#for my own interest I will ignore the fact that guest bedrooms exist

[shit-sorry-fuck-mybad]

So I made this post -> x and now that I think about it…. I don’t think Mav has ever slept alone in that bed

The thing is… they were together when they got the house, sure, technically it was under Ice’s name, and Mav still had his apartment, but it was theirs, they chose it together, they walked through the door together. The house was beautiful, it was one of those houses that Pete would pass on the street when he was a kid and think about what kind of fancy people lived there, people fancier than him that’s for sure, they had seen it before but now, all done and ready to welcome them, it was amazing, Pete was almost overwhelmed, trying to catch his breath while also trying to take on every little detail around him. Ice quietly wrapped his arms around him from behind, leaning in to kiss his neck “You like it?” Pete let out a laugh “Like it? I love it” he turned around to look at him “I love you” Ice picked him up as if he didn’t weight anything, fucker, and carried him all the way up the stairs, he opened the door to their bedroom, their bedroom, and he carefully dropped Mav on their bed, it was sweet, and domestic, and everything that Mav never thought he would ever get to have. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, there’s that little red light that is constantly reminding him that he needs to be careful with this, no one can actually know, but at that moment it didn’t matter, they were alone, in their bed, in their room, in their house. They were there together from day one.

Everyone fights, they’ve fought many times over the years, but they’ve never slept in separate beds after a fight, it never mattered how angry and frustrated they were, it’s their bed. There was one time, it was a long time ago, Mav can’t even remember what they were fighting about, something stupid for sure, something that just got a bit out of hand, whatever it was it was bad enough to make Ice slam the door as he left the house in the middle of the night, Mav stood there frozen for a second, he slowly grabbed a cushion from the couch and screamed into it, he sank to his knees as he let out all his tears and frustration, he eventually walked back to their bedroom, he stood at the door for a while, just staring at the bed, Ice wasn’t back, he thought about it but it just felt weird, it felt wrong, lonely, so he grabbed a blanket and made his way to the couch, it was a very nice couch, still not good enough to sleep through the whole night, but he was not gonna sleep in their bed alone. He does wake up there though, wrapped in Ice’s arms, Ice was awake, half awake at least, just running his fingers up and down Mav’s spine, taking in the warmth of the morning sun, Mav snuggled closer and whispered “I’m sorry” right into his neck, Ice kissed his head and nodded “I know, I’m sorry too, we’ll talk about it later” much, much later.

Mav never slept in their bed when Ice was out for work, he tried, he really did, but he can’t, it’s a whole thing, he rolls around for hours, he looks at the ceiling, he reaches over to Ice’s side only to find nothing there, at least in the couch he can get a few hours of sleep. When Bradley moved in with them Mav never considered that it might be weird for him to see Mav sleeping in the couch, it was a bit of a habit by now, so when Bradley wakes him up one day and asks “why are you sleeping in the couch? your bed is really really big” Mav realizes that he’s never had to explain this to anyone “well… I guess I’m just not used to sleeping alone in that bed” and that’s it. That night, as Mav is walking to the couch, he’s intercepted by Bradley, the kid takes his hand and leads him straight back to his bedroom, they get inside the bed and he says goodnight, he doesn’t let go of his hand until the next morning. It still takes him a few hours to fall asleep but it’s better than the couch.

The first time Ice gets sick Mav never wants to leave his side, he never wants to waste a second, except at night, that’s when he struggles the most, he lets Ice fall asleep next to him and then he leaves. He’s not sure why he does it, that’s actually a lie, there’s just a lot going on, he doesn’t want to disturb Ice, he doesn’t want Ice to hear him cry, he doesn’t want Ice to worry about him, to comfort him, he shouldn’t, Mav isn’t the one that has fucking cancer, Mav shouldn’t be causing problems. After a while it becomes obvious that he’s not sleeping very well, I’ve noticed, of course he does, but he also knows that this won’t really be solved with a conversation, so I’ve wraps his arms around him, Mav is taken by surprise, he was still waiting for Ice to fall asleep, they haven’t done this in a while, he’s been avoiding this, mostly because he just wants Ice to rest, but when Ice kisses his forehead and whispers “You’re gonna hurt your back, old man, just stay here, it’ll be ok” he understands that he can’t let Ice in their bed alone either.

They come back alive, Mav lives but then it hits him… Ice is dead. The house was already a struggle, so quiet and and big and lonely, he walks through the hallways and everything reminds him of Ice, but the moment he walks into their bedroom he looses it, it’s just as Ice would’ve left it on any normal day, it’s painful because his glasses are on his nightstand but no one’s there to wear them, and his book will be left unfinished, and his pajamas will be folded for god knows how long , and Ice is never going to step inside that room again. He sleeps on the couch, well, sleeps is an overstatement, he closed his eyes for a few minutes and the sun suddenly came up, his back hurts, his eyes hurt, his heart is broken but he will not sleep on that bed.

#this is so long and for what #I am garbage and I’m very tired and this just wouldn’t leave my head #for my own interest I will ignore the fact that guest bedrooms exist #Mav wouldn’t sleep there tho #it’s a matter of principles I think #icemav #top gun #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #delete later #sad sad shit #ice is dead dead dead #tw: cancer #tw: death #just gonna put that there idk just in case I know some people are careful here

[inkstaineddove]

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up.  They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph austria #hws austria #pruaus

[yamithediaperdork]

It's tradition! (Oc monster story)

The sun was setting and there was a chill in the air as the five new kids to Florence middle school met up with some of the 7th graders.

These five had been transferred to the new school after their old one had been shut down due to small class sizes and since they had joined up in the middle of October, they hadn't been part of the yearly ritual that apparently ALL sixth graders had to go though.

The ritual sounded dumb and made up to all five of the new boys, but they were eager to fit in feeling like outsiders in the much bigger school. Said ritual involved two things:

The first part was spending the night at the old Spencer mansion. All five boys had camped out in the woods over night so they weren't too worried about that. It was the second part that they weren't looking forward to.

See, the only thing the boys would be allowed to wear while spending the night was their shirts, socks, sneakers.... and 2 thick diapers that would be taped and signed at the waist to make sure there was no cheating.

They WERE free of course not to do it, but it was made clear they should expect to be ignored and met with disdain for not doing something that countless boys in the past had done, the girl's of course had their own ritual.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the big babies for the night." Tony, 7th grade leader said, with amusement in his voice. "I was starting to wonder if you were gonna chicken out."

"Like heck we would!" Matt huffed, being the smallest of the group he was used to lots of teasing and didn't handle it well.

"Easy Matt." David, the tallest and strongest of the group said, putting a hand on his cousins shoulder.

With their parents being so close it often fell to David to rein him in, or failing at that keep him from getting his butt kicked.

The other three didn't have much to say, and just stood there waiting to be told what to do next.

It lived in the basement of the mansion though it considered all of it to be it's home, and every year it found itself forced to hide as the insolent humans invaded for one night a year. It only allowed this to happened because it's existence relied on human's not knowing it was here and it made do with stalking those who came into it's home alone.

The 20-30 young males that would waddle around it's home was too many for it to hunt and be sure it could take care of, but as the doors opened and mere five entered the creature laughed to itself. A lesson would be taught, and it would be a dark one indeed. it would finish these boys off as it had others, they would be left for others to find, to scare them from coming to it's home ever again. Sliding along the floor and looking like a dark green slime it oozed it's way into a heating duct.

the hunt was on.

The boys were all too embarrassed to stay close together once inside, and agreed to go off and fine somewhere to sleep for the night on their own. they had a cooler with them they left in the living room of the old place, filled with bottles of milk and some snacks (the 7th graders weren't heartless after all)

Knowing that other boys had spent the night none of them were scared of any dangers and only David and Matt headed off together, David refusing to let the shorty out of his sight.

Mike had never been the most athletic of kids and had a bit of pudge on him, and as he waddled down the hall of the east side on the ground floor he had to keep reaching back and tugging out a diaper wedgie. The boys had been given flashlight since the place hadn't been on the grid for ages and Mike played the light on the walls now wondering if maybe he should of asked to got with David and Matt as he chewed his bottom lip. His brown hair was mating up despite the chill since unknown to the others, he still had to sleep with a night light.

"There's nothing to fear.. it's gonna be ok." Mike was repeating to himself softly as he spotted what looked like a old guest room.

the bed looked okish, though there was some sort of a shiny green sheet on it that seemed to dance in the light of his flashlight.

raising a eyebrow he moved in for a closer look, reaching out with a hand when the so called sheet came to life and lunged at him, wrapping around his face before he could scream and then it was pressing itself in his ears and..and..

The creature smirked, this one had been almost too easy and it found itself hoping the others would put up at least a little bit of more of a fight.

As the now nearly mindless human babbled and drooled, the creature took notice he was already soiling himself and moved on, there was still more prey to be found.

Travis had picked the upper east side and barely bothered with his flashlight. he was using to pitch black room and besides, more starlight shone in though the windows here. super lanky he had to actually keep reaching down to tug his diapers up, almost wishing they had down more tape.

"wouldn't that be just my luck, the stupid thing fall's off on it's own but I'm labeled a cheater." Travis muttered, before going to walk into what looked like a old game room.

he'd only taken a few steps though before shrieking and brushing at his normally dirty blond hair, as it was coated with spider webs he hadn't spotted and he was totally terrified of spiders.

Cursing and swearing, and positive he could feel them in his hair he took off running for the central stair case and was in such a panic he didn't see Lance until he'd almost run into the cue-ball.

"Hey! what's wrong?! I heard you yelling!" the wanna be wrestle asked, though his figure left much to be desired for his chosen field.

"Freaking spider's man! a ton of them! they're all in my hair an-" Travis was ranting and wiping at his hair.

"Dude relax, you got them all." Lance said, shining his light on Travis head then adding. "Sheesh, just spiders? You almost made me wet myself!"

Travis went to say something snarky when he realized that his own diaper was in fact damp and just shut up, hoping Lance wouldn't notice.

"..maybe splitting up wasn't a good idea. come on, let's go find Mike and the three of us can hang out. don't want anymore spider's to attack you." Lance teased and started down the stairs.

Travis just huffed and glared till Lance called back.

"Come on soggy butt!"

"...I hate that guy."

The two boys walked down the way Mike had come and though they called his name he didn't answer, something that had both of them on edge.

they could hear a gentle babbling like a baby would make but in the end they smelled Mike before they saw him.

He was still in the bedroom where unknown to the boys he'd been attacked and was laying on his back, babbling and drooling and trying in vain to get his foot up to his mouth.

"Uhhh Mike? Buddy? Yooou ok?" Travis asked, holding his nose and moving in to check on the little butter ball.

Shining his light on Mike's face, they could see his eyes were glazed over and Travis turned to Lance.

"Do you think he had a magic mushroom or something?"

"Who the hell is gonna sell shrooms to a 11 year old, and where would he get the money?" Lance pointed out."Maybe he just hit his head or something.Come on, help me get him to the living room, we can ask the 7th graders for help."

It watched with interest as two of the prey helped a fallen one, they couldn't of known there was no help for their fallen friend but it followed them, going along the ceiling silently and would let then reach the end of the hall before strike, giving one of them a porting chance to get outside.

With each of them supporting Mike, it was slow going but they were making it, till just as they were reaching the end of the hallways something out of a horror movie dropped down in front of them.

Travis dropped his side of Mike and took off running, any bravo he'd once had ending up in his diaper as he was again wetting himself as he ran as fast as he could, looking for somewhere to hide.

he did happen to look over his shoulder and saw the slime monster wrap itself around Lance's head, ignoring his attempts to peel it off and seemingly toying with him and he stumbled back and forth before slumping to the floor.

getting to a room at the end of the hall, Travis opened it and slammed the door behind him, though before the door had closed he'd heard two things.

the sound of Lance filling his diapers and a monstrous laughing.

The two brain drained ex prey's gurgled and babbled to each other, clearly not bothered but the smell they were making and harmless enough.

The creature thought about what to do next. already two of it's prey was gone, and a third knew of it, and was terrified. It could go after the other two, having already noted where they were and let this one fall into a false sense of security but then again it might make it outside.

choice made it went into the vents once again and headed towards the scared one.

Travis was curled up in the corner of the room, a old library and of course it didn't have any windows in it.rooting around for something to defend himself with he'd grabbed the biggest and heaviest book he could find and waited for the ..whatever the hell that thing was to come and get him.

"This isn't happening. this isn't real. you're just having a nightmare.." Travis mewed to himself, trying to calm his breathing and it was almost working.

till the thing flowed out of a vent in the floor, laughing as it rushed toward him. With nothing to lose Travis launched the book at the monster and it simply passed though it, and made the beast laugh harder.

All he could do was scream as loud as he could before it was on him, draining his brain and making anther permanent diaper filling moron.

"Hey David, did you heard that?" Matt asked, tilting his head as David made them a make shift bed out of blankets and pillows.

"I didn't hear anything and neither did you. Look just be good, stay by me and try not to be a pain in the ass for ONCE in your life." the bigger boy sighed.

though his back was turned to him, David knew that Matt was sticking his tongue out and flipping him off at the moment and wondered if maybe he shouldn't just give the brat a good old fashioned spanking.

the crinkling around his hips reminded him why such a thing would be pointless, and so he just got back to work.

they were in a landry room of sorts and while Matt had complained about not snagging a bedroom David had been correct in assuming they'd find enough clean bedding to fashion a comfy bed for the two.

"I'm borrrrred!" Matt declared, rocking on his heels and semi shaking his diaper butt, out of all them he was the one most used to diapers having been in bed time diapers till half way though grade five.

"well I'm sorry, but they didn't exactly let us bring game boys in." David snapped, finishing up with the bed and standing back to look his work over. "Well, what do yo-"

he had started to ask then yelped and jumped as Matt swatted his diapered ass.

"Ya did real good..heh..did I make you wet?" Matt asked, smirking and winking.

"Keep going brat and they'll never find the body." David growled, then as a wet farting sound was heard he asked with a look of amusement on his face. "..Matt did I just make you crap yourself?!"

"S-Shut up! it's not funny!" Matt huffed even as he squatted down, balling up his fists and pushing.

"Awww such a good widdle diaper dumper." David teased and patted Matt's head then easily caught the punch the brat went to though. "Watch it short stack, or you'll be getting a poopie butt spanking."

"T-That's not fairrrrr!" Matt wailed and plopped on his butt, kicking his feet and having a fit even as he kept pooping.

The creature paused as it came into the landry room, it could of sworn it hadn't attacked either of these two yet but the sounds and smells coming from one of them would beg to differ.

It had been some time since it's had a chance at multiple prey so maybe it had just lost count in it's excitement.

either way there was still one brain left to drain of that sweet sweet intellect and it saw no point in putting it off any longer.

Matt was to busy bawling like a big baby to notice the approach of the monster at first and David was too busy leaning down and taunting the little stinker to notice it at all.

it had come up from a floor drain and was rapidly heading for David and Matt honestly tried to warn him, but all he could do was point and try to sound the words.

"Awww, whats wrong BABY Matt?" David taunted.

"Mo..mo..mo.."

"Awww, are you trying to ask for momm-" David would never get to finish his sentence as the ooze monster wrapped itself around his head and went to work.

the landry room had had it's own grid and so the lights were on, meaning that Matt could watch as parts of the ..the THING reached into his cousins forehead.

shutting his eyes and wetting his diaper Matt rocked back and forth, hearing more farting and the sound of David messing himself and then falling to the bed he'd made.

opening his eyes and thumb in his mouth, and drool trailing down his chin Matt saw the slime monster in front of him, but it seemed ..uncertain.

figuring sucking up was the way to go, Matt tried his 'I'm so cute you can't be mad' smiles and tried to talk, but he was so scared the words came out in a babble much like David's now were.

It seemed satisfied with his efforts however and oozed away, going back down the pipe and leaving Matt alone with his now brainless cousin.

"it..it must of thought it already got me!" Matt said..then let out a nervous laugh.

he was gonna make it out of this, he'd go and get the FUCK out of hear, screw everyone outside watching, and just go and get the cops, the army, the 82nd airborne and have them kill whatever the hell that thing was.

He did toy with trying to get David out with him, but he was clearly a lost cause and likewise the other boys had either already been attacked or it was going after them and that meant he had cover.

was it selfish? Yeah, but he wasn't about to be monster food!

getting to his feet best he could, he took off running as fast as his little legs and filled diapers would let him, going for the exit.

With all five of the boys drained, the creature was content to go to sleep and let them be found in the morning, or it would of been had it not detected the sounds of running

none of the prey should be able to run in their current states and all at once it realized that it had been tricked.

fury filled it and it raced to cut the last of the prey off, erupting from a vent in the entrance hallway and wrapping itself around the last prey's head, taking more from him then it had the others. they would at least be able to rebuild their minds in 10, 20 years but this one! this one had tried to trick it and would be a mindless pants shitter for the rest of his life.

Sliding away back to it's resting place, the creature was pleased with itself.

By the time the boys were found in the morning, no one could really figure out exactly just WHAT had happened. the diaper tradition was of course know to most locals, but no one had ever been found like THIS before.

Doctors ran tests and in the end the best thing anyone could figure out, was all five boys had been scared so badly their minds had just shut down.

No charges were pressed since the boys had willingly gone into the house but after that the tradition had been put to a end, and the door's to the mansion had been nailed shut to keep kids out.

Of course the creature wasn't bothered by the shut doors, it had other ways of getting out and whenever it got hungry enough, it was willing to travel to feed, it's preferred course now being diaper boys.

So take this as a warning to all of you goo goo gaga baby butts, be careful what you wear when you go to sleep..and Sweet dreams~

[mostlycompetentwriter]

“Back Door” (TMT Part 2)

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Han Jisung (SKZ); Some Mentions of Y/N x Bang Chan and Y/N x Changbin

Warnings: Language and Mature Content

Word Count: 5K

Genre: High School AU! Sequel!

Summary: In the grand scheme of things, Y/N should’ve known better than to expect everything to work out on its own. But is she ready to face the consequences of her actions?

A/N: Read TMT Here!!

The sun had barely peaked through the blinds when I felt a sharp pain in my lower back. 

It was both unexpected and jarring, and I winced at the dull, persistent ache, attempting to turn over onto my side, when I realized that I couldn’t because a strong grip was keeping me held in place. Then, there was nothing but dread overtaking the previous disorientation of my exhaustion, and I cringed when Jisung made a soft noise and pulled me even closer, burying his face against my shoulder.

“Shit!” I cursed under my breath, trying to free myself from his hold because the vestiges of panic were beginning to take root, and images from our previous night together were flying through my head at an exponential pace.

Holy shit! I slept with Jisung!

“Don’t think so hard, baby,” Jisung purred, and he was nipping playfully at the skin surrounding my collarbone.

The picture of confidence in contradiction to the shy little boy from the previous night who could barely keep his cock from falling out.

“I’m not,” I protested, even as I continued squirming around in his arms, feeling a shock travel up my spine when I accidentally felt his flaccid length against my thigh.

“Mmm,” Jisung murmured, breaths hot against my face as he pressed a kiss to the corner of my lip. “You still look pretty in the mornings.” He chuckled, reaching back with one hand to brush through his disastrous hair. “I’m sure I look like a mess.”

“Jisung,” I said as sternly as possible because I knew I needed to be forceful, to keep him from acting like this could be anything normal for us. Because he and I both needed to admit that this was a big mistake. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh!” Jisung remarked, and I could breath a sigh of relief when he removed his arm from around my waist. “Hurry back.”

I rolled my eyes at his tone, cursing the existence of last night over and over again as I wrapped a blanket around my torso before moving through the house to the guest bathroom on the lower floor. “What the fuck have you done!” I groaned when I greeted my reflection in the mirror - eyes bloodshot from the alcohol, and feminine features holding so much tension from the horrors of the morning after whatever the hell I had allowed to happen between me and Jisung.

After all these years of dissuading Jisung’s advances, I just committed the worst sin of them all: I gave him an opening to the thing he wanted most from me. 

“Calm down,” I whispered to that grisly reflection, splashing water against my face as I sucked down multiple deep breaths.

“Y/N!” I heard Jisung call for me, even all the way downstairs separated by an entire floor.

It still wasn’t enough separation.

“Coming!” I shouted back because I knew I couldn’t avoid this, especially not with someone like Jisung. Someone who had been admiring me from afar from so long. Someone who was way too close to ignore because of his life-long friendship with Felix.

I couldn’t run from what I helped to create, so I gathered as much confidence as I could muster while still looking like shit in the mirror, walking slowly back upstairs while trying to make sense of the chaos breaking through the desire to live in an independent world where everything was fine.

“There you are,” Jisung chirped from where he had made himself comfortable at the counter in the kitchen, pouring milk into two glasses. “You wanna order some breakfast?”

“Not hungry,” I said, sliding into place in front of one of the glasses.

“Oh, sure,” Jisung replied, and he shook off my frigid tone. “The milk is good.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, watching him from the corner of my eye as he sat down next to me.

“I checked the date, so don’t worry,” he said with a giggle, perfectly at ease in the familiar setting of my kitchen. Except that nothing was normal, it couldn’t be taken that way after all the events that transpired last night.

“I trust you,” I whispered, looking down vacantly into the milky white liquid.

“Well, where do you want to go today?” Jisung asked, and I experienced the sharp sting of guilt - a nasty feeling weighing heavily on my chest - when his smile reached both corners of his eyes. “We can do what you want.”

“We should talk...” I said, trailing off when Jisung nodded.

“We can talk,” he agreed. “I like listening to you.”

“Jisung.” I sighed, hating that he was so nice because it made it difficult to say the things that would drive that smile away. “It’s kinda heavy...”

“You don’t have to say it then,” Jisung insisted, and I felt hurt all over again when I realized that he thought the words would affect me! That they might make me sad and he wanted to assure me that I never had to vocalize such difficult subjects. 

“I need to say it,” I continued. “I mean, there’re plenty of other things I’d rather do, but this is important.”

“Oh?” Jisung smirked, and I knew that his mind had traveled somewhere else. “Do you want to have sex again?” Jisung continued as if I had never spoken. “I had a lot of fun with you last night.”

“That’s the whole problem,” I said, swallowing hard before pushing it out. “Jisung, about last night-”

DING DONG!

I frowned when the sound of the doorbell ringing interrupted my chain of thought, especially when Jisung was so quick to scoot off his chair to answer whoever it was waiting on the other side. “Hold on,” I said, following behind him just in time to see the person standing on the porch. “Chan?”

“Hey,” Chan greeted us, and his previous smile was displaced by a chastened look, searching between the two of us with a curious expression. “Were you two together?”

“Jisung stays over sometimes,” I said, talking over Jisung before he could proclaim us as soulmates. 

“Ah,” Chan nodded. “So, you’re not busy?”

“Not right now,” I agreed, trying to push off a stubbornly persistent Jisung while Chan continued to study us from the porch.

“Okay, well, Changbin’s having a party at his place tonight,” Chan said. “If you guys want to come.”

“I don’t know...”

“We’d love to,” Jisung intervened, taking his turn to speak over me, but I couldn’t think of a worse scenario.

“Great,” Chan said, and his smile was back as he started to retreat. “I’ll see you guys there.”

Saturday

I couldn’t change Jisung’s mind, which meant that my arm was neatly tucked into his as he led us up the sidewalk to Changbin’s lavish home.

Although, mansion might be a more accurate description.

“Are you excited?” Jisung asked, pulling me away from my study of the intimate ornate columns and impressive Greco-Roman inspired architecture.

“Once I get ahold of some alcohol,” I grumbled, and Jisung laughed like it was the funniest thing I had ever said to him.

“We’ve got you covered, baby,” Jisung said, and I rolled my eyes at the petname, especially when he was using it on me.

Especially when he continued using it on me. All. Week. Long.

Walking up to Changbin’s house in the middle of the night while listening to Jisung talk about the man in question like they had known each other for their entire lives.

“I wonder where he is?” Jisung questioned when we joined the impossible fray of students - high school and college alike - spreading throughout the grandeur space inside.

“I might know a few places,” I murmured because Jisung wasn’t meant to overhear, and my eyes were drawn to the secluded corners of the house, the places that Changbin seemed inclined to escape to just like the first night we met one another. 

“Let’s find something to drink,” Jisung said, and I nodded my head and followed him into the other room.

It didn’t take long to find a couple beers, twisting off the tops and drinking while several students - probably friends of Chan and Changbin who had introduced their new third piece - crowded around me and Jisung to ask him questions about the 3racha.

“We’re releasing a special project soon,” Jisung said, and I could tell he was enjoying the attention.

But it must be nice to get some recognition for a passion that you had spent years perfecting.

It also provided the perfect opportunity for me to slip away from his careful eye, wandering back into the main room where a familiar figure captured my attention hidden away near the fireplace in the den.

“Y/N,” Changbin greeted me with his familiar smirk, beckoning me closer while drinking from his glass.

“I thought you might be away from the action,” I said, feeling a bit more comfortable next to Changbin, and far from the prying eyes of the other students.

“It gets crowded,” he said, and we both turned to the sudden sound of raucous laughter, emanating from the same room where I had just left. “You came with Jisung?”

“Yeah, but he found some admirers,” I said, attempting to make a joke of the situation.

“You two must be together,” Changbin remarked, and the corner of his mouth lifted into something resembling an arrogant look. “He acts like it.”

“Don’t mind him,” I said, rolling my eyes. “We haven’t really talked about things.”

“Oh?” Changbin hummed. “Why is that?”

“Because it was a mistake,” I insisted, but saying it loud didn’t necessarily reflect the confusing ball of emotions that I felt buried away around my heart.

“Mistake?” Changbin repeated, and his eyes glossed over with a mischievous gleam, reaching down for my hand to pull me along with him upstairs. “That’s interesting.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, but I didn’t protest when he opened the door to what I imagined to be his bedroom, slamming it closed behind him before leading me over to the bed. 

“Jisung wouldn’t agree with you,” Changbin said, and he pushed me down onto the mattress. “In fact, Jisung told me before that you were the love of his life.”

Changbin rolled his eyes at the cheesy sentiment, crawling over top of me with a predatory glare. “Jisung doesn’t know anything about love,” I retorted, and my body was responding to Changbin’s advances, craving his skilled touches as I guided his hand down to the hem of my skirt.

“Remember when I finger-fucked you in my car?” he whispered directly into my ear, free hand coming down to hold my waist.

“Yes,” I whined in return, swallowing hard when his fingers moved along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, snapping the band of my panties into place when they reached even higher, leaving intimate goosebumps in their wake.

“Do you want me to do it again?” he growled in a low timber that sent shivers down my spine.

“Please,” I panted against his lips, desperate for him to eliminate the remaining distance between us....

But then the spell was broken.

Jarring us both away from one another, gazes drawn to the door.

“What the hell are you two doing!”

“Shit!” I cursed, pushing Changbin back as my eyes immediately flew to Jisung’s horrified expression. Standing in the doorway to Changbin’s bedroom with his mouth almost reaching the floor.

“Relax,” Changbin spoke nonchalantly, sitting back on his knees. “Why are you so tense?”

I roughly elbowed him in the side, deciding that he was far too much of a jerk in that moment to warrant anything less. 

Still, there was the issue of Jisung who had obviously taken precedence, and everyone was silent while I tried to formulate something. Any semblance of an explanation that might help me avoid an impending meltdown. “Jisung-”

“No!” Jisung screeched, and I was taken aback at the primitive noise that had just come from him. “You won’t treat me like this.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped in return.

“Don’t play stupid, Y/N,” Jisung continued, and I was surprised to see Jisung acting so unhinged. “You know how I feel about you. I’ve always tried to show you that much, but then I bring you here and you sneak off to try and fuck Changbin?”

I opened my mouth to say anything, but there was nothing that could’ve prepared so this onslaught of passionate rage from Jisung. The same boy who usually batted his eyelids at me and giggled at jokes from his friends.

“We never talked about anything,” I eventually said.

“You never gave us a chance,” Jisung said, and I realized that he was right, even though I tried the other morning.

There had always been plenty of chances.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, but Jisung scoffed and gave me a bitter-sounding laugh.

“You’re not sorry,” he said, and the words echoed around inside my head, even after he left without any further consideration for me.

“Well, that was weird,” Changbin chuckled, and he started to kiss me again, like nothing had even transpired.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed at him. “Are you serious?”

“Why not?” Changbin shrugged. “We’re both just looking for a quick fuck, right?”

“Is that what you think?” I asked him. “That I’m just a quick fuck?”

“Obviously,” Changbin snorted. “Haven’t I been playing you just right this entire time, baby?”

I nearly screamed at his mocking use of Jisung’s petname, shouldering past him in my haste to get away from him. “You’re a dick,” I growled, even as the sharp sting of tears threatened to expose my façade of masked indifference, and I refused to show someone who had manipulated my emotions that they were even remotely successful in making me feel completely useless.

I had the radio playing in the background when I drove to Chan and Changbin’s studio the next morning.

There was a part of me that wanted to make peace with Jisung, on the off chance that he was even there, but an even bigger part who just wanted to hide from those confusing emotions. To choose something even more powerful to mask the hurt.

Lust, for example, which guided me into the studio where I discovered Chan sitting behind a computer in one of the production rooms.

“Y/N,” he said, noticing my arrival and removing his headphones. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I just wanted to come by,” I said, sauntering closer to him, hoping that he could pick up on what I wanted from him.

“Jisung isn’t here,” Chan said, and I flinched at his name but remained undeterred.

“I’m not here for him,” I said, lowering my tone. 

“I heard what happened at the party,” Chan tried again, but I didn’t allow him to finish his thought, straddling his thighs before locking our lips together in a desperate kiss. “Y/N,” he spoke in the very limited space between our mouths, clashing and bruising together.

“Just fuck me, please,” I begged him, digging my fingers into his shirt as I forced our lips together once again.

“No,” Chan groaned, and I was more than taken aback when he pushed me away. Not enough to send me sprawling out of his lap, but enough to make a clear point.

“Why?” I whispered, feeling myself teeter on the edge of tears which didn’t make any sense. There was no reason to be upset, and I blamed Jisung and the way he messed with my most volatile emotions,

“I shouldn’t have done anything with you,” Chan said. “It was a stupid competitive thing with Changbin.”

“You regret it?” I asked, breaking the skin of my lower lip between my teeth, tasting blood before Chan sighed and forced me to relax.

“Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, but after hearing Jisung talk about you...” Chan trailed off, and I was suddenly even more upset when he left me to fill in the blanks.

“I didn’t come here to talk about Jisung,” I said, feeling my mental state perform a complete 180, wiping away any evidence of those pesky tears.

“You came here to avoid him,” Chan said. “But is it really the right thing to do?”

“Since when do you care?” I asked with a harsh exhale, and Chan nodded like he was perfectly accepting of my anger.

“I don’t deserve to be on good terms with you,” Chan continued. “Changbin and I...we were both very manipulative with our intentions.”

“You took advantage of me,” I hissed, and Chan’s eyes widened as he shook his head fiercely.

“No!” he said, and it was very stern. “I would never do that to anyone! Well, I mean, I’m terrible with relationships.”

I frowned. “You should’ve told me. The upfront dishonesty is not appreciated.”

Chan sighed at my implication. “Look, I told you that I can’t seem to get anything right, but if there’s one person who was always honest with you-”

“Jisung,” I interrupted him with a sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

“Seriously, Y/N,” Chan said, taking a firm grip on my chin to force my eyes to meet his own. “Talk to him. Forget about me and Changbin.”

“That’s hard to do since Minho likes you,” I quipped, and he chuckled.

“You can pretend to like me,” Chan offered, and I shrugged because maybe it was a good compromise.

“Fine, pretending works,” I said. “Especially since you’re kind of an asshole.”

Chan winced at my words. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement, but I came here to do something stupid again,” I said. “I guess I failed.”

“Not really,” Chan said, and he reached behind him for a discarded piece of paper. “Come watch us perform this weekend,” Chan said, holding out the flyer which I accepted. “Make it up to him.”

I gritted my teeth together, reading the headline of the flyer before looking back at Chan. “He won’t forgive me.”

“Well, not until you come to terms with what you want first,” Chan said, and I knew that he was right. 

“I don’t think I want him...”

“Are you sure about that?” Chan asked. “Think hard on it, and I’ll save you a good seat and a bottle of beer.”

“That’s hard to resist,” I said, and I slowly gathered myself out of his lap, readjusting my clothes and brushing off the imaginary dust that couldn’t possibly have collected on the fabric. “I’ll see you soon then.”

Chan nodded, holding out his hand for me to shake. “Consider it a peace offering.”

I scoffed at the display, but accepted his extension of peace or whatever nonetheless. 

Yeah, he made it hard to stay mad at him, even though he deserved every bit of my wrath, but he also made it hard not to see the obvious reasoning with making things right with Jisung. 

One of the few people in my life who had never been anything but kind.

It was Saturday night, and I was nervous and anxious when I walked inside the venue where 3racha would be performing.

Thankfully, my brothers had also been invited, and I found them in the crowd quickly, determined to stick to their sides until I had enough confidence to face Jisung alone. 

“Get ready!” Felix shouted when the overheard music turned down low, signaling the crowd to turn their attention towards the stage where Chan, Changbin, and Jisung were all walking out, microphones in hand.

I shifted next to Minho when I noticed Jisung, decked out in an all-black ensemble, beanie cap pulled low over his eyes. 

“Looks like Jisung invaded Chan’s closet,” Minho quipped, and Felix snorted around his drink while I found myself studying the way his lithe figure was heavily accentuated by the tight leather.

“3rd Eye, are you ready to get loud?” Chan bellowed into the microhome, and the crowd answered his call with raucous yelling as thumping, heavy bass music began to play in the background.

And then, right before my very eyes, little Han Jisung, Felix’s dorky best friend, stepped forward to the edge of the stage and started to rap his lyrics at a speed that surely defied the very barrier of space and time?

“Holy shit,” I said, finding myself drawn into Jisung’s careful handling of the beat, riding its dips and flaws with mastery, leading the crowd with some kind of invisible magnetism. “Jisung is really good!”

“Of course, he is,” Felix scoffed, like I should’ve known better. “He’s been practicing since middle school.”

“He has?” I returned, but the question went unanswered as Felix enthusiastically continued to cheer for his friend, and I was caught up in the whirlwind of the crowd’s enthusiasm while my own heart beat incredibly fast for several much different reasons.

Their stage ended on a high, and I found that my voice was hoarse from screaming with the rest of the patrons, clapping like a madwoman while 3racha disappeared backstage. 

“Let’s see if we can find, Sung,” Felix suggested, and any prior elation was gone as I remembered my original purpose for coming here.

“I’d love to congratulate him,” Minho agreed, and I reluctantly followed my brothers to the backstage entrance where a bouncer noticed them and waved them forward.

Must be some kind of friend privileges.

Regardless, it brought me to where I needed to be, and I hesitated when we were pulled even deeper between sound equipment and storage containers.

“Where are they?” Minho asked.

“I see Chan,” Felix said, pointing ahead of us, and I bit back my disappointment at finding Chan first.

“You guys made it,” Chan said, coming over to greet us, giving Minho some weird, elaborate handshake.

I rolled my eyes at their boyish oddities, glancing around the backstage area, not looking for anything in particular, until....

Jisung. Standing over there with another girl.

I froze, watching as Jisung leaned in closer to whisper directly into her ear in a decidedly intimate exchange.

“Jisung?” I whispered, and it was enough to steal Minho’s attention who followed my gaze with a chuckle.

“Does Jisung have a girlfriend?”

I swallowed hard at the question, the bitter taste of disappointment, and I ran despite Minho and Felix calling my name. Despite the overbearing sensation of Jisung’s eyes following me the entire time.

It was late when my brothers came home, discovering me sitting alone in the living room.

Felix was the first to react, releasing a loud sigh before he came to sit next to me on the couch. “Rough night?” he asked, voice gruff from the exertion of screaming at the concert.

“You could say that,” I muttered in return, picking at the stitching on the pillow in my lap.

“I guess this is about Jisung,” Minho added, coming to stand in front of me with that stupid concerned look on his face.

“Forget it,” I said. “It isn’t anyone else’s business.”

“Jisung is my friend,” Felix said, and he seemed affronted. “It actually is my business.”

“Fine,” I snapped, turning to glare at Minho. “But you can’t say anything.”

“Yes, I can,” Minho replied. “Because I’m usually the only one who can get you to listen!”

I frowned at the assertion, slumping down even lower against the cushions. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad,” Minho said, and he stubbornly collapsed next to me despite my warning. “Chan told us everything.”

I sat up immediately, feeling my mouth drop open as I looked at Minho. “What do you mean?”

“We know you have a thing for Jisung,” Minho teased.

“No, I don’t!”

“Then why were you all angsty when you saw him with that other girl?” Felix intervened, snickering at my awe-struck expression. “Besides, you don’t think Jisung wasn’t bragging about finally sleeping with the love of his life?”

“I’m not the love of his life,” I grumped. “He clearly doesn’t care about me.”

“Then you’re blind and stupid,” Felix said, thoughtful as always. But then his expression turned serious. “Y/N, Jisung’s been in love with you since middle school, and I should know because he never shut up about you.”

I sighed at the admission, wrestling with the incessant desire to keep my mouth shut and that smaller part of me that longed to confess everything. “I never knew I wanted him,” I said. “Until I saw him with that other girl...how fucked up is that?”

“It’s not fucked up,” Minho said. “Sometimes, it takes...extraneous circumstances to convince us of our feelings.”

“Especially if that person is you,” Felix continued. “You’re stubborn to a fault.”

“Am not!” I huffed, realizing only a moment later that I was proving their point.

“Look, just give him a chance to explain himself, Y/N,” Minho said. “You clearly owe him an apology, and you both have a lot to talk about.”

“I know,” I begrudgingly agreed, and it was only after I thought about how utterly destroyed I felt after seeing Jisung tonight that I was struck with the weight of importance for what I had to do.

It was Chan’s idea, really, to invite me back to the studio, conveniently at the same time when Jisung was set to record his part for their next single.

At first, I resisted because I didn’t want to interrupt Jisung at work, but then my brothers reminded me that it probably had a lot more to do with myself refusing to face up to my mistakes rather than some kind of respect for professional boundaries.

Nonetheless, I had no idea what I planned to say to Jisung because I could rehearse a given set of words a thousand times, but when it came to actually confronting him, they could all disappear from my head. And instead of floundering around trying to remember them all, I think it might be better to talk to him in the moment as I formulated some semblance of a worthy apology for the hurt I had caused him.

It was also still new, this coming to terms with the fact that Felix’s best friend might be someone who could mean something more to me than that kid who always flirted and shyly whispered hello’s and goodbye’s whenever he came over to spend the night.

But maybe talking would help me figure things out, and after knocking on the studio door, I put on my best smile when Jisung’s face appeared from the other side.

Unfortunately, he wore a scowl that could scare even the bravest of souls, and I was more or less intimidated after asking him if I could come inside. 

“I guess,” Jisung said, leaving the door open for me to close before returning to his seat at the production stand.

“So,” I started, trailing off as I glanced around the room. “This is a nice set-up.”

“Yeah,” Jisung said, offering nothing more, and telling me all I needed to know about his openness to starting a conversation with me.

“Right,” I agreed, clearing my throat. “Uh, Jisung? I just wanted to apologize for the other night at the party. It was really out of line for me to act the way I did.”

“Huh,” Jisung scoffed. “I don’t think you really mean that.”

I winced at his dismissal. “I’m being genuine.”

“Hard for me to tell,” Jisung replied, and I shook my head because this was going horribly wrong and I expected him to kick me out at any moment. 

“Your performance was good the other night,” I tried again. “I really like the music, and your rapping is super good.”

“Thanks,” he muttered dryly.

“Seriously,” I insisted. “You’re really talented, and I guess other people noticed before me, which is stupid. But I’m happy for you, and I just want you to do whatever brings you the best opportunities....Oh! And I think your girlfriend is really pretty, not that it’s any of my business-”

“Girlfriend?” Jisung interrupted, turning around to look at me with a confused expression.

“Yeah? The girl I saw you with backstage the other night?” I said, wondering if Jisung was acting this way on purpose.

“You mean my cousin?” he asked, wrinkling his nose in obvious revulsion. “Why would you assume that?”

I groaned, resisting the urge to bang my head against the wall because I was only making things harder and even more awkward. “I didn’t know...I guess it just surprised me, and I took off...” I paused at the confession, fanning myself with one hand. 

“You thought I was dating someone else?” Jisung said. “And it made you feel...?”

“Betrayed,” I sighed, bowing my head in shame. “I guess you probably felt the same way when you saw me with Changbin.”

Jisung frowned, cheeks dusted with red as he considered me. “Yeah, Y/N, I wasn’t happy to see you with someone else after everything that happened between us.”

“I’m sorry, Jisung,” I whispered. “For everything. I’m literally the worst person on Earth, and you don’t even have to pretend to forgive me or anything. You can just ignore whenever you come over....I probably deserve it.”

Jisung shook his head, playing with the pen held poised between his fingers. “I won’t ignore you.”

I raised my head to meet his gaze. “Honestly, Jisung, seeing that girl the other night made me feel even more ridiculous because I shouldn’t need something like that to happen to make me realize that I really do like you.”

“Y/N...”

“No, really!” I insisted. “I’ve always seen you as Felix’s best friend, but that was stupid and wrong, and I’m sorry for making you hurt and leading you on or whatever. So, like, I needed to tell you how horrible I am, and you can take the apology or curse my existence, whatever! I just needed you to know.”

There was a long moment of quiet between us, and Jisung kept looking at me like he was trying to see past me. 

“You are kinda ridiculous,” Jisung finally said, and I released a deep breath that I didn’t know I had been holding.

“I talked to Felix and Minho,” I said. “They told me that you’ve always liked me.”

“Yeah,” Jisung said, a little bit sheepishly as his ears turned bright red. “That’s always been a thing.”

I giggled at his words. “So...what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, but there was something resembling a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Whatever we want, maybe?”

My smile grew wider because it wasn’t anything like a label, but that just might be the right direction for the two of us. Taking the time to come together after having our paths zig-zag in opposing directions for so long. “Okay,” I agreed, feeling the cold distance minimize like an imaginary conveyor belt was pulling us closer. “Let’s go with that: whatever we want.”

#stray kids fanfic #han jisung fanfic #3racha fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #han jisung imagines #han jisung scenario #mostlycompetent

[buck-nialled]

Can you write a imagine were Y/N is willies friend and comes to quarantine at his and Niall’s. Niall ends up liking her and willie encourages him to speak to her or something xx

NOTE: so sorry this took so long to post anon its been the course of weeks i have attempted at writing and rewriting this multiple times and i am still a bit unsure about it so if you or any readers would like to give feedback that would be vv appreciated! Also put a lil thing in here for the anon who thought it’d be cool to incorporate my blog name in an imagine so here is to that reader of mine also, enjoy!

Sad Song Addict - N. Horan Imagine

It had been three weeks since you took up the offer of staying with Willie’s flat with him and Niall. At first, you were hesitant, wondering how Willie’s roommate would feel about your unanticipated stay that could last upwards of eighteen months from predictions of the news. The morning you woke up to the news of airlines shutting down and flights being canceled, you began frantically packing up your things in the hotel room you had booked for the week. But your hope and energy were drained by the end of it due to the current situation and the fact that you gained nearly three hours of tossing and turning on the lumpy mattress you “slept” on last night.

Luckily, Willie lived only minutes from the hotel and was calling you with the proposal of a living situation before you could even zip your suitcase closed. You wanted to decline and kept shaking your head in refusal at each argument Willie came up with: which were very logical and irrefutable. You were stable on your feet financially, but not confident enough to book your stay at a hotel for a year. Additionally, most items you packed to keep you “nourished” were a few granola bars and bottled waters.

It was thirty seconds into Willie’s desperate pleas over the phone for you to come to stay with him when you finally caved. It made you feel lucky, almost, to have a person so close (literally and metaphorically) who cares for you enough to offer their living space and all that is offered to you for as long as necessary.

Now, three weeks of the same guest room, same-colored walls, same sheets, and comforter, the same atmosphere; you had your first breakdown. It was minor and could have been much worse had you not opted for a good cry in the shower and rather tear up your temporary living space. Your breathing was shattered, heartbeat erratic and you’re pretty sure more tears leaked from your eyes than they did from the showerhead above you. You were grateful Willie had left for a quick run to the store for food and whatever cleaning supplies could be scavenged, otherwise you knew he would have heard you.

The beating streams of water trickling down your red face was refreshing, but also a bittersweet method to open up your thoughts. You never realized how much one could take for granted. Specifically, those you saw every day or even every month. You missed being able to walk outside and do the simple tasks you once thought to be mundane: like checking the mail or turning on the sprinklers.

Towards the end of your revelations, you did not hide your smallest whimpers, nor the large sobs which all but heaved out of you. You let them slip because it was the closest you’ve achieved to screaming in a while.

Willie may have been out of the house during this point in the night, but his roommate was not. Niall’s room happened to be right beside the bathroom where your unbridled collapse of emotions had taken place. While he twiddled with the pen and blank pages of a journal, something more peculiar had caught his interest. The sounds of your crying only a room over physically pained Niall to listen to. He yearned to block the noises out, even thought about putting on a pair of headphones to keep your privacy, but the guilt inside of him overrode it.

Labeling your relationship with Niall as “friends” would be a stretch. You would call yourselves acquaintances at most. Ironically, Willie was like a brother to you. But whenever you and Niall visited London concurrently, there were two different parties you would both attend too. Out of the two, Willie was your only mutual friend. Therefore, you and Niall exchanged very few words with one another in past gatherings, maybe shared a pint at the same table. But other than that, you never did cross paths with one another.

Despite you living with him now, it seemed as though nothing had changed. Niall helped you bring your bags to the guest room, gave a less than detailed tour of the home, and accepted they would have to cook for three now. As far as Niall knew, Willie was thrilled to be having another friend to stay with him. While Niall did not seem to mind your figure bustling through his house with suitcases, it was much more pleasant than he let on.

Niall learned to be discreet about his emotions over the years and follow a rule to put it all in the notebook for only his eyes. Secretly, he has always been infatuated with you and would be lying if he said a few certain songs on his previous album were not about you.

You would think that having you here in front of him every day would make this upcoming album an easy write. At least the mushy-gushy songs, Niall thought. But the moment you stumbled through the front door, any idea Niall might have had was pushed to the back of his mind. You were all he could think about, but it seemed impossible to put that in the right string of words since the two of you had become closer.

In a physical sense, that is. Though Niall enjoyed the idea of finally having an intimate conversation with you about whatever, and Willie had persuaded him many times to do so, he lacked the courage. If you were interested you would have come up to him first. At least, that was Niall’s logic. That thought then led him down a rabbit hole of unnecessary thoughts of if you ever thought of him as a friend. What was he going to do if you admitted the likeness was not reciprocated. How was he going to get you to admit it?

The unmistakable sound of the bathroom door creaking open has Niall’s ears perking up. Though he was afraid to know if you felt the same about him, he would feel worse to stand idly by and know you were not your happiest. With a content sigh and a disappointed glance at the still-blank pages before him, Niall heaved himself off of his desk chair and emerged from his bedroom.

Traversing down the hallway until he is facing the guest room door, he begins to regret leaving his own. While his mind was screaming to go back and just ignore whatever urge drove him to stand up in the first place, his knuckles beat him and celebrated with a few steady laps to the door.

“Come in.” Your voice was muffled, but Niall could hear your voice, shaky, and congested from the sadness and snot you tried your best to contain upon exiting the shower. Niall entered the room slowly, as though the floors were lined with fragile antiques he best not knock over. As he glanced up, his eyes drank in the sight of your cheeks, puffy and red as you swiped away below your eyes, trying to rid of any evidence of your earlier emotions.

“Hey,” Niall greeted. He gently waltzed over to your figure, sat with your legs crossed on the bed. “May I?” You gave a small nod to Niall, seconds later having him sitting beside you.

“So…watcha doin’?” Niall tries a lighthearted tone of voice but fails miserably. You had suspicions, as if your blazing cheeks were not obvious enough, that Niall knew very well what you were suffering moments before. But now that he had just confirmed it, your cheeks felt that much warmer.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” There was no point in trying to avoid what both of you knew. After this awkward conversation (wherever it would lead) he would probably go tell Willie, who would sit you down and counsel you without your consent.

“Uh, yeah…I just wanted to check up on ya.” His expression was unchanging with its concern. A few moments of silence passed between you two before a small whisper passed you.

“Yeah.” You nod, meeting his eyes. “Just got a little…homesick. Started thinking. Maybe a little too hard.” You laugh a little. “Listening to sad songs in the shower probably didn’t help, either.” Niall hums in agreement, sparing a smile at you.

“You like sad music?” You scoff at this.

“If there was an AA for sad songs, I’d be their biggest supporter.” Your comment made Niall snort through his remark.

“I’d probably be the president.” His challenging statement earned a light raise of your eyebrows.

“Is that so?” Your hand moves over to retrieve your phone. Upon unlocking it and opening your music library, you offer it to Niall with an outstretched arm. “Take a look.”

He scrolled through your library, eyes widening at some songs or artists he assumed you would never know existed. “Wow…you weren’t kidding.” Niall chuckled, recognizing many of the titles listed on your phone screen. After a few more moments it was handed back to you, who had an accomplished smile gracing her face.

“So, what have you been doing?” Niall shifted slightly on the bed, clearing his throat.

“Writing. Or, I should say trying to.” He rolls his eyes, lips twitching downward to a small frown.

“Having a block?” Niall gives an upsetting shake of his head.

“But from what Willie told me, there’s another songwriter under this roof.” He gives you a sly flick of his blue eyes, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. It was obvious as to what he was hinting, and with how taken you were for the man, “no” was the last answer he would be getting.

“I am. Were you in need of some of my expertise?”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt…” Niall shrugs, making you giggle lightly.

“Okay, well—”

“Neither would a date.” He cuts in. It takes a few moments for you to digest the words, and you sat in awe.

“A—I’m sorry, I thought you said—”

“A date? Because I did.” The smirk is climbing up on Niall’s face once again, along with a hopeful gleam overtaking his pair of blues.

“I….”

“Will you go out with me?” Lost for words, the only motion you could perform was a frantic nod. Quickly, you reach over to the bedside table and grab your planner, untouched for the last few weeks in exception to the hour you dedicated to canceling plans and rescheduling other activities for the upcoming months.

“Yeah, what day did you have in mi—” Before you could complete your inquiry, a thin piece of paper fell from the current page in your planner. It was not thin enough to be a plain sheet of paper, nor thick enough to be considered a cardstock or a poster. Niall snatched the object to discern it and flipped it over to reveal a photo.

The polaroid you secretly asked Willie to give you nearly a year ago displayed both you and Niall sat beside each other, laughing over something your awful (and very hazy) memory could not remember. Just when you thought your cheeks were remedied by the flowing conversation between you and Niall, you felt the vicious fire rising to taint them once again.

“This was…that was the night we met, wasn’t it?” Niall questions, baring a bit of tooth at your abashed expression, flailing for any excuse to leave this topic of conversation. Quickly, your hand reached out to snatch the polaroid from his grasp, tucking it safely away in your planner.

“Irrelevant.”

#nh #njh #niallhoran #nialljameshoran #niall horan #niall james horan #niallhoranimagines #niallhoranimagine #niallhoranfic #niallhoranfanfic #niallhoranfanfiction #niallhoranblurb #niallhoranoneshot #niallhoranxreader #niallhoranxyou #niallimagine #niallimagines #niallfic #niallfanfic #niallfanfiction #niallblurb #nialloneshot #Niall Horan fic #Niall Horan fanfic #Niall Horan fanfiction #Niall Horan imagine #Niall Horan imagines #Niall Horan blurb #Niall Horan oneshot #niall horan x reader

[alloftheimagines]

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part five

masterlist | series | part four

words: 2k+

warnings: st2 spoilers, violence, hints towards domestic abuse, drinking, smoking, swearing, arguing

disclaimer: i in no way support the actions of billy. i just find his character interesting and want to explore it more with my oc. takes place from season 2. OC is hopper’s daughter. first part taken from the ‘will the wise’ ep.

summary:  she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

Frances hears her father's shouts before the cabin is even in view. Without thinking twice, she sets off in a run, twigs snapping beneath her feet as she dodges the trip wire. She clutches her camera firmly in her hands to prevent it slapping against her stomach, wind rushing past her as she speeds up.

"You're like Papa!" she hears El scream as she gets closer, and dread causes her heart to drop. She knows her father, knows he won't take well to a comment like that. She can't hear her father's reply, only El shouting a few moments later, "I hate you!"

"... I'm not too crazy about you, either!" Hopper responds.

"Shit," Frances mutters, slowing down to catch her breath. She closes her eyes and inhales, blocking the screams out for a moment before she finally enters the cabin. Neither Hopper nor El notice her despite the creak of the wooden door, too busy screaming at one another.

"Brat," Hopper says, throwing a book at El. El raises a hand to stop it, suspending it in mid-air as blood trickles from her nose. She tosses it back at him forcefully, hitting him in the stomach.

"Hey!" he exclaims in bewilderment, his eyes wide as he looks at El.

"Stop it!" Frances interrupts, finally gaining their attention as she stands between the two of them, her hands held up in caution. "What the hell is going on?"

El ignores her, marching off. Hopper trails behind her, passing Frances without acknowledgement. "Don't you dare walk away from me, kid."

The couch is shoved into his shin by an invisible force and he trips. "Hey!"

The last Frances sees of El before she slams her door shut without touching it is her eyes blazing with anger. "El!" Frances pleads, but it's too late.

"Open the damn door!" Hopper yells, banging on the wood forcefully. "You wanna go out in the world? You better grow up. Grow the hell up!"

A scream erupts from the bedroom, and without warning, the window panes shatter in their frames, shards of glass flying into the cabin. Frances is unable to duck in time and a small piece of glass scratches her cheek. She barely feels the sting, though she can feel the dampness as blood begins to ooze from the wound, and presses her hand to her face in shock. Hopper curses, kicking the wall with his heavy boot before running his hands over his face.

"What the hell happened?" Frances questions when she is able to form a coherent sentence.

"The damn kid went to see Mike today," Hopper sighed, his eyes softening when he sees that Frances is hurt. "Jesus Christ, are you alright?" He's on her in a second, pulling her hands away from the cut so that he can inspect it.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch." She struggles out of his grip, glass crunching beneath her shoes as she heads to the kitchen and grabs a towel to stop the bleeding. "Look, I know you're just looking out for her, but you need to go easy on her. She's just a kid, and she can't see her friends. Imagine how that must feel."

"Did you miss the part where she blew out the fuckin' windows?" He pointed to the now empty frames dramatically. "What if that glass had hit your eye?"

"It didn't," Frances sighs. "I'll talk to her, okay?"

"No," he shakes his head, rubbing his stubbly chin in frustration. "Let her cool down first. She's ... dangerous."

"She's not dangerous," Frances replies. "She's afraid and alone. She doesn't understand that you're keeping her safe. Just let me try."

Hopper motions to the door dismissively. "Fine, you think you can handle her, Mary Poppins? Be my guest."

Frances treads back to El's door, knocking gently. "El, it's just me," she calls when the door doesn't budge. "I understand why you're mad and afraid. Why don't we talk about it?"

"Go away," El demands after a moment, her voice muffled.

"El, please—"

"Go. Away!"

There's enough power in El's voice for Frances to know that she isn't helping matters and if she pushes her anymore, the cabin might come down in a heap of ash and rubble. She turns to her father, disappointment in her eyes. He shrugs, planting himself on the couch despite the fact that it's no longer in its usual spot. "I told you. She's impossible."

"Cut her some slack. She's been through a lot."

"Yeah, well, haven't we all?" he huffs, sadness flickering over his features. By the time he looks up again, it's gone. "Listen, I'll handle this. You're better off staying in the trailer tonight."

"You sure? I don't mind staying."

"No. You don't need to deal with this. Go home."

Frances nods, placing a hand on her father's shoulder as he puts his head in his hands. "You're doing your best. I know this isn't easy."

He places his hand over hers, rubbing her hand with the pad of his thumb. "Thanks, kid."

She flashes one last, solemn look at the door before making a move to go. Her father's voice stops her. "Hey, Fran. You okay? You look a little pale." He's turned around in his chair, his blue eyes flooding with concern. His cheeks are flushed with the remnants of his rage.

"Yeah," she lies. "Just tired, I guess."

"Look, I know I haven't been all that available recently and we haven't spent much time together. That doesn't mean you can't talk to me. I'm still your old man. I still care about you more than anything else. You know that, don't you?"

"I know that, Dad." She hesitates, worrying at her lip as he waits expectantly. "Jonathan and I broke up."

"Sweetie—"

"No, it's okay. It was a long time coming," she says quickly. "You sure you don't want me to try again with El?"

He looks at Fran and then at El's closed door.

"No. Better give her some space tonight. Go home, kid. Get some rest. Enjoy the peace."

* * *

Frances doesn't head home right away, instead following the overgrown trail to the ravine. She takes a few pictures as she goes, finding solace in the click of her camera, the repetitive action of winding back the film. Shadows loiter in her peripheral vision as the sun begins to set, and she tries to ignore them, ignore the feeling of something encroaching in on her. She's relieved when she gets to the open road, but only for a moment. For the second time this week, she has company. Billy leans against the hood of his car, his back turned towards her as he watches the sun go down. She can just make out the orange glow of a cigarette in his mouth.

Instinctively, her hands find her camera and she captures the view, the soft silhouette of the golden-tinged boy in front of the bleeding, pink sky. The sound of her shutter clicking alerts him of her presence, and she smiles guiltily at being caught. "You mind?"

He shrugs, smirking, though it doesn't quite meet his eyes. "I always knew I was your muse."

She shakes her head at his arrogance, deciding to play along as she crosses the road and meets him by his car. "Well, it's only right since you got it back for me."

He doesn't react, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes are focused on the view in front of him. Frances frowns as she realises that they're gleaming with moisture and red-rimmed as though he's been crying. His long, thick eyelashes are moist, too, against the fading sunlight, his lips pink and raw as though he's been chewing them. Atop his cheekbone sits a purple bruise that she knows wasn't there earlier.

"Are you alright?" she questions carefully. His shirt is buttoned up wrong, the cuffs of his denim jacket unrolled and covering half of his hands. His knuckles aren't bruised – if he was hit, it was one-sided.

"Peachy," he responds, smoke rolling from his mouth. He offers her a cigarette, looking at her for the first time and faltering. She's forgotten the cut on her own cheek, but she feels the sting of it now as if for the first time. "Are you?"

"Peachy," she repeats, a soft smile on her lips. "No, thanks," she says to the cigarette.

Billy shuffles down slightly so that there's room for Frances on the hood. She leans onto it, glad to take the weight off her feet, her eyes watering against the cold breeze.

"You come up here a lot?" he asks, words muffled by the cigarette. Up close, she can smell a slight hint of alcohol on his breath and realises that there's a bottle of whisky planted on the other side of him. He's not drunk, though, not yet.

"Best place to watch the sunset," she shrugs. "I used to think of this place as my little secret. Guess I'm gonna have to find somewhere else now."

"My company that bad?" His voice is hoarse, as though he's been shouting. Frances can't help but look at him again with concern, and he can't help but refuse to return her gaze.

"Billy, what happened?" she whispers delicately.

"Nothin' you need to concern yourself with, angel. Why? You worried?"

"Wouldn't go that far."

"Please," he grins, "it's cute."

"Shut up," she scoffs, pulling her jacket closer to her torso as the wind picks up again. The valley below is dotted with amber and gold leaves that gleam against the sunset. The dead leaves blow around them, rustling. She takes a deep breath in, her soul soothed for the first time in days. She thinks that perhaps he feels it, too, because for a while neither of them say a word, and neither of them need to. The silence is like a blanket, comforting and warm, safe.

Of course, Billy is the one to break it as he stubs out his cigarette with his boot and shoves his hands into his pockets. "So, you talk to your boyfriend yet?"

"Nope," she sighs. "He's too busy with Nancy."

"Dick," he curses, shaking his head. His tangled, blonde curls ruffle as he does.

"Yeah."

"How long were the two a' you together?"

She exhales, ignoring the lump in her throat. "Two years. Before that we were best friends."

His eyebrows arch in surprise. "Jesus."

"It's not just his fault. I can't pretend like he's a terrible person for doing this to me," she says, and this time she's the one who is unable to meet Billy's eyes. "I've been distant. I basically pushed him right into her. If you don't give a guy what he wants, he's gonna find it somewhere else, right?"

"Doesn't matter what you did, Fran." It's the first time he's called her that, and she likes the way her shortened name rolls on his tongue like honey. "Doesn't give him an excuse to chase after another girl and leave you drunk at a party."

"I wasn't that drunk."

He chuckles. "You weren't sober, either."

Her cheeks flush with colour, and she smiles. "Better he didn't see me like that, anyways. He always hated the way I was when I got drunk."

"Like I said," he rolls his eyes, "Dick." Billy takes a swig straight out of the whiskey bottle before offering it to Frances. "I for one don't give a shit. You wanna go for round two?"

"No, thanks." The sun seems to disappear behind the horizon all at once, and she shivers in the grey twilight. "And neither should you if you're driving. I gotta go."

"I can drive you," he offers, twisting the lid back on the bottle and pulling his car keys from his pockets. "That is, if you're not gonna bite my head off for offering."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. Feel like a drive, anyway."

Frances sighs, hesitant. He's already holding the door open for her, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. She can still make out the sadness lying just beneath his expression, though, muted and dull, but there.

"Alright," she agrees finally, sliding into the passenger's seat. The leather is cold against her legs. "But only 'cos I'm freezing out here."

"Yeah, yeah," he retorts. "Keep tellin' yourself that, angel."  

part six

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove angst #billy hargove x reader #billy x oc #billy hargrove fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things oneshot #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove/oc #billy hargrove fluff #fluff #angst #fanfiction #st fanfiction #fic #dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery fic #dacre montgomery imagines

[brightening-glance]

So I was inspired by @kiragecko to create a floor plan of Wayne Manor. I started out trying to be accurate to the comics, but eventually gave up because it changed so many times that was impossible. This is more like the manor shown in recent comics, specifically from when Dick and Damian were Batman and Robin, but I also pulled references from a bunch of different comics and from different timelines and the Gotham tv show. At this point this is the floor plan for the mashed up canon that exists in my head. Aside from @kiragecko’s own floor plan, other references included Biltmore, Filoli, Casa Loma, The Breakers, Rosecliff, Marble House, and Darlington/Crocker Mansion. I tried to make it mostly to scale, although I hand drew this and then cleaned it up digitally, so it’s probably a little off in some places. Blue text is what the current Wayne/Batfamily use the rooms for, green is what the historical use was, and black is what they’d likely be listed as on a real estate listing. Green doors are hidden or jib doors, basically doors that aren’t obvious but don’t require a pass code to get through or lead to the Batcave. Purple “doors” are the secret passages like the one hidden behind the grandfather clock that even an observant bystander shouldn’t be able to find and involve much more security. More explanations under the cut. 

So the comics are unclear on how the Waynes got Wayne Manor. They say that Nathan van Derm designed it for Darius Wayne, but then also that Darius’s grandsons, Solomon and Joshua, purchased it after Jerome van Derm died. At some point after Joshua died (in 1860), the manor was abandoned and Solomon’s son Alan (Bruce’s great-great-grandfather) rebuilt it. 

In my head, the east and west wings of the W would have been later editions. The first version of the manor, up to at least when Alan Wayne rebuilt it, would have probably just been the central portion, out to the 2 towers. Original kitchen would have been in the basement, as well as additional servants quarters. It’s not shown on the plans, but in this version the basement has been renovated to include a gym, movie room, and game area (leaving aside the much cooler basement underneath.) Also not pictured is the third floor/attic, which includes servants quarters and a third floor sitting room above Thomas Wayne’s den that looks out over the front lawn. 

With the east and west wings, you can see the very clear divisions in purpose. The west wing was a guest wing, probably added when serious entertaining became a thing, with a dedicated ballroom and guest bedrooms. The east wing downstairs was the servants’ wing - kitchen, staff dining room, butler’s pantry, bedrooms for upper household staff. East wing upstairs was the children’s/nursery wing. 

In the center of the house you can see a male/female divide that went with the historical idea of some rooms (billiard room/smoking room/study/library) being “men’s spaces” and some (drawing room/morning room) being “women’s spaces. The bedrooms for the permanent residents of the manor in the 1860s (Solomon and his wife, Joshua, Celestine) follow this divide as well, though unlike other “great houses” Wayne manor didn’t go so far as to have a separate bachelor’s wing. 

Regarding the jib doors vs secret passageways - secret passageways are basically entrances to the batcave, although they would’ve also been used by Solomon and Joshua as part of the underground railroad. Off the servery you can see the entrance to the wine cellar where Joshua’s body was eventually found. The jib doors (in green) would have been used by servants or family members to pass between rooms without going into the main hallways. Great for sneaking up on people!

Ok, going into some more specifics - headcanon time! Basically everything beyond this is just in my head, and the Batfam stuff is set at some point in the future. (It’s a really shame they stopped writing Batman Comics right after Bruce came back from they dead. Ric? Ric who? don’t know what you’re talking about). 

First, Celestine Wayne. Celestine Wayne is not a comic character. She was loosely inspired by the history of the Waynes from Gotham the tv show, and by loosely I mean her name and the fact that she lived during the Civil War era. There is a C.L. Wayne from that time period who founded the Gotham Botanical Garden in the comics, and in my head they are definitely the same person. In the Wayne family tree in my head her father was Caleb Wayne, and she was Solomon and Joshua’s cousin who became their ward for.......reasons undecided yet. Her father was leading wagon trains and so never home. Something else happened. You pick! She never married (imagine whatever reason you want here, I tend to stay away from the tv show explanation and go with she just wasn’t interested, but any reason works) and so when she became an adult and was still living at the manor but not the “lady of the house” the floor plan was slightly modified to give her her own suite of rooms. Joshua Wayne has something similar in the sense of having his own private study next to his room, although his were only connected by secret passage. Sometime between Dick moving out and Tim moving in permanently, Dick moved from his childhood room into these rooms (leaving Tim free to move into his old bedroom, a thing that actually happened in the comics). Maybe this happened when he was adopted? Maybe when he and Bruce kinda reconciled after Bruce got his back broken? Who knows! There was definitely a period where to Dick the Manor was Not His Home Anymore, and so in his mind he probably didn’t have a permanent room there (and tried to avoid staying there). Think of the moving to the “grown up full suite” as a really old fashioned way of Bruce or Alfred or both saying “I recognize you’re an adult with your own life and autonomy and I cannot treat you like a child, but also this is your home and you will always have a permanent place here.”

Other rooms of note - most mansions I referenced did not have a dedicated armoury, but it’s Batman! Of course there’s an armoury. For historical artifacts, a lot of these weapons sure seem functional......

The tea room was not originally a tea room but somewhere along the way at least one of the Wayne matriarchs was very fond of afternoon tea. With Alfred in the manor it is definitely a Space for Afternoon Tea, although it also gets used for other meals occasionally and Alfred will do a lot of his meal planning/any other paperwork there, even though he technically has an office. 

When Thomas and Martha were alive, there were actually full time staff living at the manor beyond Alfred and the staff quarters got used, and the “servant’s hall” actually got used as a staff dining room, but now this is where the family members tend to gather if there’s too many of them to just eat in the kitchen. (In my head, Wayne Manor during Thomas and Martha’s life is basically the Wayne Manor described by @unpretty who has written some of my favorite Batman fics ever.)

When Bruce was growing up, Thomas Wayne’s den was the “casual family living room” that every other sitting room in the manor was not, and after he died Bruce couldn’t bear to touch anything in it and avoided it unless he was doing some hardcore brooding. When he moved back/took in Dick, he converted one of the bedrooms to a tv room because he wanted a space that was casual and none of the other spaces felt like a tv belonged in them, but he still couldn’t go in his father’s den. As things have gotten better, and also as Tim and Damian’s relationship improved and Tim started coming around more, Bruce was finally ready to let this go and this became basically Tim’s workspace for whenever he’s at the manor. Bruce will work on stuff in there if Tim is in there, but he still doesn’t spend a lot of time in there on his own. (Ok, this was a little bit inspired by a Rebirth comic, don’t know which one, not gonna find it, I’m sure the rest of it was silly). Bruce tends to use the study downstairs if he’s working on W.E. work or other stuff like that. Jason and Dick’s go to places for any type of homework (when they were living at the manor) or any other work they might have to sit down and do are one of the libraries or wherever Bruce or Alfred are, depending on their mood and what they’re working on, and how long they’ve been living at the manor. 

I’m pretty sure Martha Wayne painting/drawing is canon, but I don’t remember the comic it was referenced in. Anyway, she turned what was being used as a sunroom into her art studio because it had the best light. With Damian in the manor it’s slowly being reclaimed by art supplies.

There are definitely rolling mirrors and freestanding barres in the ballroom that Cass uses for dance practice.

Not pictured: the massive garage, stables, tennis courts, basketball courts, gardens, pond, and basically everything on the grounds. 

If anyone is curious about what comic panels I referenced (or ignored), or what real world rooms/houses inspired specific parts, shoot me a message! Also, feel free to use this in art/fics/whatever if you want a reference!

#wayne manor #floor plan #dc #batfam #mine #long post #wayne family #i did not intend for this to be this long but then i started writing and this happened #this might change in the future but this is how i picture it in my head now

[rohad93]

Authority Online : Ch 1

 4:50 PM on a Friday

Just ten minutes left in the day and there was still a three inch stack of things sitting on her desk that needed her immediate attention.

Jaune ran her fingers through her once carefully combed, short, blonde hair with one hand and flipped through the deposition from her last session of court with the other. It was a fairly cut and dry case, the defense was merely dragging their feet and wasting her time. She grunted before sliding the offending documents back into their case and glancing up at her laptop as her email dinged almost simultaneously with her phone. 

A quick tap on the track-pad began opening up her email as she glanced down at her phone and grimaced the second she glimpsed her mother’s contact photo. She couldn’t ignore it forever, as much as she wished she could, but she could certainly put it off for a little while. 

Amber eyes instead turned to the now three new emails sitting in her inbox, two from clients and one from her assistant who chose that moment to step into her office, a tablet in one arm and quickly flicking at something on the screen.  

“Ms. Roche, I sent the contracts you wanted and scheduled your meeting for Monday morning so they can be signed.” She continued to tap at the tablet without even looking up.  

“I got them,” she mumbled almost distractedly as she quickly typed out a reply to the other two emails and downloaded the documents to her hard drive before closing the laptop and sliding it and the rest of the papers and various manilla folders on her desk into her bag before finally looking at her phone and opening her mother’s text.

‘Dinner will be at 6. Don’t be late.’     

Jaune rolled her eyes and sighed. She had forgotten about the dinner she had tentatively agreed to on Monday for no other reason than to get off the phone with the older woman so she could get some work done in peace.

 Honestly she had barely been listening as her mother had blabbered on about some show she was dying to go see and was unconsciously humming in agreement while reading through some paperwork when she had apparently agreed to dinner at her family’s estate. 

What she really needed to do was go home, order takeout and look over these files for her Monday meeting. She’d never hear the end of it though if she did. With another, more resigned sigh she stood from her desk and shouldered her bag, shutting and locking the drawers of her desk. 

This was her assistant's cue to look up from the screen she nearly had her pointed nose shoved against.   

"Goodnight, Daisy, I'll see you Monday." She nodded to her assistant as she walked out.

"Have a nice weekend, Ms. Roche." Her assistant's nasally, high pitched voice followed her into the hall.

"I wouldn't bet on it," she grumbled to herself as she stalked out to the elevator.. Hitting the ground floor button a little harder then she had intended. 

Dinner with her mother was the absolute last thing on her list of things she wanted to do this evening.

Especially with the kick her mother had been on for the past few months.

Apparently she had been single much too long, in her mother’s opinion, and had started trying to foist a random assortment of women on her at every social gathering, function and event they ever went to together anymore. It was becoming tiresome to say the least. 

She didn’t have time to date, even with two partners and about a dozen other lawyers beneath them, she had an ever-constant stream of work making its way onto her desk every week. 

True enough, she could assign a number of her cases to the more junior lawyers, but then she rarely got all the results she wanted. 

Perhaps she was a micromanager...

It got results though. 

In seven years she had turned her father’s successful practice into a proverbial giant in their field with a series of successful high profile cases. 

Ever since they had a constant inflow of cases and clients that did not leave her much of a social life. Which was her mother’s main complaint. 

How many times now had she watched her mother lay on the antique fainting couch in her drawing-room and lament her only child’s lack of a love life with the kind of over the top melodrama that one could expect from a retired cabaret dancer?

Several times that she could think of off the top of her head at this moment. 

Just last Tuesday, in fact.  

Tonight would probably be much of the same if she cared to wager on it.

She wasn’t against dating, but besides not having much time for it, it wasn’t as though she knew anyone who was worth even making the effort for. Certainly not the often, vapid women her mother had been trying to push onto her. 

Rich and affluent, but the kind of woman that Jaune knew she had nothing in common with. Most of their interests, like her mother’s, included spending all day at spas, and country clubs. Where her mother usually met them. Several she had run into at the opera. 

Something she couldn’t stand. 

She had a penchant for music and performing, as to be expected considering her mother’s influence on her as a child, but all opera did was give her a headache. 

When the elevator finally stopped, she walked quickly through the front lobby, glancing at her watch. 

The sight of the golden yellow Mercedes parked in her reserved spot on the ground floor of the parking garage made her relax a little as she pulled out her keys to unlock it. 

She tossed her bag into the backseat of the car and slid into the driver’s seat with a tired sigh.

She would bear dinner for the bare minimum she had to, but it certainly wouldn’t be with a grin.

~ ~ ~ 

By the time she managed to navigate the 5 o'clock traffic and pull up the gates of her grotesquely large childhood home it was only five till six. The large black, wrought iron gates with the stylized ‘R’ in the center swung open when she pulled up, allowing her to drive up the immaculately kept, two hundred yards up to the main house. 

The large, white, American colonial styled mansion had been large to start with but had been added onto several times over the last eighty years it had been in her family, resulting in a twelve thousand square foot, two-story, fifteen bedroom and twelve bathroom monstrosity that was much too large for the number of people that lived in it. Namely her mother and a handful of staff, some of which had been working on the estate since she was born. This didn’t even account for the land the house was sitting on.    

She mostly didn’t even notice the sprawling acreage all around her anymore, but she did notice the unfamiliar, black Ferrari, parked in the driveway next to her mother’s white Aston Martin.

Was someone else here for dinner?  

Her mother would have said if she had bought another car, and she knew the older woman well enough to know that she would never buy a car in any shade but stark white.    

Jaune frowned, her instincts telling her to just turn around and go home, but she swallowed them knowingly and put her car in park behind her mother’s before climbing out of the car and moving up the walk to the front door. 

She didn’t bother with knocking and let herself in. The foyer was empty but she could hear her mother’s cloying laughter from down the hall. 

Inhaling deeply through her nose she followed the noise till she found the woman in the drawing-room, sitting across the room in her favorite chaise lounge, smiling at the two people sitting across from her. A much older, balding man and a woman with long black hair, perhaps around her own age. 

The man, even from the back, she recognized as an old friend and previous business partner of her father’s. The woman though was not familiar. 

It was at that moment that Blanche Roche happened to glance up and spot her daughter standing in the hall. 

“Jaune! We’ve been waiting for you.” She smiled, clapping her hands together, prompting the guests to turn and look at her. 

“Jaune, how good it is to see you again.” The man smiled brightly and walked around the couch to stick out his hand, which she grabbed more out of reflex than anything.

“You as well. I didn’t know we were having guests this evening...” Eyes flickered to her mother who was smiling coyly at her.  

“Ah, Well, we happened to run into your mother at the club this afternoon and she was kind enough to invite us to dinner, which reminds me, I don’t think you’ve ever met my daughter, Alice.” He held out an arm as the woman who had been sitting on the couch came around to shake her hand. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” The woman smiled.

“Dear, Alice here has been planning a trip to Spain, perhaps you could tell her about some of the things you did when you went last year,” Blanche suggested and Jaune immediately caught onto her mother’s game.

This was a setup.

She kept a carefully neutral look on her face even as she seethed inside at this ambush.

It was at that moment that her mother’s favorite maid, Penny, a tall, thin woman who kept her light colored hair in tightly coiled buns on the sides of her head, walked into the room to announce that dinner was ready to be served. 

Their guests followed her to the dining room, allowing Jaune to glare at her mother from across the room before having to follow. 

~ ~ ~ 

The next hour seemed to drag by for Jaune as her mother made not so subtle attempts to create some kind of connection between her and this woman that just did not exist. 

Her answers were short and to the point. Verging on curt, but just shy. Not shy enough if the looks her mother was sending her were any indication. 

 It took everything she had not to sigh in relief when they announced they needed to be going. They walked them to the front door, saying their goodbyes before walking out.  

Alice stopped in the door just long enough to turn to Jaune and hold out a business card with her number on it., which she took.

“When you have time we should get together again.” She smiled before walking out the door. Jaune glanced down at the card.

“Well, you were perfectly surly, this evening.” Her mother’s annoyed tone cut the silence. 

“I don’t appreciate being ambushed.” She turned to her mother with a scowl. “Did you plan this all week?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffed, turning on heel and walking to her study, Jaune following, stalkingly, right behind her. “I ran into them today and thought it was a good opportunity.” She tossed a hand flippantly as she sat at her desk and reached for the decanter of brandy sitting on the desk and poured herself a glass.   

“That you tactfully did not mention to me.” Amber eyes glared into black ones for a long moment before Blanche sighed, resigned at being caught red handed in duplicity. 

“It was just one dinner, dear.” She picked up the glass and swirled the liquid around. “You act as though I had planned an entire wedding.” 

“If you could I’m sure you would.” Jaune snorted, crossing her arms.

“I’m only trying to help…,” she started.

“I don’t need help!” Jaune snapped, making her mother’s eyes widen a fraction. She sighed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in a vain attempt to warn off the headache she could feel coming on. When the tightness finally receded somewhat she opened her eyes to look at her mother.

“We have talked about this several times, and I know you just want me to be happy, but I’m perfectly fine as I am now, mother,” she assured, though it was said in a level tone, there was certain pointedness to the words.

Blanche looked at her for a long, quiet moment before sighing tiredly, seemingly more to herself. 

“I know you are, Jaune, but fine and happy are not the same thing,” she said before finally lifting the brandy filled glass to her lips and taking a deep drink.

~ ~ ~ 

It was only when she was home, sitting in front of her laptop in her home office and nursing a large glass of wine after a near boiling shower that she cared to think about what her mother had said. 

She could, grudgingly, admit that while she wasn’t unhappy, that didn’t mean she was happy either.

She was…content, perhaps would have been the right word.

Content could be improved, of course, she’d just never really cared to try. Though it was now becoming apparent that if she didn’t put in some kind of effort, even minimal, she was going to continue to be ambushed at dinners. She drummed her fingers on the wooden desktop, nails clicking on the high polished surface.   

Where would she even start, it had been a while, and she was short on time most days, not even mentioning that bars and clubs had never been her style to start with.

She glanced at her computer for a long moment and took a long drink before setting the glass down and tapping the screen, bringing the device to life. She hesitated only a moment before she opened the browser and typed.

‘Online dating’  

Several hundred pages popped up, making her grimace and take another long drink. 

She scrolled through about half a page, unimpressed with the majority of the offerings. 

Especially Tinder.

She was about ready to close the computer and walk away when one website happened to catch her eye, if for no other reason then the bizarre name.

‘The Authority: Online dating for adult professionals’ 

Curiously, she clicked the link. 

It had a similar look to some of the other dating sites she’d seen before but perhaps more streamlined and with less frills, not that she was going to pretend to be an expert on web design, dating or otherwise.

It touted a large user base of professionals all over the world and a superior matching algorithm. She rolled her eyes, scrolling through the front page. 

With a final sigh she clicked the signup and started filling out the various questions. Height, weight, hobbies, the standard affair. If nothing else, the next time her mother inevitably brought this up she could tell her that she was at least making an attempt.

It took her longer than she cared to admit to find some photos of herself that were both recent and not dressed for trial, though she added one in anyway. The other two, her on the beach and in the markets in Spain last year.

It wasn’t a vacation, it was work, but they had finished a couple days early and Daisy had convinced her to do some sightseeing. 

She couldn’t off the top of her head think of the last time she had traveled that wasn’t for work purposes. 

Putting that aside for now, she finished putting in her personal information and moved on to the questions about what she was looking for.

She was relieved to see the women seeking women option. She remembered all too well when all the lawsuits had been going on against a popular dating site that had adamantly refused to cater to any sort of LGBTA clientele. 

She’d considered taking some of the cases at the time, but had been swamped with other things at the time.

Clicking the right box and selecting her desired age range and city before it finally took her to her newly created profile and prompted her to write a short bio.

She quickly typed out a short paragraph, just the basic information, her profession, where she went to school and a few random tidbits about herself. 

The screen began to buffer before a message popped up.

‘Congratulations, your profile is complete! Now send some messages!’

“Not tonight…” She shut the computer and stood, taking her wine with her as she flicked off the light and closed the office door behind her.

#bellow diamond #AU #fanfic #Steven universe #yellow diamond #white diamond

[cee693]

“I missed you last night.”

Three times Barry couldn’t sleep without Iris there and the one time he did.

For most of their lives Barry and Iris have existed as a complementary pair. 

Iris was practical and structured and laid-back. Barry was emotional and messy and a bit sad.

Iris compartmentalized her pain to get through the day- a lot of times to an unhealthy degree. But, she always thought it was better to keep moving.

Barry halted the world or retreated from it when the pain got too much. 

If she felt like an emotion would keep her up at night, Iris suppressed it. She controlled it. More often than not, she ignored it. 

Barry wallowed in it. 

They were opposite, but they weren't all different. They shared many similarities: same food choices, the same taste in music, the same humor. 

They also shared a co-dependency. The healthiness of which was still up for debate. But even that manifested in different ways. 

Iris's need for Barry ran deep. It was penetrating and resided at the center of her. Without Barry by her side Iris became somewhat of a robot. Just running on auto-pilot, never stopping long enough to take in a world without him. 

Barry's need for Iris was consuming. It wasn't just in his center, it was in every part of him. So when he was without her, his body seemed to stop functioning. The results of her absence were physical for him. 

And the most common side effect of being disconnected from his other half was a complete inability to sleep. 

The first time Barry tried to sleep without Iris was her first night away at college. 

Well, that's not true. 

It was her sixth night away, but it was Barry's first in the house without her. 

He'd helped Joe move Iris in the Thursday before. Then he'd stayed behind for the weekend under the guise of them having one last hurray on labor day before her classes started the following Wednesday.

Iris opting for a single dorm after a hellish experience during her overnight visit to the school last year meant that Barry could stay over with no fuss. 

They'd made the most of their weekend, sticking close together all day everyday. Pretending to ignore the dread both of them felt of their imminent separation. 

Now he was back home and his stomach was in knots and he had class in -he checked his phone- four hours and his eyes weren't even a little droopy. 

A deep groan reverberated through the hallway outside his bedroom and Barry huffed. He never noticed how loud Joe's house was. 

The creaks and groans of the place were painful and numerous.

He felt sick. He had since he'd stepped on the train back to Central City. 

He was running over how to milk his symptoms to Joe in a few hours when his laptop started beeping. 

Barry's head jolted clean off his pillow in fright but he recovered and fumbled around for the computer by his bed. 

He was getting a skype call. From Iris. 

He sat up so quickly he got lightheaded. He pressed connect immediately and was greeted to Iris smiling sheepishly at him. 

"Hey, Barr. Did I wake you up?" she whispered. 

"Not at all," Barry told her. 

"I can't sleep," she revealed. "It's too quiet over here."

Barry chuckled. "It's too loud over here."

"Is my dad snoring again?" Iris wondered and they both shared a hearty laugh. 

"So, what did you do today?" Barry asked laying back down. The mysterious knots in his stomach unfurled almost immediately. 

Iris ran through her activities and they both pretended like they didn't already have this exact same conversation when he'd called her a few hours earlier after dinner. 

Then she asked Barry what he'd been up to and the two best friends were off; talking about anything and everything under the sun. Stifling their laughter so they wouldn't wake up Joe. 

They fell asleep sometime in the rising twilight, their faces close to their laptops as if that would close the distance between them.

When Barry woke up in the morning, he saw that his computer was still on. Skype still connected. And he was blessed with the sight of Iris's sleeping face facing him. 

His fingers itched to screen capture the image, but he didn't want to invade her privacy like that.

Instead he settled back down and watched her sleep through half-lidded eyes until she woke up too. 

They talked for another half hour before both of their alarms went off and they had to start their day. 

And as he got ready for class, Barry expected his neck and shoulders to be stiff from the awkward position he slept in, but he felt more rested and pliant than he had in awhile.

He wouldn't admit it, but Barry had been harboring a lot of fear about this new chapter in their lives. He was worried that college would reveal that he and Iris had nothing in common expect for the shared trauma of his mother's murder. That they had only been so close because they'd been forced to reside in the same space.

Not only had last night proved him completely wrong, it was also the best night's sleep he'd had in ages. 

The next time Barry struggled to sleep apart from Iris was after they'd began sharing a bed in the biblical sense. 

Iris had come down with a horrible bout of the flu and Barry had been doting on her constantly. But after a meta similar to Melting Pot touched him, Barry had been left with some of his abilities out of whack. Including his formerly rock-solid immune system. 

Iris had moved into one of the guest rooms to avoid getting Barry sick and it was taking every argument she had to stop him from moving in there with her too.

She'd sequestered herself in spite of Barry's protests and had made it through most of the day with him respecting her wishes. But, that night she roused from sleep and took in a very frustrating scene. 

"Barry," Iris wheezed, her voice raspy and congested. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not touching you. It's fine," he whispered quickly. 

It was the middle of the night. Two a.m., maybe later. And Barry was sneaking into her room carrying an armful of pillows and blankets. 

He hadn't meant to wake her. He knew that she would protest him sleeping on the floor, but what could he do?

"I've been coughing up a lung in here all day," Iris struggled to speak. "The room is completely contaminated. Get out."

Barry knew Iris was being blunt for his own sake, but there wasn't a chance of him leaving to sleep in their bed alone.

It didn't even feel like a bed. It felt like he was laying on a frozen slab of concrete. 

Iris accused him of exaggerating and being dramatic when he relayed this to her. 

"I can't sleep without your legs between mine."

"You complain about my feet being too cold every single night," Iris retorted. 

Barry grinned bashfully. That was true. But he mostly complained because it always made Iris laugh and rub her legs against his in retribution.

He promised to sleep on the floor and though she didn't agree with him staying in the room, Iris was far too tired to argue.

She watched Barry meticulously lay out his blankets and pillows by the bed with drooping eyes. She still wasn't fully asleep when she felt Barry lean over her and softly kiss her scalding forehead. 

She drowsily reminded herself to have a talk with him in the morning about taking health risks like that and then she was out like a light. 

When she woke up the next morning, Iris felt warm in a comfortable way she hasn't felt in days. And in spite of her aches and pain, she felt more rested than she had in a week. 

She sighed gratefully and melted further into her pillow. Then she noticed warm legs tangled up with hers. She turned and saw her boyfriend fast asleep, his soft breath tickling her cheek.

Barry was curled up tight behind her in bed. He was sporting a flu mask that was askew from sleep and his arms were around her middle, softly caressing her skin in his sleep.

Iris was sure he'd slipped into bed with her the minute she fell asleep. He looked content and well-rested and quite pleased with himself.

And Iris didn't complain because Barry's arms were more soothing than any medicine. She curled into him more and was asleep in seconds. 

Of course Barry did get the flu himself almost immediately.

But, in spite of the vomiting and the wheezing and the swollen everything, he was delighted that it allowed him to snuggle up with Iris without protest once more.

The third time Iris's absence kept Barry awake and restless was very different than the other two.

It wasn't for unavoidable reasons like school or illness. It was by choice. Iris's choice. Because she couldn't stand the sight of him. 

Barry had paced the full length of the apartment more times than he could count now and he was no closer to growing tired. 

He felt wired; tapping his fist in his hand, muttering angry self-assurances under his breath. 

After the long, exhausting day he'd had Barry couldn't believe he was still awake, but he had no interest in going to bed. 

Not that he could even if he wanted to.

He'd already sped over to Joe's a total of nine times that night. Each time he stopped himself before he could knock on the door. 

Iris was there.

She'd gone straight to her dad's after storming out and leaving him in Star Labs after their fight.

She hadn't even given him a warning that she wasn't coming home. In fact, she hadn't spoken a word to him after he'd confessed what he'd done to Nora. 

It was only Joe stopping by to grab Iris's laptop and some other things she had asked him to grab that Barry realized his wife had no plans to speak to him any time soon. 

At first, Barry had tripped over his words, asking Joe why he would abet her hiding out instead of advising her to come home so they could talk. But, when Joe asked Barry point blank why he sent his granddaughter away without any kind of discussion, Barry's righteous defensiveness returned. 

He told Joe the same thing he told Iris. That he'd done it for their own good. That Eobard had destroyed his family and he was trying to do it again.

Joe didn't try to argue. He just gave Barry a brisk hug and told him to get some sleep and clear his head. 

That had been hours ago.

Barry was no closer to calming down or settling. And the longer he walked the empty apartment the more agitated he became.

The only thing that ever made this place feel like home was the fact that it was where Iris laid her head. So, tonight the apartment felt cold and unfamiliar.

And it was only a tiny sliver of sanity still remaining with him that stopped Barry from pounding down Joe's door and demanding his wife come home.

Because Barry was sure he was right. 

He was sure he could get Iris to see his perspective and side with him. 

He wanted to try. And this time he would keep his cool. He wouldn't say hurtful things he didn't mean. He just wanted to talk to her. 

But, each time he flashed over to Joe's to do just that, he chickened out.

The image of the tears in Iris's eyes as she walked away from him pierced his heart. And the withering look Joe gave Barry when he left the loft earlier had told him that Joe knew all about the awful things he'd said to Iris.

It was moments like that that reminded Barry that Joe West was very much his father-in-law. He was Iris's father before he was anything else. After a certain point Joe wouldn't hesitant to kick his ass for hurting Iris. 

Going and disturbing her in the middle of the night would only sign Barry's death warrant.

Still he kept going back to the house again and again before leaving back to the loft. 

Barry wasn't proud of the things he'd said to Iris. He was just betrayed and in pain and a bit lost. 

And now in the stillness of the loft, in the lifeless and dull atmosphere of their bedroom, Barry felt even that tiny remaining ounce of sanity leave him.

He had never had to be without her like this before. It was always him leaving. Flashpoint, going into the speedforce, asking for space after their failed engagement. He was always running away. Always hurting her. Always leaving her. 

What did it say about how much he'd screwed up tonight that she had finally decided to be the one to leave?

And that's what she'd said in Star Labs wasn't it? Listing off all that she'd had to endure. All she'd put up with. 

Barry pressed his fingers hard against his eyes and bit his lip hard enough to cut. 

She's too forgiving. Too understanding. Especially to people who didn't deserve her grace. 

But, that's why he couldn't let Nora have a chance to plead her case and cloud Iris's judgement. 

That's why he sent her away without consulting Iris. She would've forgiven Nora and let her stay. 

He sighed harshly. He should've known. 

The second Nora made her true feelings known about her mother, Barry should've known she'd been corrupted. 

Because how could anyone be so cold to someone so loving? 

Nora had obviously been exposed to Thawne's darkness. 

Despite what Iris and Joe said, Barry could see the threads of Thawne's influence all over Nora in hindsight. She'd mastered his manipulation and lies. 

And if it weren't for them going into her memories and seeing the truth for themselves, the guilt Nora's deception caused would've consumed Iris. 

Iris had to see; he'd sent Nora back to protect her. To protect all of them. 

Barry had done this for her and she'd gotten so mad at him for it.

He was trying to protect her and she'd left for her father's. He may have regretted the words he spoke but he absolutely did not regret his actions.

He didn't. And it was on them if no one else wanted to see the truth.

He stopped pacing and turned on the television, raising the volume up higher than was considerate to the neighbors.

He didn't care what was on. He just wanted the noise to drown out the silence. 

Cruel irony was seeing a smiling photo of his wife on the t.v. within a few minutes. 

It was a news report about some story she'd been working on. Her article had helped the police solve it and the newscaster was calling Iris an invaluable asset to the city. 

Barry sighed and turned off the television. 

He didn't think twice before he sped upstairs to the bedroom and then once more to Joe's porch. 

He didn't knock on the door, but this time he stayed.

He sat on the porch swing and spread out the blanket and pillow he'd brought with him.

He wouldn't be going back to the loft tonight.

He would have to leave before Joe and Cecile left for work in the morning because he was sure they would give him an earful but he would stay the night. 

Just because they were arguing didn't mean he wouldn't look out for his wife and make sure she was safe and sound. 

She was a very public figure and was sure to be on a few bad guys' radars.

That's what he told himself as he slid under the thick blanket and onto the cold hard wood of the bench. 

He was just doing his duties as a husband; watching over his wife. He wasn't here because he was feeling regret over what he'd done.

He'd done what he had to. Nora had broken their trust and he was at peace with his decision. 

He tried to roll over and almost fell off the tiny bench. 

In his head he could hear Iris laughing and reprimanded him for risking his safety trying to squeeze onto a tiny swing on a cold night like this. 

Then he heard Iris's voice breaking, crying that he hadn't given her a chance to say goodbye to her own child.

 He groaned and turned to the other side. He knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. 

But, he was here to look out for Iris, nothing more. Not because he couldn't face their empty home alone. Not because he deeply regretted what he'd done. 

He didn't regret what he'd done.

He couldn't regret what he'd done...

The first time his body let him sleep without Iris was years later.

He'd been working at his desk for hours trying to get through as many case files as he could before he attempted to turn in for the night. Attempted being the operative word. 

Tiny cooing broke him from his work and he looked at the baby monitor on his desk.

He saw Donovan bouncing up and down in his crib babbling incessantly.

Barry quickly hustled down the hall into the nursery before Donovan's chatter could wake up his sister. 

"Heyy, what are you doing up so late, buddy?" Barry whispered to the baby. 

His son looked up at him with large brown eyes then pointed excitedly as if he had been expecting Barry. 

Barry smiled at the thought. 

Everything about his children fascinated him. He could and had spent hours  taking in every inch of their faces. 

Their mannerisms and personalities were so unique and yet so familiar to him. 

At nine months old, it was incredible to watch both of them learn and become acclimated to the world around them. 

He loved both of his children more than words, but with Donovan there was bond that Barry couldn't explain. 

There was something almost mystifying about his son and Barry loved watching him just be.

He picked Don out of his crib and walked him back to his bedroom. Don babbled loudly as they went.

Barry checked his diaper, if he was warm, and if he was hungry, but he was all good. It seemed like he'd just woken up to shoot the breeze.

Barry looked him over once more to make sure he hadn't missed anything, but he found himself just standing to take in the perfection that was his child.

Donovan looked exactly like Iris. He was a perfect replica of his mother. Literally the only thing he'd seemed to inherit from Barry were his dimples.

His deep brown eyes were always watching, always examining. Nothing he or Iris ever did went unnoticed if Donovan was in the room.

Iris joked that he would definitely be a journalist one day because he was so nosy.

And it was true, he did seem loud and busy where his sister was quiet and subdued.

He also found Barry hilarious which was another difference from his sister. 

Anything Barry did extracted deep belly laughs from Don without him even trying.

Barry picked up his son and carefully sat on his bed, groaning as his muscles protested. 

Donovan laughed in his arms. 

"Is that funny?" Barry grinned. "Daddy's silly huh?"

Donovan clapped and flashed a gummy smile, his only two teeth shining in the dim light. "Da-da."

Barry tickled under Donovan's chin and he laughed even harder. 

"Well you're wide awake. You can't be making so much noise in your room, buddy. Your sister has to sleep too."

Donovan's lips formed a perfect O shape and he blinked up at Barry.

Then he flipped himself to try and get out of Barry's grasp. Barry let him go onto the bed and Donovan squealed at his newfound freedom. 

He rolled around in the bed and patted the comforter excitedly. "Mama mama, ma!"

"So that's what you're after," Barry realized. "Mama's not here."

Donovan chattered on, feeling around the sea of blankets in search of his mother.

"You can't sleep when she's gone either huh?" Barry sat beside his son understanding why he was wide awake so late.

It seemed there was more he'd inherited from Barry than just his dimples. 

"Mama," Donovan whimpered when his search of the bed proved futile. He sat up slowly and his little chest began heaving.

Barry quickly scooped him up and tried to soothe him. "Hey, it's okay, buddy. It's alright."

He shushed his son's crying. And looked around for something to comfort him. 

"Want to keep me company in here tonight?" Barry questioned, already getting up to grab the pack and play in the corner of the bedroom.

Donovan looked up at Barry tearfully. 

Barry kissed his face. 

"We'll watch a movie to distract ourselves," Barry whispered. "How does that sound?"

Barry kissed Donovan again and this time he smiled and giggled.

Barry relaxed a tiny bit at the sound. "Okay, let's go."

Iris sighed tiredly as she heaved her heavy suitcase through the front door bright and early the next morning. 

She dropped it in the foyer, not bothering to bring it more than a few steps in. She'd take care of it later. Right now she needed sleep, but first she had to see her family. 

With The Citizen being the ever-growing multimedia conglomerate that it was, Iris was spending more and more time traveling.

Barry's promotion to head of the CSI department meant his hours were more flexible and that had given him the ability to be with the kids more which she was grateful for.

Iris loved the life she and Barry were able to create and the success they've been blessed with, but she missed her family so much it ached. 

Her fingers itched to hold her warm, chubby babies. She peeked into the kids' room and was greeted to big hazel eyes watching her.

"Hi sweet girl," Iris greeted her daughter softly. She scooped her up and showered her in kisses. Which the baby loved. "Oh I missed you so much, honey. Where's your brother huh?"

Her tired arms held her daughter close as she went in search of her son. 

The kitchen and bedroom were empty, but she found just who she was looking for in the living room. 

The t.v was on. Credits were rolling for a black and white film, no doubt one of Barry's musicals. And her husband was snoring lightly, holding their son with great care against his chest.

Iris felt her heart swoon as she took in the two friends sleeping.

Donovan's eyes opened almost as if he sensed his mother come in. He grinned widely and babbled happily when he saw her.

Iris's face mirrored his as she sat down beside Barry and peppered her son with kisses. "Hi sweetie," she whispered so as not to disturb her husband. "Were you keeping daddy company while I was gone?"

"Da!" Don said. 

He yawned and rubbed his face against Barry's shirt. 

Iris cooed and rubbed his back, encouraging him to go back to sleep.

When his eyes closed again she leaned up and kissed her husband sweetly. 

He stirred. 

"You're back," Barry smiled sleepily. 

Iris murmured in agreement and stifled a yawn. "Long flight."

"I missed you," he said lowly. 

"I missed you too," Iris sighed. "I hate sleeping alone."

Barry scooted over to make room for his two girls on the couch. "Try to sleep now," he told her gently. 

When Iris rested her head on his shoulder, Barry wrapped his free arm around his wife and daughter and the four of them dozed off into a perfect sleep.

#Westallen #The Flash #Iris West-Allen #Barry Allen #Westallen Fic

[prettywordsyouleft]

Love Error

milkandheonnie said:

I am probably too late (as always), but it's worth a shot: I dare you to write Woong in your Becoming Human world.

Pairing: Jeon Woong x reader

World: Becoming Human (read HERE)

Genre: robot au / fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 3051

You weren’t too worried about the complications of taking your work home with you. Sure, you had been debriefed before leaving the lab and it was no secret within the company that falling in love with your work could be a possibility.

After all, your team leader was complete proof of that. Leo had fallen in love with Yerin and fought through everything that separated them from having an organic connection, one that indicated love could exist between anyone.

Even between a robot and human.

But when it came to you, well, you had no interest in love. You were married, for lack of a better term, to your job and held no desire for anything further than that. What made your heart beat faster was watching artificial intelligence mature. When a circuit board you had spent hours on got fired up for the first run and it’s successful. As a computer scientist, you had a love for facts. For things you could see occur before you.

Feelings weren’t something you dabbled in, even when it came to your job.

“I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us,” you assured Leo as he hesitated in handing over the package that contained all the information about the Woong bot beside you. You took it from his hand and smiled. “I’m only going to be working on sharpening up his errors. Nothing more.”

“That’s what I said,” a voice interjected, smiling at you both before stopping beside her husband. Kissing Leo’s cheek, Yerin then giggled. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

You grinned, despite feeling confident that what had happened to them would never occur for you. “I’ll owe you if anything does!”

“Oh, make a list of rules, even so. You don’t know how long he’ll be staying for and…” Yerin turned to look at Leo in distaste as he regarded her with a dark look and then she sighed. “It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

“I expect a full report by the end of the week of how your testing pans out, Y/N. Shall we, my hard to please wife?”

“For that, you’ll be cooking dinner,” Yerin remarked as the couple waved you off and you listened to their banter with a warm smile before turning to the bot beside you.

Kboy Cyborgs had taken off years ago, though with the advances in robotics thanks to Leo’s near human-like emotions, they had truly changed the world. Kboys were everywhere and the first line of Kgirls was already in the testing phase. You had been working on them for some time now, so it was going to be far too easy to work with Woong over the week out of the office. He was already an established robot, though he had malfunctioned during staff training. Although he was still running online, and as you gestured for him to follow you to the underground parking lot, in which he did with ease, you had a lot to fix before he could go out and be in the world. It wouldn’t take you more than the week to fix and even though most people liked the idea of having a relaxing time away from the office, you were looking forward to this additional project.

Woong cleared his throat and caught your attention once you were both seated in your car. “So are we off to your house now, noona?”

“We are,” you confirmed as you navigated the evening traffic. It was odd to have a travel buddy when you normally drove home in silence. However, Woong was curious and asked many questions on the ride to your apartment.

Which didn’t stop once inside your home. “Wow, do you live here alone?”

“Yes, it’s just me.”

“Don’t you get bored? Do you own a cat? My sources indicate a lot of people who are live alone have feline companions. A dog, given your dedication to the lab, would be impractical.”

You stared at the robot and then sighed. “No, I don’t have a cat.”

“Are you allergic? Would you like one? I could search through adoption advertisements right now-”

“No, I’m fine without one, thank you Woong.”

His lips pulled together with a slight purse before he smiled and walked towards your bookshelf. “Wow, may I read these?”

“Sure.”

He then darted into your kitchen. “Should I make us some dinner? I have the appropriate functions installed to eat food. We can share our first meal together!”

You didn’t respond, feeling exhausted with how he flitted about your apartment so quickly. Was this why Yerin suggested rules? Had Leo been like this as well? You had a lot to decipher about this bot, but with how much he was chattering, you did the best thing to solve the issue. Swiftly, you reached for the button at the back of his neck, sending him off to sleep.

And then you took in a deep breath, relaxing into the silence that enveloped you.

You had no idea how anyone could live with a Kboy full time.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t leave Woong offline to get your work done. So, once you were sufficiently fed and ready to, you turned him back on, his eyes blinking rapidly as he processed new information. He gasped at you noisily which surprised you. “I was offline for three hours?! Why would you do that?”

“Okay, Woong. Let’s get some facts in place. You’re here for me to work on. Not to become my friend or anything like that-”

“But I would like to become friends with you,” he mentioned with a pout and you heaved a deep breath, trying not to focus on his expression. You felt a surge of guilt over his surprise at being shut off and it was the last thing you wished to entertain today.

You cleared your throat. “We will begin work on your processing error. I’m going to attach my laptop to you and if anything feels odd as I work, I need you to mention it immediately, okay?”

“Of course. I want to be functioning at the best I can because that means one day someone will want to be my friend.”

You tried not to play into his pettiness, ignoring the way he folded his arms across his chest. You didn’t know a lot about the living Woong, but so far your experience with the robot form was definitely more than you had expected. He seemed so polite and quiet in the introduction video you had watched earlier. Right now, he was very playful and easily offended. You wondered if there was an error in his programming there too. Then again, Kboys had evolved into becoming their own sentient beings. Base traits were installed from the idol modelling, but each bot had the ability to grow their intelligence.

This Woong perhaps was just like this naturally.

Thankfully, he was incredibly helpful during your initial testing. Whenever he found a circuit that ran too slowly or diverted, he let you know immediately. You had developed a solid working relationship already that you could appreciate. This remained the same over the next three days, and if it wasn’t for his efficiency whilst you worked – which you chose to do for the majority of your time together – you were certain you would have gone insane with all his endless chatter.

Unplugging your laptop on your fourth session, you smiled at him. “Thank you, Woong. That will be all for tonight.”

“Will you charge now?”

You smiled at the endearing term for sleep. Nodding, you got up and stretched your tired limbs. “I will be going to bed. Please, don’t make too much noise like last night. Perhaps you could read the books as you requested when you first came to stay.”

“Charge well, noona,” he said with the widest smile. You blinked, it was so genuine and you were confused at why you chest tightened. “I’ll promise to be silent.”

You awoke to a high pitched scream, jolting upright just in time for your bedroom door to be thrown open, Woong dashing into your room in terror.

You were completely distressed by everything that was happening, especially when the robot climbed up onto your bed and tried to hide behind you.

“What is going on?”

“Oh, noona! It’s GIANT!”

“What is?”

“The… the… oh my god, I can’t say it. But it’s so big and I was just sitting there reading my thirty-fourth book for the evening when it crawled my way and-” He let out an unintelligible whine, shuddering from head to toe.

You frowned. “A bug?”

“A BUG!”

“But Woong, you’re a robot. A bug shouldn’t scare you,” you explained, attempting to move him away from your pillows. You were too tired for this kind of interruption. Honestly, a bug?! A robot like Woong could kill it with ease. You knew you would have to report this behaviour to Leo, you weren’t aware of such a trait.

However, Woong refused to move off your bed. “I’m not going back out there.”

“Woong, I’m sleeping!”

“I’ll be quiet in here! Just don’t send me back out there to the bug!” he pleaded, and perhaps because you were too tired to remain awake for much longer, you waved him off, laying down again and rolling onto your side away from your work guest. Woong breathed out a relieved sigh and then laid down too. “Thank you for your acceptance.”

“I just want to sleep Woong, that’s all there is to it.”

And boy, did you sleep well. You had possibly the best sleep that you could remember. You were just the right temperature, not overly hot that you needed to kick off the blankets, and not too cold either. When you finally woke up, you didn’t quite want to get up. You were content.

It was during this moment you became aware of what was happening around you. Or, more specifically, what was on you. Opening your eyes quickly, you glanced down at the arm over your waist and felt a leg over yours. The firm chest that was imprinted in your back cradled your entire body and at first, you were surprised to find yourself so relaxed in the arms of the soundly sleeping robot.

And then you were frantic. “Woong!”

“What?” he mumbled, nestling in further. You gasped and slapped his arm off. “Why are you moving, I was comfortable.”

“You cannot sleep with me!” As soon as you were free to leap out of your bed, you did so, eyes wide when you found that Woong’s shirt had been removed. Darting your eyes to the ceiling, you attempted to calm yourself down. But your mind connected on a thought and you pointed at him incredulously. “Please tell me you didn’t infiltrate the old AI modes. You’re not in lover mode, are you?!”

“What is a lover mode? I was just charging. Besides, it was you who did it first. In the middle of the night, you turned around and snuggled into me saying I was the right temperature to cool you down and that you loved the sound of my system purring along.” Woong knelt upon your bed after fetching his shirt and threw it over his head. And then he smirked. “You even called me your cat. Are you adopting me, noona?”

“You’re making that up.”

He shifted closer. “Want to read my memory card?”

“No wonder Yerin warned me,” you breathed, shaking your head and then pointed to the door. “Out you go, it’s time for breakfast.

The humour fell from his expression, and instead, he looked concerned. “You’re coming right?”

“Why?”

“The bug, it might still be out there.”

“Oh good grief,” you chimed, heading for the door. Woong stepped in behind you, peering around you. After searching the entire space for the bug and coming up empty, Woong relaxed and started making you breakfast.

It was surprisingly a nice experience to share a meal with someone and it had become your favourite part of the day so far this week. You didn’t really talk, Woong was somewhat aware now of your prickly mannerisms, simply shooting you several smiles over the meal. You couldn’t help but feel comfortable around him by the time you were ready to work on his processing again.

Much like yesterday, you worked on his system directory and Woong helped you figure out the issues. You had already debugged three pathways and were working on the fourth when he yelped in pain.

“Are you okay?!”

“Ow, my neck!” he cried and you looked at the hand he had raised to cup it, gently reaching out to slip your hand to where it was. You gasped when you saw the bug there, darting your focus to Woong’s face. How had he felt the bite of the bug? Of course, being bloodless, the bug had just died upon contact, but it surprised you all the same.

“You, you really felt that?”

“What was it?”

“The bug, it bit you. It’s dead, don’t panic,” you added on as he went to move and he relaxed, frowning about his experience. You checked the area of his skin. “You even have a mark. How did that happen?”

“Well our skin is fired by circuits remember, it makes sense I would feel it if I can feel the touch of your hand on me as well,” he mentioned, his tone sounding thicker. You glanced down at him and away from where your hand resided, Woong looking up at you wholly. “I can feel you.”

Where it came from, even you were surprised. The words you had proclaimed to your team leader swirled around in your mind as your lips pressed to Woong’s, his own passionately moving against yours. Somehow, in the midst of the embrace, you found yourself pulled onto him, sitting in his lap as the kiss deepened. And just like the circuits you worked with day in and out, you felt a surge fire pathways throughout you. From your lips all the way to your toes, everything felt alive and open.

You were overwhelmed.

“I felt that the most,” he breathed when you pulled away, and you gasped, lifting your hand to your mouth in realisation. Woong smiled, tenderly pushing your hair behind an ear. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“January seventh, twenty-nineteen.”

“That was my first day in the lab,” you replied immediately, brows knitting together. “How do you know that?”

“Because on your first day you made a mistake with a robot and cried about it.”

You stared back at him, the memory resurfacing. You had been given a simple task of placing a memory chip into a robot in your first assignment, accidentally hitting a main circuit in the process. You had been told to fix it before you went home and to learn all about why circuits were critical. That moment in time had led you to become the best at repairing circuits in the entire laboratory.

How did Woong know this though?

He smiled, gently rubbing your back. “It’s okay, mistakes happen and I’ll be fine. Just like right now, with the bug. I’m okay.”

His words felt familiar and you snapped your focus to his face. “It was you. I made the mistake with you.”

“I mean, it’s fair. I didn’t have this face back then. Or any face,” he replied, cringing at the memory. Then he smiled. “But I hoped you would remember me. You told me that I would be your favourite robot if I survived. And I have.”

“Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?” you wondered and Woong smiled. “You knew I wouldn’t let you come home with me?”

“For a closed off human, you’re pretty easy for me to read, Y/N. I think we’re meant to be.”

“Oh no,” you rebutted, shaking your head with a laugh. “I’m not about to go that far. It was one kiss.”

“We could have more,” he offered, leaning in closer. “I’ve always liked you, after all.”

You blinked rapidly, that thick tone was a curse and you were entrapped by it. Pushing Woong back, you laughed. “Easy.”

“Okay, so it’s too fast. I get it. Even though both times you’ve initiated everything, noona. Just remember that.” He laid back down and then pointed to your computer. A picture of complete innocence. You scoffed. “Aren’t we working right now?”

“What am I going to tell Leo on Monday?” you wondered aloud, heaving in a deep breath before leaning down to capture his lips again. After the kiss ended, Woong grinned up at you.

“Tell him there were more issues underlying the ones we knew of and that I need further testing.”

“Then he can do that in the lab.” Woong shook his head. “I only trust you inside my mind.”

“I don’t trust you getting inside of mine.”

“Why, are you afraid you might fall in love with me?” he mused, smiling up at you.

“Well, I did make a mistake with you in the past, and you’re still full of errors. I guess it is up to me to fix them.”

“One kiss at a time?” he suggested and you moved back to your laptop, working your way quickly through his memory bank to see your name clearly there from when his memory card was inserted. You smiled.

“Let’s just see how the rest of this week goes. I might want to trade you in for something better.”

“Hey!”

You glanced up, grinning wickedly. “Well, you opened my heart up to like more than just the circuits running inside of you. I should get a model that I find physically attractive.”

“Are you saying you… wow.”

You then wrote a code into his mind, logging it there permanently. It silenced Woong as he recognised it. “I have a love error?”

“Yep, my diagnosis is that your circuits are so messed up because of me. I’ll have to tell Leo, I’ve made an error that’s going to take a while to solve.”

Woong sat up and nodded. “And since you’re so good at figuring out how to work with my circuits, I’ll definitely make sure we share that same error by the time Monday comes around.”

_________________

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[coll2mitts]

#65 Beauty and the Beast (2017)

I’m burning through my Disney+ subscription, and instead of this forever cursing my drafts section until I work my way through the other lower movies on this list, you’re getting this one now.

Beauty and the Beast was my favorite Disney movie as a child.  Belle was smart, she read a lot, and she was a bit of an outcast, which were my only identifiers as a wee lass (other than being obnoxious and constantly having tangled hair).  I'm going to bet that this movie is the reason so many girls my age went through a Paris phase in their tween years.  I did take 3 years of high school French that I have almost no memory of.  

The original's animation is gorgeous, the songs by Alan Menken and Howard Ashman are iconic, and the romance between two people who learn how to trust and support each other... it's probably the reason why I've stayed in terrible relationships for way too long.  My father took me to see this movie in theaters when I was 6, and it is the first movie I remember crying during out of sadness.  There I was, while the Beast was dying, trying to hide the fact tears were streaming down my face because I didn't want my dad to see I was crying and not take me to see another movie again.  When they adapted it for Broadway, I listened to that soundtrack over and over...  "Home" was my favorite song, and the end still makes me cry like a 6-year-old.  It's perfect.

I had attempted to watch this remake once before.  I hated it so much I started drinking, and then peaced out so hard when Lumiere started moving that I had to watch Moana to normalize myself.  Visually, this movie is what happens when the Uncanny Valley turns into the fucking Grand Canyon.  Little did I know that this movie gets worse... much worse... as it goes on, and that Stephen Chbosky, the author and director of The Perks of Being a Wallflower made it this way.  A man who wrote one of my most beloved novels and movie adaptations helped in creating this narrative monstrosity, and that, out of all of this, was the deepest cut of all.

I'm not rehashing the plot, because I have too much to say about why this remake shouldn't exist, and I’m going to guess you’ve either seen the movie or are familiar with this almost 300-year-old story.  It took the source material and just murdered it in its attempts to update it.  I'm going to start positive and work toward the biggest issue I had with it, because I'm currently writing angry and that never turns out well for me.

Things I liked:

This may be controversial, but I did like Josh Gad's performance as LeFou.  I'm not saying what LeFou did made any sense (he suddenly was upset Gaston was making things up again?), but as an actor, Josh Gad was working with what he had, and I think he owned it.

Chip's introduction to Maurice - I actually paused the movie because I was laughing so hard.

The piano playing the funeral march when it tackled LeFou.

When Mrs. Potts said Chip smelled good when he turned back into a little boy.  It was a cute little detail.

The guillotine joke in "Be Our Guest" and the Les Miserables barricade reference.

I actually thought Cogsworth was adorable for being a CGI nightmare.  I don't know how much of my opinion of this was influenced by the voice of Ian McKellan.

I really liked the costumes, except for Belle's gown, which was definitely a downgrade.  Micarah articulated the issues with it perfectly.

Celine Dion singing the credits song was a nice homage to her cover of "Beauty and the Beast", although it sucks she's associated with this nightmare of a remake.

Little quibbles:

Whatever they did to Emma Watson’s voice made her sound like a robot.

Almost all the CGI, especially the Beast, was completely unsettling.  The wardrobe was the worst of it, holy shit.

They went out of their way to explain plot holes like "Why don't the villagers remember the castle?" or “Why is it snowing when it looks like the middle of summer in the village?” or "How did Belle get the Beast up on that horse?" when none of that really matters to the overall narrative.

The reaction to Belle teaching a little girl how to read was unbelievably eye-roll inducing.  Lindsay Ellis' video on this is so fucking good, watch it now - You don't have to read the rest of my ramblings if you do. #beastforshe

Ariana Grande slurring her way through "Beauty and the Beast".

It was nice to see Maurice updated from a manic inventor to a level-headed, sweet, competent, reserved man who treats his daughter like an equal.  Clock-maker Maurice that actually takes care of Belle reads better to me, and I like how they had him wander into the garden to get a rose for her - it's a nice callback to the original story.  The problem with doing this, however, is it negates the "crazy old Maurice" narrative that plays heavily into why the villagers don't believe his tale of the Beast in the first place.  If Kevin Kline, a put-together man (up until this point), wandered into the tavern looking disheveled and conveying a story about his daughter being kidnapped, I'd be like, "Shit, Maurice, what did you see?!".  But instead, the story goes out of its way to put him at the mercy of Gaston, and shoehorn in an attempted murder plot to really turn everyone against him - it's bizarre.

Medium quibbles:

Gaston went from being a well-liked, athletically inclined dude to a literal predator and murderer.  Belle was a beautiful status symbol in the original movie, but she becomes literal game to Gaston in the remake, as he refers to her as prey, or something to be hunted.  When Maurice gets in-between him and Belle, Gaston punches him in the face and leaves him out in the forest to be eaten by wolves?!  What does this add to the story?!  Gaston wasn't right for Belle because he wasn't kind and didn't intellectually stimulate her, but that nuance is wasted on the remake, turning him into a full-blown vengeful villain that will literally kill Belle's family to get what he wants.

The first time Belle is brought to her room, there is this long panning shot showing off how nice it is, and she comments, in wonder, how she thinks its beautiful.  They had the fucking nerve to play “Home” in the background of this scene, completely ignoring the original context of the song is sadness and despair.  But go off, I guess...

The Big Enchilada:

This is where my notes went from eh????? to WHAT THE FUCK, so be prepared.  How someone with enough emotional maturity to write Perks can make the Beast into such an abusive asshole is so fucking beyond me, I'm still trying to process it.

Beauty and the Beast is a romance at heart, which you would never know by watching this movie, as Belle and the Beast have so little chemistry it's painful.  This might be because the Beast is abusive to Belle at every turn in the beginning, making the pivot from enemies to lovers so completely unbelievable it's shocking.  The remake is already at a deficit as the CGI Beast is terrifying, in contrast with the cartoon, which has the ability to make the Beast cuddly with big eyes and an expressive face.  But they still decide to take all of the Beast's inner conflict out of the remake, remove his agency completely out of the relationship with Belle, and make him supremely unlikable in every interaction they have together.

There are a few scenes that illustrate this, starting with the dinner invitation scene:

In the original, the Beast sees the pain he's inflicted by pulling Belle away from her father, and offers her a tour of the castle and a bedroom instead of a prison cell.  He also invites her to dine with him, although he could have gone about it wayyyy better.  He confides in his staff that she is beautiful, and he realizes she can break the spell, but he doesn't know how to appeal to her.  His staff give him tips on how to be charming and not so intimidating.  He is receptive, but overwhelmed, because he hasn't had to interact with any other human in years.  When he discovers she doesn't plan on eating with him, his anger takes over because she refused his hospitality, and he's a king, so how dare she?  The staff try to help him appear genteel, cause again, HE expressed interest in being appealing to her.  When this doesn't immediately work, he throws a massive tantrum and tells them not to feed her.  When he looks at Belle later in the mirror, he hears the direct result of his actions as Belle is ranting to the wardrobe.  He laments she'll never see him as a human because his actions have pushed her away.

In the remake, it's not the Beast’s idea to give Belle a room, or to invite her to dinner - it is his staff's intervening that puts him in that situation in the first place.  He doesn't even want to get to know her because she's a daughter of a thief, and that's somehow below his current social status of recluse animal/human hybrid.  His staff persuade him to give Belle a chance as they're all invested in breaking the spell because they'll turn into furniture if they don't!  They give him tips to manipulate her into opening the door, he tries it, it fails spectacularly, he gets angry and he leaves - but not before calling his staff idiots...  I appreciate he's not as physically violent in this version, but he just acts like he couldn’t be bothered with Belle.  He does spy on her from the mirror, but she looks bewildered.  He doesn't know if she's lonely, or missing her father, or what...  There's no indication that how he treated her in that moment has pushed her further away.  Then he just stares at the rose like, "Well, shit, this ticking time bomb is still ticking!".  It's completely self-focused.

Oh, and then Mrs. Potts tries to handwave the Beast’s behavior away with, "People say a lot of things in anger.  It is our choice whether or not to listen," which, excuse me, WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!  You are in charge of how to interpret someone's actions, and you could just choose to ignore when they are being abusive??  I CAN'T.  She also tries to gaslight Belle into seeing how great the Beast is when Belle has had zero positive interactions with the dude since she's been there.  The wardrobe brings it up in the original, but this is after he's offered Belle a room and invited her to dinner himself, not by his staff...

The west wing scene and the Beast turning into less of a dick:

In the original, the Beast himself tells Belle not to go to the west wing.  Her curiosity brings her there, because she wants to understand more about him and what he is hiding.  She's invading his space knowing full well that she is invading his space.  When she is discovered, she's about to fuck around with something that is literally tied with the Beast's livelihood.  His anger is disproportionate, but justified, and you see that he immediately regrets his reaction after she runs away from him.  That’s why he goes after her.  Belle watches him risk his life to save her even though she broke a promise to him, so she decides to repay the favor by bringing him back.  They fight while she's trying to clean his wound, and they're both right in their perspectives, but the Beast acknowledges that yes, his temper got the best of him - he realized that the moment she bolted.  Belle then rewards his selfless act by thanking him, which sets his entire transformation in motion.  

He gives her the library because he expresses interest in doing something to make her happy, and he vocalizes he's falling in love with her.  He's delighted by her reaction.  During the ballroom scene, the way he looks at her, you can see he absolutely adores her.  He asks, "Are you happy here with me?" because he loves her, and her well-being is the most important thing.

In the remake, the staff tell Belle not to got to the west wing because it's a storage area.  She wanders over there anyway, for whatever fucking reason, and takes a glance at the rose behind the glass.  The Beast finds her looking at it and gets mad at her, even though he never told her not to visit him in the west wing, and she didn't fuck around with the rose.  When she runs away, he doesn't even look like he cares.  There is no reason for him to go after her, and there is no reason for her to help him back to the castle other than the plot told them to do it.  She doesn't help him with his wounds, and the staff are the ones to thank her for returning him.  She even asks the staff why the fuck they care about him, because he's such an asshole.  They justify his behavior because he had a cruel father, and damn themselves to his fate because they didn't stop a literal monarch from raising his son.  Belle continues to take care of him because she pities him?  He repays her kindness by insulting her taste in literature.

He doesn't even show her the library because he knows she likes books, he does it because he wants her to read "better" books.  Then he makes one joke about not reading Greek and THAT IS WHAT MAKES BELLE SWOON.  THE FUCKING GREEK BOOK JOKE.  I mean, I sort of get it, I fell in love with my ex because he made a bread pun, but he hadn't been continually abusive to me up until that point.  Belle starts to read out loud to him, and that's supposed to be the event that incentives the Beast to be better?  Even while Belle is singing about how much he's changed (he hasn't), he throws a boulder of snow in her face. The cherry on top of this sundae is his stoic question after they dance, "It's foolish, I suppose, for a creature like me to hope that one day he might earn your affection?" which not only sounds like complement fishing, it is primarily motivated by breaking the curse!  Only after she gives an indifferent answer does he ask if she'd be happy at the castle.

Oh god, and the death scene is cut off in the middle because we have to watch 2 minutes of the staff members permanently turning into furniture, which, like, I wouldn't think they'd want to castrate the emotional climax of the movie, but this whole thing is an exercise on how to fuck something already good up.

This movie fails so spectacularly at this basic love story, I can't begin to justify its existence.  I wouldn't recommend this to anybody.  If you want to watch new Alan Menkin content, watch Galavant, because this movie just pissed me off.

It was bold of Disney to end it with a beastiality joke, though.

#unwarranted opinion #100 best musical movies of all time rotten tomatoes

[logicality-vs-prinxiety]

Imaginary

Pairing/s: Platonic Analogical

"Okay. God, you're right, you're right. I do need to see a therapist..."

Virgil fell back on his roommate's bed, sighing in a mix of relief and triumph. He's been trying so hard convince him to see a therapist, the boy doesn't seem to like anyone, well, except him, of course. But other people? Logan would do anything to avoid them, Virgil might even say he's scared of them.

"Ah shit, I'll have to call and get an appointment! I- I can't do that! Virgil, can you do it for me, please? Please?" Logan turned to him with a panicked look, Virgil frowned. He patted the empty space besides him, prompting Logan to sit down.

"Lo, this can be your first try. This is the reason you're making an appointment anyways. It's uncomfortable for you but you're a big boy now, you'll have to do it." He rubbed circles into Logan's back in an attempt at comfort. He looked at Logan's eyes as they start collecting tears.

Logan took a deep, shaky breath, "Okay, okay, okay. I can- I can do it. I can do it."

Virgil smiled at him proudly, Logan reached for his phone.

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

"Okay, Lo. He's a therapist, he's here to help you, you can trust him. Tell him everything, m'kay? Even things you can't tell me. Yeah?"

"C-can I really? Trust him, I mean." Logan whispered, you couldn't really tell he was speaking at all unless you were right next to him.

Virgil gave him a small smile then a nod.

Eventually, they heard the receptionist announce his name, "Logan? Dr. Picani will see you now."

Logan hesitantly left his seat, looking back at Virgil for a second, seeking comfort and a sense of home before he gets pushed into the cold water all by himself. Virgil gave him a smile once more.

He waited for Logan. Bored, he observed the waiting area. There weren't a lot of people, just about four. They're all caught up in their own world, paying him no mind. Everytime their eyes sweep over the room, it's as if they can't see him at all. Eyes usually linger a bit at something even mildly interesting. Oh well, Virgil probably wasn't interesting to anyone other than Logan.

Eventually, Logan came back to the reception. He went straight for the door, not even bothering to walk to where Virgil was seated. Virgil didn't mind though, Logan always does this and he just follows him out.

They didn't talk until they got to Logan's car. Logan sat still for a few seconds before starting, "You were right, he was so nice. And he's pretty helpful too. I think he can really help me, it probably won't take long."

Virgil just smiled at this as Logan started the car.

---------

Virgil was starting to notice something. Logan was getting better, Virgil's happy for his friend but there was something else. The better he gets, the less he talks to Virgil. Virgil doesn't understand why and he's kinda sad, but he focuses more on the fact that Logan's getting better. That's good! He was so happy for his friend, but why doesn't he talk to him as much anymore?

Maybe he only hung out with Virgil because he's the only person who doesn't get weirded out by him? Maybe he's seeing that Virgil's just a waste of time?

He tried not to think about it. Logan's probably getting busy now that he's getting better, he's handling his responsibilities better and that takes time.

He just watched from his place on top of the counter as Logan read a book.

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

Now it's definitely noticeable, they haven't spoken in weeks. Logan has since stopped seeing Dr. Picani, yet he's still not talking to him! He doesn't really have a reason to not talk to Virgil, he has lots of free time. Not to mention he's not only ignoring Virgil, but straight up pretending he doesn't exist! He wouldn't even spare a glance at him, no matter how much noise he makes Logan won't notice him. It doesn't make sense!

At this point, Virgil's sitting on the corner, staring at Logan with tears streaming down his face. Yet he's still completely ignored.

"Lo- Logan. Logan! Talk to me, please!"

Logan looked up, but not at him. The doorbell rang and he stood up to get it. Virgil grabbed the front of his sweater and aggressively scrubbed his face dry of any tears. He doesn't know who Logan's visitor is, and it would be embarrassing for them to see him like this. He scrambled up, heading to the kitchen as Logan made his way back to the living room, chatting with his guest.

Virgil sat on the counter, from his place he can still hear what they were talking about. It was rude, he knows, but ignoring your  best friend for weeks is even ruder.

"So Logan, dear. How have you been? You've stopped going to your therapist, right? Does that mean you're better?"

"Oh I have, Aunt Patty! Dr. Picani was extremely helpful, I was better within months!"

Virgil listened quietly, holding back sniffles as to not draw attention.

"And, uh, what about- um, your... friend?"

Virgil perked up. Friend? He was Logan's only and closest friend as far as he's aware. Logan talks to his Aunt Patty about him?

"Virgil? Yeah, I've gotten over him. I haven't talked to him for a month now."

"Oh, thank god. I've always found it silly that you're in your late 20s and still had an imaginary friend." She chuckled.

Virgil got irritated, how dare she call Logan silly! And Logan said he's gotten over him? And what did she mean--

Imaginary friend?

Imaginary friend.

That makes sense. That explains everything.

Virgil got up, entering the living room. He walked by the couch Logan was sitting on, they just kept their merry conversation going, not seeing him. Virgil spared a glance at Logan, before continuing up the stairs.

He stalked through the unlit hallway, finding his way to his 'room'. Hesitantly opening the door, he peeked through the room only to find his posters and personal stuff gone. The friend entered, closing the door behind him.

He sat down on the bed, which is rid of the usual black and purple sheets he was used to and instead had plain white sheets. Logan probably imagined the personalized room as well in this spare bedroom.

Imaginary friend. For some reason, Virgil was unfazed. Now that he thought of it, it made sense. Logan would always speak to him quietly in public and sometimes not at all. He has no memory of anything before meeting Logan. Actually he does remember a little bit, but those bits are also a creation of Logan's imagination. He created a little backstory for Virgil to make him seem a bit more like a person.

Virgil didn't mind. He smiled a little as familiar memories flooded back to his mind. Memories that he would only regain once he wasn't needed anymore. Virgil stood up, his body knowing exactly where to go despite his mind being clueless. He was going to his next friend.

Living life as an imaginary friend is full of confusing moments, but you make lots of friends. Even if you forget them once they forget you.

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

tags: @wherethewaterstarts-andyouend @logicality-trash @musikasworld

havent posted writing in a while!! this is my longest fic so far

how was it?????? if you have any feedback let me know!!!!!!

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #platonic analogical #analogical #fanfiction #sanders sides oneshots for the soul #kinda angsty but not really

[biting-you]

*kicks down door* HELLO YA’LL GUESS WHOSE BACK!!! THIS SACK OF POO POO! I’m finally finally finally posting this commission for a lovely anon who is honestly a saint. They wanted a sort of fantasy Overwatch Au with Soldier 76′s Jack Frost skin!

You felt so cozy, wrapped up in your little cocoon of blankets while you dozed peacefully, dreaming and unperturbed by nothing. Well that is until you felt many tiny hands start to poke and prod at your face. It woke you up, obviously, but you kept your eyes shut tight hoping that your annoying house guests would get the message and leave you alone. Of course you would have no such luck as they continued their assault, continuing to pinch at your skin, giggling all the while. “Christ, jeez I’m up, I’m up!” You finally relented and sat up, opening your eyes to glare properly at the pests who decided to wake you up from your slumber. Three little winged humanoids floated in front of you, cheeky grins split across each of their faces. The fact that they were faeries was of no surprise of course. The little buggers had been the bane of your existence ever since you could remember. Still, it didn’t mean you ever got used to it, especially when they woke you up far too early. “I have in alarm set, you know?” you muttered which only caused them to laugh harder and fly out your bedroom door toward your kitchen, most certainly to make some sort of mess in there. Deciding it was easier to get up than face the wrath of the faeries again, you swung your legs out of bed and proceeded to start going about your normal getting ready for work routine. ________________________________________ After putting out a few fires that you were more than certain those little winged rats had intentionally, you finally stepped out of your home and began to make the sort walk to the bus stop. As you walked, you made sure to say good morning to your neighbors like usual. Just because you had a bad start to your day doesn’t mean you wanted others to have one too. You waved to the small family of gnomes that lived under the loose tiles of the walkway, giving a friendly pat on the head to the black shuck that guarded the local cemetery and made sure to give a lock of your hair to the pixies that lived in the old elm near the town hall. It was a simple routine, but it was your routine. Though you knew good and well how strange it must look to others that you were interacting with things that weren’t there. Well, to them at least. But at this point in your life, when you were starting to become a true adult with a job and an apartment and bills to pay, you decided that you really didn’t care if people thought you were odd anymore. You weren’t about to ignore the lovely creatures you had known all of your life just because strangers would give you side long glances and whisper to each other behind their hands. If there was one thing to learn from mythical creatures was to not give a shit. You arrived at the bus stop with plenty of time to spare, which was both a blessing and a curse as you had to distract yourself from your idle time. At this rate you could have actually stopped to have a very tiny cup of morning tea with that lovely elf family. Oh well, social media it was then. You soon were lost in the variety of memes and lovely art that your friends posted on a daily basis, so lost in fact that you didn’t even notice a familiar petite brunette slid right up to your side and peer over your shoulder. “You got games on your phone?” You nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt her voice so close to your ear, letting out short shriek that made the heads of the other bus stop patrons turn to you briefly before shrugging it off. You clutched at your chest before turning to look sharply at the mischievous faun was giving you a sharp toothed grin, obviously proud of herself for scaring you so easily. “Hana, goddamnit how many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” You hissed. She cocked her head to the side and feigned counting in her head. “Mmm about 30 million,” You scoffed at her answer and shook your head. “I’m not in the mood today, I already didn’t get enough sleep thanks to those winged pests.” “Well if those ‘winged pests’ had actually done what I told them then you wouldn’t be sitting here at all!” You gave her an odd look. “Hana what are you talking about?” For the first time ever since you’ve known her, the usually cherry face of the faun turned serious her mouth set in a straight line as her brow furrowed in worry. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, let alone even really know about this but...” Her dark brown eyes flashed around nervously looking very much like a deer caught in the headlights. “Just...don’t go through any doorways okay?” “I’ve been through like two in my house alone” You answered. Was this some weird new type of prank she was trying out? You didn’t really like it at all. She was quick to shake her head, looking even more upset now. “It wouldn’t happen inside of your home, a lot of us made sure to try and lock it down from any real bad forces but...we can’t really do it anywhere else.” She grabbed tightly onto your arm. “So that’s why you have to go back home right now! I mean, you’d probably have to stay there until they lost interest, which could be awhile, but it’s better then what they want!” “You’re not making sense at all! Who’s ‘they’, Hana?” You saw the muscles in her jaw tense and you swore she looked like she wanted to cry. “Th-The Seasons!” She finally sobbed out, breaking down into an unconsolable mess, “they want to take you away!” Before you could pry more answers out of her or try to comfort her in any sense, she bounded away quickly, not looking back. As you rode the bus to your work, you took the time to mull over Hana’s words. Not that you could think of anything else. There was no way it could be some sort of joke or prank. Hana was a pie in the face type of jokester not a ‘the most powerful elemental fae want to kidnap you’ asshole. But even still, you couldn’t really make sense of it. What in the hell would they want with you? Had you done something wrong? Perhaps disrespected them in some unknown way? No, you were sure you would have been told by another fae sooner if you had done something wrong, so that couldn’t be it. You heard plenty of tales of fae snatching humans plenty of times before but they were usually babies that were replaced with changelings or people who had actually wandered into fae territory on their own, never had you heard of a fae not to mention a high ranking one, go so far out of their own way to take a human. None of them liked to work that hard, it was just in their nature! And what was all this business with doors? It wasn’t like they could just throw a net over you and drag you away as soon as you crossed a threshold without risking making a scene. You were stumped and more than a little on edge by the time you reached your stop and made another short walk to your job. However as soon as you approached the glass doors that led into the large office building you paused, much to the chagrin of those behind you, who simply pushed past and entered. You watched them as they did so, absolutely nothing happening to them. No trolls came crashing through the ceiling or goblins scurrying out of the ventilation system to snatch away any unsuspecting human. Absolutely nothing. So taking a deep enough breath to make your lungs ache, you pushed open the door, ready to hear the familiar muffled tap of your flats hitting gray carpeting. Except there wasn’t any carpeting. Just smooth polished stone that caused your footsteps to echo around the large and ornate room you were in. Gone were the cubicles, gone was the water cooler, and gone was the world you’ve always known, replaced by marble and gold leafing and four very strangely dressed men, one of whom looked like he was about to explode from excitement.

“You’re here, you’re here! We finally get to meet you after all these years!” You were almost knocked off your feet by a very fast and very strong green and white blur that wrapped you in an almost rib shattering hug. It most certainly did not help your disorientation. “Eh heh, Genji you gotta put her down. She ain’t lookin’ too hot.” A low but kind voice came to your rescue and you were reluctantly released. “What is...what...I don’t understan-I think I might pass out,” You wobbled on your feet, threatening to fall backwards only for the same hands as before grab onto your shoulders. “Don’t do that! Just sit down here and I’m sure the urge to faint will pass in a moment.” You felt your tush hit a very soft and very comfy armchair and immediately you slumped back into it, closing your eyes and placing a hand over them as you waited for the dizziness to pass. When you finally felt well enough to open them and pick your head up, you were met with the eyes with the four men from before, all starring at you intently. “Feel better?” The first one asked, dark but humorous eyes searching your face for any other sign of discomfort. “Yea, uh...I think so,” you answered stiffly, still unsure of what to make of the whole situation. “Do you think you could like...just tell me where I am?” “Well, there is no name for it in any human language, though the closest thing to it would be calling it the Fae-Wilds! Does that help any?” Oh no. Oh NO. “Ok..okay...” you replied trying to keep calm “so if I just so happen to be in the Fae-Wilds...where all the high ranking fae live...then your four must be...” “The Seasons,” A gruff voice answered for you, coming from a man clad in the most gothic looking outfit you could imagine and to top it all off his head just happened to be a flaming jack-o-lantern. “And we have been very excited to meet you in person!” The green haired man said, reiterating his statement from earlier. You could only nod dumbly at his statement, feeling you like you might really pass out this time. “Sorry darlin’, we didn’t mean to overwhelm ya none, heck we didn’t even get to greet you properly!” The second man spoke, grinning at you from under the brim of his straw beach hat. Why the hell were they dressed like this? “Name’s Jesse, that there’s Genji,” He gestured his chin to the green haired man who beamed at you, “Gabriel,” the man if the pumpkin head grunted in response “and that there is...well that’s Jack.” You could physically feel the mood of the room change as soon as Jesse spoke the last mans name. You suddenly felt chilled and frightened and the feeling only heightened as you made eye contact with the afore mentioned Jack. His eyes were a terrible and dangerous shade of blue, so sharp and piercing you felt as if they were looking right down into the depths of who you are. You didn’t care for it at all. Thankfully the tension was slightly broken by Jesse letting out an awkward cough that dragged your attention back over to him. He gave you a weak smile and for a moment sadness crossed over his brown eyes before leaving just as quickly as it appeared. “Well, now that introductions are all said and done, I’m bettin’ you’re wonderin’ just why you’re here, arentcha darlin’?” You gave a slow nod of confirmation. A chair seemed to materialize out of know where before you, Jesse quickly taking a seat and leaning forward with his hands between his knees, his face still kind but serious. “I won’t beat around the bush with ya honey suckle, you deserve to know what’s goin’ on and ya don’t need no big speech explain’ it to you so...” He took a deep breath before continuing. “We want to make a deal with you, sweet heart. Nothin’ dangerous I promise you that but you still might now care for it...” He trailed off as his eyes flickered over to Jack who was staring a bit too intensely. “All we want if for you too stay here for a month, just a month! To see if you like it...if you feel any sort of attachment here...or to any of us. Now if you don’t of course, we’ll send you back fair and square and we won’t bother you like this again.” Too say that you were stunned was an understatement, in fact you could barely speak! The only words you could choke out were “...why?” Gabriel was quick to answer, “Do you know how rare it is for a human to have your ability? One in a goddamn million chance. Makes you kind of special don’t you think? You’re like a fae magnet with this gift of yours, you have no idea how precious humans are to our kind, especially one that can already see us.” “Okay...I have a gift, so what?” It doesn’t mean you can keep me here for a whole month!” You spat out, finally through with your shock and now moving into anger. “Look we know this isn’t probably...ideal and trust me honey this wasn’t my first choice either...” His eyes trailed back nervously to Jack “but like I said before you can go back if you don’t like it here when the month is through.” You eyed him warily and you had a strange feeling you actually didn’t have much of a choice anyway, it wasn’t like you knew the way out of the Fae-Wilds on your own. “Fine...fine I’ll take your little deal...but I’m not promising anything.”

Oh God why had you taken their deal? Why hadn’t you just said ‘fuck it’ and try to run? It had only been a week and the affections (if you could call them that) from the four men were already draining you of any and all patience you had left. It was a toss up between Jesse and Genji for being the worst of your new tormentors. They were nice enough with their compliments and boyish wooing but their constant need for physical affection made you want to retch at the best of times. Jesse would whine and complain even if you so much as leaned away from him, never mind the absolute temper tantrum that would ensue if you managed to escape out of his suffocating grasp. Your hair never seemed to be without Genji’s fingers tangled through them and he had a bad habit of putting so many damn flowers in your hair that you started attracting bees. You were really starting to miss those faeries back home. Thankfully, Gabriel was a much more tolerant presence to be around (though that wasn’t saying much). You could hardly count the many time he dragged you from your room to his own quarters and demanding you spend time with him. It was always at the worst hours too, like three in the morning just to drag you to a meal he had made especially for you, slamminh you down in a chair even when you protested that you already ate. “Sit there and stare at it for all I care,” He had gruff. At least he kept his hands off you for the most part. Then there was Jack. The good old God of winter never got close to you, never demanded that you spend any time with him. No. He would just stand and stare at you, no words spoken but a tentative greeting on your part and the continuous low muttering that came from the masked man. You hated it. You hated him. That icy chill that you would receive whenever he stepped foot into the room was both from his presence and his powers. Jack made you feel so frozen, so…isolated whenever he was around, you were sure that even in a room full of people, he could make you feel like the last person on Earth. It was the middle of the tenth day of you being stuck in the Fae-wilds (you made sure to keep close track of the days until you could leave) and Jesse had managed to drag you to a small pond located inside one of the many rooms in the castle that they all reside in. Despite the fact that it was in a building, the body of water was surrounded by vegetation, something Jesse wouldn’t stop talking about as he lounged beside you. “I invented those, you know,” he drawled, pointing at the water lilies that floated calmly on the crystal clear water. You gave him a small hum of feigned interest which made him squeeze your hand with a grin, at least tnat was all he was grabbing onto at the moment, perhaps he was finally catching on that you didn’t care to be groped every waking hour of the day. “Genji likes to claim he made them first but everyone ‘round here know that I-“ Jesse cut himself off when a chill suddenly engulfed the room, quickly turning your puffs of air into dense clouds and covering the pond with a fine frost. You didn’t bother turning around at the enterloper, knowing by this point it was better to ignore him out right. Jesse on the other hand seemed more then happy to stare as Jack hovered near the entrance, face concealed behind that damned mask he never went without. You felt the man beside you already starting to fidget at the others presence, casting you a nervous look as he debated whether to leave you alone with Jack, or tough out the feeling of what was most likely a heated glare bore into the back of his skull. He chose the former.

“I’ll uh…I’ll see you later sweetheart, okay? At dinner tonight?” You only gave him a nod and another hum as he stood and gave you a sheepish grin as he brushed the imaginary dirt off his trousers. You didn’t acknowledge him further as he walked away, a wary eye trained on Jack as he slipped past him and out the door.

If there was one thing that Jack was good for it was getting the others out of your hair. They all seemed to fear him for some reason or another, even Gabe seemed to give him a wide enough berth. You couldn’t truly understand why. Wouldn’t they all be on equal ground with powers and such? You mulled this over while you pretended the pond was oh so interesting to further try and let the man behind you know that you weren’t interested in whatever stunt he was trying to pull at all. A routine silence fell over the two of you and you assumed that would be the same song and dance that usually took place during your encounters so you damn near had a heart attack when the deep rumble of his voice echoed through the room.

“Are you enjoying your time here, stardust?”

You turned your head around so fast you gave yourself minor whiplash. He hadn’t moved at all and for a brief moment you thought maybe he hadn’t spoken at all and your mind was playing some kind of strange trick on you. Still you responded.

“What do you think?” You snapped back and it made him cock his head to the side as if puzzled.

“No? You don’t seem like it. You haven’t tried to escape once or offer another deal to get yourself out sooner.” You scoffed.

“What good would that do me? It’s better to wait out this bullshit until the month is out and the four of you won’t ever pester me again,” Scowling, you turn back to the pond, set on ignoring him yet again. You were so wrapped up in your loathing that you didn’t notice his approach until you felt the icy puff of his breath on the back of your neck.

“So you don’t love them then?”

The shock of his closeness almost had you stumbling into the lake as your body lurched forward only for him to grab onto your bicept with a near crushing grip as he hauled you to your feet.

“What the hell-let go!” you spat as you tried in vain to pry his fingers from your arm.

“Answer the question, stardust,” he hissed behind his mask, tugging you closer so his face was uncomfortably near to your own.

“Of course I don’t love any of them, you creepy.” You glowerd at him as he gave a hum, satisfied by your answer enough to loosen his grip ever so slightly.

“Interesting…so who will you be choosing at the end of the month?” His reply made you scoff again.

“No one, obviously,”

He barked out a laugh that made you recoil in fear. You did not like that sound at all.

“It’s so cute that you still think you have a choice! Not to mention how funny it is that the others are still trying to con you into believeing you still have any other options at all!”

“What are you talking about?”

With a click and a hiss he removed his mask with his free hand, tossing it to the floor carelessly. His eyes were wild his expression unhinged as he grinned down at you.

“Do you really think you were going to be allowed to leave us? Leave me…” His expression softened for a fraction of a moment before twisting up with sick glee once more. “Hell, you sealed your own fate by eating foot we offered you! I was actually surprised by that. Thought you would starve to death before you fell for that old trick.” Your eyes widened. Oh Gods, he was right. How could you be so stupid! That was the first rule of interacting with any sort of fae! Jack laughed at your stunned expression.

“Aw, I know stardust, I know,” he cooed mockingly “but it’s going to be alright.” Jack leaned in closer, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent, “you’re going to be with me. Forever! Won’t that be grand?”

#overwatch #yandere overwatch #yandere soldier 76 #soldier 76 #jack frost #Jack Morrison #yandere x reader #reader insert

[mostlycompetentwriter]

FAM

F/M Pairing: Fem!Reader x Lee Minho (SKZ)

Word Count: 2.4K

Genre: Hybrid AU; Strangers to Lovers AU

Warnings: None!!

Summary: You weren’t entirely sure about adopting a hybrid, but your friends insisted that you have someone to keep you company in the giant apartment where you lived alone. But you never imagined how much you were missing out on, until you also fell in love...

A/N: I’m trying my hand at writing hybrid AUs, so please forgive me if it isn’t up to expectation! Tagging @skzwriternet​ as usual!!

The adoption center was located in a giant brick building at the center of the downtown district where traffic was always heavy, and swarms of people migrated together to walk down the crowded sidewalks as a means of occupying their time on the weekends.

But you were hardly the type to enjoy such things, and you and your friends often spent time in each other’s apartments as opposed to dealing with the claustrophobia of the 5:00 rush hour. But on this afternoon in particular, you carefully navigated the intersections and bustling extensions to find a parking spot in the freshly paved lot of the adoption center. Because you were finally going to meet the cat hybrid that you had recently adopted after a lot of pressure from your friends and several hours scrolling through the online website.

Eventually, after an interesting internal-debate, your eyes were drawn to a hybrid cat with calico-colored ears, and the bright green of his eyes had captured your heart in an instant. From there, you didn’t need any more intervention to call the shelter and arrange a time to meet them at the center to pick-up your new friend. Even though you didn’t know much about taking care of a hybrid, you had spent the past week reading anything that you could get your hands on.

You were feeling both confident and excited when you offered your name to the receptionist upon your arrival, and she offered to bring Minho out to you. “He’s been here for so long,” she explained. “His last owners brought him in before they moved.”

“They gave him up?” you asked, appalled at the idea.

However, the receptionist merely shrugged, and you had a feeling that this sort of thing happened all the time. “Well, let me get everything arranged for you,” the receptionist said, and you lingered around the lobby while you waited, flexing your fingers because you had already signed so much paperwork.

But it was all worth it when you saw him for the first time, looking at you with the same green eyes that had first captivated your attention. “Y/N,” the receptionist said. “This is Minho.”

You shuffled in place, pasting on your best smile as you studied the hybrid. “Nice to meet you, Minho,” you said. “I hope we can get along well.”

“Yeah,” Minho replied, and you were a little caught off-guard by his nonchalant attitude, but the receptionist was positively beaming and you finished signing all the required forms before you brought Minho outside to your parked SUV.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” you said to make conversation on the drive home. So far, even with your introverted tendencies taken into consideration, you were having a hard time maintaining a conversation with him. “I redesigned the guest room for you.”

“That’s fine,” Minho said, and you took a deep breath because you weren’t expecting him to be so dismissive. But maybe he wasn’t the type who talked very much after just meting someone for the first time, and you could understand the value of your silence. Still, you only wished that it didn’t feel so awkward, returning to your apartment only to watch Minho barricade himself inside his room for the rest of the night.

From thenceforth, life with Minho...was the opposite of what you expected.

Instead of living together cohesively, and enjoying the company of someone else in the apartment, you found yourself seriously questioning whether or not you had made the right decision in adopting him. For starters, he never left his room, and you only ever saw him on rare occasions when he needed to use the bathroom, or to grab his dinner from the table. Which leads you directly to your next point: other than rushed greetings in passing, Minho never spoke to you.

And that was certainly not something that you were okay with, especially considering the fact that it felt like you were living with a total stranger. But when you brought it up to your friends and colleagues, they assured you that he just needed more time to adjust: “Maybe buy him something that Cat Hybrids really enjoy?”

So, you did, and the price of the rare treats was a major blow to your checking account, but you were desperate to get a reaction from him. And you were incredibly disappointed when he ignored the treats on the table, choosing instead to pretend like they didn’t even exist. However, that’s where you drew the line, deciding to confront Minho about your scarce interactions.

But when you stepped into his bedroom unannounced, you realized that he was absent, which meant that he was probably showering. In the meantime, while you waited for him to return, you cautiously studied the little knick-knacks and photos displayed all around the room on the shelves you had installed. Apparently, Minho was quite sentimental, and you paused on a picture of Minho smiling next to another cat hybrid who was similar in age and appearance...

“Please don’t touch that,” a guttural voice interrupted your thoughts, and you nearly had a heart attack as you returned the decorative picture frame and turned around to face Minho.

“I’m sorry,” you said, swallowing hard because you felt guilty about messing with his things. “I was waiting for you to get back.”

Minho nodded, choosing to walk around you to peruse the collection of papers stacked on top of his desk. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah...” you started, trailing off when you glanced back at the picture. “Who is that with you?”

Minho sighed at your question, and he pursed his lips like he was considering whether or not he wanted to respond. “He’s my little brother,” Minho eventually relented, and he returned to his files while you studied him with an enlightened understanding of the mercurial hybrid.

“You were separated,” you said, more as a statement rather than an actual question, but Minho still nodded. “What’s his name?”

“Jisung, and I’ve been looking for him,” he said. “But none of the registries match.”

Suddenly, a lightbulb turned on inside your head, and you connected the dots as you realized that the files on Minho’s desk were all documents recording the names of the Hybrids registered with the government - as mandated several years ago.

“I’ll help you find him,” you said, and you could tell that Minho was affected, shoulders rising even as he remained facing away from you. 

“Why would you do that?”

“Because nobody deserves what you’ve gone through,” you said. “I adopted you because I wanted a companion, but there’s more than enough room for another Hybrid.”

He was silent for a moment, and neither of you even took a chance on interrupting the tension until Minho spun around with evidence of fresh tears in his green eyes. “Thank you,” he said, but you didn’t need any gratitude for doing something that you knew was right.

“Let me help you,” you continued. “I’ll do whatever it takes, and you don’t have to avoid me anymore. I think it would be nice if we lived together as a family.”

Minho nodded, and he swiped the sleeve of his shirt beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry for ignoring you....I thought you might send me back to the shelter.”

“I wouldn’t,” you said. “I chose to take on this responsibility, and I’m not the type to just give-up if something proves to be more difficult than I thought.”

“But I made it hard...”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you interrupted him, chancing a few steps closer to place your hand on his shoulder - a soothing gesture. “Let’s find your little brother, okay?”

“Okay,” Minho agreed, and, for the first time since you met, he even managed some semblance of a smile.

Over the course of following two weeks, you and Minho continued to grow even closer as you relentlessly searched for his little brother - constantly reassuring him to never lose hope.

You could tell that he was growing disenchanted with your repeated failures, and you always did your best to improve his moods. You studied him closely, discovering little things that he liked - K-dramas with cheesy endings, chocolate-flavored sweet things, and the feeling of warm towels straight out of the dryer that you always left on his bed after cleaning them.

Each night, you made Minho’s favorite dishes, and the two of you sat together in the living room and ate dinner while watching TV - making jokes about the characters or plot on-screen. It turned out that Minho was very personable, but you had to be very patient to understand his intricate layers. You had to be compassionate and empathetic, and you slowly earned his trust and watched him open up to you. Especially when you would sit together as the kitchen table and search databases online while calling as many adoptions centers as you could find in search of his brother.

“Are you tried?” he asked one night as the two of you finished the last of your calls for the evening.

“Not really,” you replied, but you weren’t expecting him to reach out to skim his fingers over the skin beneath your eyes.

“You have dark circles,” Minho explained, but you found yourself whole-heatedly captivated by a pair of electric green eyes, drawing you closer until the soft brush of his lips across your own snatched you into a hypnosis of pleasure.

The feeling was warm - like something that had been missing, but then rediscovered to make all the pieces match around the edges, and there was nothing left but a comfortable glow sitting on your shoulders as you resisted the urge to hasten the exchange and deepen the tender presses of your lips together.

Unfortunately, the sound of your phone ringing broke the two of you apart, and you sat back with a start as you listened the delicate thud of your heart beating loudly inside your ears. “Hello?” you spoke into the receiver, and you were embarrassed by your breathless tone. 

“Hi, is this Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes, this is she,” you said, avoiding Minho’s gaze as you tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

“Perfect! My name is Elise, and I work the adoption center in upper Manhattan. Apparently, you called us earlier about a hybrid registered as Jisung? We just wanted to let you know that some files got mixed up, but we have him here for you safe and sound!”

“Really?” you replied, excitement coursing through your veins as you relayed the news to Minho whose eyes lit up like he was seeing the entire world unfold right in front of him. “Please keep him safe for the night. I’ll be in tomorrow to formally adopt him.”

It turned out that Jisung was the complete opposite of Minho: loud and outgoing, he walked inside your apartment while chattering away about the wallpaper color and other trivial details that made you laugh at his eagerness.

You were amused by his observations, watching as Minho gave him a tour of the apartment while keeping an arm around his shoulders. It was both a protective gesture and an affectionate one, and you were glad to see Minho and Jisung reunited after such a complicated spell of time apart. They deserved nothing more to be together - you could tell that they loved each other, and their easygoing chemistry revealed a complex history that exposed the depth of a brotherly relationship.

But you and Minho had discovered that the two brothers had been separated somewhere between their last transition between owners. It seemed that the couple who had adopted them didn’t care to ensure that the brothers stayed together, and they mishandled the entire process. The situation itself angered you to no end because you couldn’t imagine how cruel a person must be to disregard someone else’s thoughts and feelings simply because they weren’t entirely human.

“So, what do you think?” you asked Jisung when he finally started to unpack his minimal belongings in the guestroom that he would be sharing with Minho. “It might be a little small...”

“Are you kidding?” Jisung interrupted. “I love it!”

“Really?” you wondered, glancing at Minho when his hand found yours, weaving your fingers together with a squeeze.

“Better than the shelter,” Jisung said. “Seriously? I’m so incredibly grateful that you went out of your way to find me.”

“Of course,” you said. “I’m glad to have you here with us.”

“That has a nice ring to it,” Jisung said, and he sat down on the edge of his bed with a sigh. 

“You should rest,” Minho suggested. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah,” Jisung agreed, and he shot you another grateful smile. “Thank you again, Y/N! For everything.”

You nodded with a contented sigh, allowing Minho to drag you out of the bedroom to allow Jisung some time to himself. Meanwhile, you and Minho enjoyed one another’s company on the couch in the living room, playing a drama in the background while you sat in his lap, sharing heavy kisses and oxygen while scratching your fingernails behind his ears where you had discovered that he was sensitive. 

“This is okay, right?” Minho asked at one point, pulling back to look at you with wide eyes. “I mean, we haven’t really talked about this...thing.”

“Thing?” you repeated with a laugh. “You mean our relationship?”

“Is that what it is?” Minho questioned. “Like...a boyfriend type of thing.”

“If you want,” you agreed, and you were more than amused by his choice of words. “I like you a lot.”

“I like you too,” Minho agreed with a furious shake of his head, followed by his nose sniffing across your collarbone. “You smell good.”

“Thanks?”

“I -uh - it’s a hybrid thing,” Minho said, and you practically snorting from your uncontrollable laughter.

“Hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed around me,” you reassured him, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “I’m glad to have you and Jisung here with me, and I think we’ll make a pretty good team together.”

“That sounds nice,” Minho said. “Does that mean we can keep kissing?”

“Isn’t that what boyfriends do?” you grinned, and Minho returned your smile before kissing you senseless with his hands wrapped around your waist - fitting perfectly against your curves like they had always belonged there. 

It was everything beyond your expectation, and you knew that your life was about to become very interesting...

#stayverse #skzwriternet #minho fanfic #minho fluff #skz minho #skz minho fanfic #skz minho fluff #lee minho fanfic #skz minho scenarios #lee minho scenarios #lee minho imagines #lee minho drabble #minho drabbles #skz minho drabbles #skz minho imagines #mostlycompetent

[sweetlangdon]

From Eden: Chapter 5

Notes: Michael Langdon x Reader/OC. Evil Power Couple fic. It’s difficult to write a summary for this one, because I don’t want to give away the twists. (It’ll also include canon rewrite/divergence for the later half of the season.) It has plenty of angst and fluff, and a bit of character study.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, murder, graphic violence, mentions of physical abuse. 

Chapter One     Chapter Two    Chapter Three     Chapter Four     Also Available on AO3

Her shoulder knocked into Michael’s as they walked, their laughter piercing the quiet of the neighborhood. Crickets thrummed in the grass and somewhere a few streets over a dog barked incessantly. She tried to tell him to keep his voice down when they approached her house, but it was no use—the two of them were caught in a cycle of infectious giggling. It was late and they were tired; so tired that everything became hilarious no matter how little it made sense. She would’ve crashed in the guest bedroom at Miriam’s if it wasn’t a school night. She’d spent the evening in their warm kitchen, the aroma of baking cookies lingering in the air long after she and Michael had finished devouring them. They played cards at the kitchen table for hours, gambling with chocolate chips and stealing the piping hot cookies off the cooling racks when Miriam wasn’t looking. Miriam warned Michael not to cheat while she gathered the necessary ingredients for a ritual that she hoped would cause a nasty septic leak in her aunt’s yard tomorrow night. Miriam had asked her if she wanted to participate and she was practically bouncing at the idea of savoring her aunt’s misery once her garden flooded.

She won a handful of times, but she knew Michael cheated or at least had some sort of preternatural insight that she didn’t possess that gave him an advantage. She wondered if he’d let her win. Michael’s poker face was impossible to break unless she gave him a jab in the shin underneath the table, and then he got downright smug.

The laughter died on her lips. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Michael’s smile faltered.

“They weren’t supposed to be home.” The porch light illuminated the driveway and the glossy windows of her parents’ car. The front door was open. They’d been waiting up for her. “You should probably go before they see you.”

Michael tensed beside her, then shook his head. He stared at her like it was ridiculous that she’d even considered it.

“No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Their heads turned at once toward the porch from where they’d stopped at the end of the driveway. Her mother barged through the front door with her father trailing behind, both of them playing the part of concerned parents. She thought that maybe they were almost convincing. She wanted to laugh, but her mother’s tone was shrill and hostile and years of shouting matches through thin walls had programmed an automatic anxious response.

“Late,” she answered, stomping up the driveway, trying to stifle the panic that flared at the sound of her mother’s raised voice. Michael followed at her side, the rage inside him beginning to trigger the power he carried. It swept over her skin like fire. “Since when do you care? You’re never home.”

“Your aunt said you never showed up at her house.” Her father planted a hand on his hip as if this happened to be some kind of monumental error on her part, and a reason for them to finally acknowledge that they had a responsibility for her existence.

“I was with Michael,” she answered. “Thought you’d be happy about me making friends—again, not like a single one of you gives a shit.”

“She said this is becoming a habit of yours,” her father continued, conveniently ignoring his sister’s own blatant disinterest. “She’s been worried.”

“Right,” she scoffed. “About losing the bribe money for babysitting me? I could always save you the trouble and just…disappear. Bet you’d love that.”

Michael’s hand clenched into a tight fist—she saw it out of the corner of her eye, felt him quaking with anger next to her as his face hardened and the darkness seeped into his gaze. The rage inside him amplified just before she noticed her father’s grimace. He pressed his fingers to the space between his eyebrows to quell the pain that she imagined had stabbed at him like an ice pick. Blood oozed from his nose and landed on the porch steps, looking almost black away from the light’s reach.

“Enough,” her mother warned. “Inside the house. Now.”

She wrapped her hand over Michael’s wrist, never breaking eye contact with her mother. Her father had already ducked inside, his hands cupped against his bloody nose. “I can handle it from here,” she whispered to him. Michael loosened his hold, and she let go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Michael’s fingers brushed against hers. “Be careful,” he murmured. His breath ghosted along the shell of her ear. “Don’t ever let them make you feel powerless.”  

She shivered when a cool draft replaced the heat of his body and watched his silhouette disappear into the shadows of their tree-lined street. Once the front door slammed shut behind her, she followed the path to the kitchen marked by droplets of crimson on the hardwood floors. Her father was huddled over the sink, a dish towel pressed to his face, her mother hovering next to him.

“I can’t believe you.” Her mother lifted the hand that had been rubbing circles across her father’s back to point an accusing finger. “Doing that out in the open where someone could see you, hurting your father like this. Unacceptable.”

She accepted the blame only because she didn’t want to give them another reason to keep her away from Michael.

“It’s two in the morning,” she reasoned. “If someone around here noticed anything, it was you screaming at me from the porch.”

Her mother’s jaw dropped. Really, she didn’t know where she’d found that scrap of bravery, but it felt like she’d finally hit her breaking point.

“What makes you think you can speak to me like that?”

She scoffed. “I don’t know, why are you so interested in how I occupy my time?” She was seething, and she could feel it spread through her veins like a wildfire. It was a lot more than just simple anger; it had power behind it. “Why the fuck do you want to be my mother all of a sudden?” You gave up on me a long time ago.

Her father wanted to intervene, she could tell, but the dish towel was working overtime to staunch the flow of blood. She had no idea what Michael had done to him, but the result had yet to wear off. Her mother swallowed hard. She’d been caught, and she knew it. There wasn’t any reason to pretend now, no reason to explain away the fact that she’d always come last in the list of her parents’ priorities. That for most of her life, her mother had been afraid of her.

“I don’t like you hanging around that boy,” she continued. “It’s making your affliction worse, I can see it.”

That was her mother’s name for it—an affliction, a curse, for which there’d been no cure. And for a while she’d believed her mother. For years she thought something had been wrong, broken inside of her. That she needed to run from it, bury it and leave it alone.

Not anymore.

Her knuckles went white, her hand shaking as she finally released the anger welling up. Her mother let out a yelp when she slammed into the cabinets, the dishes inside rattling from the impact. She fell to the floor and scrambled until she backed up against the lower cabinets, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

“Go,” her mother choked out. Her airway was beginning to constrict, the oxygen forced from her lungs at her own command. “Get out of my sight.”

Her mother clutched at her neck, wheezing, trying to suck in a breath. Veins protruded from her temples with the effort, her face going red, then almost pale.

The whisper she’d heard for so long in the static became a scream, that voice calling to her in a language she couldn’t possibly understand. And yet she did. The power that coursed through her seemed different this time; more immense and much more potent. She saw flashes of fire and the darkness seeping down the walls like black paint blossoming in a pool of clear water. The heady scent of charred wood and brimstone engulfed her senses, connecting her to something far greater than herself.

And then something—someone?—knocked her off course, breaking the link. She returned to herself sprawled out on the kitchen floor on her side, and it felt like she’d just woken up from a dream, taken a breath for the first time. A high-pitched droning sound filled her ears, and somewhere there was a distant echo of her father yelling, her mother sobbing hysterically. She blinked until the room came back into focus. In a daze, she crawled off the kitchen floor and swayed on her feet, her hands braced on walls and furniture as she navigated the way to her bedroom.

Her whole body shuddered, the adrenaline and anxiety still alive in her system.She felt like she couldn’t take a deep breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t remember what had happened outside of herself before the fire took over. Her limbs were heavy and her chest hurt. She collapsed into her mattress, listening to the tones of her parents’ raised voices through the walls until she cried herself to sleep.

***

She fled her aunt’s house in the middle of a downpour.

Water that had already pooled on the uneven sidewalks sloshed up her jeans as she dashed through them, soaking the denim. Pressure mounted behind her eyes and burned down the back of her throat from the tears she tried frantically to subdue. She was too busy running to be distracted by it. The sky hung low, the clouds a muddy gray against the encroaching night. The storm didn’t relent just because she was trying to escape, trying to get a handle on her frayed nerves. She was drenched from head to toe by the time she slipped into Miriam’s backyard, the rain a gusty torrent of freezing water that plastered her clothes to her skin.

She leaned against the closed door once she rushed inside, water collecting on the hardwood floor at her feet as it dripped from her clothes and sodden hair. The tears came then—loud, heaving sobs that left her almost bent double from the weight of them. She reached a shaky hand up to her throbbing head and wept harder when her fingers came away bloody.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Miriam took her bruised, bloodied face between her hands. She hadn’t even heard Miriam come into the kitchen, but she nearly collapsed into her kind touch. “What happened? Poor thing, you’re soaked to the bone. Here, sit down…come sit over here…easy, now, that’s it. It’s all right. You’re safe.”

Miriam eased her into one of the chairs at the table while she tried to catch her breath. She tasted iron on her tongue, her bottom lip split open again from the effort of crying. She could smell it all around her, too—her nose had bled, she was sure of it, but most of the scarlet trickling down her face was from the cut along her hairline.

“That awful woman,” Miriam grumbled. “I’m gonna get you cleaned up, don’t you worry.”

“What did she do to you?”

Michael’s voice was pure steel from somewhere behind Miriam, but through the anger that flashed like a storm across his face, she noticed the deep concern. He was at her side a moment later, taking her chin in between his thumb and forefinger with the lightest of touches. The blue of his eyes glistened with fresh tears, but he didn’t let them fall. His thumb traced along the curve of her jaw, careful of the bruise that had started to blossom there.

“We got into an argument…about my mom.” Michael’s hand wandered into her hair and he raked his fingers through the tousled, drenched strands. She sniffled, then winced. “I threw her into a table…I thought she was going to kill me.”

Miriam returned to the kitchen with a first aid kit and a quilted blanket, which she draped around her shoulders. “Is she still breathing?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a damn shame.” Miriam settled into the chair opposite and set to work wiping the blood off her face gingerly. “I should’ve poisoned her a long time ago when I had the chance.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Michael was at the side door in a few paces, but Miriam held up her hand.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Michael turned sharply. “She can’t keep getting away with this.” The dishes in the cabinets and jars on the counter shuddered from the burst of energy.

“And she won’t,” Miriam promised. “Last thing we need is to do something impulsive and foolish. That won’t help the situation at all—not right now, not tonight. I know you’re angry; hell, so am I, but she’ll get what’s coming to her when the occasion arises. We just have to be smart about it and wait.”

“I don’t want her to get hurt again.” She saw the tremor in his lower lip, even if he fought against it. “If something happens…”

“She’ll be perfectly safe,” Miriam assured. She let out a sharp exhale when the antiseptic came in contact with the open cut that edged her hairline. Miriam took her hand. “You’re staying here with us for the night. You’re not going back there, not if I have anything to say about it.”

“My parents are out of town for the weekend.”

Miriam’s face broke into a broad smile. “Even better.”

***

The patter of raindrops against the window coupled with distant rumbles of thunder was enough to soothe her anxiety at last. She found herself exhausted but unable to sleep. Which was fine because Michael couldn’t sleep, either. She’d crept down the hall from the guest bedroom to his room; he’d been awake, and she’d crawled silently into bed beside him. Without a word, Michael pulled her in close so that she was nestled in the crook of his arm, her head tucked against his chest. The painkillers Miriam had given her earlier were beginning to wear off—her cheek had a dull ache, the laceration on her head a mild annoyance—but there wasn’t anywhere else she wanted to be, not right now.

Michael dragged his fingers lazily through her hair, still damp from the shower she’d taken after Miriam patched up her injuries. At least now the metallic odor of her own blood had been replaced with the floral fragrance of shampoo. She’d borrowed a shirt and a pair of pajama pants from Michael—she really needed to start leaving her own clothes here in case of future emergencies—both of which managed to look a few sizes too big on her slender frame given their height difference. Not that she cared, really; she was warm and comfortable, wrapped up in Michael’s scent with his heart beating beneath her ear.

“It’s good that you radiate heat like a furnace,” she told him. Her voice was hoarse and a little sleepy. “Because I’m still freezing.”

That rain had been colder than she thought, leaving her with a chill she couldn’t quite shake.

She felt the soft vibration of his laughter below her cheek. Michael’s hand traced patterns across her back, warming her skin underneath the fabric of her shirt. His other hand still hadn’t left her hair, and she was quickly becoming lulled by the gentle rhythm of his fingertips.

Michael sighed. It sounded long-suffering to her ears; an exhaustion that she couldn’t fully comprehend.

“If something had happened to you, if she had—”

“Don’t, Michael,” she countered. “Don’t go there.” She draped her arm over his stomach. “I wouldn’t have let her kill me, you know that.”

“I know.” He was quiet for a long minute. “I just…don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She could hardly believe this was the same boy who’d nearly brought an entire house down around himself, who’d used his powers in silent rage to inflict pain on people who’d hurt her, who’d been brought into this world just to tear it down.

“You won’t,” she assured when she heard him sniffle. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“The world will be different someday,” Michael said, and she closed her eyes, conjuring the images of fire that had come to her when she’d lost herself in the midst of her own power. “Something better will rise from the ashes once this one’s done burning. I don’t know how to get there…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I think the two of us were meant to find our way to each other.”

She opened her eyes. “It feels stronger than just a coincidence.” She’d believed that was true for some time now.

“I can’t do this alone,” Michael admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to.”

That night, Michael finally told her about the house he’d been born in—a house haunted by too many ghosts, a house where the only family he’d known had given him up to the darkness.

The following weekend, she stole the last breath from her aunt’s lungs with a flick of her wrist after she’d passed out drunk in her bedroom. She and Michael watched the house burn down together, standing side-by-side on the grass, bright orange embers drifting upward to meet a pitch black sky.

@lastregasolitaria  @mylippo  @zeciex  @lvngdvns  @langdonsdemon  @yourkingcodyfern  @sojournmichael  @gabnelson98  @rainbowrosesjas  @antichristlangdxn  @keavysmithxoxo  @artistlunadrayne  @codysfallenangels  @batgirlbride  @mileeyyowens  @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998  @gentianea  @cryptid-coalition  @langdonsrapture  @kinlovecody  @yuriohoe04  @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean  @langdonscurls  @jcshadowkiss-blog  @frozenhuntress67  @sebastianshoe  @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon  @queenie435  @holylangdon  @weareallevilmotherfuckers  @langdonfern  @angsty-otters-blog  @denaexr  @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons  @lostin-fern  @crazedcatcuddler  @satansapostle  @monsucre @softlangdvn  @ritualmichael 

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fanfiction #ahs fic #ahs imagine #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse fanfiction #ahs apocalypse imagine #fic: from eden

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 14

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: This fic is ongoing. Updates weekly. We average 2-3 new chapters a week. Want on the tag list? Let me know, friends.

Warnings: 99% fluff 1% intrigue. Swearing?

Abstract: Jim and Freddie discuss matches; Deacy and reader contemplate real life vs fantasy.

Freddie and Jim were doing their best to focus on each other and not the sounds coming from the other side of the ornate gold-leafed door. The people weren’t arguing anymore, thank goodness. The voices weren’t even heated, muffled at most, but they were present and relentless. Jim had well-founded suspicions Roger was to blame for the lingering problem of the loiterers in the hallway. Roger was a snarling charmer; at least, Jim thought, if you stopped listening to the words coming out of Rog’s maw, he was at least exceedingly pleasing to gaze at. Roger was fire: pretty to behold, but would burn you and like it.

However, tonight, right now, the company in the hall and the house were not what either man in the bedroom cared about. The world could be aflame at this very moment, World War Three could have started suddenly, and Freddie and Jim wouldn’t care about anything but their shared admiration and decadence.

They were still fully clothed; well, Jim thought, Freddie hadn’t been fully clothed all night, much to both of their mutual enjoyments. Their kisses weren’t shy, but each joining of their lips was excessively slow. Each kiss emphasized care and tender longing. Each kiss mounted passions on top of passions. That thing called time ceased to exist. They were making their own sense of time now, more than contented to make every moment count. It was a love defined by equality of needs and wants gained through trials deeply personal and fundamental to them both. What they were as a couple was who they were individually. And when once it seemed their words were incompatible, that had proved a false fear, and was long buried in the past. They were the couple everyone was envious of and simultaneously endlessly overjoyed for; Freddie considered it the best of both worlds.

“Was the party successful?” Freddie asked, coming up for air between kisses. He traced Jim’s mustache, wanting to coax an answer out of him. Freddie’s parties were legendary and legion. He wanted each to have a special flare and theme, never to repeat himself or be disappointing to his guests. He might enjoy a more banal life these days, but when he put on his face and threw a party, he would embrace the madness and become the keen spirit of the festivities himself. Carefully intuitive he would be the picture of the perfect host, and when the party ended, pleasantly spent from a successful night, the only thing he wanted besides a restful night’s sleep past whatever hangover would occur, would be Jim’s honest review of the night.

“It was spectacular, angel.” Jim said earnestly, running a hand down Freddie’s thigh, and back up and down again. Over and over.

“You really think so?” Freddie sounded hopeful, like a child asking for approval from someone hard to impress.

“It was Kubla Khan-esque, Xanadu, Babylon and all that...” Jim wrapped his arms around Freddie, pulling him onto the bed, other pleasures in mind than the pleasures of their many guests. With the elegance only practice and supreme compatibility can bring, they effortlessly laid down, mixing limbs while tugging at clothes, never fully separating from touch, from kissing, from each other. It was the perfect combination of spontaneity and mastered choreography.

Freddie, however, not one to be diverted from any task, between increasingly longer embraces and the unbuttoning of Jim’s shirt, he moaned, “No, I meant the matches.”

Jim positioned himself on top of Freddie, and started undoing the button-up fly of his pristinely white hot pants. He was equally interested, perhaps against his will at the moment, in the unsuspecting matches that had been made that night between Y/N and Deacy and Roger and Lydia.

“I like them as people,” Jim said pensively, yet not tellingly. His attention was completely divided now between his steadfast desire to fuck his husband and to discuss the matches, as Freddie had called them. What indeed would come of them? The last time that poor John Deacon had been in a long-term relationship he has gotten his ponderously hopeful heart completely eviscerated. He, Freddie, Roger, and Brian had helped pick the flayed pieces of John’s heart up for months; even now, Jim wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to open up to another person again. And speaking of Roger, even when Roger claimed to be in a monogamous relationship, that never proved to be the full, unyielding truth. Roger, more or less, did precisely what he wanted and little else. Furthermore, as for the women? Well, Jim had liked Y/N and Lydia from the start, and he held strongly to first impressions. His first impression of Freddie has been quite impressive and innovatively inappropriate. But that was a story for another time, thought Jim.

Freddie, taking a disproportionate amount of time unbuttoning each button, each slip of fabric was a whisper of seduction, sighed, “You don’t sound so sure, darling.” At the last button he stopped, and he waggled his eyebrows at Jim.

Jim laughed, leading Freddie into a longer kiss, not wanting to stop. “We don’t know much about those perplexing women; beautiful and witty yes, but are they up to the task? And our very own Roger ‘loose cannon’ Taylor isn’t the easiest man to live with—not that I’d know from personal experience.”

Smiling at the sound of Jim’s lyrical voice, Freddie unbuttoned the final button. “Yes, we must grill Bri about that particular adventure.”

“Yeehaw,” Jim agreed. “And John is…” Jim’s voice tapered off as Freddie started stroking his cock through the extraordinary navy trousers.

“International man of mystery?” Freddie offered, only halfheartedly trying to jog Jim’s memory as to the original train of thought of their discourse. There was no pleasure equal to giving mind-erasing ecstasy to your lover. This was his favorite benign game: turning Jim on mid-conversation and seeing how long he could maintain his composure and concentration before giving in completely to him.

“International might be going too far.” Jim laughed, his brown eyes shrewd with lasciviousness. He sighed, slipping more and more with each passing second into a state of pending oneness with his beloved husband. Becoming markedly serious, he said, “I don’t want to talk about Roger or Deacy right now. In fact, any words said from this moment on that aren’t strictly dirty will be ignored.”

Freddie, grinning with a fantastically sexy wink, removed Jim’s flannel shirt and started unzipping Jim’s pants. He paused, staring into his husband’s eyes. This particular pair of pants held a poignant place in their hearts. They were sacrosanct, and always would be.

“I love you, Jim Hutton.”

“I love you, Freddie Mercury.”

You, Lydia, John Deacon, and Roger Taylor stood awkwardly in the hallway outside the bedroom of Jim and Freddie. You weren’t quite sure what to say to get the party moving on; you didn’t necessarily want to be apart from Deacy, but you also weren’t sure you wanted to stay here any longer. The party, the night, the festivities had moved on towards slumber, and you felt exhausted. This night had been wild and draining, though draining in mostly good ways, you so desired a lengthy sleep in your own bed to recover and ponder.

Deacy was trying to make eye contact with you, concerned something had changed for you both. You flicked your eyes on to his suddenly, and he met your gaze with a piercing stare quite intended to read your mind. He felt renewed security in your shared gaze. Something about how you looked at him made him feel sublime, unique, interesting.

“Shall we go?” He asked. There was something hidden in the question, you were sure; maybe Roger was right about his duplicitous talk.

“Yes,” you said simply.

“Well, we’re leaving too.” Roger said, as eager to get a move on as he was to be the center of attention. He took Lydia’s hand in his, and tugged her along. She waved at you wondering if you were thinking what she was.

You were sharing the same thought, though before you could voice it, Deacy offered you his arm. This small gesture evacuated every other thought from your mind. It was gallant and possessive, and you liked it. He might always be two things at once, but that was his charm, his dangerous allure that you thought would always keep you guessing, always on your toes, never sure exactly what he was thinking or meaning to say. It was that paradox from earlier in the night again; for he was entirely genuine as well as being deliberately unknowable. You took his arm in yours and felt truly warm and safe; there was a finality to the action: you belonged to him, and him to you. Ridiculous, you thought; you had just met. You needed to stop thinking such stupid things like that. He was a rock-star; this was a life you would never have, maybe one you’d dream to have, but the odds were astronomical. As astronomical as sharing all those intimate moments with Deacy tonight were, perhaps...

What were the odds of falling in love, you questioned. Not just with Deacy, but at all? Surely, falling in love wasn’t just some one-sided phenomenon; it had to be shared to be real love. Pop culture wants us to believe in selfless, one-sided, self-sacrificial love is where it’s at, but that isn’t very realistic, you thought. Not entirely healthy, either; you had been there before. Sacrificing yourself on the pyre for love you thought was pure and reciprocal only to find it wasn’t. That kind of falling combustion can be devastating. Love had to be reciprocal entirely, not uncertain, and committed. You wanted none of the half-love of yore anymore. Either full dedication between two souls in passionate love with each other, fully engrossed in the meaning and profundity of their combined lives together, or you wanted nothing at all. All or nothing. Magic or nothing. This was a pact you and Lydia had made recently. One you intended to hold each other to come hell or high water, some snipers in the night, and lions at your door. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was worth it to not compromise what you needed and wanted at the behest of someone else. You wondered if Deacy would be up to the task?

Walking arm in arm, you let John Deacon lead you through the house to the front door. “May I escort you home?” He asked a little too casually.

You giggled rolling your eyes up at him. Just as you figured, he had a shy smile on his face, though you knew better; there was nothing bashful about that grin.

He was slightly taken aback; had you cracked his code already? Maybe Roger was right, he thought. His expression softened into a muted sincerity, and melted into the hidden desires underneath his earlier question.

“Well, escort me home, you may, though there will be no other kinds of escorting.” You said putting on a prim accent, “Not tonight, at least; I’m a lady.”

“Indeed,” he said, trying not to laugh, recalling just how lady-like you had been orgasming in his grasp. He licked his lips, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “you want to be wooed, my fair lady?”

“Stop,” you said, laughing lightly and hitting his arm ineffectually, “You’re making me wet, and I just can’t handle another round tonight.”

“Oh, I think we’re up to the task, but I’ll defer to your wishes, always.”

“You’re too much for me, John Deacon.”

“May I quote you on that?”

You both laughed, walking through the front door. You saw a sleepy valet sitting and reading a magazine. Deacy reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip, and passed it to the valet. He took the slip and grabbed a set of keys saying he’d return in a couple of minutes with Deacy’s Mercedes.

“A Mercedes?” You questioned.

“Yes; what? Classier than you expected?”

“Everything about you is a surprise.” You hummed. “What color?” That was the extent of your car conversation capabilities.

“I think the green one.”

“The green one, you think?”

He shrugged at you, embarrassed in the late moonlight. He had money, more money than he knew what to do with; his expenses weren’t plentiful, and he didn’t have a family, or a partner like Freddie. He had no one to provide for.

No one to provide for.

This idea frequently made him bizarrely solemn. It always left a pit in his stomach, made him feel quite hollow, and confusingly guilty. He could, given the right circumstances, give so much to someone else. If that person would ever come along, he thought. He looked at your face, then, studying it closely. Looking for some hidden hint he was on the right path.

Fire and ice shone in those grey-green eyes of his. He was mesmerizing and chaotic, you thought. Deadly, like Roger, but you sensed there wasn’t a temper hiding under his shrouded mystery, but something else altogether.

The valet returned with a green Mercedes-Benz. The top was down, and you had a hard time imagining someone so mischievous driving something so, well, cool. Deacy tipped the driver, and traded spots with him. The valet opened your car door, and closed it behind you.

“Thank you,” you said to him. He waved you both off, clearing you to go.

Deacy put the car into gear and slowly drove away from Garden Lodge. Looking at him, his curly auburn hair dancing in the wind, the full beauty of his person unfurled itself to you in a way previously unseen. Something about him relaxed entirely the second you had step foot outside the party. He was at ease, and any weight of “being on” for the party had evaporated into the night air. His red necktie was flapping behind him like a scarf. You hated to admit it, but damn, he was the coolest person you had ever met. You laughed, thinking how disappointed Roger would be to hear you say that.

“What?” Deacy asked, responding to your laugh with one of his own.

“I just cannot believe that I am here with you. I have to keep reminding myself it’s real.”

“I assure you,” Deacy said, looking at you briefly, “this is no fantasy, Y/N.”

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