gathering a couple of blankets and pillows as she runs around.

Everyone settles into each others, and even though some act like they don't like it, there's no hiding the warmth radiating off of everyone. You snuggle into a blanket and find a spot where you fit comfortably, closing you eyes and relishing the feelings rushing through you. Love, happiness, peace, this is all that you feel right now. Slowly your eyes shut and your breathing slows.

This is going to be the best sleep you've had in a long time.

#fluff #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #band ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost #nameless ghouls x reader #nameless ghouls #x reader #angel writes

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cobrakaisb · 2 years

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this rainy day

summary: kent falls for the sweet girl in his poetry class

warnings: sunshine!reader who uses she/her pronouns, wrote this because i’m in my kj era

song referenced: just a cloud away by pharrell williams

word count: 3.04k

kent loved his poetry class. he liked looking at different poets and dissecting their works. he liked writing his own poetry while trying to mimic the styles they talked about in class. he liked having a class that served as a creative outlet, one where he could interpret one thing while the person sitting three rows behind him got a completely different message. but most of all, the main reason why he loved his three hour poetry class that met on wednesday’s at nine am was the girl that sat next to him.

she showed up on the first day of class two minutes before the lecture began, and took the seat right next to him. it was raining that day. her hair was slightly wet and her bright red rain boots stood out in the crowd of black and gray. it was a dreary, rainy day after all, but her personality completely contrasted the gloomy atmosphere.

“you don’t mind if i sit here, do you?” she asked quietly, taking the seat next to him. “not at all,” he answered, briefly looking up from his phone. “great thanks,” she replied, and that was the end of their conversation for the day.

weeks went by, and kent barely spoke to the girl sitting next to him. of course he noticed little things about her. like how she used one of those pens that had all the different ink colors to take notes, and would change the color based on the topic of the notes. he picked up on the fact that she wore bright colors that enhanced her joyful personality. he listened while she mumbled the lyrics to a random song under her breath, or that time she came into class with her music on full blast and kent could clearly hear the song blaring from her headphones; something about clouds and a rainy day.

that was the day that kent started a conversation with her. the two exchanged pleasantries, as usual, and then he brought up her taste in music. “so what song were you listening to? something about a rainy day?” he asked, a small smile on his face. “oh you heard that? sorry it was so loud, but the song is just a cloud away by pharrell williams. it’s from despicable me two,” she answered, a soft blush coating her cheeks. kent chuckled. her song choice totally fit her character in the personal narrative that was his life.

“i’ll have to check it out. if it’s worthy of being put on full blast, it must be a good song,” he said. “yeah you should. i think you’d like it,” she answered, picking up her pen and opening to a new page in her notebook. “i’m kent by the way. kent johnson,” he introduced himself, sticking his hand out of her to shake. “hi kent, i’m y/n l/n,” she replied, shaking his hand.

kent smiled at her. their friendship was going to be a fun one, he just knew it.

after a couple classes, y/n and kent fell into a routine. he would wait for her at the entrance to the lecture hall, and the two of them would walk in together, discussing whatever song she was listening to that day. then, after class, he would walk her to the dining hall, where they parted ways until the following week.

for the most part, their contact was confined to those three hours on wednesday mornings. that changed when kent first spotted her sitting in the stands at one of his home games. in all the times they’d spoken, him playing hockey had never come up, and he honestly wanted to keep it that way. she saw him as kent, the dorky guy from poetry class, not kent the fifth overall nhl draft pick.

her presence at his game made him nervous. he wanted to play well to impress her. his nervous energy was picked up on by owen, who didn’t hesitate to comment on it. “you okay kj? it’s just michigan state. we can beat them in our sleep,” owen said. “yeah i’m fine,” kent answered shortly, returning to his warm up drills. after the game kent hustled outside to see her, but she was gone. he frowned at the thought, but he knew that he’d see her again on wednesday.

at their next poetry class, kent waited for y/n outside, per usual, with a small hot coffee in his hands. “hi kent,” she greeted, pulling out her earbuds. “hi y/n. i got you a coffee,” he said, handing her the steaming cup. “thank you! you didn’t have to do that,” she replied, taking the cup from him as the two walked towards their normal seats. kent wanted to ask her about the hockey game, and somehow mention that he was glad she made it.

“so y/n, i saw you at the hockey game this weekend,” he said as they took their seats. “yeah i went with a couple friends. when did you see me? why didn’t you come say hi? i wish i saw you,” she answered, turning her body to face him. “well i was kind of busy playing,” he replied bashfully, rubbing at the back of his neck. “you play hockey?” she asked, amazement clear in her voice. “yeah,” kent whispered, a red blush coating his cheeks. “that’s so cool. you must really like it to play in college,” she observed, and kent nodded his head in agreement. he went to say some more, but the professor walked in and began their discussion for the day.

after class that day kent asked y/n for her number, which she happily gave him. “now i can text you the playlist i made,” she said after saving his contact in her phone. “what playlist?” kent asked as they began the trek to the dining hall. “the one with all the songs you didn’t know. everytime you asked me what song i was listening too, i added it to the playlist,” she replied, like it was the most casual thing in the world. kent’s heart swelled. she was absolutely adorable, and he loved it.

later that night, kent received a link to her spotify playlist. without hesitation, he clicked the play button. the first song that popped up was just a cloud away. the song from despicable me two, he remembered. he took a screenshot of the app, clearly showing which song was playing, and sent it to y/n along with a text that read: “is this your favorite song?” she replied quickly: “yes!! enjoy the playlist!!”

the next few games, the boys noticed a change in kent’s behavior. he was checking his phone more often in the locker room and suddenly he was listening to music before warmups. they didn’t question it, until brendan caught him sneaking out of the locker room with a spare jersey in hand.

“dude look,” he whispered, trying to catch thomas’s attention. “what?” thomas asked, following brendan’s finger, which was pointing at kent leaving the locker room. “should we follow him?” brendan asked. “is that considered an invasion of privacy?” thomas replied. “is what considered an invasion of privacy?” owen asked, joining in on their conversation. “following kent,” the duo answered in unison. “where was he going?” the tall boy asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“we don’t know. that’s why we’re following him,” brendan answered, as he got up and left the locker room, gesturing for owen and thomas to come along. “where are we going?” matty and truss asked as they followed the three boys out of the locker room. “to spy on kent,” thomas answered casually.

“are you sure it’s okay if i wear this?” an unfamiliar voice asked, causing the five boys to freeze in their steps. “yeah it’s totally fine,” kent answered. “you’re not gonna get into trouble?” the first person asked, and brendan turned to the boys mouthing the words ‘a girl?’. kent chuckled at her question. “i’m not gonna get in trouble, sunshine, just relax. now will you please put it on? i want to see,” he begged, a slight whine present in his voice. “oh my god,” owen whispered, eyes wide. “kent totally has a girlfriend,” he continued, causing all the boys to smile.

now they were all back in the locker room, kent included, putting on their pads. “so sunshine, are you ready for tonight's game?” brendan asked, shooting thomas a look. “what? are you talking to me?” kent asked. “yeah. is it okay if i call you sunshine?” brendan replied, a teasing smirk on his face. “yeah i guess. why are you acting weird brisson?” kent questioned the brunette boy. “no reason. just being my normal self,” he answered, turning back to his own business.

when the team skated out onto the ice, kent’s eyes searched for y/n in the sea of maize and blue. finally, his eyes locked with hers and she waved at him, a big smile on her face. kent smiled too, a natural response to her beautiful one, waving. thankfully, none of the boys noticed the brief interaction between the two, so kent could play the game without hearing their chirping in his ear.

“post-win party at my house! who’s in?” brendan shouted when the team reentered the locker room after a great game and big win. everyone responded with a chorus of ‘yeahs’ and ‘mes’. well everyone except kent, who flat out said no. “no partying tonight kj? not even after that big goal?” matty asked. “nah man. i think i’m just gonna turn in and take it easy,” he replied, undressing at top speed.

finally, after what felt like forever, he was able to meet y/n in the main entrance to yost. “hi sunshine,” he whispered, sliding into the spot next to her. “hi kent! you played so well,” she praised, pulling him into a hug, a new edition in their encounters. “thank you. are we still on for movie night?” he asked. this would be their first time hanging out together outside of poetry class. “um yeah. you have to watch despicable me two, starstruck, tangled, and so many more. we need to start somewhere,” she replied, a big smile on her face. “okay i was just checking,” kent answered, taking her hand in his.

the two of them walked to kent’s house off campus. on the way there, y/n plugged in her headphones, giving one to kent. the two listened to the playlist she made for him, occasionally talking about the song that was playing, until they reached the house.

“i’m going to change. do you want to order a pizza or something?” kent asked as he led y/n into the kitchen area. “yeah sure. i like cheese but what kind do you want?” she replied, picking up her cell phone to call the number on the menu kent handed her. “let’s get a veggie one too. oh and an order of mozzarella sticks,” he said. y/n smiled at him, nodding as she repeated the order quietly to herself. kent looked at her fondly, she was so pretty and an absolute ray of sunshine in his drab life.

“so i ordered the pizza. they said about twenty minutes,” y/n announced when kent returned in a pair of sweatpants and a michigan hockey shirt. “awesome! i left some sweats and a shirt on my bed if you wanted to change out of your jeans,” kent replied, getting a bit shy at the end. “that’d be great, thanks kent. which room is yours?” “down the hall, last one on your right,” he instructed with a small smile. y/n nodded, before heading off to get changed.

when she came back, completely decked out in his clothes, kent couldn’t help the giant smile and bright blush that occupied his face. she was so darn cute. “you look great,” he mumbled as she sat on the couch next to him. “shut up,” was the reply as they flicked through netflix until y/n found despicable me two.

that night they sat cuddled up on the couch, watching the films whose soundtrack made up their shared playlist. eventually the two moved the marathon from the living room to kent’s bedroom. “my roommates will ask too many questions if they see us out here, and no one wants to deal with that,” he explained as she followed him down the hall. kent didn’t know what time it was, but at some point during the night his bedroom door opened. whoever it was took one look at the duo cuddled up in kent’s bed before closing the door softly.

“kent breakfast is ready…oh my god!” someone shouted. kent groaned loudly, pulling the covers up above his head. “get out,” he rasped, not even looking at the person standing in his doorway. the person snickered, “yeah we’ll leave you and your girlfriend alone.” that caused kent’s eyes to widen. suddenly he was very aware of the second body in his bed, and how his arms were wrapped tightly around her.

“oh god! y/n…y/n,” kent said, shaking her shoulders to get her to wake up. “mmm,” she mumbled, burying her face deeper into his pillows. “no y/n you don’t understand, they saw us. my roommates,” he panicked, sitting up in bed. her eyes fluttered open at his statement, a yawn escaping her lips as she stretched out her arms. “what’s the big deal?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. kent’s eyes grew to the size of a golf ball. how was she so relaxed given their current predicament?

“they saw us, sleeping, together in the same bed,” kent said slowly. “okay and? all we did was sleep,” she replied. kent’s hand came up to his face. “they’re going to talk sunshine,” he mumbled. at his tone of utter defeat, y/n moved closer to him. she placed her hand on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on it with her thumb. “so let them. we know the truth. the two of us are just friends, it was simply platonic cuddling,” she whispered and a lump grew in kent’s throat at her words.

right. they were just friends.

the day an impromptu meeting occurred between y/n and kent’s friends was one of the best and worst days of his life. it was amazing because now he wasn’t hiding anything from the people who had quickly become like brothers to him. they met y/n and everyone got along fairly well. the downside to this was that everyone got along really well. kent could no longer justify keeping her all to himself because she got along with all the other guys. he had to share now.

that’s exactly what was happening right now. kent brought y/n to a party at one of the guy’s houses after another win. although she was still wearing his jersey, the one with his last name on it, he didn’t like the way brendan was dancing with her. he was too close. kent felt his jaw clench and his grip on the red solo cup tighten. y/n, bless her soul, noticed kent’s unease from a distance and promptly excused herself from brendan’s grip.

“come outside and chat with me? it’s hot in here,” she asked approaching kent. “yeah sure,” kent agreed with no hesitation. he relaxed as y/n’s hand found its way into his as she led him through the crowded house to the front stairs. she sat down on the stoop, patting the spot next to her, which kent happily took.

they sat in silence for a minute, enjoying the feeling of being next to each other in the cool michigan air. “i’m sorry for dancing with brendan,” y/n finally said, looking anxiously at kent. the blonde’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell open. he had not meant to be that obvious. “why are you apologizing? you can dance with whoever you want,” kent asked. “i ignored you, and you're the one who invited me to the party. besides it was stupid to think brendan’s idea would work anyways,” she answered, looking away from his sea green eyes.

a look of confusion passed over kent’s face. “what did brendan say?” he asked, grabbing her hand in his. she sighed, looking back at him. she opened her mouth to respond but gently shook her head no, refusing to say anything. “what did he say, sunshine?” kent demanded, voice taking a firmer tone. “that you liked me, but that’s absurd right? i mean we’re just friends,” she said, throwing in a forced laugh to make it seem like she wasn’t sad about their lack of a romantic relationship.

“oh sunshine,” kent whispered, hands coming up to cup her cheeks. “please kent don’t. if you don’t feel the same way just,” she started but was cut off when his plump lips collided with hers. the kiss said everything that kent needed to say. how much he wanted her, no needed her, and how he’s always loved her. it took y/n a second, but quickly their mouths were moving insync. her hands held his wrists, keeping him close to her.

when they pulled away for air, kent’s forehead rested on hers. “everything changed when i saw you, sunshine. you’re all i want, if you’ll have me,” he confessed, looking into her gorgeous eyes. she nodded. “of course kent. you’re all i want too,” she answered sincerely. kent smiled, pulling her in for another kiss. “can we go home? maybe watch tangled?” he asked, thumb softly rubbing across her cheek. “i’d like that,” she answered as the two of them stood up from the steps.

“you know, thank goodness for that rainy day,” kent said, swinging their joined hands back and forth. “what rainy day?” she asked, giving him a quizzical look. “the first poetry class was on a rainy day. you had these cherry red rain boots on, and immediately my eyes were focusing solely on you,” he explained. “so without that rainy day, we never would’ve met. who knew you were only a cloud away sunshine,” he continued causing a blush to rise on her cheeks.

#kent johnson #kent johnson x reader #kent johnson imagine #kent johnson blurb #kent johnson fluff #umich hockey #columbus blue jackets #cobrakaisb writing

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cilly-the-writer · 10 months

Text

SHADOWS OF SORCERY | Part 18 | “Shadow of Hostility” | 1,758 words

Content Warning: Blood mention

Jaelin gestured toward some of the articles pinned up.

"Those ones have times," he said. "So I made a list of all the people my grandfather knew and I cross referenced his old planner on those dates and times. If they had an appointment with him at that time, I crossed them off." He showed them both the old planner on his desk, flipping through the pages to give them an idea of how detailed it was.

"He was meticulous."

"I'd say." Imogene said.

He's not the only one… Elora thought, seeing Jaelin's thinking process spread out all over the room. Imogene had to keep a straight face after hearing that.

Elora glossed over the list, and surely enough, the regional extractor was still there. He hadn't crossed him off. But there were still at least a few dozen other names too.

“Well, we came here to show you this —.” Elora held up the single newspaper article she had found.

Jaelin reached for it in a daze.

“When was this?”

“This morning.” Elora said.

Jaelin took his pen from his pocket to cross off the names of the employees listed in the article. He started to talk, distracted as he searched for names down the list.

“A lot of big magic companies contracted him… Maybe they want to take their magic and rewrite the security systems.”

An unsettled look crossed their faces. The extractor had already stolen so much magic. If this was really all the same person, what exactly were they going for? Why did they want so much magic?

They all went to grab something to eat shortly after.

They met Charlotte in one of the dining halls. She was already sitting at a round table waiting for them. She had a small notebook open and watched as an invisible stroke of magic wrote across the page—the lettering lighting up bright purple. It glowed the whole time it was being written. But Charlotte closed it as she saw her friends walking toward her.

“Hey.” Elora said, grabbing one of the chairs.

“Hey. I was just writing to my father… he said they had a spare luminess core they can give to the school. I asked him if they could give you one too, but he said they only had that one right now. But he’ll put you on a waiting list to get one as soon as they find another one.”

How fucking convenient, Elora thought. Of course he doesn’t want to give me a healing core.

“Oh, thanks. That’s really thoughtful… I didn’t think of that.” Elora said.

Of course she already thought of that.

The luminess core was the whole reason she was in this mess. But they were rare and didn’t bloom in abundance. They required a great deal of shade and ambient tree magic to grow.

“He said the school told him they’d probably resume exams tomorrow then.”

“Oh.” Jaelin slouched back in his seat. His exam would be tomorrow in that case. “I don’t have any exceptional abilities like you two… I’m probably going to get wrecked.” He was talking about Imogene and Elora, but his gaze drifted to Elora. “What about you? Are you average too?”

Elora had strategically bitten into her ham and swiss sub as soon as she realized where the conversation was going.

“Actually,” Elora said, still chewing, “I can kind of read thoughts too…”

“What?!” Jaelin sat up straight. “No way. What am I thinking?”

Imogene laughed politely before she cut in.

“It’s actually kind of annoying when people ask that…”

Jaelin sighed, letting it go.

“So I’m the boring one?”

Charlotte and Imogene giggled. Elora just smiled. Thankfully, he didn't press her.

Then a little while later into their conversation, Imogene caught sight of Kaden Brush walking down the aisle between the tables. He headed toward them with a dazed look in his eyes, holding a tray in his hands.

“Hey!” Imogene waved.

Kaden snapped out of his trance and lifted his gaze to acknowledge her. But he kept silent as he sat down with them.

“Oh, hey, how are you doing?” Charlotte asked. She had been wondering how he was doing since she healed him.

Kaden stared at his food. He wasn’t particularly a conversationalist.

“Fine.”

“Elora mentioned you guys practiced together this morning. How do you like being a caster so far?”

I hate it. I literally can’t stand it.

“It’s fine…”

“I’m sure it’s hard to get used to a whole new magic type though.” Charlotte said.

Of course it’s fucking hard. I’m learning how to do magic all over again. I never even had half of these abilities before.

“He’s doing a really nice job though!” Imogene said. “He’ll be a casting pro in no time!” Imogene nudged his arm with her elbow.

Kaden looked down at his food.

“Thanks…”

Imogene sensed his fondness for the reassurance. Mixed in with the heaviness of self doubt and anxiety.

The luminess core was delivered to the school that night.

The next day, initial progress monitoring exams resumed as normal. Imogene and Elora practiced casting with Kaden in the morning for some time. But when they were finished practicing, Elora looked over at Kaden carefully.

“Do you want to come see Jaelin’s match with us?”

The question sparked a sudden dazed look in his eyes; Elora had commanded him to agree anytime she invited him somewhere.

“Is that a yes?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess?” Kaden said, not really knowing why he had agreed. But there was a sinking feeling in his stomach as he recollected his own match just two days prior: being impaled with a dagger straight through the stomach. And hearing that the healing room’s luminess core had been stolen while he lay there bleeding out.

Imogene’s smile fell slightly as she read his mind.

They went to the stadium and found Charlotte and Jaelin in the stands. Exams had been running all day without incident. It was still a little while before Jaelin’s match started. But in time, his turn approached and he stood across from his opponent in the ring. He was matched against a caster named Isabelle Hayze.

“Oh, she’s a CARD type,” Charlotte said, recognizing her. “She has a really good reflex ability.”

Once the buzzer went off, Jaelin conjured daggers and threw them at her before they blew up in an explosion of purple light. She switched from defense to offense the next instant, blasting at him fast and hard so that he had to form a shield to block her. This wasn't good. He had to get her off attack mode, even just for a second.

So he threw one arm out to blast a gust of wind at her–his realist ability–and that tripped her up enough for him to whip the shield at her like a disc.

She twisted to the side, out of the way, blasting at him while she dodged.

“Jaelin has an aiming ability…” Elora said.

They had pitted impeccable reflexes against impeccable aim. As the two sorcerers battled on, it unfolded into a long series of near hits and misses. Jaelin’s aiming ability helped him guide his shields every time she fired at him—and Isabelle’s reflexes, of course, helped her dodge his hits.

It went on for a while before they both decided to switch solely to their respective environment magic: wind and light. Jaelin waved a strong, ongoing blast of wind at her while she formed a white orb of light in front of herself and it flashed across the entire arena.

Blinding him. He shut his eyes and turned his head away, keeping the winds going so she couldn't throw anything at him. The light was too blinding to look her way. Even all the staff and students in the audience looked away.

Imogene was squinting as she looked away, looking toward the back wall past the stands.

The squinting let her core magic sight slip though and–

Imogene’s eye caught on a student with three magic cores glowing from the center of her chest. Imogene blindly grabbed Elora’s wrist, somehow knowing exactly where it was, and squeezed it to convey her fear without saying anything.

All the while the match continued.

The blinding white light mixed with a purple casting light as Isabelle Hayze switched abilities, forcing back Jaelin’s wind with pure energy. It broke straight through the wind like a violet tornado, spinning right into him. The blinding white light hadn’t broken for long enough for him to see it coming.

The purple light tornado thrashed him against the wall and he collapsed the instant he dropped down. Jaelin groaned at the wave of pain. He wasn’t getting back up and fighting after a hit like that.

The buzzer sounded.

The audience cheered for Isabelle Hayze. Imogene shifted to glance at the back wall again and the student was gone. She scanned the crowd frantically. She could see everyone else’s light. Everyone around them only had a single magic core. Where did that student go?

Imogene held her hand over her bracelet charm anxiously. In the next few seconds, there was a shift among the teachers at the assessment panel as they received the message. A couple of them were already tending to Jaelin, but the other teachers got up and moved with urgency toward the stands.

An announcement came over the speaker for all students to remain seated:

We are going into lockdown. This is not a drill. I repeat: we are going into lockdown. This is not a drill.

"What's happening?" Kaden looked over at Imogene.

Imogene forced an anxious smile. Before she could say anything, she saw Professor Hawkins on his way down to her row, pacing to get there.

"Miss Imogene—."

Imogene got up and went to him.

"Can you identify them?"

She nodded. Elora started getting up to follow them, but Professor Hawkins cut her a look and said:

"Just Imogene."

Professor Hawkins and a few other teachers led her to the one of the exits where they were able to bypass the lockdown and head out to the foyer. The school had already apprehended the student she had seen–or so it appeared. The young student stood there shaking at the accusation.

The girl only had a single magic core.

It wasn't her.

Imogene shook her head.

Regents Academy of Magic did a sweep of the whole school, having called the Power Authority to send someone with core magic sight like Imogene.

But whoever it was, they were long gone by now.

Next >>

#wip: SoS #writeblr #fantasy #posting 2 parts because I have no restraint

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whumptimebaby · 2 years

Text

Take it all out on me

| Graphic Depictions of Violence | 1/1 | Whump and Hurt/Comfort | 07/16/2022 (MM/DD/YYYY)

CW: Kidnapping, Broken Bones, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Swearing

Aaron T. is a clumsy guy. It's no surprise he somehow managed to break his ankle within three hours of being back from their concert. If you asked him, he'd insist he fell down the stairs.

So that's what happened, right?

Links: AO3 | Full Fic Below Cut

His head was pounding.

Aaron T. blinked his eyes open. He was in a hotel room, not his, but clearly part of the same hotel he was staying in. The amenities looked the same, but the layout was different.

He was in the back corner, facing the door. From where he was, he couldn't see a bed. Was he in a suite of some kind? Maybe a private lounge?

The kitchen was to his left. It was small, the backsplash a crude shade of green that dated the room by at least twenty years. There was no dining space aside from two barstools at the island counter. Somebody's purse rested, knocked over, on the stool closest to him.

The exit door was situated between the tiny kitchen and a couch. The more comfortable seating faced away from the kitchen, and toward a silent TV standing in solitude on the TV stand. Between the couch and the TV was a barely visible wooden coffee table.

Beside him was another door, most likely leading to the bedroom part of the suite. If this was a suite of course.

The ceiling fan was noisy, pattering along at the same pace as the fading drum of his headache. He tried to reach a hand to the back of his head, only to find that his wrists were tied to the arms of a chair.

Okay. This was not normal.

Upon further inspection, he discovered that not only were his arms restrained, but his legs were as well.

He chuckled inwardly. Arms tied to the arms of a chair, and legs tied to the legs. Funny.

He recognized the chair as matching the one at the desk in his hotel room, despite the fact there was no desk to be found in this room.

"What the..?" He mumbled, unsure what to think. His brain felt waterlogged, like a sponge someone had forgotten to wring out.

A head of brown, shoulder-length hair popped up over the couch. She had glasses that made her eyes look huge, almost doe-like.

"Oh! You're awake!"

"Where..?"

She climbed over the back of the couch and used one of the barstools to climb onto the counter and sit cross-legged.

There was nothing threatening about her. Frankly, she kinda just looked nervous.

Tentatively, she said, "I'm sorry."

He blinked slowly.

…

What?

"How's your head?"

How was his head? Groggy. Pain. Slow. Was he on something?

"What happened?" He sounded tired, like he'd woken up from a nap before he was ready to.

She hesitated. "Please don't think I'm crazy."

His lips drew into a flat line.

"I'm a big fan."

…

"I saw you in the hall."

…

She said the rest quickly, "And I freaked out and accidentally knocked you out, and I didn't want to leave you in case something happened, so I took you here."

Oh. That... wasn't so bad?

"Thanks? I think?"

She blew out a breath. "I really didn't mean to, it kinda just... happened."

"It's okay." He nodded slowly. Wow, he was fuzzy. "Thanks for the help. Mind uh... untying me?"

A brief look of concern sprouted on her face. "I don't think that's a good idea, you're still so out of it."

"I'm okay." Yeah Aaron, maybe start acting like it.

"No, you're not."

"It's okay, Z. will know what to do." Wait, shit. "How long was I out?"

"Oh, uh, twenty minutes maybe?"

Twenty minutes... was that a long time? Why did he leave his hotel room?

"I should head back," he insisted, "I don't want to worry the guys."

She grew tense. "Worry them? Like, would they call the police?"

He raised a confused brow. "No? Not right away, but I don't want them thinking I wandered off somewhere."

"They can't call the police, I can't-"

"They won't," he interrupted, "the most they'll do is inform our security team, and-"

"They can't do that either-"

"-once this gets sorted you'll be fine. You said it was a mistake, and I believe you. I'll vouch for you."

The poor girl looked like she was on the verge of tears. "You'd do that for me?"

"Trust me, I don't want this to turn into a big thing any more than you do."

The lock on the door clicked open, and two girls, each adorned with a shopping bag, filed into the room.

The first girl was tall, her hair tied up in a sleek black ponytail. Her entire demeanour was dripping with young money, from the silver watch on her wrist to the sunglasses hanging from the collar of her bodycon v-line dress.

The other girl was fashionable in a way that was much more similar to how Aaron T. dressed. She wore baggy, low-waisted jeans with a tight-fitted cropped polo shirt.

Jeans girl was the first of the two to notice him. She stopped short, brows furrowing and mouth falling open slightly.

He would've waved, but you know, hands tied.

Ponytail walked right past him, groaning dramatically as she dropped her things on the island counter.

"Kayla, you would not believe how busy the road was. It was unbelievable, there were so many people leaving the concert."

Glasses girl exchanged a glance with Jeans. "Uh?"

"I don't care how sick you feel next time, I am not buying you merch if you aren't gonna stand in line with me."

"Look-"

"No, because-"

"Hi?" Aaron T. made his presence known.

She glanced at him briefly, then did a double take. "Holy shit!"

"Surprise?" Kayla laughed nervously.

"Is he real? What did you do?"

He fought back a scoff.

Jeans girl came closer, examining him. "You look different up close."

"Were merch lines really that bad?" He asked, "Cause I've been back at the hotel for at least an hour."

"Sing something," Jeans demanded.

"...What?"

"So I know you're not a look alike."

"I'm gonna pass," he said, leaving small, hesitant pauses between each word. "I should be getting back."

"Why?"

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't-

"I don't wanna worry the guys."

Shit.

Ponytail's face grew firm. She walked over to him and bent so she was at his level. Her eyes bore holes into his skin.

"He's scared," she decided, "and that's dangerous."

He couldn't help but laugh. "This isn't a spy movie."

"He said he wouldn't get us in trouble." Kayla took an uneasy step toward them.

"Do you really believe that?"

His heart sank.

Ponytail continued, backing away so she could pace. "There's no way we can know. We can't take that chance."

"Isn't that a little dramatic?" Kayla protested.

"You did this," she snapped, "and you're my friend, so I'm gonna help you clean this up."

Kayla almost lit up.

He wasn't getting out of this easily, was he?

"So what do we do?" Jeans tapped her foot twice. "I don't want to kill him."

"Kill him? No, it's easier to kidnap a celebrity than to hide their body."

"But if he gets out, we're toast."

"Counter idea," Aaron chimed in, "you let me go, no charges, no police, no bodies. You don't get fined and I don't do paperwork."

"Don't listen to him. He'll say anything to get out of here."

"I don't want to kill him either," Kayla added.

"We're not killing him. Nobody wants to kill him."

Jeans joined the pacing. "But wouldn't it be smarter to?"

"I don't really care if it's smart, he's nice."

"Oh my god, you can't trust that. He has to be nice to you, you took him captive."

"Actually-" he said.

"We could get him across state lines, right? To Nevada maybe?"

"That's too close, we've got to go farther."

"Okay, seriously, this is escalating too much," he tried, "it doesn't need to be this complicated."

"Pipe down." Ponytail hissed.

They continued on, bickering between themselves about how they were going to smuggle him out.

He found out pretty quickly that he wasn't very well tied. If he flipped his right palm up, he could slip it out with little trouble.

He watched them carefully, his heart beating so loudly he thought it might give him away. He just needed to get off the chair without them noticing. He could take the girls in a fight if he needed to, but he didn't think it would come to that.

Slowly, he untied his other hand, going entirely off of feel because there was no way in hell he was taking his eyes off those girls. The silk scarf restraint dropped, hitting the ground with a tiny smack.

He sat up straight again, putting his arms back into the position they'd been tied in. Jeans walked past him, her eye catching the scarf on the floor. She picked it up.

She glanced at the other two girls.

Then at his untied arms.

Then at him.

He shook his head just a tiny bit, trying to keep his breathing as natural as possible.

It still caught in his throat when she draped the scarf back over his arm, but she didn't move to tie it further than that. Her face didn't betray anything, not even as she made her way into the kitchen.

"Hey, Aaron," Ponytail suddenly called out. "What are the chances someone is looking for you right now?"

"I don't know, but the longer I'm not in my room, the more likely it is."

"Exactly." She went back to her conversation. "So-"

Careful not to disturb the arm that still appeared to be tied, he bent slowly, fingers locking on the fabric that held his ankle in place. Holding his breath, he tugged at the knot.

It came undone easily. One pull at the right angle and it fell apart.

He sat back up.

"There's no point in talking about where we're keeping him if we can't get out of the hotel. We need a cover story or something."

This was it. He bent again, fingers grazing the soft fabric, the only thing keeping him from booking it out of there.

"Hey!"

He tugged, and he was free. He kicked the chair back and made a break for the door.

The girls erupted into chaos, all trying to stop him in different ways. They weaved around the furniture.

But he was faster.

His hand landed on the doorknob.

Fingers slithered into his hair, gripping it firmly and yanking him back.

The doorknob slipped out of his reach.

Ponytail girl turned him around, keeping her grip on him tight. "What was that?"

He kept his mouth shut.

She tugged, and his eyes screwed shut, air involuntarily slipping through gritted teeth.

"Does that hurt?"

"This, this isn't gonna fly." God, he sounded like an entitled kid. "If you don't let me go, I will keep trying to get out."

She pulled harder, forcing his head back. "Oh yeah?"

"But if you let me go now, nobody else has to know."

"Hannah-"

Ponytail silenced Kayla with a foul glare. "This is reasonable."

"I never said-"

She shoved him into the back of the couch. He tried to use the leverage to kick her back, but she caught one of his feet, hoisting it up and sending him sprawling onto the hard cushions.

He reoriented himself quickly, scooting around the coffee table and making another break for the door.

He didn't even make it close.

Hannah kicked the back of his knees.

Hard.

He fell.

He caught himself with his arms, but his relief was only momentary. Kayla stood above him.

"What now?" She asked.

"Make sure he doesn't scream."

One of his legs was pulled out from under him. Kayla got on her knees.

She put one hand behind his head.

The other hand covered his mouth.

Crack.

It was a hollow sound.

He couldn't hear himself scream, but he was certain he did. The pain in his ankle was searing, so all-consuming that it blotted out his vision. He couldn't pass out though. He didn't want to think about what could happen if he did.

So he pulled every ounce of stubbornness he had, maybe even borrowing some from Jesse, and held onto any little bits of his consciousness he could.

Kayla tilted his chin up. "I'm sorry."

Hannah scoffed. She took her place, rubbing Aaron's cheek sweetly.

"Try to escape again, and I'll break the other one."

He tried to say something. "You..."

The words died on his tongue. He couldn't remember what he was trying to say.

"Find something better to tie him with."

Jeans reappeared. Where had she gone? "Did you really have to do that?"

"We had no other choice. If he isn't afraid of us, he poses a bigger threat. We had to show him we are serious."

"This is not 'we.'"

"Don't give me a reason to doubt you."

"At least let me wrap his ankle."

"Why? So it's properly braced for the next time he tries to run away?"

"No-"

Hannah let go of him. His head lolled down, the cool wood floor pressed against his forehead.

"You really think we could let him go now?"

"I think battery is a lesser sentence than attempted kidnapping."

Kayla corrected, "Not attempted anymore."

"If he gets out now, we get charged with both."

He tried, "No."

"He's still awake?"

He really had no intention of opening a case for either battery or kidnapping. He just wanted to get back to his room, to pass out on his bed instead of on a stranger's floor.

Jeans moved to stand between him and Hannah. "If his ankle hurts too much, he becomes even more of a hassle. It's not like gauze is gonna make it so he can magically walk again. If anything, it would shut him up."

"Can we stop talking about him as if he's just some random guy?" Kayla protested, "This is Aaron T., doesn't that mean something?"

"Yeah, it means he has the money to sue the shit out of us for this."

"I just don't understand how we went from going to a 4*Town concert to keeping one of them captive in our hotel room."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before bringing him in here."

"Breaking his ankle was extreme." Jeans stated. "You messed this up for us, we could have been-"

"It's done now," Hannah snapped, "wrap his ankle, I don't care."

"Don't..." he mumbled.

"I'll be careful," Jeans promised, "trust me, it'll be better in the long run."

He wanted to trust her, but the slightest brush of her fingertips against his ankle was so vivid that he couldn't take in anything else.

His entire world, all five of his senses, was dark. With nothing to perceive anymore, he stopped thinking entirely.

***

Aaron T. was very disappointed to find out that he hadn't been dreaming.

He was back in the chair, bound in the same places with the addition of a chain of shirts holding his upper body against the back.

His ankle throbbed, but it was at least tolerable now. There was a cool compress against it. It probably should've been elevated, or was that just sprains? He wasn't sure.

Hopefully, it would heal well. He hadn't broken an ankle since he was a kid, but that break didn't cause any long-term issues. Maybe he'd be lucky again.

The lights had dimmed, a nice compromise for his still pounding headache. The only light source was a pocket-sized book light.

Jeans girl was sitting on one of the stools, reading a book that was twice as long as any book should be. The only sounds in the room were the hum of the fridge, the rickety ceiling fan, and the occasional turn of a page.

Should he try to run away again? He was in a significantly worse state this time. Run was an optimistic term. His confidence had been nearly completely shattered. So much for being able to take those girls in a fight.

His bruised ego wasn't the only worry though, hell, it definitely shouldn't have been his first concern about a second escape attempt. His head and his leg were the real problems. If he couldn't take them before, he definitely couldn't take them now. There was a chance he wouldn't be able to make it to the door anyway. If stepping on his hurt foot caused half the pain he felt before, he'd probably just pass out again.

Fan-fucking-tastic. He sure loved being in a band.

But maybe, just maybe, he could convince Jeans to help him out. Was it worth potentially missing out on a stealthier escape though?

He feebly attempted to slip his arms free. They didn't budge.

Yeah. He was going to need help.

He kept the volume down. "Whatcha reading?"

She looked up, smiling a little. "Welcome back."

"Can't say I'm too thrilled."

"How's your ankle?"

"Better," he nodded, "thanks."

"Do you want to take something for the pain? I've got Tylenol, Advil, anything you could dream of."

Pain medication sounded like heaven, but he could already hear Aaron Z. chastising him.

"You shouldn't take pain medication until a doctor tells you how bad it is. If you can't feel that something's wrong, you risk making it worse."

That advice might not have applied in this situation though. There would be no doctor's visit if he ended up on the other side of the country in a basement somewhere.

Regardless, there was a chance she would give him something that wasn't pain medication, and he really, really wanted to avoid that.

"I shouldn't," he decided.

"Cautious," she observed, "not a trait I would've pinned on you."

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't-

"They don't really cover what we're like in captive situations in magazines."

Huh! He could've said something much more abrasive! He should be proud of himself.

"You really do think we're nuts, don't you?"

"Can't say I know what I'd do if I accidentally kidnapped someone, but it definitely wouldn't be to kidnap them even more."

"We're on the run," she admitted, "this concert was the first night we could really enjoy ourselves in months. I really don't blame Hannah for being so frantic, if the police get involved, it's over."

Oh.

"I'm only telling you this because I know we messed up, I know we deserve the sentences you could charge us with, and I want to do the right thing, but I can't if the police are gonna get involved."

"I fell down the stairs."

"What?"

He nodded. "I fell down the stairs, and that's how I broke my ankle."

"Aren't you an acrobat?"

"Yeah, you'd think that acrobats would be pretty well-coordinated, but anybody who knows me would believe it. Who are you running from?"

"Parents. School. Life."

He could understand that.

"I get it."

"You're not gonna tell me to go back?"

"I don't have a right to. I know nothing about what you went through at home, but if it's bad enough to want to avoid it this badly, I'm not sending you back there."

She eyed him. "You're not what I expected."

"Just promise me you'll stay safe, yeah? Stay in safe places when you can, find work somewhere so you can afford to eat and all that."

"Right."

Part of him wanted to offer them money, something to help them afford the high cost of travelling across the country, but from how they were all dressed, he guessed money wasn't an object.

He would never operate under the assumption that these girls were spoiled rich kids who were running away from trivial things though, he had no right to. Money does not equal happiness, and money definitely doesn't mean loving parents.

He still wanted to help them though.

"You're right about avoiding the police, so you know not to steal, right? And you carry stuff in case you get attacked? How are you travelling?"

She started to look skeptical. "Why do you care so much?"

"Somebody has to, right?"

She turned away from him. "Fuck."

He had to remind himself that these girls weren't his responsibility. He couldn't take them in. He had enough self-respect for that.

But he wouldn't doom them.

"We don't have much time." Jeans girl twisted off the stool. "We're keeping watch in intervals, Hannah will be up in like, three minutes."

"I can't get out."

"Here." She slipped behind him, untying one of his wrists so he could work at the other. "Do you think you can walk?"

Yikes. "I don't know."

"You just have to make it to the elevator. Go to a random floor in case she follows you, maybe the first? The gym is still open, there could be people there, she won't-"

The restraint around his chest fell loose. He used the extra room to bend and start at his ankles.

"-do anything rash if she thinks the public could call for help."

"Right." Elevator, first floor, gym. He was pretty sure there was a phone there he could use.

He wasn't sure who he was gonna call yet, maybe Z.? Probably Z., that made the best cover story.

"Here, let me help you up."

He carefully tested his weight on his ankle. He shut his eyes, hissing out a breath as his leg seared from the inside out.

"Yup, wow, that hurts." He forced out a laugh.

Using Jeans girl as a crutch, he hobbled his way over to the door.

"Good luck." She patted him on the back.

He clicked the lock open, his hand firmly holding the doorknob.

This was it.

He opened the door.

"Aaron?"

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Standing a good seven feet down the hall, in all their angelic glory, were Jesse and Aaron Z.

If he hadn't been clutching the slightly open door for dear life, his knees probably would have given out right then and there.

He couldn't form words. He had no clue what to say.

An alarm clock sounded behind him.

He stumbled forward, and his hotel roommates were at his side immediately.

"You're hurt." Aaron Z. put a steadying hand behind Aaron T.'s back.

"What did you do?" Hannah yelled behind him.

"We have to go." He whispered urgently.

A hand grabbed his wrist, long fingernails digging into his skin.

"Baby," Hannah said, alight with urgency, "come back to bed."

His jaw nearly dropped. Aaron Z. shifted his hand so it gripped his shoulder.

"You said you were done." She looked confused, how much practice had it taken to perfect that look? Innocent. "Why are they here?"

"Cut the bullshit." Jesse's voice was steady, smooth with quiet fury.

Of course he wouldn't believe a word of what Hannah was saying. His boys knew him better than that.

Hannah tugged at him, trying in vain to yank him away from Aaron Z. "He's done. He's leaving with me."

"Nobody's going anywhere."

"Jesse-"

He softened, just a little bit. "It's okay, we've got you."

Aaron Z. nodded. "Just say the word, and this is over. We'll call the police, or-"

"No!" Whoops, he hadn't meant to yell. "No police. I promised them no police."

He could practically see the thoughts going through Aaron Z.'s head, the doubt, the worry, the gears turning as he tried to work out what was happening.

"Aaron, they hurt you."

There was no way he was getting away with lying. It was just his luck that he ran into two of the best friends he could ask for. They were gonna pick him to pieces.

He could stall though, and create another opportunity for Hannah, Kayla, and Jeans to get out scot-free.

"I fell down the stairs, sprained my ankle, they were just helping me."

Hannah's nails dug deeper.

He put on a smile. "Sorry for freaking you out. This is all a big misunderstanding."

"Why were you using the stairs?"

...what?

"Do you remember why you left?"

…

"I..."

"Shit." Aaron Z. muttered, "Jesse, call security."

"No!" He tried again. "Please, just, trust me. No security, no police."

"He hit his head," Hannah explained, "that's why he can't remember, we took him here because he was out of it."

Aaron Z. wasn't having any of it. "Who's we?"

"My friends."

He gave Jesse a look. "Tell them to send a team."

"Aaron, please," he begged, "this doesn't need to be an issue."

"What's going on?" He gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"I can't, it's not my place to say, but I need you to listen. No police. I'll do whatever stupid doctor's visits and incident reports need to happen, but I tripped on the stairs and sprained my ankle. That is the only story you're getting out of me." He turned to Hannah. "And you need to trust that I'm not damning you. This isn't a ruse to try and get out of here, I don't want anything bad to happen to you. This is only gonna work if you don't provoke them any more."

She hesitated.

There was nothing else he could do. Nothing else he could say.

She pulled him hard, much harder than she had before.

The hand on his shoulder slipped away.

No. No no no no no-!

Hannah tried to shut the door behind her, but Jesse and Aaron Z. were already inside. Jeans perked up, surprised, before trying to pry Hannah away.

"Stop," she tried, "it's over."

"We'll adapt-"

"How? We can't smuggle three boy band members out of the state, fuck, it was bold of us to assume we could smuggle one."

Hannah shook. She closed her eyes. "That wasn't what anyone said was happening."

"Oh my God, Hannah-"

"Aaron." Aaron Z. said, his expression flat. "Tell me you didn't just defend people who tried to kidnap you."

"Ha ha?"

"This is not 'ha ha funny' joke time."

Jesse advanced, matching Hannah. He should have towered over her, but the confidence she seemed to gain from confrontation lifted her. He might have been a head taller, but it wasn't obvious.

"Did you hurt him?" he accused, "his ankle, did you do that?"

"Why?" She smirked. "What are you gonna do about it."

"Oh, you little-"

Hannah's arm disappeared from Aaron T.'s arm. She shoved him aside, and with nothing to hold on to he stepped hard on his broken ankle.

"Jesus fucking-"

He teetered, and Aaron Z. caught him. "That is not a sprain."

"It is," he insisted, "it's fine."

"Aaron-"

His ears rang, coming in so strong it knocked him even more unsteady. He blinked a few times, trying to clear up his vision after yet another bout of blurriness.

"Aaron? T? Can you hear me?" Aaron Z. was shaking him.

"Huh?"

"I swear to..." he mumbled, "Jesse, let's go!"

If Jesse heard him, he didn't react.

Aaron T. had only seen him like this once before. The icy glare, the balled fists, the tight jaw, they were all signs that he was honed in, acting entirely off impulse.

Someone had tried to cut Taeyoung's hair. Not a stylist, not a 4*Townie, just some creep who wanted his hair. The three of them were at the mall, and Jesse wasted no time, absolutely rocked the guy's shit.

This was exactly the same.

"Jesse," Aaron Z. tried.

Hannah tilted her head a little bit. "Go on."

"Z." Jesse's voice was level.

"Yeah?"

"Go."

Oh, fuck no.

Aaron T., with help from the arm of the couch, slipped away from Aaron Z. There was no way in hell he was gonna let Z. take him out of that room, not with Jesse still there. "Don't you dare."

"Aaron-"

"Jesse, I swear to God if you try to play hero right now-"

Jesse took a step back. He didn't take his eyes off of her.

Aaron T. felt some of his growing tension give way. "Let's just all take a moment, and we'll talk about this."

"What is there to say?" Hannah asked.

Now that he knew to look, he could see the exhaustion and fear deeply set in the bags under her eyes and the crease of her forehead.

She was wrong about fear though. Some people cower before it, sure, but some scared people act rashly, and running away from home, living with the persistent thought that it could all be over was a sure-fire way to scare someone into fighting.

Everyone in that room was scared, and as 4*Town's resident tension-breaker, it was his job to de-escalate. He'd already made it much worse by reacting instead of thinking.

"We want the same thing."

Her eyes flicked over to him. "You've been saying that."

"And I mean it. I know what you're going through."

"You couldn't," she accused, "you couldn't know the half of it."

"I was twelve."

He could feel every single set of eyes in that room as the quality of their attention morphed. He tried to ignore the confusion and the thick haze of worry his bandmates dawned. He'd deal with that later.

Hannah abandoned her confrontation with Jesse, caught so off guard she almost forgot to keep up the tough girl act.

"I ran away when I was twelve," he admitted, "for seven months."

She exchanged a look with Jeans.

"So I get it. I completely understand why you're cautious, and protective of your friends, and hostile. You're a good friend." He nodded toward Jesse and Aaron Z. "These are the best friends I've got, and they just tried to help me in the same way you're trying to help your friends. I don't think you're a bad person, you were doing what you needed to do to survive."

"I broke your ankle."

Uh oh. He shut his eyes.

"Aaron." Aaron Z. pinched his brow. "Sprain?"

"I take it back." He flashed Hannah a smile. "You're horrible, now he's gonna be on my ass about it all night."

She didn't bother to humour him.

"Point is, I would really, really like to avoid the police getting involved, and I know you do too."

"Right."

"So let's just go our separate ways, and pretend this didn't happen."

She considered it.

Jesse took a few more steps back, until he was just a few feet away from the slightly ajar bedroom door. That extra distance seemed to make all the difference to both him and Hannah.

"Okay." Her shoulders lowered. "Okay."

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to stop his hands from shaking.

"Jesse? Z.?" He looked between the two of them. "Is that cool?"

He could see their dissatisfaction, their hesitation to leave things the way they were.

"What do we tell the team?" Jesse raised the question.

"I fell down the stairs."

"You know Robaire isn't gonna believe that."

"Maybe not." He shrugged. "But I'm not telling him anything else, and you aren't either."

There was a spark of defiance, small but bright. "Really?"

God Jesse, take a hint.

"Really. As soon as we're out of here, it's never coming up again."

"Jess." Aaron Z. put in. "We can handle this ourselves. We'll make sure he's okay."

That seemed to get through to him. "Right, yeah, okay."

It was not right, yeah, or okay. Aaron T. wasn't a fool. There was an earful waiting for him back in their hotel room, an earful that would involve trying to convince two more people that these girls deserved a second chance.

"Okay." Aaron T. confirmed. "It was nice meeting you. A little unconventional, but nice."

"Sorry about your ankle." Hannah grimaced. "And for not believing you."

He waved it off. "Water under the bridge. Take care, okay? And tell Kayla I said bye."

"I... will?"

"And Jeans?"

It took a moment for her to realize that "Jeans" was her. "Oh! Yeah?"

"Remember what I said, yeah? Be smart, and be safe."

"You too," she said, "and I'm sorry."

"You've been fine-"

"No! I mean, I'm sorry about all this, yeah, but I more meant..." She looked down, her bangs hiding her eyes. "I more meant that I'm sorry you understand. I hope things are better now."

He smiled.

"Yeah, they really are." He took Aaron Z.'s offer of an arm as he started toward the door. "It can get better. It takes time, but there's always the possibility."

Once the door shut behind them, all three members stood in silence. Aaron T. found himself looking anywhere except for the two people next to him.

"You left to get ice." Jesse wouldn't look at him either. "In case you were wondering. You left to get ice, and disappeared for two hours."

"Sorry."

"We looked everywhere."

"I'm sorry."

"And then you suddenly come flying out of some random person's hotel room?"

He bristled, fixing Jesse a tired glare. "I didn't ask to get kidnapped."

There wasn't any malice. If anything, Jesse looked just as tired as he felt. "You know that's not what I'm saying."

"Right. Whatever." He tried to walk away, only to be rudely reminded that one of his legs was out of commission. He grabbed hold of the wall and used it to put some distance between them.

"What are you doing?" Aaron Z. was unamused.

"Going back to our room."

"You don't have a key."

Fuck.

"Can I have the key?"

"No."

"Wh-"

"We're going to the other room."

"Oh hell no."

"I'm gonna let you tell the story," Aaron Z. said, "but if you lie I'm calling you on it."

He slumped against the wall. "Z., man, you're killing me. I just wanna sleep."

"You've got a broken ankle. Robaire and Tae have to know."

"And you were just taken hostage," Jesse added, not bothering to stop whatever clutsterfuck of emotions he was feeling from oozing into his words. "In case you forgot."

"Get off my ass, I was there."

"No, T., I need you to be honest with me."

He flinched, taken aback. "What?"

"No bullshiting, no jokes, no deflecting."

"Jesse-"

"What did they do to you?"

He shut his eyes, breathing out slowly through his nose. "I'll tell you, but I'm only saying it once so you're gonna have to wait."

"T."

"Let's just go."

"T."

He snapped, "What?"

"I'm sorry. I should have gone with you."

His frustration ebbed. "This isn't on you."

"I just." Jesse paused, and crossed his arms. It made him look smaller. "This isn't the first time you've disappeared and gotten into trouble."

"Is this about the hitchhiking?"

Aaron Z. raised a brow. "The what?"

"Don't worry about it."

"No, it's not that." Jesse took a few paces forward, replacing the wall as Aaron T.'s crutch. "It's always you. Something bad happens, and it always happens to you."

"I'm sor-"

"Don't apologize." Aaron Z. joined them, ruffling his hair lightly. His gaze lingered on his curls for a second, before dropping to meet Aaron T.'s eyes. "He's worried about you. We both are. He's just not articulate enough to explain why."

Jesse rolled his eyes. "And you are?"

"He's upset because he feels like he came close to losing to you."

"Awe, Jess."

"Shut up."

"You care so much."

"You make it sound like I never show you an ounce of affection."

He rested his head on Jesse's shoulder. "You're so easy to rile up, hot-head."

"That's not all of it though, Z."

"I know." The corner of his mouth turned up.

Aaron T. frowned. "What?"

"Was that true?" Aaron Z. asked suddenly, "What you said about running away?"

Ah. Of course.

"Mhm."

"God," Jesse muttered.

"Don't tell me you're surprised."

"Not really," Aaron Z. admitted, "I hate that I'm not though."

"It happened." He shrugged. "It happens."

"This really isn't something you should just dismiss."

"Oh, you have no room to talk." He jabbed at Jesse's side. "Mr. 'I almost died in a car accident and I don't care.'"

"I'm pretty sure I did care, it just took a second."

"So give me a second too. Let me pitch a fit or whatever."

Understanding finally danced in Jesse's eyes. "Okay."

He turned to Aaron Z. "I just need to do the denial things, and then I can do the hard part."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.

"What? What's that face for?"

"Nothing."

"No," he whined, "don't hold out on me Z."

"It just baffles me that you find the part where we argue easier than the part where you accept help."

Oh. Well fuck.

"Whoops."

"But we have all the time in the world, so take it at whatever pace you need to."

"You've always been the smarter Aaron."

He directed them toward the Robaire/Taeyoung room. "Only in some areas."

"True." Jesse broke into a small grin. "Give yourself some credit T."

He raised a brow. "If you say so."

"You're doubtful."

"Remember when I dropped the knife, you know like, last week?"

"That was not last week."

"Capeesh capoosh."

Aaron Z. scrunched his nose. "Tomato tomato?"

"He speaks his own language," Jesse consoled, "yes, I remember."

"You're telling me any of that was smart?"

"I was alluding to how I've never beaten you at Monopoly."

"Or trivia," Aaron Z. added.

"Okay jeez." Aaron T. chuckled. "I get it, I'm good at board games, that's totally practical in everyday life."

"Aaron-"

"No, wait, that one was a joke," he added quickly, "thanks guys, for uh, for helping."

"Hey." Jesse patted his shoulder. "Don't mention it."

"No, like, thank you. For this, and for with the girls."

"Seriously," Aaron Z. said, "if it keeps you safe, it's no problem."

There it was again, a feeling he'd grown quite accustomed to.

Part of him was bitter that the boys' love for him was so unconditional. He loathed that every time he made it difficult for them, a persistent voice told him over and over they would be done with him soon.

Good things don't happen to you Aaron, and when they do, they don't last.

But they were six years into this shit, and that was nothing to scoff at. Over time, he'd learned to shut that voice down, to remind himself that his friends did love him unconditionally, the same way he loved them. Some nights, he had to repeat it to himself like a mantra.

He could never shut it out completely, it always came back, but he was learning to stop trusting it.

The part that he hated wasn't the affection though, it was what the affection meant. The way he'd shudder when Taeyoung wrapped his arms around his waist, the way his throat would tighten when Robaire kneeled to tie his shoes for him, the way he'd still get surprised when someone cooked enough food for him to eat, it was a cruel reminder that somehow, some time ago, he fucked up badly enough to lose out on a mother.

It was a reminder that unconditional love existed, and could be given to him, just not by the person who'd raised him. Go figure.

He didn't want to be thinking about his childhood though, not more than he had to. The running away was already fucking with his head, he sure as hell didn't want to make it worse.

When they reached their destination, Aaron Z. knocked twice. "It's Aaron."

After a couple seconds, the door opened. Taeyoung stood, squinting as the bright hall lights seeped into the dim room. He scanned the three of them.

"The fuck-"

"Long story." Aaron T. grinned lazily. "Can we come in?"

"Ro?" Taeyoung didn't take his eyes off them.

Robaire answered from somewhere in the depths of the room. "What's up?"

"T.'s hurt."

"What?" He appeared, nudging Taeyoung out of the way so the three of them could come in. "What happened?"

"It's not bad, just my ankle."

"Z." Robaire tried. "How bad is it?"

"Broken."

Part of him expected a lecture, but Robaire must've seen something, some feature that was slightly off, something to clue him in that this wasn't their average rodeo.

"Come, sit."

They spread out across both beds, with Aaron T. laying with his back against the headboard.

"Are you okay?" Robaire asked him directly.

"I think, uh, I think I'm gonna withhold from answering that. Not because I'm not okay, but because if I say I am, those two are gonna run me through a paper shredder."

"There's a reason you're here and not with a doctor, I take it?"

"Yeah, uh, ha, okay, so, some things happened, things that you should probably, definitely know about, but I don't want the staff knowing about so we all have to agree on a cover story."

"For..?"

"For how I sprained-"

"Broke," Aaron Z. corrected.

"-broke my ankle."

"Okay." Robaire nodded slowly. "Tae, you good?"

Taeyoung adjusted, grabbing a pillow and sitting with it on his lap. "I'm good."

"Then we're all ears."

They all watched him, each expectant and worried.

He caught Aaron Z.'s eye. "Do I just... say it? Or do I build up to it..?"

"Whatever you want."

He hesitated. How the fuck was he supposed to...?

...!

Aaron T. you creative genius.

"Alright, everybody up."

"Huh?"

"I already lived through this once, if I'm gonna live through it again, I want it to be entertaining. Let me assign you some roles, you're gonna act it out."

"Good God," Jesse grumbled.

"Okay whiny, you can be me. Go on, get up."

"I hate you for this." He pointed at him, but obeyed regardless.

"Tae, you're gonna be playing Kayla. Think 4*Townie, a little odd, maybe just a little bit of poor decision making."

He saluted. "Where do you want me, director?"

"Behind T."

"Yes sir!"

He got up, slipping past Jesse to stand behind him.

"Alright. Kayla, you have just seen the glorious, the magnificent, the stunning Aaron T. in person after he gave the performance of his life at 4*Town's 2001 winter extravaganza."

He nodded seriously. "Oh wow! It's Aaron T.! In... the hotel?"

"Yes, correct, current setting: the hotel hallway."

"Awesome," he continued, "wow! I'm such a big fan!"

"Great Kayla, now hit him really hard, right in the head."

"Um?"

Aaron T. pursed his lips. "Get ready for your big fall T."

"Um?" Taeyoung grew even more alarmed.

"I know," he said, "please just roll with it? Spoilers, I made it out alive."

"If you say so."

Taeyoung mimed hitting Jesse, who seemed to forget he was opposed to the whole acting thing, because put everything into his fall. It took Aaron's entire being to stop himself from bursting out laughing.

"Okay, now pretend to drag him."

Taeyoung gave him a look, but picked up one of Jesse's legs regardless.

"Scene change, we're in Kayla's hotel room now. Kayla, you're now realizing what you've done. You're panicking, you didn't mean to do this, you tie him to a chair."

"Those don't match up-"

"Aaron T., you're still out cold."

Jesse reached for the desk chair and pulled it closer to him. He sat in it and slumped over, bringing himself back into character.

"Action!"

"Oh no!" Taeyoung grabbed his head. "What have I done?"

He fought back a smile. "Okay T.! Wake up."

Jesse lifted his head, his eyes narrow and mouth pursed slightly. He spoke in an absurdly low voice. "What the fuck?"

"Too real." He wheezed. "Kayla, tell him this was an accident."

"Hello world famous 4*Town member Aaron T., I accidentally knocked you out and took you to my room."

He ignored the way Robaire was staring at him.

"Alright T., now you, being the super cool and understanding guy you are, are chilling. It's fine. She's cool, you ask to leave."

He spoke in that same, low voice. "Wanna let me go?"

Taeyoung looked to him for instruction.

"You don't want to. You're worried you gave him brain damage."

His mouth fell open into an "ah" shape. "Oh, but acclaimed performer Aaron T., what about your head? I hit you so hard, what if you never speak again?"

"I'm speaking right now, doll, I'll be fine."

When had he ever called someone-

"It's fine," Jesse continued, "hunkalicois Aaron Z. will fix me."

Occasionally, the members would do something that reminded Aaron T. that they do, in fact, know him. Whatever Jesse had just done was not one of those things.

"Kayla, you agree, but before you have the chance to untie him, the door opens."

He gasped. "Who is it?"

"Z., go walk into the room, you're Hannah."

He frowned. "Okay?"

"Ro, follow him in, you're Jeans. You're just getting back from the concert, you see T., you freak out. You start talking about how you're going to smuggle him out."

They exchanged a glance.

"Go on!" Aaron T. waved.

"Oh my God," Aaron Z. deadpanned, "Is that Aaron T.?"

"Enthusiasm Hannah!"

His glare shot daggers. "You're already pushing it."

"Yeesh."

"Oh no!" Robaire covered his mouth with a surprised hand. "Oh my! Kayla, why is Aaron T. here?"

"It was an accident!"

"Well." Aaron Z. crossed his arms. "Since we are perfectly logical people, let's smuggle him out of the hotel."

Aaron T. made an okay sign with his hand. "T., you slip out of the restraints and make a break for the door. Hannah, you'll catch him and hold him back."

Jesse booked it, only to get tackled by Aaron Z., who scooped him up bridal style as though it was nothing. He buried his head into Aaron Z.'s chest, shoulders shaking with hints of laughter.

"T., you break free and try again, but Hannah trips you. You stay down."

He could feel his heart rate start to pick up as Jesse laid on the floor. Everyone in the room waited for his next instructions.

"Hannah, uh." He fumbled with his hands, his next words were barely audible. "Break his ankle."

"What?" Aaron Z.'s face froze over.

"Stomp on it, and T., you pass out again."

Robaire was shell-shocked. "Aaron-"

"Kayla, Hannah, and Jeans, you put him back in the chair, and then leave Jeans to keep watch while you sleep."

Taeyoung had completely abandoned all acting-related efforts. "T."

"That's the worst of it, I promise. Let's keep going."

Nobody moved.

"C'mon," he complained, "or I'm not telling you the rest."

"She broke your ankle?" Jesse said, sitting up.

"Why are you surprised? You were there when she admitted it."

"Excuse me for thinking 'sorry for breaking your ankle' was about pushing you over or something, you know, an accident? She attacked you."

"It's fine." He shrugged. "Done and dusted, can we please continue?"

Robaire's lips drew into a straight line. "That's not fine."

He groaned. "That's it, I'm going back to my room."

He started to get up, but Taeyoung stopped him, holding his hands out like a traffic conductor.

"You still don't have a key." Aaron Z. pointed out.

"So give it to me, or I'll go down to the lobby and get one myself."

"Not alone you won't."

"Come with me, if you're so worried."

"Aaron." Taeyoung pulled out the watery eyes. He scanned his face, as though to take in every detail.

Aaron T. let something slip. "I'm used to it."

Uh oh. Danger, danger, danger! His eyes were starting to tear up. He blew out a breath and picked at the cuff of his jeans.

"Can we, uh, not do this? The thing where you all make me feel things? I just want to go to bed."

"We'll get you to bed," Robaire promised, "but we need to sort this out first. You can't sleep with a broken ankle, you're gonna need to see a doctor tonight."

"And in order to see a doctor, we all need to agree on a story," Aaron Z. added.

"I'm a little confused." Taeyoung took a seat next to Aaron T. "Why are we coming up with a cover story?"

"I'm not sending those girls back home."

"Why?"

He bit the inside of his lip. He could have sworn a bunch of bees flew into the hotel room, swarming around his head. The buzz drowned out his thoughts, and their stingers killed the words on his tongue. The smell of honey was so strong, so potent, so thick that it bound him all over again.

Not now. Please not now.

"Hey." Jesse laid next to him, taking his hand and rubbing it gently. "I've got it, okay?"

He nodded, swallowing hard.

"They're runaways. T. doesn't want the police involved because he doesn't want to send them home."

Robaire looked surprised. "Even though they hurt you?"

His words still weren't cooperating, so he just shrugged.

"That's... would you press charges if that wasn't the case?"

"Maybe," he mumbled.

"Why is this different?"

"Please stop asking me questions."

"I just want to understand."

"You don't need to understand." He shut his eyes. "I'm not doing that to them."

"Are you hearing yourself?" Robaire's voice had a nervous quality to it, like he was approaching a wild animal. "Aaron, what about what they did to you?"

"God! Who cares? I don't care, it doesn't matter, I'm not going to the police."

"You don't have to go to the police, but you do have to take yourself into account. Those girls kidnapped you and broke your ankle, and you don't want to press charges?"

"No-"

"That's where I have a problem." Robaire situated himself at the end of the bed. "To me, it sounds like you're valuing their well-being over yours. Were you scared?”

“Ro-”

“Were you?”

“Of course!”

“Why doesn’t that matter to you?" Even though the words were plush, soft with no hard edges, Aaron T. still felt something sharp in his chest.

“I don’t know.”

“What makes us different from you, Aaron? Why do you go out of your way to keep us happy, to keep us safe, but as soon as it's you it doesn't matter anymore?”

Aaron T. shook, a cyclone of emotions shattering the already fractured pieces of his mask. “Because I'm not you. I'm not you, and I will never be you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don't-” His hands latched onto his hair. He pulled it away from his scalp, fighting both to relieve some of the pressure from his head and to replace the lingering feeling of Hannah’s hold. “I'm trying-”

“Breathe.” Taeyoung rubbed his back gently.

“It's not the same when it’s me.” Aaron T. got his words back together. “I know that's wrong of me to say, but it's true. You four deserve the world. You deserve everything good, and then some, and me? I don't deserve shit, hell, I definitely don't deserve you.”

Jesse's jaw tightened. Robaire watched.

"I just, it doesn't matter if I get hurt. I don't care. I can handle it."

"You know you can have nice things, right?" Aaron Z. said.

He blinked twice. "Such is the luxury of having money?"

"What? No, you're allowed to have good things come naturally."

"Well-"

"Let me finish." He joined the rest of the group on the bed. "Sometimes I think that you think you have to earn everything good that happens to you, and then you blame yourself when you end up in shitty situations. You're not responsible for this, Aaron. This isn't the default, it's just some shitty luck."

He laughed dryly. "Right."

"Any one of us could have left to get ice."

He dropped his head, landing in the tussled-up blankets. "Who accidentally kidnaps someone?"

"That's what I'm saying." Aaron Z. shrugged.

"Y'all must think I'm nuts."

"Maybe a little," Taeyoung said.

"Glad to know it's still on the table."

He could sense the change of energy in the room.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I know you're worried, and I'm being difficult." He met Robaire's eyes. "I just, I can't send them back."

"Then it won't happen." He spoke kindly. "You're okay."

"Z., you were wrong, the arguing part is worse." Aaron T. slumped so he was flat on the bed.

Maybe... maybe it was time to explain.

"Wasn't it you who said-"

Aaron T. shushed him. "Hold. I'm trying to work up the courage."

"Oh... okay?"

Time to do this. Time to say it. Just get it all out, Aaron. Rip it off like a bandaid. Let the cat out of the bag. Air out your trauma like dirty laundry, or at least, some of it. Let's go. You can do this.

Why was it so much easier to say in that other hotel room? Even the hall was easier than this.

"You all know how I grew up, y'know, not so great?"

He was met with silence.

"Yeesh, tough crowd. Well, I wasn't exactly happy about it. Didn't really want to be a part of that anymore, so I left. Just me, the road, and the fifty bucks my mom kept under the shoebox in the closet.

"I got as far as I could. I was too young for a photo id, so that part was kind of easy. Turns out my mom not having photos of me was a blessing in disguise. Nobody knew who they were looking for. Not that I knew if anyone was looking.

"One day though, they found me. I was busking, and I didn't know the area I was in had a curfew for that, noise y'know? A police officer stopped by to let me know, and I just froze up, and they realized something was wrong. They took me in, and figured out who my parents were, still don't know how, and I begged them not to send me back.

"They just thought I was some bratty kid though, some horrible child who worried his parents over a stupid spat."

He could still hear that police officer.

"I spoke to your mom, Aaron. She's on the way to come get you. She's happy to hear you're okay."

He knew it was a lie. He knew what was waiting for him at home.

"Please," he'd begged, "please, she doesn't love me."

"You need to learn respect, young man. Did you even think once about how worried she must've been?"

"My mom, she, uh, she made it very clear that stealing money from her wasn't allowed."

"Shit," Aaron Z. breathed.

"I can't send those girls home, not if there is any chance of that happening to them." He put on a smile, even if it felt wrong on his lips. "So yeah! Onto the cover story."

Jesse, his now favourite member of 4*Town, clasped his hand a little harder. "You fell down the stairs."

"And sprained-"

"Broke."

"And broke my ankle. End of story."

"That must've hurt a lot," Taeyoung said. Aaron wasn't entirely sure if he was talking about the ankle.

"It happens."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Jesse spoke up first. "Thank you for telling us, Aaron."

"Oh." He chuckled. "Sure, no problem."

Jesse looked skeptical.

"Okay, maybe yes problem, but..." What was he trying to say? "Can I, can I be honest?"

"Of course," Taeyoung said.

He nodded appreciatively. "I, sometimes I have a hard time, I don't know, uh, I have a hard time..." His eyes welled up again, and he groaned. "For fucks sake, I hate this."

He needed to get his thoughts together. What was he trying to say?

He wanted to let them into his mind, to share himself with them in a way that he'd tried over and over again to. He wanted to feel close to them, to feel far away from the hotel, from his inadequacies, from the rest of his life.

But he was stuck. His mind was a small room, confining him in the same way those scarfs and shirts had held him in Kayla's room. There were no doors. There were no windows. If he wanted to let anybody in, he was going to have to claw at the walls, there were already marks there, it's not like he never tried. Those walls had once been adorned with beautiful wallpaper, playful and bright. Tearing it down had meant coming to terms with how bleak and suffocating that room really was.

So what was he trying to say?

Take a breath, Aaron. Console yourself a little. What do you want to say?

"I don't hate myself," he started, "I think I said some things that make it seem that way, but I don't, I promise. It's, sometimes I forget that this is okay. I'm usually better at reminding myself that... pain isn't the default? That being okay is an option for me?"

It's nice to not be alone. He should say that.

"It's nice to not be alone. I'm so used to doing it alone, I think it's hard to, I don't know, I've never really had to talk about anything before? Not all at once, definitely not like this. It was always 'hide,' you know? Go somewhere dark and quiet and pray nobody knows you're hurt because they will just make it worse.

"And I know that it's not the case with you! Like, seriously, most of the time, it's really fine. I've been working on it a lot, and I've come a really long way. Tonight just, it hit close to home, and brought up a lot of memories and shit, and it feels like I'm falling all over again."

He took a shaky breath, and continued, "This is really scary, even more than the kidnapping. Saying all of this, it, I know that healing isn't linear, and I know that if this is affecting me so much I wasn't done healing anyway, but it still feels like I'm back at square one. I still feel like everything I worked for was for nothing, it feels like, like I'm back home."

The internal version of him cracked his room's walls. His knuckles were bleeding, seeping through the crack and manifesting as the tears that finally breached his ducts.

"I don't wanna go back there." He fought back a sob. "I don't, I wouldn't survive it."

"C'mere." Taeyoung rolled so he was closer, wiping a tear from Aaron T.'s cheek. "You never have to do it alone again, okay?"

"Tae, I think I'm in love with you."

He giggled, and tucked some of the hair out of his face. "Okay lover boy, take it easy."

He tried to laugh, but his tears made everything thick. "I just wanted to let you all know how I was feeling, I guess. Don't worry."

"Do you need anything?" Robaire crawled further up the bed, squashing an annoyed Jesse as he wiggled into place.

"Just you guys, no words though, I don’t need to be comforted like that, not right now at least. I just want to be sad, and be around you, and maybe take some pain meds?"

"Oh shit, your ankle!" Taeyoung tensed up.

Aaron Z. frowned. "You really should-"

"See a doctor first, I know. Always looking out for me, Zeezee."

"Zeezee?"

"I'm officially adding 'freedom to use any nicknames I want' to the list of things I need."

"Don't push it."

"Zeezee is cute," Robaire teased, "this may be your finest work yet, Teetee."

He nearly choked. "Tell you did not-"

Jesse grew terrified. "Oh god."

"Did you just call me 'Titty?'"

Robaire realized his mistake. "Oh no."

"You know what I want?" Aaron T. made grabby hands. "Some Ro-titties."

"I will get a restraining order."

"C'mon Ro-tits-erie chicken, gimme gimme."

He huffed, but shuffled even further up the bed regardless. Aaron T. grinned wide, shimmying his shoulders in anticipation.

"Bring it in." Robaire sighed.

"Yay!" He curled in close, resting his against Robaire's chest. "Home sweet home."

"Hardy har."

"You've given into my secret agenda." Aaron T. sniffled. "Now I get cuddles."

"You're still gonna have to go to the doctor tonight."

"I can't hear you, I'm too comfortable."

Taeyoung joined the pile, sighing contentedly as he sank into the space behind Aaron T. "This is nice."

"It would be nicer if Robaire wasn't sitting on me," Jesse grumbled.

"Zeezee," Robaire called, "get in here."

"Call me that one more time, I dare you."

"Ooo." Taeyoung broke into a sneaky grin. "So much tension."

"Just kiss already." Aaron T. said, wiping the freshest onset of tears onto Robaire's shirt with zero remorse.

"Why do you always make it weird?" Aaron Z. climbed so he was behind Taeyoung and slipped his arms around him. Taeyoung giggled, clasping his thumb and playing with his ring.

"You guys are my world." Aaron T. sighed.

Robaire played with his hair. "We're lucky to have you."

The floodgates unleashed.

"Stop," he sobbed, "You're the best."

A tiny part of him was a little concerned that he only seemed to be able to cry like this when he received affection, but he'd unpack that some other time. For now, he just wanted to float away in the arms of his friends.

"Thank you," he added.

"We're always with you." Aaron Z. smiled with his eyes. "Even if you drive me up the wall sometimes."

"You love me."

"I do."

I do. He immortalized it.

"This is very sweet," Jesse said, "but I can't breathe."

"Oh! Sorry!" Robaire got up, completely abandoning the bed.

"No." Aaron T. whined. Jesse, now visible again, gave him a kind smile.

Aaron T. reached forward, and pinched his nose. Jesse took in a deep breath, and tried to blow out of it, his cheeks puffing up. When it failed, Aaron let go, relishing the way Jesse seemed to light up.

"I should go see the doctor," he decided.

"Yeah? Want me to come?" Robaire returned to the bed, a box of tissues in hand. Aaron T. gratefully took one.

"Yes please."

"Me too." Aaron Z. raised his hand.

His laugh was wet. "Field trip."

The pair helped him up. He gave Jesse and Taeyoung a brief thumbs up.

"We'll be here." Taeyoung gave him one back.

As they made for the door to the hotel room, Aaron T. felt his legs grow heavy with nervous resistance. He was about to go back out there, tear-stained and imperfect, and sit in front of a doctor.

He could get a cast. He could need crutches.

It was... it really did hit close to home.

This time though, he had four amazing people to support him. Maybe, if they weren't too tired when all was said and done for the night, he would ask them to sign his cast.

He liked that idea.

#finally finished it!! SHE'S HEREEE #mind the cw's pleaseeeeee #that's all LMAO #4town #4*town #4 town #4town fanfic #4town fic #4town fanfiction #4town fandom #4*town fanfic #4town aaron t

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aestheiruu · 1 year

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Fredbear’s Family Diner Reference

A compilation of every reference to Fredbear’s Family Diner in The Silver Eyes. Unfortunately, the building is not referenced in The Twisted Ones, nor The Fourth Closet.

The building itself was long… It was a single story, with a dark roof… The place had once been painted red…

[Fredbear’s was] rustic and small, with red checkered cloths on the tables, and a kitchen you could see into from the dining area

The stairs (to the entrance) held…

[There was a] battered metal sign with the painted words FREDBEAR’S FAMILY DINER in red script.

[The dining area] was a vacant and lonely room, stretching long and narrow, at least fifty feet, growing darker as it went. There was a slightly elevated stage at the end of the room, and Charlie realized as she looked around that the place had probably once been a dance hall, and the long desk by the entrance that her parents had used for a cash register had probably been a bar. She went over to it and saw that she was right: There were even grooves and scratches in the wood floor where barstools had once dug their feet. She tried to picture it, a dark bar with a country-western band playing on the stage, but she could not.

[Charlie and Sammy] played together on the floor of the kitchen, sometimes drawing pictures while hiding under a hardwood table. She remembered the shuffling of feet and the shadows of customers walking by. Light was broken by a slowly turning fan and thrown across the floor in ribbons. She remembered the smell of an ashtray and the hearty laughter of adults lost in a good story while their children played.

The restaurant was open until late at night, and so when they began to falter, Charlie and [Sammy] would crawl into the pantry with blankets and soft toys to sleep until it was time to close. She remembered using sacks of flour as pillows, big bags almost as long as they were tall. They would snuggle down together and whisper words of nonsense that meant deep things only to the two of them, and Charlie would drift into sleep, half listening to the warm sounds of the restaurant, the clank of dishes and the murmur of grown-up talk, and the sound of the bear and the rabbit as they danced to their chiming tunes.

The wooden floors seemed intact.

Light streamed in through the windows on all sides

Sunlight was streaming in, unobstructed, and went where it wanted without furniture or people to block its path. Charlie looked up at the ceiling fan; it was still there, but one of its blades was missing.

“There was a tree out in front,” she went on. “It looked like an old, angry monster, hunched forward and wizened, with two giant, gnarled branches reaching out like arms. Whenever we left for the night, I hid my face in my father’s shirt so I wouldn’t have to see it as we walked by.”

[The walls were made of wood, and had strips of wallpaper on them].

There were double doors to [the right of the entrance] with circular windows. Unlike the dining area, which was breached with sunlight and the sounds of the outside, the [kitchen] behind the double doors was still pitch black.

Her head jerked toward the corner to her right; there was another door (in the building, to the right of the stage).

[The door led to] a closet, the inside extending off to her left about eight or nine feet into darkness. There were horizontal poles mounted along the walls where hangers had once been.

Costumes had hung here in the dark, hiding their colors but allowing themselves to be felt by every cheek and small hand that passed through. Rubber-padded palms and fingers swayed this way and that. Reflections on false eyes passed overhead.

the tablecloths, red-and-white checked, and made of real cloth, not plastic.

There was a squeaky floorboard in the corner of the diner that Charlie liked to push on, making it sing as if it made music. There was a picnic table out back where they used to sit in the sun, one leg of it sinking in the soft ground.

[John mistakes Fredbear’s for an old station].

[Fredbear’s was in a small town called New Harmony, in the middle of a clearing. There were no surrounding buildings or restaurants].

If I missed anything, let me know. Hope you guys enjoy this.

#fnaf #fredbear #charlie emily #henry emily #henry fnaf #charlie fnaf #the silver eyes

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slasherholic · 3 years

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synopsis: you reflect on a few incidents in your relationship with asa that really should have tipped you off as red flags while you wait for him to come back and torture you some more.

contains: gender neutral reader, graphic depictions of violence and torture, psychological torture, death, kidnapping, rib trauma, referenced abuse, current abuse because it’s fucking asa, I’ll throw in manipulation and gaslighting just to be safe.

note: quite a few scenes and tidbits in this were heavily inspired by a chat I had with the brilliant and lovely @sanguine--honey, so thanks again for letting me include those in this fic c:

word count: 4k

(Part One, Part Two)

Asa Emory / The Collector x Reader | Loose Ends | Part Three

When he finally unchained you from the pole he dragged you violently up several flights of steep stairs. His strength seemed tireless no matter how much you struggled.

You were bruised and battered and smearing blood on the floor behind you when he got to where he was taking you. He ignored the desperate way you were still screaming at him and threw you violently in a black trunk in a room with bright white lights and steel lab tables. He had slammed the heavy door shut so hard the force of it knocked a painting off the wall. Many locks turned on the other side. You clutched your stomach with both hands and doubled over and began to dry heave.

You sat crying in the dark. When the tears wouldn’t come out anymore, you looked for a way out. Tried to feel around the edges. Your arms burned terribly and you could smell your own body fluids lingering among the overwhelming smell of disinfectant loitering in the air. Your face ached from where he’d held your mouth to silence you when he plunged the needle in. There was a perfectly round hole in the side of the trunk, the size of your pinky nail, that appeared to have been made with a drill. An airhole. Or a peephole.

But the trunk itself was locked up tight. There was no getting out.

You studied the room through the peephole. There were four other trunks sitting upright on the floor to the left of you, at least that you could see, lined up one after the next to form a semicircle. Each was a different color—red, blue, green, brown, in that order.

You called out very softly and asked if anyone was there.

Silence.

Sniffling again, you sat with your knees curled tightly into your chest, and allowed your mind to romp.

There had been signs, red flags abound, and you had ignored them, made excuses for him in your head, filed every uncomfortable incident away to be rationalized at a later date. You might not have known until the very end that he was this. But you had known enough. Asa, beneath his carefully manufactured charm and suave, was the coldest man you had ever met.

So you arrived at the crushing conclusion that you had nobody to blame for this but yourself.

There had been one instance, close to the start of your relationship, or whatever it was you had with him, where you found yourself very inebriated in his expensively furnished living room.

Asa had implied over dinner that he would like to go upstairs and have sex after you were finished, and he’d cleared the plates off his dining table nearly twenty minutes ago. You challenged him to arm-wrestle first.

“Please?” You spread your legs out on his blue persian rug, intent on staying awhile.

Asa sat across the room from you in the cushioned chair closest to the hall, his hands folded in his lap. The look on his face was growing rather unamused.

“I already said no. Can we move along?”

“Come on, have a little fun.”

His expression grew more dour still.

“You’re drunk. Very drunk. I thought I told you to go easy with the drinking.”

“You, Dr. Emory, are being a total stick in the mud.”

You pestered him about it until he humored you.

He took you by the hand and set your arm up on his nice coffee table which he had cleared delicately of a stag beetle specimen in a spotless glass display.

“Count of three.” You slurred, a smile growing in your eyes, one he didn’t care to return.

“One.”

He adjusted his grip dexterously around your fingers. His arm was bigger than yours by far.

“Two.”

The thick tendons in his wrist jumped out. It would be no contest. You wanted to try anyway. You thought it would be fun.

“Three.”

You fought against his hand with everything you had. You laughed. Asa let you struggle against him for a few moments, regarding you with an utter lack of concern on his face. For all your efforts you couldn’t budge his wrist by a centimeter.

Then he smashed your hand so quick and hard into the coffee table your knuckles throbbed and you yelled.

The laughter fell from your face like a stone. You jerked in his grip. His hold moved down to your wrist where he held you tightly and didn’t let go. Suddenly, you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

Asa, leaning forward, spoke to you very slowly, and made you linger on every syllable, as if you were stupid.

“Are you finished? Shall we move on? Or would you like to go again?”

He squeezed your wrist a bit harder. You could feel the pulse in your arm quickening, throbbing in his grip, which was getting tighter every second.

You let him take you upstairs without suggesting any more games.

In the morning, you hardly remembered the sex, but your hand was bruised. Asa didn’t mention anything to you about it as he got ready for work. It was the last time you had ever been drunk around him.

You jolted awake in the trunk. Your arms burned in a way that sent vicious chills through your extremities. There was a wet stain on the wall where you must have fallen asleep at some point. Resting a hand on the trunk, you stared cautiously through the peephole.

Asa wasn’t there. But the painting that had fallen was back in its place on the wall.

Your stomach sank. You thought some more to try and distract yourself from the pain in your arms and your aching body.

There had been that one night in the park. The night you stayed awake many sleepless hours trying and failing not to remember what you witnessed.

The sunset had dissipated and the only light remaining in the park was what filtered down from the black street lamps towering like spires all along the sidewalk. Asa had touched something on the bench he didn’t like, and had gotten up to wash his hands in the nearby bathroom.

You watched a pair of moths fluttering around each other near the lamp across the path and noticed someone approaching from the corner of your eye. Assuming it was Asa, you turned to ask him what species he figured they were.

It wasn’t Asa.

The mugger shoved you forcefully off the park bench. You spilled onto the cold sidewalk, knocking your head on the concrete.

“Give me the fucking wallet.”

The man must have thought you were alone. He wore black jeans and a grey t-shirt. He brandished a short switchblade at you which you stared at with wide terrified eyes. You were shocked to silence, frozen in place.

The mugger made a grab for the wallet in your shaking hands.

And Asa had tackled him from behind with such force that both men went spilling into the grass on the opposite side of the path.

He was back on his feet by the time the mugger was still clambering to his mud-stained knees. You watched Asa’s hand go somewhere beneath his olive jacket as he pulled out a knife you hadn’t known he carried. He flipped it in his grip and held it with the blade angled down toward the grass. His face had become profoundly unreadable.

His movements dripped with practice and polish as he sized your mugger up. The muscles in his legs were spring-loaded as he stalked back and forth along the grass. Every step had a purpose.

He dove in for a slash across the man’s stomach. You saw blood spray in a wide arc and heard the man make a painful strangled sound. Asa ducked beneath a clumsy swipe for his face, stepping away again. He passed his knife from one hand to the other; now, he was circling the man. Not adjusting his stance. Circling him.

The man lunged at him with a grunt. The switchblade raced for his chest. Asa caught his wrist and slashed him deep across the thigh.

You’d always known his reflexes were astonishingly quick. Once, you dropped your expensive camera while photographing the exhibits at the museum, and he had grabbed it before it hit the ground, lecturing you in a more-or-less jesting manner about getting a lanyard for it as he stood to hand it back to you, an incident which at the time had made your cheeks warm.

Asa planted his shoe squarely in the man’s abdomen and kicked him away hard. The man made a guttural sound as he tumbled back on the grass, gasping for air, and Asa let him clamber to his feet again, still circling. The look on his face was no longer indifference. It was something far more intense.

The man turned, staggering, and tried to run.

Asa was faster. He tackled him again, wrestled him brutally to the sidewalk. The man swung blindly, got lucky in his desperation—and clipped him across the shoulder.

Asa snarled. Not a grunt, it had been a snarl, low and throaty, like an animal.

He slashed violently at the man and his knife flashed sharply in the lamp light. Blood erupted from the cut in a heavy mist. The man fell back on the ground, dropping his own blade, clutching his throat. Asa straddled him on his knees, and grabbed him by the face, wrenching his head up. You heard the crack of the man’s skull meeting the concrete from where you sat.

The man started shouting desperately for help.

You watched Asa raise his knife. His arms and shoulders flexed and strained the sleeves of his jacket. You knew by the look on his face alone that you were about to witness a murder. Before you knew what you were doing, you were yelling at him to stop.

Asa didn’t hear. Or he ignored you.

He drove the knife hard into the man’s stomach.

The man made a wet strangled sound, bringing up his arm to try and block the onslaught, because Asa was already raising his arm again.

He stabbed the same spot. Every stab that followed was faster. The man’s yelling became screaming and you saw Asa’s hand shift to cover his mouth. The man’s muffled screams fell to thin whining. Then ragged wheezing. Then, stopped.

A cricket chirped beyond the reach of the street lamps. The moths fluttered near the bulb across the path.

Asa straightened up his posture. His nostrils flared heavily with breath. He seemed to take in the gored body on the concrete beneath him, which had gone motionless.

Five seconds hardly passed before he stood, slowly, rising to his full height, carefully side-stepping the body. The man’s blood trickled off the tip of his wet knife and dripped on the concrete next to his black dress shoes. His jacket sleeves and the sides of his charcoal pants across his thighs were stained with long dark swaths. He rolled his shoulders. The breeze tousled his disordered hair.

There had been a few moments you could recall when it really occurred to you how big Asa was.

He wore flattering clothes often, and your eyes were sometimes tempted towards the wide muscles in his chest, but the way he talked to you was very ensnaring, as he always seemed to have something interesting or intelligent or just plain sarcastic in a dry but not-to-be-taken-seriously way to say; so when he spoke, you found it difficult to look anywhere but at his handsome face. You only really witnessed the scope of his strength when you slept with him. The ways he was able to handle you when he wanted made you feel, at times, incredibly vulnerable around him.

Asa had turned his whole body toward you when he considered you where you sat huddled on the sidewalk, reigning in the hot breaths which broadened his chest and spiraled into the chilly night. The man’s blood had gotten on his cheek. You started to shiver. He regarded you with a look that read staggering disapproval, as though this, and what would inevitably follow, was not worth his time, as though it might as well have been your fault, as though he was currently considering very strongly doing something about it later in private.

“You should call the police.”

Before you knew what you were doing or why you were really doing it you scrambled for your phone in your pocket and tapped on the screen with very shaky fingers, “9-1-1.”

The ambulances pulled up to the street corner first followed shortly by two squad cars. Asa stood up slowly from the green park bench to meet them, and you stayed kneeling on the cold sidewalk.

He introduced himself to the officers as Dr. Asa Emory and dealt with their questions very professionally. At one point, he had pulled a neatly folded paper out of his wallet, which the questioning officer took, shined her flashlight at, and returned to him, nodding her head. The story was very apparent: a couple walking in the park had been assaulted at knife-point, and a registered concealed-carry weapon had been used to dispatch the aggressor.

The officers came over to question you. Asa, standing off to the side, removed his bloodied jacket, which he hung neatly over the park bench. He watched you closely. The look on his face was like the prick of a thorn.

You diverted your gaze away from him and nodded at the officer’s questions dumbly, staring at the medical workers as they bagged up the body on the sidewalk. An EMT was called over, who concluded that you were in moderate shock, and that you should go to the hospital.

“I won’t be riding along with you.” Asa was down to his tan sweater, rubbing his newly cleaned fingers together at his side, which he had been given bottles of water to wash off at his request. The indifference on his face didn’t lift as they strapped you down to the gurney.

“The officers have a few more questions, so I’ve agreed to go with them down to the station.”

His words were factual and rhetorical, as if your input on the matter wasn’t at all needed, so you didn’t say anything back to him.

It was the last you heard from him until he showed up in your hospital room several hours later. Your stomach lept a little when the door opened and he came in.

He was wearing a change of clothes, his hair groomed back into place, looking very much the part of respectable Dr. Emory again. He had brought you dinner from the lobby downstairs.

He sat in the only chair in the room as you picked at the warm mashed potatoes in the black tray, and made conversation about how you were handling things, and if there was anything he could get you, and though it all felt very shallow and obligatory you found yourself playing along as best you could, because sitting in the room alone with him was giving you very obvious goosebumps.

Asa drove you home later that night. You got out of his car without a word, went to your door, and quickly did the lock behind you.

After falling into bed, you were afraid of him. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit it then; you tried to cling tightly to the parts of him you still thought you loved. But from then on, you were, genuinely, afraid of him.

What made it worse, you suspected he saw it, too.

His holds on your wrist when you turned away from him before he had quite finished lecturing you about something very irresponsible or just plain ignorant you had done were firmer. There was the way he moved his jacket occasionally when he shifted his posture, and you caught a glimpse of his holstered knife for a moment too long. And how, when he asked you a question—one to which you didn’t immediately have an answer—he turned all his attention on you, and began to approach you, boxing you in, cutting off your escape, slowly repeating the question.

He’d known. Without a doubt, he had known.

Sobbing started in the trunk next to you and it jolted you harshly out of your thoughts.

It sounded like a man. A younger man. You tried to talk to him.

“Hello?”

Sudden silence fell. You repeated yourself.

“Is someone there?”

“-Yes.”

The voice came out very quietly. For a moment, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what there was to say.

“What’s your name?”

Silence for another moment.

“It’s Noah.”

There was rattling as Noah shifted in his trunk.

Noah told you he’d been taken on a Tuesday. A horrendous sinking feeling settled in your stomach at that.

Tuesday was six days ago. Asa had come back very late that night smelling strongly of disinfectant and nitrile, as he did sometimes. You figured he'd stayed past closing hours at work for something important but asked him about it anyway, in the name of making casual conversation, an occurrence which had been growing steadily more reclusive between the two of you. His response had been clipped and curt. You didn’t ask him any more about it.

Noah seemed to hear Asa coming down the hall before you did.

“Stop. Stop talking.” His voice was suddenly desperate, laced with terror. “He’s coming back. He’s coming back. Please don’t talk. Don’t say anything.”

But that wasn’t part of the plan.

The locks clicked open on the other side of the black door.

You started pleading at him with your raw hoarse voice the second he stepped into the room.

“Asa, please! You know I didn’t tell anyone! I’ll do anything you want, you know I will! Asa, please!”

You weren’t even sure what you were begging him for. Please let me out. Please clean my arms before they get infected. Please don’t hurt me anymore.

He shoved your trunk so violently as he walked past that your head knocked against the wood and everything went dizzy for a moment.

Through the airhole, through your fresh, blurry tears, you watched him squat down, and unlock the brown trunk next to yours, the one the young man was in.

Noah couldn’t have been older than his early twenties but his face was exhausted and gaunt. His shirt was gone and his red sweatpants were soaked through with sweat or something else. The shackles around his wrists and ankles rattled as Asa’s arm darted into the trunk.

He wrenched the young man out by his tangled brown hair. Noah made an anguished sound, but didn’t struggle much as Asa hauled him swiftly towards the operating table.

It occurred to you then what Asa had drilled the peephole in your trunk for.

The young man begged desperate things while Asa locked his shackled wrists and ankles down to the fixtures on the table. No. Not again. Stop. Please don’t do it again. You looked closer, noticing the long row of stitches running down his side, the skin around them still red and puffy, and thought you might be sick.

Asa grabbed him roughly by the face, and leaned in very close, settling his hand on his bare abdomen. He said something next to Noah’s head too quiet for you to overhear. Noah’s chest heaved rapidly. Asa stood again, and gave the side of his ribs a light stroke before he walked away.

The young man on the table had paled fast. He lay staring at the ceiling with huge unblinking eyes, trembling, looking very much in shock at what he had just heard.

Asa took his time choosing the surgical tools from his cabinets. You watched him prepare the room, too afraid to look away. Maybe it was all a bluff. Please god let it be a bluff. He laid out two separate trays on the stainless-steel countertops, putting his tools in one, and set an extra out near the sink.

It wasn’t a bluff.

Noah was very awake when Asa began to cut his chest open.

His body obscured your view of the table but you knew the exact moment the scalpel sank in because the young man made a horrible screeching noise and began thrashing violently in his chains in a huge clamor. His body seized and his eyes rolled back in his head. He seemed to try to vomit; nothing came out.

Asa did not carry out his work hastily. Finished with the bloodied scalpel, he set it in the tray adjacent to his clean tools. When he turned away from the counter, you glimpsed his face.

The look of steady concentration he wore was no different from the times he’d let you watch him process an important specimen or sketch or paint. He clamped Noah’s skin back with pairs of forceps, and peeled off his wet black gloves, beneath which he was already wearing a fresh pair.

You took in the sight on the table while Asa went to the corner of the room to discard the gloves. Noah’s wet red ribs glistened beneath the long hanging lights and you could smell the slippery viscera from where you sat. You watched them expand as his lungs inflated with tortured breath, which was no longer anything but a bloody gurgling deep in his throat.

Asa came back, going next for the surgical pliers, ghosting his hand along his options until he seemed to settle on the proper one. When he looked up, pliers in hand, he was deliberately, unmistakably, casting his gaze across the room at your trunk. As if to make sure you were still watching.

Your heart nearly stopped. Air wouldn’t come in.

Then he returned to his work and started clipping Noah’s ribs off.

You could hear the bone snapping every time. The young man passed out more than twice on the table and that was the only time there was silence in the room.

Asa deposited the rib clippings in a third tray, and went to wash them free of blood and tissue in the steel sink while the near-corpse on the table made awful rattling noises, struggling to breathe; Noah seemed to be watching Asa, too, trying at least, but the immensity of his struggle had burst capillaries in his eyes.

Asa laid the ribs out on a pristine white cloth, organizing them from shortest to longest, toweling them individually off, and went about measuring them lengthwise with a yellow tape, then again around their circumference. He placed them gently in a bin, sealed the lid tight, went for a pen, and wrote something in his neat handwriting on the label.

You watched him take a curved needle and load it carefully with fine black suturing thread pinched delicately between his finger and thumb. Noah screamed and squirmed weakly with all he had left as it went in, which wasn’t much at all. Asa pulled the needle in and out, bringing his skin back together until his gaping chest was shut again.

The young man was still alive when Asa hauled him back into the trunk, a fresh row of black knots holding his ruined flesh closed.

Or at least he was still twitching, blinking, drawing shuddering agonized breaths through his wide-open mouth from which there ran an endless trickle of saliva and blood. The bottom of his stitched-shut chest was concave where his lower ribs used to be. He didn’t look like he’d live another hour. You hoped he wouldn’t.

Asa shut the lid and did the latches.

He went back to the counter for the ribs, taking an indirect path around the table, which carried him right towards you. You scrambled back from him as fast you could. The trunk didn’t let you get very far. You felt his fingers rap along the lid from one side to the other and couldn’t choke back your broken sound.

He left through the heavy door, doing up all the locks, and this time, you heeded Noah’s advice. Your mouth stayed utterly, obediently, shut.

After a few minutes of hopeless wheezing, Noah fell silent in the brown trunk, and never made another sound after that.

#asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector #the collection #slashers #horror #slasher x reader #reader insert #writing #fanfic #darkfic #tw: torture #tw: abuse

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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Nat and the House: Jameson

CW: Pet whump survivor, collar mentions, references to past pet whump, referenced ptsd flashbacks

Jake Gets Stabbed: First Second Third Fourth

“Okay, well. Here we are.” Nat opens the door for him, swinging back the heavy wood and stepping inside. The sun is warm on his back, but it drops away into a chill as he steps inside. His eyes shift back and forth, trying to bury his curiosity under a tight jaw and narrowed eyes.

The house is big, although not as big as Jake Stanton’s. It’s old, and creaky, and feels alive in a way that newer houses don’t. It’s a place that has seen so many lives move through its halls, felt so many hands on doorknobs and walls, that it’s taken in some of each person who has slept here. They’ve left something behind, and it’s the breath inside the house.

It’s the whisper of air against the back of his neck, slightly chilled, that tells him that a hundred voices have bounced off these walls, with their own pain and fear, long before his added to the chorus.

Jameson swallows, lingering in the doorway and staring ahead at a carpeted staircase that winds up and disappears around a 90-degree turn, at the coat closet just beside it. There’s a built-in shelf on the landing he can see the bottom half of, lined with photographs in small cheap dollar-store frames.

Off to one side of the entryway, there’s a big double-door-sized opening into a gigantic living room - to the other side, a dining room with a large table covered in boxes, paperwork, books, and some flannels hung from an empty china cabinet, looking still damp, drying. Beyond that, a small kitchen, he can just see the corner of the oven.

This is a house with breath. This is a house with a voice.

The house tastes like a crackling fire, the mix of heated air and chilled, melted marshmallows inside s’mores, the crunch of graham cracker and chocolate bar underneath.

This is a good house.

“Sorry,” Natalie Yoder says over one shoulder, moving ahead of him to flick a light switch. Jameson flinches, just a little, when a warm yellow bulb inside a false chandelier lights above his head. Her braid thumps against her back, a deep chocolate brown with strips of silvery white running through it. “I haven’t had anyone here in a long time, so the house is a mess. Just me these days.”

He nods, even though she can’t see him. Natalie Yoder has a good voice, too, it’s full and warm, it tastes like hot chocolate, the kind that goes light on the sugar and is just a little bitter and spiced with cinnamon. Her voice feels smooth on his tongue. He can trust people who taste like this, he thinks, and he takes another step inside.

“H-How… how long?” His voice croaks a little, it rasps. Long-term damage to his vocal chords, they said, from screaming so often for so long.

She stops and looks back at him, and there’s a gentleness in her tempered by the steel he’s already seen. She gives him a slight smile. “Long enough to speak to Dr. Berger, get you on your meds, and give them time to settle in your system. Could be a month or two to figure out exactly what’s going to work for you. Then see what happens with a couple of controlled interactions.”

He nods again. She speaks like an expert - she is the expert, he guesses, because she’s seen a hundred people like him in her life and Jameson has only ever known himself.

Not that he’s even sure he knows himself that well, most days.

He has his collar on, buckled tightly around his neck, a comfortable constriction. A reminder that he isn’t in control, someone else is, and what happens from here isn’t his fault. It’s not his responsibility, because a pet can’t be responsible for anything.

He left Jake Stanton lying on a couch’s pull-out bed because he can’t go up the stairs, pale and unconscious, and he left Allyn crying in their shared room, curled up in the closet, running their fingers over the names that Jameson carved into the wall there.

He lost control, for just a minute, of where he was and who was with him, and now…

He’s safer with the collar on.

He’s safer, controlled.

They were right - he can’t do this on his own, and he never could.

“You can choose whichever room you like, except that I keep Chris’s room for when he stays over just the same, so not that one. But there’s another three bedrooms you can use.” Nat smiles at him, moving to the stairs and gesturing for him to follow.

They creak under his feet, and the house is speaking to him, whispering here, you’re here, you’re here now in bursts of smoke on his tongue and sweet just after. He licks at his lips, looking down at ancient brown carpeting there, almost long enough to be shag.

For just a second, he sees a flicker of a bright red shag carpet in a large shared loft bedroom, a face very like his own but older, laughing as they threw balled up pieces of paper at each other. Sparkling brown eyes-

Gone-

Jameson shivers and the moment is lost, and he lets it go happily. Whatever happened to him, he has too many other problems right now to dwell on something he’s already chosen to leave behind.

“I’ll take, uh, whichever-... whichever room is closest to the bathroom,” He says, seeing an open door with the telltale tile floor and pale painted walls. She nods, gesturing to a closed door on her left. He pushes open the bathroom door and just stares, for a few long beats. “You have-... dinosaur shower curtains?”

“Oh, Chris loved that,” Nat says, looking over his shoulder briefly. She’s as short as he is, more or less, and somehow her leaning over behind him doesn’t feel quite as unsettling as when Jake Stanton does it, or anyone else.

Shit, maybe they’re all right. Maybe he’ll be safe here… and everyone else will be safe from him.

“I just kept them after he moved out. We can get new ones if they bother you, it’s not a big deal.”

“Uh, no, they’re… they’re fine. I’m going to-... put my stuff down now.” Jameson backs up and she moves away to give him space. The floor creaks softly underfoot as he moves along the hardwood in the hallway, to the closed door of the room he’s chosen sight-unseen.

When he opens it, it’s plain. Just pale walls and two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, side tables with lamps, blankets and pillows. A single framed portrait of a bird on one wall.

He looks out the window to the branches of a tree outside.

“I’m going to go downstairs and make some coffee. Want me to call for you when it’s ready?” She speaks from the doorway, calm and quiet. He loves her hot chocolate voice.

“Sure. I could… I could use some fucking coffee,” He whispers, without looking back.

“No doubt. We’ll figure this out, Jameson, I promise.”

Before she can close the door, he asks, all at once in a rush, “What if I do it again?”

She’s quiet, for a minute. Quiet for long enough his heart starts to pound, he starts to wonder if she’ll lock him in the room, or even kick him back out and tell him to start walking and figure it out on his own. He can’t go back - the last time he was on the streets, he got picked up by Robert, the time before that by Brute. His pulse beats against his collar, and he’s safe with the collar, but only if he’s kept by someone who takes care of him, who won’t hurt him worse. “To Jake?”

“Or… or Allyn. Or you, or-... fuck, anybody. What if they-... made me so I’ll do it again?”

More quiet. He hates the quiet. He wants her hot chocolate voice back. He turns, finally, to see her looking him over with a calm that goes so far beyond his own anxiety and fear, a steady surety that makes her seem more like she’s part of the house than someone who simply lives here.

She’s seen a hundred hands, too, learning not to hurt or be hurt. She’s heard a hundred voices learning to speak up, remembering how to do something other than beg for it to stop. Maybe she is the safehouse, and the building is just… an extension.

He can kind of see why the big guy likes her so fucking much.

“We’re going to do everything in our power to give you the tools you need to keep yourself and everyone around you safe.” She smiles at him, a little, lifting the corner of her mouth just the slightest bit on one side. “It won’t be easy. And it won’t be simple, or immediate. But you aren’t irredeemable, Jameson. Even if you fucked up. Does it help if I tell you I’ve had others hit me, or grab at me, when they’re in a panic and forget where they are?”

He breathes, shallow but slow. “R-Really?”

“Yeah. A half-dozen or so. I caught Chris lost in a nightmare once and he cracked me across the face with his forehead so hard I had a bruise for a week. I’ve been kicked, I’ve been hit.” She exhales, not quite a sigh, and steps inside the bedroom, moving over to one of the beds and sitting down, crossing her legs at the ankles and leaning back, resting her weight on her hands. “I ended up in the ER with a concussion once, early on. One of the ones I lost.” She looks away from him, and he sees the wrinkles in her face suddenly settle deeper, as if the weight of that old grief ages her even now. “He didn’t mean to, the poor guy. He was so scared, but I couldn’t-... I couldn’t keep him. He was so scared of himself he went back to his captor. Never saw him again.”

Jameson takes one step towards her, and then another. It’s unconscious, and he tells himself not to, but he can’t help it. “I’m-... I’m sorry for him.”

“Yeah, me too. I hope he’s doing all right, but… I suspect not. It’s… it’s hard, Jameson, to do this, and sometimes the hard feels like it’s never going to end. Sometimes, they think there’s no choice, no other way.” She looks up at him, and he sees the faintest glimmer of tears that don’t show in her voice, don’t fall down her face. “You’re thinking that, too. That maybe you were better off kept.”

The echo of his own thoughts in her low husky voice sends him reeling, and he can’t find his voice to speak at first. Finally, he manages, “Y-yeah.”

“It’s a lie. I understand why it feels like-... it’s inevitable. But I want you to know... I’ve seen this before. And you’re still better off healing than being sent back to shatter. We’re going to help you, and Kauri-... Kauri’s right, I think. You’ll be safer here for a while, and then you’ll go back and be safe there, too.”

“What if I’m not? Safer there?”

Nat Yoder’s smile softens, and she holds out her hands. She must expect him to sit next to her, because she jumps in surprise when he drops to his knees instead, and lays his head on her thighs, across her lap, feeling the rough denim of her blue jeans against his cheek.

Her hands hover, and then slowly she lowers one, and rests it, gently, over his hair.

“Then you’ll be safe here,” She says, and her voice pours over him, honeyed, deep, the hint of cinnamon and the texture of the thick liquid of his grandmother’s hot chocolate, made always with whole milk and a touch of cream.

Jameson doesn’t question the knowledge of how his grandmother made hot chocolate, and he doesn’t push it away. He just lets it exist, there and then gone a moment later.

“For how long?” Her fingers press just slightly against his temple. Her fingertips are slightly roughened, calloused from hard work. “How l-long am I safe here?”

“The same amount of time I give everyone, Jameson,” She says. “As long as you need.”

“But you said-... you don’t take in anyone anymore-”

“I’m making an exception, and I don’t do anything halfway.” She leans over, and he feels her shadow fall over him. He turns his face to press against her leg, feeling the tears start to well, clenching his eyes shut only to have them fall without his consent, to dampen her jeans.

He shudders. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt him-... I thought he was Brute, coming b-back, I didn’t know-”

“I know. I know you didn’t. It’s okay.”

“I know I sh-shouldn’t fucking cry-... I’m the ass-asshole who stabbed him, I shouldn’t c-cry about it, I shouldn’t-” He hitches back a sob, feels his collar catch on his Adam’s apple. It’s not enough to keep him safe. It was never enough to keep him safe.

Her voice washes warm over him, and she runs her hand through his short hair, over the filled-in bald spots shorter than the rest. “You should, if you need to. Go ahead.”

Somehow, once she says he can, he can’t stop himself at all.

Jameson kneels on the floor in a house that has seen a hundred or more people exactly like him, his body wracked with guilt and horror at what he did, what they made him, and his terror that he can’t ever take it back, that he can’t become anything other than what he was made to be.

And through the tears, she keeps one hand on his head, and when he starts to talk to her, she listens.

Outside a bird sings, a mourning dove, calling hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump @burtlederp

#whump #caretaker and whumpee #ptsd tw #collar mention #past pet whump #pet whumpee #recovering whumpee #jameson bb #natalie yoder: here to help the rescues #abuse survivor tw #referenced cycle of abuse #box boy universe #box boy #bbu

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

Text

Robots and Renoir

Part Two of Magnetic

Previously - Pressing Camera Questions | Magnetic Masterlist | Dynamic

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only Warnings: Cursing; alcohol consumption; Chapters will eventually have explicit sexual content Notes: Thanks for the encouragement on the first chapter you guys!! I really appreciate it 🥰 Summary: “Don’t mind her.” You didn’t even realize you had been minding her - but maybe Nathan’s noticed the way you seem to go tense whenever Kyoko’s around.

“You get lost?”

It’s a fair question. It’s only your second time visiting the research facility, and you’re still acclimating. The place is massive, and you have got an office of your own there - but you’ve made yourself a cup of coffee and found your way back to a lounge that you’d stumbled on the first time you’d visited.

“No,” You look up from your phone and raise it, waving it a little, “Just doing some housekeeping.” You lower your eyes back to your phone, and Nathan turns to go. Before he can, though, you can’t help but pry: “...You never struck me as someone that might be a fan of Impressionism.”

Nathan turns back, looks at the painting opposite you as you add, “Or are you more interested in the process than the school of thought that a work comes from?” “The process,” Nathan confirms, and you feel him glance at you as he asks, “Are you a fan of Renoir?” You shrug. “Not particularly.” “You know enough to recognize it.” “I had a mandatory art history course in college. Some stuff never left me.” You let your eyes raise back to the painting, taking in the arrays of greens, the dotting of red and white and yellow flowers. “It is calming, though.” -- “Don’t mind her.” You didn’t even realize you had been minding her - but maybe Nathan’s noticed the way you seem to go tense whenever Kyoko’s around. You weren’t introduced to her the last time you were there, even when she was in the room. She’d been referenced to like she was another piece of furniture; Nathan had waved a hand in her direction, mentioned that she helped out, wasn’t chatty. So now you nod a little, doing your best to heed Nathan’s direction. “Okay,” You agree, and then, playing a hunch that’s been nagging you since that first weekend, “Prototype?” You don’t look away from the peppers that you’re chopping as you ask, but you feel Nathan still beside you. “Come again?” You lift your head for just a second to look between where Kyoko has continued her task and where Nathan has stopped his. “Kyoko,” You nod toward her before looking back down at the cutting board, “Is she a prototype?” “...What makes you say that?” “Uhhh,” You’re regretting saying anything at all, because Nathan is shutting off the sink and turning his entire body to face you, his arms folding across his chest just as you seem to have swallowed your tongue, “You’re-- I mean, the last time I was here, you said she just helped you out, but… I don’t know, that seems like a massive hole in your security. She could still leak whatever you’re working on to someone, regardless of whether or not she knows what it is. I mean from what I’ve learned, half of Blue Book’s tech relies on closed systems to keep viruses out of the hardware and I guess I kinda just...Thought of this facility the same way. I guess it just seemed too lax for your security standards. Am I off? I’m off, huh. Forget I said anything,” You rush to add, shaking your head. There are a couple of beats of quiet before Nathan points out, “You’re here, does that count as lax?” “I don’t have access to the entire facility and the NDA I’m under is airtight-- And if I were leaking any trade secrets, you’d know by now. Plus I’d make, like, the world’s worst spy.” Nathan’s still staring at you, and you’ve never focused so hard on chopping anything in your life. It’s another few moments before you hear Nathan turn the tap on again, and you’re aware of just how hard your heart is pounding in your chest. “...Do you think an AI could paint a masterpiece?” You find yourself asking to distract from the litany to stupid things you’ve just said. “Depends,” Nathan’s tone is crisp, but curious; he doesn’t sound like he’s mad or just humoring you, you think this might actually turn into a conversation, “Do you mean recreations or works of their own?” “Works of their own.” “And how do you define masterpiece?” That conversation is enough to take you two through dinner, and you think you might, might be out of the woods with that whole Kyoko thing. But then dinner is finished and the conversation isn’t, and Nathan is waving you out of the dining area, into another lounge. And he’s watching you expectantly, but you’re… Underwhelmed. “Come on. You can’t hate this,” He sounds almost irritated. You’d briefly tried to fake enthusiasm for something your first weekend there -- Nathan had seen right through it. Say what you will about the man, but he understands people - which is probably why he’s at the cutting edge of AI. So now you just stand with one arm folded across your middle, a beer in your other hand as you blink at the Jackson Pollack on Nathan’s wall. “I wouldn’t use the word hate,” You say carefully, “I… Do not…Like it, though. Look, if you’re going to give me the option to check my emails here or in the lounge from this morning,” You nod over your shoulder, toward the room down the hall where Nathan’s Renoir sits, “I’m going to pick the Renoir. I feel like a robot could sooner recreate this than a Renoir. This feels so static-- that just… It breathes.” And shit, Nathan is staring at you the way he was in the kitchen. You’re not sure what the look is, exactly - you haven’t been around him long enough, but there’s something calculating about it. He finally says, “Kyoko would have an easier time reproducing a Renoir. Pollack deliberately let his mind go blank when he was working. Impressionists were employing new techniques, but they had a base-- a reference. Pollack didn’t.” You take that in. “...Are you fucking with me?” Nathan shakes his head and turns back toward the painting. You do, too. “Your instincts are there,” He says, “But the application…” He raises a hand and wavers it back and forth. “Needs work?” He grunts, and then leaves without another word. You stay put, and your mind feels as static as the canvas in front of you.

Tag List: @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @captn-andor ; @witchyavenger ; @writingletterstothefire ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @waatermelon-sugaar ; @paintballkid711 ; @angels-pie ; @codenamewife ; @aellynera ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @revolution-starter ; @foxilayde ; @jitterbugs927

#Magnetic #Robots and Renoir #Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You

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meet-me-in-the-kitchen · 4 years

Note

Want all your exile theories Pleassseee

Legend: Harry’s lyrical perspective in Exile, Taylor’s perspective, Harry’s own lyrics

Here’s an evaluation of everything I’ve gathered so far:

It’s a song touching on the incident that took place at the 2015 BBMAs. This was Taylor’s first official/fancy public appearance with Calvin Harris, and she took him with her to the awards. Too much too soon, right? Because she wanted a rebound and for Harry to see her moving on.

Before the awards, Harry and Taylor we’re still attending parties together, like Caleb Followill’s, and staying in contact.

I think I’ve seen this film before

After seeing Taylor at a party a month before, Harry had tweeted the word ‘Serendipity’ which is the title of a film based on a British woman and American man breakin up but then being brought back together by fate. He was hopeful.

Then, Taylor met Calvin. It’s February at this point. Paparazzi pics are out. Harry, on Taylor’s 24th birthday, had tweeted ‘better still be my winding wheel’ a lyric from a song about soulmates. On the exact day the pictures of Taylor & Calvin came out, he tweeted and instagrammed a picture of a wheel, captioning it: “my winding wheel.” (Dejected, right?)

In any case. She’s his soulmate. This can’t be a serious thing.

Taylor stops contacting Harry after meeting Calvin. Ignores his calls and texts. Posts pictures of herself with Calvin on Instagram, like this one:

Taylor shows up with Calvin to the Billboard awards. Very soon, but she wants him to see. The entire evening is spent with them being overly showy, lots of PDA, etc. Quite unlike Taylor. She wins several awards for 1989, and hugs Calvin each time. She’s seen laughing very exaggeratedly.

I can see you standing, honey with his arms around your body vs. I hope you can see, the shape that I’m in while he’s touching your skin

Laughing, but the joke’s not funny at all

Then, comes the blow. Just as One Direction are announced to have won an award and Harry comes up on the stage to retrieve it.

I can see it written all over his face, comfortable silence is so overrated. Why won’t you ever say what you want to say? Even my phone, misses your call, by the way

Taylor looks straight at him and whispers something into Calvin’s ear. At this point, you are internally groaning. Why did she do it? No one knows, it was a terrible thing to do. Imagine someone you were so close to doing that to you. Pain.

I can see you staring, honey

Like he’s just your understudy

Like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me

Those eyes add insult to injury

Harry’s eyes keep flickering back to where they’re sitting. He’s hurt, although he’s trying to concentrate on the award he seems distract and he keeps looking in Taylor’s direction, like, “what are you doing?”

Anyway. Harry’s jealous. He writes a song about this whole experience called Woman.

Now. Taylor writes Exile about both of their perspectives of this incident. Harry’s jealous and confused, because this isn’t Taylor. Taylor’s not sure what she’s doing entirely, but she feels this is necessary because Harry has not noticed or acted on any of the signs she’s dropped that she misses him (songs, meaningful glances she sings about, etc.) but I argue that Taylor hasn’t been reading his mind correctly, either. Just a month before he’d tweeted many hints. There’s a lot of miscommunication and pain, because even if things are obvious to you, they may not always be obvious to the other person, no matter how in tune you are: Communication is important.

We always walked a very thin line vs. We’ll be a fine line

You never gave me a warning sign vs. It’s a sign of the times

I gave you so many signs, so many times

There is no amount of crying I can do for you vs. Just stop your crying it’s a sign of the times

I think that the song Sign of the Times is also about their miscommunication and their transition to a new life without each other’s tangible presence. It’s referenced in Exile, as well. (“I gave you so many signs, you couldnt even read my mind, couldn’t turn things around”) Harry sees this as the one big sign that him and Taylor were in the rocks, but Taylor has repeatedly given him so many signs, and so has he. There is no amount of crying that will fix this, a lyric shared between Exile and SOTT. They’re always back in the same pattern, and so always walk a fine line between being okay and facing the next roadblock (“we always walked a very thin line” is also an Exile reference to Fine Line, which I explained was about Haylor in this post)

And it took you five whole minutes

To pack us up and leave me with it vs. I can’t unpack the baggage you left

Holdin’ all this love out here in the hall vs. You left me in the hallway

But I’ve also noticed something else. Like I said in this post, there are a lot of similarities to Harry’s songs in Exile. Not only Woman, but in particular Meet Me in the Hallway. They both talk about their relationship essentially ending in a hallway. What hall was this? Did Harry confront her at the music awards? Did Taylor ignore him? Or is it something metaphorical?

All in all, I think that Taylor and Harry were both confused. Taylor was trying to get a rise out of Harry to see if he was still in this, (“I’m not your homeland anymore, so who am I offending?”) but Harry was just hurt and his signs were just as misunderstood as Taylor’s.

UPDATE: Exile also references British land in the lyric “you were my crown, now I’m in exile” ; There is also a lyrical parallel between Only Angel (“broke my fingers knocking on your bedroom door, I got splinters on my knuckles crawling ‘cross the floor”) and this song.

UPDATE: In Exile, Taylor uses prominent sound effects of birds chirping and ambulance sirens calling. This is significant, because one of the major sightings of Harry & Taylor at the Lake District involved them catching/watching birds. And, most importantly, the sirens represent the snow mobile accident they both got into.

UPDATE: Taylor refers to the song as one being about two people with communication issues who see each other out with someone else for the first time; two ships passing in the night. Checks out.

This is what I have so far, will update as I find something new.

Songs referenced: Exile, Woman, Meet Me in the Hallway, Falling, From the Dining Table, Sign of the Times, Only Angel, Fine Line

For more, visit my Haylor Theories Masterpost

#the links are to my theories on the subject matter i referenced in the paragraph so you can be clear #haylor #folklore #harry styles #taylor swift #exile

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actress4him · 3 years

Text

Querencia 7 - Breakfast

I originally thought this would be fluff with a sprinkling of angst, but it’s more like vice versa. It’s me, what do you expect.

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @inky-whump , @lave-whump

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Warnings: lady whumpee (no whumper), referenced homelessness, referenced panic attack, referenced noncon microchipping, mild self harm (hair pulling), referenced starvation, emeto mention, self-deprecating thoughts, brief sensory overload

Liliana wakes from a restless night of sleep on the floor of the unfamiliar bedroom. She’d be startled and confused about where she was if it weren’t for the fact that she’d already gotten that over with, more than once in the middle of the night. Now she only rolls over and looks at the digital clock by the bed, twisting a few kinks out of her neck and back along the way. Six am. She vaguely remembers someone saying they were usually up by seven before they left her here for the night.

She’s not going to be sleeping anymore, though, so she gathers herself up off the floor, picking up the blanket and laying it neatly across the bed so that the superheroes wouldn’t be able to tell what she had done with it. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate being given a bed. It was just...too soft. She’d been sleeping on the ground for a year, and her bed at the facility had been like sleeping on a board. Maybe, eventually, if she stayed long enough, she’d be able to get used to a real bed again. But last night the only bits of sleep that happened were on the floor.

She’s not planning on being here long enough for that, anyway. The whole situation is completely surreal, and there’s no way that it can last. Yesterday wasn’t her first time seeing the team fight, they’re a pretty standard sight around the city, and people are always talking about them. Electric Eagle, Fantasia...the other two can only be Phantom and Xtra. They were always far off, though. Unreal. Celebrities and heroes that she’d never thought she’d end up meeting, much less that she’d find out they’re so...human? and nice? And the fact that they’d actually invited her to join their team is still blowing her mind.

Of course, then she’d had to go and make a terrific first impression by having a panic attack in front of them all. It was just...for a moment, she had been back there, back in that building of white walls and white tile floors and long hallways and cold shoulders and threats to suppress her powers.

The last year of living on the streets has been terrible. But at least she’s been free.

Glancing down at her arm, she rubs her fingers across the tiny white dot of a scar inside her elbow. Relatively free. As free as she can be while being watched, both by those who put the tracker inside of her and by the wary eyes of those she encounters from day to day.

What if they’re the same? What if they tracked me down using the microchip and they work for them and they’ve locked me up again and all the nice things about being on their team and coming and going as I please were lies and they’re going to keep me here and

Liliana folds over herself, grabbing double handfuls of her hair and pulling, hard. Stop it. Cállate. The sharp pain on her scalp halts her racing thoughts, and she pulls in deep breaths to calm herself. When did I become such a paranoid person? She knows the answer to that, but gives another tug on her hair to stop those thoughts in their tracks, too.

The superheroes seem perfectly nice, much nicer than anyone she’s encountered since leaving home. There’s no real reason not to trust them for now, or at least to proceed cautiously, playing along and seeing if she can gain their trust so that they really will let her come and go if she wants. She can do that. She’s good at blending in, at being invisible, at playing whatever role she needs to play in order to not get hurt.

Needing to get her mind off of everything, Liliana unzips her backpack and pulls out one of her worn, falling apart books. She’s read it dozens of times already, but new reading material has been a bit scarce for a while now.

At seven-fifteen, someone knocks softly on her door. “Um...Liliana? It’s Jamil. Hope I’m not waking you. I thought I heard you moving around in there earlier.”

Silence falls, and she suddenly realizes she’s expected to give an answer. “Oh. Um. Yes? You...you didn’t wake me.”

“Good.” He sounds like he’s smiling. She’d almost forgotten what that sounds like. “I just wanted to let you know that I made some breakfast, so you’re welcome to join me if you want.”

Breakfast. Her stomach suddenly feels more hollow than usual at the thought. She hasn’t eaten since...yesterday morning? Maybe? Yeah, she’s pretty sure she had half a bagel yesterday morning. It didn’t last very long.

Standing on trembling legs, Liliana crosses to the door, flips the lock, and eases it open, peering out. The guy from the hall yesterday is standing there, the one who had stayed back next to Electric Eagle - Quinn. He smiles at her, dark brown eyes crinkling behind his glasses.

“Hi. Kitchen’s this way, if you want to follow me.” He gestures with his head. “Or, you know, if you wanna shower or something first, that’s fine. The others aren’t up yet, so you won’t be late or anything. Alex never gets up and eats until like, nine.”

A shower sounds amazing, but not as amazing as food. The words to tell him that don’t seem to be forthcoming, though, so she simply steps out the door and shuts it behind her. Jamil’s eyes flick over her, and she’s suddenly far too aware of the fact that she’s wearing the same clothes as they found her in. She’s so used to living and sleeping in them by now that it hadn’t even occurred to her that it wasn’t normal.

Her cheeks flush and she’s about to open her mouth to try to explain when his smile widens again and he turns to leave. “This way!”

The smell of bacon assaults her nose while they’re still in the hallway. It makes her stomach grumble, and she presses a hand against it in an effort to keep it quiet. She hasn’t had bacon in...years. Since the time that she doesn’t like to think about, the life that she pretends never existed. It’s too painful to remember what she had and lost.

The kitchen is open and sunny, a big window over the dining table that looks out onto the river, and a sky light illuminating the main part of the room. Two cobalt blue plates are already on the table, filled with not only bacon, but fried eggs and buttered toast. Liliana’s stomach gives another growl.

Jamil gestures to one chair as he takes a seat in the other. “I guess I could have asked you how you liked your eggs and stuff, but, uh...hope you like over medium. Oh!” He jumps back up and Liliana, just having sat down, jolts. “I meant to get out jam and stuff. For the toast.”

She takes a deep breath as he rushes back to the refrigerator, trying to settle herself. Her fingers itch to pick up the bacon. Soon he’s back with an armload of jars and squeeze bottles, unloading them all onto the center of the table.

“We always have way too much of this stuff. Everybody likes their own kind, and then Nari is always changing what kind she likes before she finishes the first bottle.” Finishing the task, he sits again. “Anyway, feel free to help yourself. And you can eat, you don’t have to wait on me.”

She still waits until he’s picked up his fork before snatching up the first piece of bacon and biting into it. Flavor bursts across her tongue, and she shuts her eyes, almost moaning in delight. It’s so good. Despite her best efforts to savor it, she’s so hungry, and it’s gone before she knows it. Liliana eyes the second piece, but forces herself to pick up her fork, instead.

“So, Quinn told me your name is Liliana, right?”

She looks up with surprise, still not used to this whole ‘conversation’ thing, but nods.

Jamil nods, too, waving his fork as he speaks. “You’re what...twenty? Twenty-one?”

She has to muster up her voice again. It’s not used to being summoned so often. “What’s the date?”

A flicker of confusion crosses Jamil’s face. “Uh...October nineteenth.”

So she was right, it’s been just over a year since the facility had kicked her out. She nods again. “I just turned nineteen, then.”

His expression then is something she can’t read, but whatever it is quickly gets covered over with a smile. She can’t remember the last time she’s seen so many smiles in such a short period of time. “Guess I’m not the baby anymore! I’m twenty-four, and I’m - I was - the youngest. I mean, only by a couple of years, but they never let me forget it.” He waves his fork some more. “Not like, in a bad way, of course. They just like to tease.”

Liliana just nods again. She’s only taken one bite of egg, but her stomach is starting to feel less hungry and more queasy. Jamil is still eating, and there’s still so much food on her plate, and if she wastes it she might get in trouble. But she’s not sure that she can make herself eat anymore right now, no matter how much she may want to. So she focuses on cutting her egg into pieces and swirling the white through the yolk, hoping Jamil doesn’t notice. Maybe in a few minutes she’ll be able to keep eating.

“Everything okay?” Jamil asks, and boy, isn’t that a question. Everything hasn’t been ‘okay’ in a very long time. But Jamil is looking at her and her uneaten food, and her cheeks heat up at being caught.

“Yeah. It’s...it’s really good.” She stabs a piece of egg and quickly stuffs it into her mouth. It settles in her stomach like a rock.

“Liliana, you...you really don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it. You’re not gonna hurt my feelings.”

She shakes her head. “No, no I do. It’s good.” She wants to force another piece down to prove it, but she’s afraid she’ll throw up.

“Good morning!”

Nari’s cheerful voice grabs both their attention, but while Liliana quickly looks back to her plate, she and Jamil seem to have some kind of conversation with only facial expressions. A second later Nari has crossed the room and is dropping into a chair across from Liliana. “Everything okay?”

Liliana wants to laugh aloud, but she presses her lips together and gives a quiet, “Mm-hm.”

“You look like you don’t feel well,” Jamil points out. “If the food -”

“There’s nothing wrong with the food.” Immediately she winces. She’s not supposed to interrupt people, that’s rude and it makes people angry -

Nari breaks into her train of thought with a soft question. “Jagiya...how much food have you been getting lately?”

Oh. She’s so stupid. Of course she can’t just eat whatever she wants after practically starving for a year. She’s not going to tell them that, obviously, but a glance up at their faces tells her that they’ve already started to figure it out.

Jamil shoves his chair back and stands. “Right. Okay. See, I knew I should have asked you what you wanted. Okay, so the toast might still be alright. No, scratch that, I’ll make you a new piece with no butter, and you can put some jam on it instead. And...maybe scrambled eggs? Or do you just want to start with the toast and see how you feel?”

Suddenly it’s all just too much. Too much noise, too much conversation, too much kindness. Liliana pushes her plate back with a hand that shakes and stands quickly, eyes anywhere but on the two pitying faces watching her.

“No, it’s...I’m just not very hungry, I’m sorry. Th-thank you. It was...it was good, I’m just...not hungry. I’m gonna...can I go back to my room now?”

“Of course, Lili.” Nari’s voice is still so soft, and it makes something twist inside her gut. “You don’t need permission for that.”

“Lo siento,” she whispers. “Thanks.” She exits as quickly as she can, back to the safe haven of the unfamiliar bedroom where there’s dark and quiet and a lock on the door.

————————————————

Translations:

Cállate - shut up

Jagiya - sweetie

Lo siento - I’m sorry

#querencia #liliana the healer #jamil the hero #nari the hero #whump #whump writing #lady whumpee #lady whump #homelessness tw #mild self harm tw #starvation tw #emeto mention #self-deprecating thoughts tw #sensory overload tw #fluff and angst #original fiction

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mermaidenisaacs · 4 years

Text

isaac went to college and became a fratboy, part 2

the aftermath of hooking up with isaac lahey at a frat party includes: shame, regret, and the stupid thrill of leaving him on read

TW: sexual language, sexist language, some impure thoughts

I finally saw Isaac again.

After a fire alarm interrupted my study session at the library (some idiot burned Poptarts in the microwave again), I was forced to evacuate to a nearby dining hall. I was annoyed by the whole ordeal until the hunger pangs kicked in.

I was waiting in line for tacos when I saw him. He was sitting at a table by the windows, laughing with his head thrown back while another guy, presumably one of his frat bros, playfully shoved his shoulder and laughed along. He was surrounded by three attractive boys, one of which I recognized from my political science class last semester. I remembered him because he was unnaturally attractive, with swooped brown hair and warm chocolate eyes, and also because he had saved me from the embarrassment of forgetting to bring a scantron for the midterm by offering me one of his extras. His fratboy status aside, he was surprisingly decent. His name may have started with an ‘S.’ Steven maybe? Sam?

I couldn’t focus on him for long, not when Isaac suddenly turned in my direction and met my gaze. I froze, caught in the act of staring. The corner of Isaac’s mouth tilted upwards into a smirk, and his gaze dropped shamelessly to my legs and drifted slowly back up, and in that moment, all the memories of our night together came rushing back.

It was the first time I’d seen him since that night he had invited me to a party at his frat house, where he unceremoniously fucked me head-first into his bedroom door, then kicked me out, leaving me to retreat with my hair disheveled, makeup smudged, traces of him between my thighs. Anyone who wasn’t too drunk or high could piece together why I looked absolutely wrecked. I’m sure many girls had been seen doing the walk of shame out of Isaac’s room, and now I really was just one of the many, another notch on his bedpost.

Isaac succeeded in living up to his fuckboy reputation. After that party, he texted almost every other midnight, snapchatted borderline nude selfies of his shirtless chest or his hand palming his erection over his sweatpants, with captions like “wyd,” “you up,” or “miss this?” That last one always sent waves of arousal, tainted with shame, reminders of the way I let Isaac degrade me and use my body, the way I loved every second of it and craved to feel it again.

So far, I hadn’t texted him back, but I couldn’t resist leaving him on read. I smirked at the thought that Isaac might feel the sting of my cold indifference. It wasn’t much, and it was stupid, but it was the only power I could salvage back for myself. I avoided him in class too, and nearly gave myself leg cramps every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to sprint across campus and get to class early so I could choose a seat far away from our usual spots. I sat towards the front, an area I knew he wouldn’t encroach in fear that the professor would see him dozing off during lecture. He even texted me dirty things during class to get my attention. It was taxing to ignore the distraction, but I ignored the buzzing on my desk, letting Isaac’s stare burn a hole into the back of my head.

Eventually he got the hint and the texts stopped, and it left me with the somewhat bittersweet realization that we had reached the end of our… whatever it was.

Or so I thought. Three weeks and one burnt poptart later, there he was, staring back at me with the knowing glint in his eyes that only comes when you’ve seen someone naked.

The only available table in the dining hall was one near the windows, and I would have to walk past Isaac’s table to get there. With my tray in hand and my bag hanging off one shoulder, I steeled myself and walked in his direction.

I hung my head, letting my hair drape my face from his view, but my attempt at hiding was useless. He called out my name anyway. I tried to continue in my path and pretend I hadn’t heard him, but he called my name louder. Begrudgingly, I stopped and turned around.

“Isaac.” I said.

“So, she lives. I was starting to get worried. You never responded to my messages,” he said, subtly referencing his obscene attempts at luring me back into his bed.

I rolled my eyes and smiled back tight-lipped. “I was hoping you’d take the hint and leave me alone, but clearly you’re too dense.”

One of Isaac’s friends snorted loudly at my remark, the one I recognized from last semester. Isaac glared at him. “Sorry,” the boy said. “First time seeing a girl call you on your bullshit. I like her.”

I smiled at him, bashfully tucking my hair behind my ear. “Um, I remember you, but I’m blanking on your name. Sorry,” I said to him.

“No worries! I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Scott. We had political science last semester, right?” I nodded. “Yeah, you were the girl who forgot a scantron.”

“Yes.” I chuckled in slight embarrassment. “Thanks for that, by the way. You really saved my ass.”

“Of course! I was happy to have an excuse to talk to the pretty girl who sat next to me all semester, even if it was just for a few seconds,” he said charmingly, flashing an adorable smile. I scoffed playfully at the compliment. His gentle flirting was a welcomed change from the texts I’d been receiving from Isaac, who I noticed was suddenly glaring daggers at me. “Hey,” Scott said, “since you’re here and you know Isaac, and now you know me too, why don’t you join us?”

My eyes went wide and my mind blanked. I stuttered for an excuse. “Oh, th-that’s okay, I don’t want to intrude. Besides, there aren’t even any empty seats--”

“Oh no worries, I got you.” Scott stood up and looked around, then approached a nearby table. He spoke a few words to the group of girls studying there, who giggled at something he said and nodded. Scott picked up an empty chair at their table and brought it over, proudly presenting his contribution. “There! Please, sit.” He gestured towards the seat and smiled at me so sweetly, I felt it would be rude to reject his offer. I nodded and gingerly perched on the seat. I set down my bag and my food, and cordially gave a tiny wave to all the other boys at the table, who exchanged knowing grins.

~*~*~*~

Isaac couldn’t believe you actually accepted Scott’s offer to take a seat.

Not that Scott had left you much of a choice. He had these big brown eyes that girls usually fell for. And then there was the way he so valiantly brought a chair over for you. Isaac chewed on the flesh inside his cheek, unable to plaster on his usual easy grin. He couldn’t help it, especially now that you were sitting with him and his friends, acting all cute and polite, playing the act of the good girl again.

Normally, his pride would swell if he saw you act all prim and proper. He could bask in the satisfaction of being the only one who knew who you really were, what you really were. He knew your ticks, your kinks, what you looked like when you were coming apart all over his cock and begging him for more.

He couldn’t enjoy that knowledge today, not when his friends were staring at you like that. To any outsider, they just looked three boys engrossed in chit chat, but Isaac knew better. Behind their friendly, clean cut facade, they were all thinking the same thing, and it was far from clean. Isaac didn’t care who his friends slept with, and on occasion they even passed around the same girls, those special ones who didn’t care who they fucked as long as they had a good time.

But for some reason, the thought that any one of them, Theo or Liam, or especially Scott, laying a finger on you, made Isaac’s blood boil. Isaac tried to extract this ugly feeling, this primal possesiveness he couldn’t seem to shake when he saw another guy looking at you.

Isaac somehow managed to keep his expression neutral as you giggled at something Liam just said. The kid had managed to endear himself to you already. He was young, and in the newest pledge class, but he was a quick learner. Isaac had taken a fondness to him and decided to mentor him, taken him under his wing and transformed him into his image. Liam’s arrogance and eagerness to prove himself was something Isaac remembered from his freshman year. What he didn’t expect was that Liam would hone Isaac’s techniques to make girls fall at his feet and use them on you.

You giggled again. “Oh my god, Liam, I can’t believe you did that!” Liam had just finished telling a story about the time he knocked over a TV trying to do a drunken keg stand. “You could’ve broken your arm or something. What were you thinking?”

Liam shrugged sheepishly and grinned. “I don’t know. There was a girl I wanted to impress and she was older than me, so I just went for it ya know?”

You smiled fondly at him. “That is adorable. How much older was she? And what year are you?”

“She’s a senior and… I’m a freshman.” Liam looked down shyly and rubbed the back of his head, just like Isaac had taught him to. The lesson was to use your age to your advantage. Girls loved that cute shit.

“Aww, Liam you’re so cute! And I’m sure she thought so too.”

“You think so? That’s good. I’m kinda into older girls.” Liam bowed his head again and smiled, and Isaac would’ve been proud of how well he’d taught him, if only you weren’t on the receiving end of his little performance.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be working. You hummed casually in response. “Hm, I know what you mean. My philosophy professor last semester was so hot. She was maybe in her late 30s, and I still have no clue what she went on and on about, but it was my favorite lecture of the day.”

Isaac inwardly grinned at the way Liam’s accomplished smile faded at your unaffected response.

Theo snorted. “You had a crush on your female professor?” he drawled. “That’s kinda hot.”

“Is it? It’s not really that big of a deal. Haven’t you ever found any of your male professors attractive? I feel like the place is swarming with hot male professors.”

Theo looked at you in amusement, with a twinkle in his eyes that Isaac was all too familiar with. It was clear now Theo had his sights set on you, and usually when that happened, Theo got exactly what he wanted. “Can’t say I’ve had time to think about the men around here. I’ve been a bit too distracted with the girls.”

When Liam flirted with you, Isaac could manage his jealousy, since the kid was still mostly innocent, all talk and no real game. With Theo, all bets were off. He didn’t have an innocent bone in his body and he wasn’t afraid to let girls know, and they were always very happy to know. Isaac knew he himself had strayed far from purity a long time ago, but Theo was something else. Isaac preferred you choose anyone over Theo, maybe even Scott, who was Isaac’s closest friend, if it meant you would stay away from Theo.

“So, I’m curious,” Theo continued. “How exactly do you know Isaac?”

Isaac noticed the way your eyes widened the tiniest bit. “Oh, uh, we um, have a class together,” you said. Isaac could hear the nervous wobble in your voice as you spoke, and his lip curled up in amusement at the realization that you were nervous because you were thinking about him.

author’s note: i came across a google doc of a draft i wrote 3 years ago. a continuation of a fratboy!isaac fic that made people feel some kinda way. the fic, along with all my other fics, got zapped when my old blog got terminated. but since i found the draft and remembered how many requests i got for a part 2, here it is (kinda). 3 years later. i’m sorry.

#isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey smut #isaac lahey fanfiction #isaac lahey #teen wolf #hey it's mar

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Nights in the City

Switch AU

A JSE Fanfic

Almost forgot to queue this, oops. Luckily I remembered just in time :) Anyway, this is a chapter about Schneep, because I feel like we should give him more attention in this AU. I mean, he’s a cool badass superhero, and we haven’t seen that much superhero-ing so far! So, here’s a short chapter about what that usually entails for him, with some cameos from the boys and some background characters. Enjoy :)

More of this AU found here

When most people lied about calling in sick to work, they were planning on doing something fun with their free time. But when Schneep lied about being sick, it was because he’d heard that there were some shady dealings going down on the north side of town that morning, and he had to be there to hear the information. Truly, the life of a vigilante was a glamorous one.

At least he’d had an extra-large cup of coffee that morning to make up for it. That would keep him alert as he waited on a rooftop ledge for said shady people to show up. This would be a terrible place to lose his balance. But it was the best hiding spot in the area, partially covered by a decorative stone outcropping while still being within earshot of the street below. It was a cloudy day, and not a lot of people were out and about. Which is why, when two people walked up to each other and sat down on a bench outside the building where Schneep was hiding, he paid extra close attention.

Luckily, there wasn’t too much wind or other background noise. He managed to get the gist of what these two were talking about. They were using a lot of the common code words that criminals in the city had developed. And he was familiar enough with that code to figure out they were talking about smuggling some firearms into the city. They mentioned the west edge more than once, referencing some common location that he wasn’t familiar with. And then they left.

Schneep frowned under his mask. It wasn’t a lot to go off of...but he didn’t mind. It would be nice to distract himself with a normal criminal case. To take his mind off all the stressful supernatural shit they’d been going through for the past months. And as a distraction, it was working. As he carefully slid off the roof ledge and onto a windowsill below, he was already running through the crime hotspots he knew about in the west side of the city.

Now that he was grabbing onto the windowsill below, he was about twenty feet above ground, so he dropped off the building altogether. With the ease of years of practice, he landed on his feet, letting his specially designed boots absorb the shock of the fall. Great. Now all he had to do was go home and spend the rest of the day narrowing down locations.

But as he turned to leave, Schneep paused. There was a car parked down the street, on the opposite side. Not unusual, but...it had been parked there when he arrived to eavesdrop on the criminals’ conversation. An hour ago. And again, not too unusual, but...it just didn’t look like the kind of car that would be common in this area. It was too new and clean.

Wary, Schneep looked away from it. After a moment’s hesitation, he started to walk down the street away from the car, remaining on edge and listening for anything odd.

Sure enough, as soon as he started to walk away, he heard the sound of a car starting and pulling onto the road. Going slow. Approaching. He sped up a bit, glancing around for alternate routes.

After only a minute, the car was driving alongside him. He glanced over at it just as the window rolled down. A voice shouted, “Hey!”

And Schneep immediately turned and ran into a gap between the buildings. “Hey wait!” The voice shouted, and he heard the car stop, but he didn’t slow down. There was a fire escape up ahead with a ladder, pulled up so the end was about six and a half feet off the ground. He jumped, catching onto the bottom rung, and started climbing. There were more shouts on the ground below. He didn’t pay attention to what they were saying. Instead, once he reached the first landing of the fire escape, he pushed open the window and ducked inside the—fortunately—abandoned building.

He quickly found the staircase and climbed up until he reached the roof access. Once up there, he glanced around and noticed that this building was fairly close to one of the ones next to it. So without hesitation, he jumped across the gap and onto the next building’s roof. Only then did he pause, and look over the edge to the street below.

The building was about five stories tall. Short enough that he could see a figure on the sidewalk below, tall enough to make it difficult to tell who they were. Luckily, he didn’t have to. He’d gotten a pretty good look of her when she rolled down the car window earlier. It was that detective, Kikelomo. The one who’d been working on Jackie’s disappearance, and later, the kids’ as well. And...the detective he’d ran into when he’d snuck into the police station a month ago.

“Scheiße,” Schneep cursed. He’d half-hoped that she’d forgotten about seeing him, but apparently not. And apparently she’d managed to put together that the stranger from that day was him...or, more accurately, was his ‘hero identity,’ Von Voltage. It wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d zapped a couple people when getting away. Probably a big no-no to zap people working for the police, but he’d been more concerned with leaving as fast as possible.

Was she looking for him? She must have been, but how did she find him? Silently, Schneep watched as she walked out to her car—which she parked in the middle of the street when she got out to chase him, that was a bit of a dick move—and climbed into the driver’s side, soon speeding off. He waited until the car was out of sight before leaving.

———————

A while later, Schneep arrived at Marvin and Jameson’s house, still in his super suit. He’d been careful not to be seen while running here, just in case Kikelomo was still trailing him without him knowing. But by the time he reached their street, he was pretty sure she was gone. This neighborhood wasn’t too busy, any activity was noteworthy. But he didn’t see anything strange. And JJ’s car was still in his driveway, so at least one of them was home.

Letting himself relax a bit, Schneep hurried to their front door, pulling his mask off as soon as he reached the doorstep. Without knocking, he opened the door, calling out, “Hello? Who is home?” And then he froze.

Normally, the front hall of the town house was empty. But not today. And the person he ran into wasn’t Marvin or JJ. It was Jack. Leaning against the wall by the kitchen entrance, Sam on his shoulder, looking at his phone. But he looked up at the sound of Schneep’s voice. And slowly, took in the outfit he was wearing. “Well that would explain some things,” he muttered, looking down at Sam. “Wouldn’t it?” They nodded.

“I—I—uh—you—it’s—ah—” Schneep stammered for a few seconds before clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?” he asked, slowly closing the front door behind him.

“JJ called me. There’s...um...a situation.” Jack gestured towards the kitchen entrance. Now that Schneep was getting over the shock of running into a stranger, he could hear someone’s voice coming from the room. “Apparently everyone else was busy.”

Schneep frowned. “Excuse me.” He walked past Jack and peered into the kitchen.

The voice that Schneep could hear was Marvin’s. He was arguing loudly with JJ. But Schneep could tell that wasn’t the ‘situation’ Jack was referring to. No, the ‘situation’ probably had to do with the fact that Marvin was pale as a sheet and sweating, even as he continued to argue. JJ wasn’t arguing back because his hands were busy helping keep Marvin upright, arms wrapped around his torso. Marvin clearly didn’t have the energy to stand on his own, and was holding onto JJ’s shirt tightly, even as he continued to protest.

“—not worth th’ trouble, it’s all fine,” Marvin was saying. “Y’can just go on and stop fuckin’ worryin’ about me. I can handle t’is, ‘ve done it a million times.”

JJ frowned, and didn’t say anything. Oddly enough, he was wearing his mask today, usually he only wore that for performances. He glanced over towards the door that connected the kitchen and the dining room. A red-haired woman was standing there, but at his look, she said, “Right, right,” and stepped aside. Immediately, JJ started dragging Marvin to the dining room.

“Hey! No! Drop it, Jems!” Marvin hit him weakly in the shoulder. “I don’ need to sit down.”

JJ just looked at him doubtfully.

Schneep felt this was a good moment to interject. “Ah, am I interrupting something?”

The two of them looked over at him. “Henrik! Tell him ‘m fine!” Marvin said.

“Sorry, I cannot do that,” Schneep said. “I would hate to lie to my friends.”

“Wha...?” Marvin groaned. “Alrigh’ fffffine, I’ll go...go sit at the table.” JJ looked relieved, and helped him over to the dining room, gesturing for Schneep to join them.

Nodding, Schneep retreated back into the hallway, circling around to the dining room. Jack, having heard most of that exchange, followed him.

Over in the dining room, Marvin had taken a seat at the table, leaning forward. He looked like he wanted to put his head down on the surface, but was barely resisting the urge. JJ was standing next to him, and the redheaded woman was standing off to the side. Upon seeing her, Schneep tried to retreat, again remembering that he was still wearing his super suit. Unfortunately, she caught sight of him before he could back out of the room. She gave him a friendly smile and waved.

“So...what is happening?” Schneep asked slowly.

JJ started to explain in sign language. I have rehearsal today. The first one since the...voice accident. So I really need to go. But Marvin got sick this morning and I didn’t want to leave him alone, because of how he is. But he’s insisting I go anyway and I didn’t need to call anyone to watch him, because he’s fine. A lot of the words were finger-spelled, slowing down the speech, but he was starting to get the hang of it. Nowadays he signed more frequently than he wrote.

“I see.” Schneep nodded wisely. A rehearsal, that would explain why JJ was wearing his mask. “And so you called these two to help?” He indicated Jack and the redheaded woman.

I called Jack, Jameson said, finger-spelling the name. Because Jackie’s at work, and Anti’s busy recording today, and I thought you were at work, too. I thought Jack could help, if it wasn’t a bother.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Jack said. “I was happy to come over and hang out. There’s just the bonus matter of making sure Marvin doesn’t kill himself.”

“I know what ‘m doin’,” Marvin grumbled.

You do, you just decide to cause problems on purpose, JJ rebutted.

“Okay,” Schneep said, mentally filing away the fact that Jack knew BSL. He turned to the redheaded woman. “And you are...?”

“I’m Aoife,” the woman said. “A friend of Jameson’s. He invited me to watch his rehearsal, since apparently he likes to have someone in the audience usually and Marvin wasn’t up for it. But I don’t know how to get to the theatre where he’s rehearsing, so I thought I’d stop by to ask Jameson if he could drive me. When I walked in, these two were faffing about.”

“No, Jems was faffing, I wasn’,” Marvin protested.

“Everyone is Irish,” Schneep muttered. “Dare I ask what that means?”

I understand it means ‘wasting time,’ basically, Jameson said.

“An’ you were def’nitely wasting time,” Marvin added. “Ye’ll be late at...at t’is rate.”

I’d be okay with that, as long as someone’s here to make sure you don’t do anything to tire yourself out.

“Stop worryin’ ‘bout me, you always...ye always worry ‘bout others. Be concerned with yourself, for once. Spreading too thin, stop.” Marvin’s words were starting to slur together.

“Well, ah, I was stopping by to ask if I could stay for a while,” Schneep asked. “So...I could stay and help out.”

Would you? Jameson asked.

“Of course.”

“Ye jus’ poppin’ in to check on us?” Marvin grinned a bit. “Real swell o’you.”

“That, and...ah...” Schneep awkwardly looked down at his costume. “I was out, and I didn’t—I-I wasn’t ready to go home yet. Not that there is any danger, I just...for me.” Even though he was sure Detective Kikelomo hadn’t followed him here, there was a lingering sense of paranoia that wouldn’t leave him alone.

It’s fine, Henrik, Jameson said. Jack, do you want to stay?

“If everyone’s fine with it,” Jack said cheerfully.

Marvin muttered something under his breath, finally laying his head down on the table. He appeared to have given up on getting JJ to not worry about him.

That would be so helpful, thank you both. JJ sighed. He shook Marvin’s shoulder, getting his attention. Call me if you need anything. And please, actually take the medicine this time?

“Sure, Jems,” Marvin said softly. “I promise. Now get out o’here.”

JJ nodded, and headed out, gesturing for Aoife to follow him. I’ll see all of you this afternoon. Five at the latest.

“Have fun, Jameson,” Schneep said. “Do lots of mag—oof!”

“Oh, sorry!” Aoife had bumped into him as she walked past to leave the room. She gave him a smile. “I didn’t mean it, I was trying to be quiet.”

“Is fine, do not worry,” Schneep assured her.

“Great. Oh, and if you find it, don’t get rid of it, will you?” Before Schneep could ask what she meant, she breezed past him and followed JJ out of the door.

Schneep was quiet for a moment, staring after her. Then he turned back to Jack and Marvin. “Do you two know what she meant?”

Marvin paused. “No, but I do know somet’ing. Aoife, she’s...she’s Jems’s magician friend. Works for whatever magic...place there is out there. For magicians. An’ she’s told him that she...her specialty is divination. So it’s probably important.”

Schneep blinked. “Divination? Like...seeing the future?” He couldn’t hide the skeptical tone in his voice.

“It’s not so weird,” Jack said. “Like, Sam gets feelings that they should go do something. That’s how they met all of you. I think that’s a form of divination, if just a minor bit of it.” Sam jumped in agreement.

“Well...alright.” Schneep decided to put that aside for now. “Ah, Marvin. Were you doing anything in particular that made Jems think he should call someone?”

Marvin hesitated. “I was tryin’ t’make tea,” he finally mumbled.

“Oh, tea. That sounds like a good idea,” Schneep said. “I will go make some, then.”

“...t’ank you.”

“No problem at all.” And Schneep headed back into the kitchen, determined to forget about the detective who was looking for him.

———————

The next few days passed uneventfully. Schneep would spend his nights scouting out locations, looking for a place that could fit the area the two criminals were referring to. They mentioned this arms deal going down a week from then, so he had that much time to narrow down where it could be taking place. He settled on three possible locations in the western part of the city that could fit, and decided to check each of them when the day came.

Said day arrived quickly, and it dawned rainy. That was annoying. And cold, because of course it was, it was practically winter by this point. His suit was insulated, but he still felt the chill. He could’ve just let it go, but he didn’t become a notorious vigilante by giving up. So he found himself running about in the rain for hours, tracking down the locations.

The first two were busts, no suspicious activity there. But as they say, the third time was the charm. Schneep arrived at an old electronics shop just as the sun was starting to go down on the dark rainy day. The sign out front said it was closed, but the lights were on inside. Not too unusual. Except for the fact that he’d suspected this place was some sort of front for a while.

Schneep waited in the shadows across the street, making sure the glowing parts of his costume were turned off, and watched the shop. He’d brought along a pair of binoculars for the scouting that day, and kept an eye on the front and side entrances. It was a few minutes before he caught sight of movement near the side. People. He couldn’t make out the details, but someone appeared in the front window to close the blinds. Maybe nothing. Or maybe...

It warranted further investigation. Schneep slipped the binoculars into a backpack, which he left tucked into a space in the wall caused by missing bricks, and hurried across the street to the shop. There weren’t many alternative entrances to this place. He’d checked. The closest thing was a window in the back, so he circled around the building to reach it. The window was high in the wall, but there were some trash cans in the nearby alley that he pulled over so he could reach it.

Carefully, he peered over the ledge through the window. It was a bit difficult to make out the room at first, since the glass was dirty on the inside and covered in rain on the outside, but he could see a group of people. Eight of them, separated into two groups of four. And wouldn’t you know it? He recognized two of them as the pair he’d overheard last week.

The window was the type that would slide open. So Schneep slid it open an inch, listening for voices over the sound of the rain.

“—just hurry up, neither of us want this to last forever,” one voice was saying.

“Okay, okay. Don’t get your pants in a twist.” There was the sound of cloth rustling. “See? It’s right here.”

“How do we know it’s all there? And real?”

“Well, how do we know you aren’t handing over some shoddy weapons? Or ones that’ll be tracked by the coppers?”

“Just shut up,” a different voice said. “If we keep goin’ this way, we’ll be at a standoff all night. Let’s just exchange goods at the same time, then check them over.”

“Right.”

“That sounds fine to me.”

Just by this snippet of conversation, Schneep figured out that there were two groups in this exchange, and they had some trust issues with each other. Great, that would mean he’d be fighting two groups of four instead of one unified group of eight. Hopefully, some of them would try to run or attack the other group when he jumped in. And speaking of which...this seemed like a good time. When the ‘goods’ were changing hands. Silently, he slid open the window. It opened wide enough for a person. So he grabbed the edge of the windowsill, braced himself, and just as someone inside was saying, “Hey, the window’s open—” he leapt through.

He landed in the center of the room, causing instant confusion and shouting. Quickly, he grabbed the nearest person and zapped them, instantly knocking them unconscious. There was a large crate on a wheeled dolly nearby, so he kicked that towards two others. One jumped out of the way but the other was surprised and easily got knocked over.

“This was a setup!” One of the criminals shouted, pulling out a knife. “You dirty bastards!”

“Don’t pin this on us!” Another yelled, pulling out a knife of her own.

So none of them had firearms. At least, that he could see. And he assumed that the crate had some inside, so that was a factor. He’d have to be—

One of the criminals came charging at him, swiping with a knife. Schneep dodged out of the way, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid the blade grazing across his upper arm. Luckily, it didn’t break through the suit. He grabbed the culprit’s arm with both hands and, with a fair amount of effort, threw them into another criminal who was also running towards him. He let out another burst of electricity from his gloves as he did so, rendering that one unconscious as well. Then he ducked close to the ground, scooping up the knife the criminal dropped in surprise when he threw him, and dodged to the side, avoiding the sudden rush of every other criminal trying to grab him at once.

So that was two down, one temporarily out of commission as he tried to wiggle out from under the body of his friend. The one he’d hit with the crate was standing up, trying to pry open the lid. “Oh no, don’t you dare,” Schneep growled, lunging over towards the crate and grabbing one edge of it. The criminal looked up at him, shocked, then tried to punch him. He ducked, and swung the knife he’d picked up. The criminal ducked in turn, but didn’t notice that Schneep had also lunged forward, other hand coming from the other side and knocking him unconscious with a single hit. Three down.

Two of the remaining ones were now fighting with each other—as he’d predicted—and grappling in the corner. The one who’d been knocked down was standing again, recovering her bearings, and the other two were running at him. Quickly, he decided on a priority: get the crate full of guns out of reach of any of these people before taking them out. So naturally, he pushed it forward again. The two running at him leaped out of the way, clearly not wanting the same thing to happen to them as happened to their friend. Schneep took advantage of their distraction and ran after the crate, grabbing the edge of the dolly and swinging it around so it was facing the room’s door. Then he pushed it out, running after it.

“Hey!” They were shouting after him, but he couldn’t slow down. The crate, being large and heavy, was swiftly gaining momentum as it rolled down the hall. He managed to turn it through the open doorway leading to the front of the shop, but once it was in there, all he could do was aim it for the front entrance.

The crate easily smashed through the double doors and rolled out onto the street, impacting the side of a car—wait, a car?!

A siren started up, and blue lights started to flash through the blinds of the front window. Schneep let out a string of curses under his breath. He could either turn back and try to leave through the window or the side entrance, facing a small group of criminals with knives, or go through the front door and try to avoid who-knows-how-many police officers, none of whom liked him.

He thought about it for a split second before turning and going back into the back of the shop. Luckily, the criminals were also taken by surprise, so he managed to slip by them and out through the side entrance before they could. He started to run, but then paused. He grabbed one of the trash cans that he hadn’t used to get through the back window and pulled it in front of the side door, barring it. Then he started to run, heading towards the opposite end of the alley.

But then a bright yellow light shone into the alleyway. Schneep glanced behind him just long enough to confirm his first thoughts: car headlights. And a voice shouted, “You there!” and he turned and ran. Hopefully the still-falling rain would make it easy for him to lose them.

“Wait! Don’t run again!” Footsteps splashed behind him, but he didn’t stop. He ran until he reached the other end of the alley and emerged onto the opposite street. This side was empty. He glanced left, then right, then turned left and kept running. The footsteps were keeping pace with him, but if he could just get to a ladder or something he could lose them on the rooftops.

One of the streetlamps overhead was out, leaving a patch of shadow on the sidewalk and road. He ran underneath it and looked back towards the person behind—

Slip.

Because of the rain, the broken streetlamp, and that backwards glance, he didn’t see the water pooling on the sidewalk, or notice the curb that marked the corner of the street. One misstep was all it took for him to fall hard onto the street, hitting his head, and everything flashed white before fading to black.

———————

The pain was the first thing Schneep noticed when regaining consciousness. The back of his head felt like his skull had split open. The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on...a seat of some kind. A sofa? Well, it was a hard and unusually small sofa if that was the case. He heard voices as well, or maybe just one, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, so he ignored them and opened his eyes. Black spots danced in front of him, a shadowy face faded into his peripheral vision before fading away. Well, that was normal, so he ignored that, too. “Ja, piss off,” he muttered.

“Well, that’s a bit rude.”

That voice...sounded a bit more solid. And as he looked around his surroundings, it reinforced that first impression. He wasn’t lying on a sofa, but in the backseat of a car. Rain dotted the windows, and a light in the ceiling overhead lit up the scene in a yellow-white glow. He glanced towards the direction the voice had come from. And came face to face with Detective Kikelomo, sitting in the front seat of the car, looking around the back of the seat to stare at him.

His heart stopped. He realized he wasn’t wearing his mask anymore. Okay, time to disregard the slight murmurings that he could still hear, this was higher priority. After a moment of staring at her, frozen, he lurched into a sitting position and turned around to try and open the car door. That didn’t work, because first, it was locked, and second, the sudden motion sent a wave of nausea coursing through him. He groaned again, pressing his forehead to the car window and clenching his teeth.

“Be careful,” Kikelomo said. “You were out for a few minutes, and you might have a concussion. I was going to offer to drive you to the hospital after this.”

“Is fine,” Schneep said through gritted teeth. “I can take care of it.” Jackie would be waiting for him back at his apartment anyway. Though he didn’t like the idea of making him worried with a possible concussion, it was probably better to get his opinion first before taking it to a doctor who’d ask questions.

“Take care of it the way you took care of that puddle Rachel said you slipped in?” At this point, Schneep realized there was someone else in the car, in the front passenger seat. A woman, with blonde hair cut to chin-length. “Real nice for some superhero.”

“Shut...up.” Schneep squeezed his eyes shut. God, his head still hurt. But more importantly...“Am I being detained?”

“Well...” Kikelomo picked at the stitching on her leather seat, glanced over at the other woman, then looked back at Schneep. “No. Not exactly.”

That wasn’t what he was expecting. Schneep looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”

“That wasn’t my plan at all,” Kikelomo said. “Though...I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t considering it. I was going back and forth, but then...well...that note convinced me.”

“Note?” Schneep asked, confused.

The other woman held up a folded piece of paper, a bit wet from the rain but not enough to lose its integrity. “This fell out of your...costume...when we were dragging you into the car. What’s this about, anyway?”

Schneep managed to sit up straight. “May I see that?”

The woman shrugged, and handed it over. He quickly unfolded it. There was a message written on it, in solid, straight handwriting. It read: To Rachel and Lydia. He means you no harm, and is no threat to you. I think you should let him go, because he’s currently dealing with something that your normal police can’t handle. It’d be better for everyone that way. Oh, and swing by that shop on Everett that you’ve been wanting to visit on Saturday :)

He read it a couple times, processing what it said. “I...have no idea what this is,” he finally admitted.

“Really?” Kikelomo said doubtfully.

“Really, I—” Schneep paused. “Oh.” Last week, when he’d gone to Marvin and JJ’s house. That magician friend of JJ’s, Aoife, had bumped into him. She said something weird about not getting rid of something ‘if he found it.’ This must be that something. “I understand now. It got slipped into one of my pockets, I did not even know it was there.”

Kikelomo still looked unsure. “Well...who put it there? And how did they know our first names?”

Schneep shrugged. “Someone who bumped into me. A stranger.” Not technically a lie, he wasn’t familiar with Aoife. But Marvin said she had divination magic. Had she...known this would happen?

“Alright, fine, let’s put that aside for now,” Kikelomo dismissed. “You’re not being detained, but I would like to ask you a few questions.”

“Only if you let me ask you some first,” Schneep insisted. “How did you find me? What are you planning to do? Who is this other person?”

“My name’s Lydia,” the other woman said casually. “I’m her fiancée.”

“Ah. Okay. Then what are you doing here?”

“Helping. This was all her idea, but I thought I’d join in. And good thing I did, someone needed to bring the car around when you knocked yourself the fuck out just a street over from a police raid.”

“That is fair,” Schneep relented.

“Let me start with your first question,” Kikelomo said. “I know you follow a lot of the illicit activity in the city. So, I kept my ears open for any cases going on that you might be interested in. We got a tip that there were some negotiations going on between the Striped Snakes and Monte Blanca, and I thought you might be interested in that. Apparently it was a well-known fact in the underworld. So I just followed along with the investigation.” She paused. “Technically, I’m not supposed to be here,” she admitted.

Schneep took a moment to process this. “So...you were investigating, out on your own, with the possibility of getting in trouble for it...on the chance that you would run into me.”

“...yes,” Kikelomo mumbled.

“Hey, trust me Mr. Voltage Guy, this is the first time she’s done something like this,” Lydia said. She sounded rather upbeat about that fact, almost proud.

“But I knew I had to!” Kikelomo protested. “After you snuck into the records at the police station, it took me a while to realize I’d seen you before. Actually, Rya was the one who remembered. You’re a friend of Dr. Parker, aren’t you?” Schneep hesitated, not willing to answer. But that was enough. “I thought it was strange that you risked going into the station, but once I figured out you were friends with him—he disappeared, didn’t he? And so did his daughter and her friend? It’s an unusual set of circumstances, and since you like to take the law into your own hands, I figured you were trying to do something about it. Aren’t you?”

Schneep rolled his eyes, then winced as that caused a few more black spots to dance before his eyes. He really should get his head looked at soon. “You say that about taking the law into my own hands, but are you not doing the same thing, following me, tagging along on a case that wasn’t yours? Hmm?”

“I...” Kikelomo paused. “This is for my case. It’s my job to find out what happened to your friend and those kids, and if you can help—”

“Well I can’t,” Schneep interrupted.

Kikelomo blinked. “Look...I understand that you...have an operation...here. And I will admit, it does actually help in some circumstances, even if you break a thousand laws on the way. But clearly, whoever is behind this has skill. Not only have they managed to stay hidden this long, but I believe they somehow manipulated your friend’s and the kids’ memories, which is no small feat. In this case, the resources of the police are more qualified to handle this.”

At that, Schneep couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Kikelomo watched, shifting awkwardly in her seat and giving Lydia a few unsure glances. “Maybe I should...rephrase what I said,” Schneep finally said. “You cannot help me. You are not qualified for this. Trust me, I am barely qualified for this. And, quite frankly, you do not want to be involved. I often disagree with the saying ‘ignorance is bliss,’ but I think it applies in this situation.”

Kikelomo was unsure how to respond. She glanced at Lydia, who just shrugged and said, “Remember that note? It said something about the normal police not being able to handle this.”

“Even so, I can’t imagine a situation where you don’t want more hands on deck. Unless this is somehow...I don’t know, if the government is involved or if it’ll cause a scandal. But still, I’d think I’d pick up if this was something like that.”

“No, you wouldn’t. The people who want stuff like that under wraps are very good at keeping it that way.”

“Still.” Kikelomo glanced back over at Schneep, who said nothing. He didn’t care what she thought about this situation, as long as she left it alone. “We could provide protection for your friend—”

“No, you cannot,” Schneep said firmly.

And Kikelomo fell silent again. Then she slowly turned around and started the car. “If we’re not taking you to the hospital, where are we going?”

“Drop me off on the corner of Underhill and Yew,” Schneep said, pulling his mask back on despite knowing it wouldn’t help anymore. “And please stop following me. You are just making me paranoid all the time.”

The car ride that followed was awkward and silent, but luckily, it was soon over, and Schneep stepped out of the car and onto a rainy street. He didn’t move until they were gone, and then he sighed. Well, that was bad. He didn’t want anyone knowing his identity, much less a detective and her girlfriend. But hopefully, they’d drop the matter, and he’d never run into them again.

———————

Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed two days later.

It was getting towards the end of his work shift, and Schneep was ready to leave. Not for any particular reason, he just didn’t have the energy. He’d considered taking the day off for medical purposes by calling in and telling his manager that he’d hit his head a couple days ago and had to stay home. Even if Jackie said that he’d be alright, that would still be reason enough. But he’d decided against it on the grounds that he’d already taken a few days off and risked losing his job if he did it again.

So here he was. Staring at the wall clock in the chance that it’ll go faster if he watched it. Then he heard the familiar sound of the front entrance opening and closing and Jennifer, his coworker, said, “Could you get that? I’m working on the order for the last guys.”

Sighing, he nodded, and headed out to the front counter. “Hello, welcome to Latte Lake, what can I—” Then he stopped. “You are fucking kidding me.”

The pair of customers who’d just walked in were none other than Detective Kikelomo and Lydia. Clearly off-duty, wearing casual street clothes and looking relaxed, but it was them nonetheless. And they looked just as surprised as he did. “Ohhh, that’s why the note said to come here,” Lydia muttered.

“The note—oh.” Schneep took a deep breath as he remembered the last line of the note Aoife had put in his suit. Something about the two of them going to a shop on Everett. The street where Latte Lake, the shop he worked at, was located. That should have rang a few bells when he read it, but there were a lot of shops on the street, and he’d had more pressing matters on his mind. “The next time I see that—that magician, I am going to kill her,” he muttered.

“Sounds like someone really wanted us to continue the conversation, if you ask me,” Kikelomo said, sounding a bit smug.

“Can we not do this now?” Schneep asked. “Do you know how much of a—how bad of an asshole you have to be to do something like this while someone is at work, and cannot leave? An awful one. No. Stop this.”

“Ah...well, sorry,” Kikelomo muttered. “But we didn’t come here intending to do that. We just wanted to check out the cute little cafe.” She paused. “Alright, this is the last thing I’ll say. Are you sure you don’t need our help? I mean, we’re professionals and you’re...well, you’re very good, but it’s different.”

Schneep rubbed his eyes. “Look. I do not say this because I hate you, or any of the pol—the people you work with. I say this because you literally cannot help. You cannot catch Dis—the person behind this. You cannot do anything to him. Anything you can think of will not work. We are...are just...surviving. Avoiding him. We are working on stopping him, but so far, we cannot. And you will not be any better at it. I promise you.”

Kikelomo thought about this. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“I—” Schneep choked. Even letting that slip was too much. “No. Don’t. I am asking you politely, stop talking about this. I can go in the back and just stay there, I am only talking to you out of courtesy. Just...stop. Give it up.”

Lydia nudged Kikelomo. “Hey Rachel? Maybe drop it for now.”

And Kikelomo sighed. “Alright. I’ll drop it for now. But this isn’t over, I can promise you that. I’m a detective. I will figure out what’s going on.”

“And when you do, you will see how right I am,” Schneep said stubbornly. “Now if you will excuse me.” He turned around and called out, “Jennifer? Are you okay with switching?”

“Yeah, sure, Henrik,” Jennifer replied, not noticing the way Schneep winced as she said his name out loud in front of the detective. Silently, he switched places with her, and things went back to normal as Kikelomo and Lydia placed orders, sat down to wait, and then eventually left the shop once their orders were ready.

His shift ended soon after that, and he practically ran out of the door and down towards the bus stop. As he waited for the bus to arrive, he wondered. Should he have told them the truth? It may have been unbelievable, with magicians and a man out of time and a strange gray smiling creature tormenting them all. But maybe he could have convinced them?

No. No, it was just too unbelievable. And he didn’t want to be judged for it, especially when the person doing the judging had the power to do something about it. His situation was just too precarious, being a vigilante in a city where that was illegal. He couldn’t risk a detective having a low opinion of him.

Still, he was sure that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see Detective Kikelomo. If she was so determined to figure out what was going on...maybe she’d be able to find the truth. And when that happened, Schneep would be happy to accept whatever help she offered. But he wasn’t going to be the one making the first move. He simply couldn’t afford to.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #jacksepticeye au #septic egos au #dr schneeplestein #brigid writes fanfiction #septicswitchau

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skullrock · 4 years

Text

the campers, chapter seven

chapter seven - the fight

series summary: Steve gets a job as a camp counselor at Camp Know Where, intending on using the summer to discover himself. When things start to go wrong at camp, the only people that can help him are the Party, Hopper, and his mortal enemy - you. [Enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort]

chapter summary: Steve, Hopper, and the Party talk theories while you and Steve engage in a feud.

warnings: swearin’ <3 angst <3

word count: 2.8k

a/n: you can catch up on the series here! I changed two whole words in the summary to make it more accurate <3

===

The camp was on a full lockdown after the second camper went missing.

Campers now had to be escorted everywhere by a counselor. Counselors also had to escort each other. There was a sinister feeling in the air, one that left everyone uneasy. One camper going missing was one thing; two going missing was another thing entirely. It didn’t seem like an unfortunate coincidence anymore. It seemed intentional and evil.

The people who thought this most were, of course, The Party, Jim Hopper, and Steve Harrington. The evening the news of the second camper broke, everyone squished themselves into a double bedroom, theorizing and planning.

Steve came late - he had to escort campers to the dining hall. His mind hasn’t thought of anything except the missing camper. No one Steve talked to knew who it was, and he had no time to talk to you or any of the kids, beyond Mike telling him to meet in his room at nine. His chest felt tight all day, worried it was someone in the Party. Someone who had been trying to play hero and got caught up in whatever this all was. His heart hammered as he rushed towards Mike’s cabin, slipping into the crowded room with his head spinning.

The room falls silent as he barges in. Hopper is sitting at Mike’s desk while everyone else is spread around the beds and the floor. Everyone looks fearful, and as Steve’s eyes scan the room, he notices the lack of Dustin. Suzie is there, but no Dustin.

Steve’s heart drops.

“Where’s Dustin?” he asks, voice cracking.

“Relax,” Max says. “He snuck out to get pudding from the cafeteria.”

“Snuck out?” Steve hisses, but his body relaxes in relief. “He can’t be out there right now -”

“Steve,” Hopper cuts in, and beckons him to take a seat.

Steve figures that if Hopper’s not concerned, then he shouldn’t be, either. He sits beside El and Mike on Mike’s bed, staying close to Hop as he waits for information.

Hopper keeps his hand over his mouth for a moment, deep in thought, before speaking, directly to Steve, the only other adult in the room. “The camper that went missing was the same age and size as Will.” He tilts his head towards Will, who seems almost catatonic in fear. “And the last camper that went missing was also the same age and size as Will.”

“Well, what do you think that means?” Steve asks. “Do you think it’s looking for him?”

“Will said he can’t feel the Mind Flayer,” Mike interjects. “Right, Will?”

Will goes pale, eyes darting to the floor.

“Right, Will?” Mike repeats, a bit of an edge to his voice.

Will looks back up, shaking his head a little bit. His hand goes to the back of his neck and he shakes his head some more. “I can’t feel him, but I can feel him.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Max says, brows furrowed.

“It’s like… it’s like he’s not here, he’s there,” Will explains. “But there is close.”

“The Upside Down?” Lucas asks, and Will nods.

“I think it’s close, but I don’t know how close,” he explains. “I can’t feel him in this realm, but I think I can feel him in the Upside Down.”

“I can feel it, too,” El says quietly.

Mike and Hopper look at her, scandalized.

“You can feel it? Feel what?” Hopper asks.

“The Upside Down.” El shifts, pulling her legs up to her chest. “I can feel it nearby, but I can’t see it or find it.”

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “So you think the Upside Down isn’t in Hawkins, it’s here?”

El and Will nod in unison, frowning.

“Well that’s just great,” Steve says, standing up. “That’s good. That’s great. So it followed us.”

“Maybe it knew El and Will were here,” Lucas tries to explain, but Hopper shakes his head.

“Why would it want Will again?” he asks quietly. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“If they feel something, then it has to be nearby,” Mike says. “Why would both of them feel it at the same time?”

“I don’t know,” Hopper says harshly. “But I’m taking you two -” he points at El and Mike, “back to Hawkins.”

“What?” everyone asks in unison.

“It’s not safe for them here,” Hopper explains, raising his voice over the racket.

“It’s not safe for anyone here,” Steve says, putting his hands on his hips. His heartbeat accelerates at the thought of you being here when this shit is happening. “We need to get to the bottom of this before anyone else gets hurt.”

The room falls quiet. Steve knows, Steve understands that no one wants to deal with this shit again. He gets that. But someone has to, and if it has to be him, then so be it. That’s usually how it goes, anyway.

“I’m not leaving until we figure this out,” he says. “So if -”

The door opens and Dustin walks in, you on his heels, looking frazzled. Dustin has a copious amount of pudding cups balanced in his arms, and you’re carrying two - the ones he managed to drop. You’d found him sneaking around on his own and accompanied him, irritated that no one else went with him.

Everyone freezes at the sight of you, bodies going stiff. Your eyes scan the room, confused - there are way too many people in here, and you don’t know who the hell this grown ass man is. Your eyes fall to Steve, brows furrowed, and then you say, “Why didn’t anybody go with him?”

“Didn’t know he was going,” Steve says, pulling Dustin into the room.

Steve’s irritated - enraged, maybe. You weren’t supposed to be here - Suzie wasn’t, either, but he could at least control what you were a part of. Dustin allowing you to come so far, literally into the room where they’re referencing things you could be killed for, makes his blood boil. Dustin groans at the feeling of Steve’s fingers burying into his arm and he drops the pudding cups.

“God dammit,” Dustin says, shrugging out of his grip and rubbing his arm. “What the hell was that for?”

“It’s curfew,” you say awkwardly, not understanding what’s going on. “You should all be -”

“So should you,” Steve snaps.

You straighten at his tone, glaring at him. Steve sighs and steps towards the door, holding his hand up to the Party before slipping out with you.

“What the hell?” you whisper. “Why are you so pressed and who the hell is that guy?”

“It’s nothing,” he lies. “I need you to go back to your cabin.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m one of those kids,” you say, beckoning towards the door. “I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t be out -”

“I wouldn’t be out if you’d just taken Dustin -”

“I didn’t know he was going!” he whisper-shouts, becoming more irritated. “Go back to your cabin.”

“You’re not the boss of me -”

“Right now, I am.”

You scoff, your own rage building. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Steve shakes his head and licks his lips, looking over your shoulder. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

Steve sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair again. “It’s complicated.”

You frown and your eyes soften, letting your shoulders relax. You can see how stressed he is and you step forward to reach for him, but he steps back, out of your reach. You frown further and your shoulders slump. “You can talk to me. You know I’m here for you.”

Steve’s inner turmoil reaches a near-boiling point here. He wants to tell you, just like he wanted to tell you at the waterfall. He wants to be like Dustin, he wants to trust and assume things will work out. But he doesn’t want you dead, and he doesn’t want you hurt. He doesn’t want you caught up in any of this. Steve feels his chest tighten, fighting with himself, before he makes the decision to push you away.

“You can’t be right now,” he says. He steps forward and puts his hands on your biceps, pushing you towards the exit. “You need to go.”

“Steve!” you nearly shout, pushing him off of you. “Do not touch me like that.”

Like muscle memory, Steve’s angry venom takes hold of himself yet again, just as it did in high school. Without thinking, he snaps, “You didn’t say that last night.”

You pause in shock, his words running through your head. You scoff and shake your head. “What does that mean?”

Steve feels bile rising in his throat, and he swears he can see Nancy standing before him, not you. He puts up the wall in a desperate attempt to not break down, his jaw clenching and fists balling up. “Don’t you ever stop to think why I don’t tell you things? Why I don’t trust you? Why I didn’t want to touch you last night?”

“Shut up,” you whisper, feeling your chest twist. “You’re being an asshole.”

“I’ve been pushing you away my whole life, why don’t you get the message?”

You know it’s a bluff, but you don’t understand why. You don’t get the total 180 he’s pulling, but you have a bad feeling in your gut. Like maybe he’s involved in shit he shouldn’t be involved in, or maybe he knows too much about the missing campers. Steve doesn’t seem evil, but his inability to open up to you makes you feel sick, and angry, and hurt.

“Stop,” you beg. “Stop being… stop being… you’re bullshit.”

You know it was a mistake the moment it left your lips, and Steve’s eyes hardening and welling with tears reinforces that. But you’re still mad, and you don’t think he has the right to be tearful right now, and it enrages you so much that you repeat it. “You’re bullshit.”

Steve feels the wall crashing down and he does everything to keep it up, locks his knees upright, clenches his fist, grits his teeth. “You think I’m bullshit?”

“You really don’t care about me, do you?” you ask, trying to keep your own wall up, trying to not let the tears fall freely down your cheeks. “Is that why you can’t remember any good thing about me? Because you don’t want to? Because you don’t care?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say, because it’s all a lie. Of course he cares about you, of course he remembers you fondly. Of course he regrets the way he treated you. Of course he’s proud of the person he’s become, and of course he owes that to you.

But he can not and will not admit that right now.

“I don’t,” he says quietly, not even understanding the words leaving his own mouth. “I don’t.”

You weren’t expecting that.

“You don’t?” you repeat.

“I don’t.” He says it louder this time, trying to convince himself it’s true. But he’s still mad, and he wants what he says to hurt, because you hurt him. “And you know what I think is bullshit?”

You don’t answer - you can only stare while forcing the tip of your tongue into the roof of your mouth.

He still remembers the words he told Nancy in the alley by the gym two years ago. I think you’re bullshit. He remembers the anger and heartbreak behind the words, how they hurt to come out, how they made his mouth dry and knees weak.

“I think you’re bullshit,” he says, and then he walks back into Mike’s room, slamming the door behind him.

You stare at the pattern in the wood of the door, mind blank after that, before walking out, trying to push your tears back in with the heels of your palms.

===

Everyone looks up when Steve reenters, noticing how his cheeks are pink and splotchy and his eyes are wet and red. He speaks immediately, scared that someone will ask him about the talk they almost certainly heard through the door. “What’s the plan?”

“You and me,” Hop says, standing from his chair. “We’re going into the woods to see if anything’s going on, or if we can find any… portals.”

“And if we do?” Steve asks.

“I close them,” El says quietly.

“We have to find out if there are any, first,” Hopper says. He heads to the window and opens it, pulls out a cigarette and then lights it. “And if there are, we close them.”

Steve wonders why it sounds so easy, but maybe it’s because he’s suddenly not the only adult in this situation.

“I’ll get my bat,” he says, eager for the comfort of the heavy weapon in his hand.

Dustin hops up and follows him out, making Steve irritated once again.

“I’m not talking about it,” Steve hisses.

“You just sabotaged your entire relationship with Y/N for what?” Dustin asks, pulling on Steve’s arm to make him stop walking.

“So that they don’t die,” Steve says, yanking his arm away. “Maybe you should try having some discretion for once.”

“I told Suzie because I love her,” Dustin explains, fighting to keep up with Steve’s long strides. “And if she knows the kind of trouble she could be in, then that’s to her advantage.”

Steve whips around, pupils flaring. “How would knowing about this help? Did you forget about the entire stack of papers we had to sign? Did you forget that they could kill us and our families and the people we love if this shit gets out?”

“So you don’t trust her then?” Dustin asks.

“Of course I do,” Steve says, feeling sick again.

“Then why don’t you tell her?”

“Because I am not like you.” Steve reaches his arm out, holding Dustin at bay, two fingertips digging into his chest. “Now back off. I’m not explaining myself again.”

Steve continues to walk towards his car, abandoned in the parking lot, but Dustin keeps up with him. Steve turns around again. “I’m serious, back off -“

“I’m not leaving you out here alone,” Dustin says quietly, looking a bit hurt at Steve’s rejection.

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before taking Dustin under his arm, walking slower so Dustin doesn’t have to run.

Nothing is said, but they both understand.

When Steve opens the trunk to his car, a wave of hot air hits him in the face, making him cringe and step back. He leans in for it and pulls it out, smiling fondly as he does, the familiar weight of it comforting. He’d packed it just in case - maybe he’d see a bear and would need it. He never thought he’d potentially have to use it on another Demogorgon.

“You still know how to use that thing?” Dustin asks.

Steve smiles and twirls it in his hand, giving it a few practice swings. “I didn’t score the winning shot on my fourth grade pee-wee team for nothing.”

Steve and Dustin walk side by side as they head back to Mike’s room, both feeling much better with the addition of the bat. Steve’s mind runs off towards you, his stomach twisting again as he processes what he’d said to you. He feels embarrassed and disgusted. He felt like he’d come so far since high school, that he’d gotten over Nancy since October ‘84. It’s a let down for himself, but surely for you, too.

He convinced himself it was the right thing, though. He doesn’t need you to be caught up in this. And once they figure out if the Upside Down has something to do with this, he’ll apologize and come clean. He’ll tell you he was trying to protect you. He’ll tell you he cares about you.

He’ll prove it.

The door creaks open as Steve and Dustin come back in, Hopper finishing up another cigarette. He flicks it out the window and pulls it down, locking it into place.

“Let’s go over this again,” Hopper says.

Steve and Hop are to go into the woods to search for any type of portals or other things that are amiss. It’s a bit of a long shot, since there have already been search parties out for the two missing boys, but maybe they’d find something that the others looked over. The kids were to stay put until Steve and Hop came back. After that, they’d reassess and complete the mission, if there is a mission at all.

Steve silently hopes that there’s nothing out there.

“Ready?” Hopper asks, his hand gripping his pistol.

“As I’ll ever be,” Steve replies dryly, his own hands gripping the shaft of the bat.

===

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